The Master Of Strathburn (32 page)

But later tonight …

Heart pounding, Robert broke the kiss. He smiled with satisfaction at the sight of Jessie, pliant in his arms, lips red, cheeks flushed. Her eyes, still drowsy with desire, were the warm amber of liquid honey. He had succeeded in chasing away the shadow of reserved distance between them. With that kiss they had both come to an understanding—they wanted each other, they were tied to each other.
Hand-fasted
.

‘I must go, my love,’ he murmured, stroking his thumb lightly across her swollen bottom lip. ‘I have some things to take care of on board my ship, but I shall be back by this evening. And later, after dinner, perhaps we may continue this discussion, in private—to clarify our positions even further.’

Jessie’s eyes glowed warmly. ‘I look forward to it,
mo chridhe.
’

The smile was still on Robert’s lips as he left Strathburn House in his father’s carriage a short time later. He rather thought that he would be smiling for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

The White Horse Inn, Edinburgh’s largest coaching inn, was but a short distance away from Auldgate Square. Robert did not intend to stay long. He viewed the slight deviation from his intended path to Leith Docks as an unpleasant but necessary duty, akin to removing vermin from the hold of his ship.

He left MacGowan with the carriage in the coaching yard and within a few minutes—courtesy of an avaricious innkeeper with dubious loyalties to his patrons—he had the key to Simon’s room. The innkeeper had also helpfully informed him that Mr Grant’s manservant, Baird, had just recently departed in a sedan chair for the Grassmarket, to run some errands for his master.

Robert paused briefly by Simon’s door listening for a moment before entering. All was silent within. Knowing Simon’s past habits and suspecting that ten years had likely entrenched his brother’s debauched ways, he surmised his brother was likely abed, sleeping off the effects of too much wine and liquor.

Although Robert knew that Simon had also been fond of the company of prostitutes in the past—and most likely still would be—he doubted his brother would be partaking of the company of one of the local harlots at this time of day. Whilst the innkeeper could be easily bribed into parting with a key, it was unlikely he would let Simon flagrantly reduce the reputation of the coaching inn during daylight hours. The White Horse Inn had to keep up the appearance of having at least some standards.

When the door swung open, it was to reveal, as Robert had suspected, that Simon was passed out in the rumpled bed. The room stank of stale sweat, spilt ale and the contents of a used chamber pot. Simon did not so much as stir as Robert closed, then locked, the door and pocketed the key. The shutters were closed and there was nothing but cold ashes in the grate. In the weak light, Robert spied a wooden chair on the other side of the room by the window. He moved around the bed and threw open the shutters before swinging the chair around and straddling it in one fluid move, his arms resting on the back. He knew he looked like the worst kind of ruffian with his three day growth and unkempt clothes. But if his rough appearance intimidated Simon, all the better.

Simon groaned and rolled from his stomach onto his back, throwing his arm over his eyes to block out the light. ‘I told you, you stupid sow, that I didn’t want you to clean my room,’ he croaked.

‘I’m afraid it’s not the chamber maid, dear brother,’ drawled Robert.

Simon bolted upright. His puffy eyelids flew open to reveal bloodshot eyes that fixed on Robert in disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Instead he simply stared in horror, his thin bare chest rising and falling rapidly, his pallor grey.

Robert narrowed his gaze, and pinned Simon with a deliberately cold, uncompromising stare. ‘Yes, Simon, your worst nightmare has been realised,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve escaped the executioner’s axe. And you, being struck dumb right at this moment, suits my purpose exactly. Now, all I want you to do is listen because I’m only going to say this once.’

He then leaned forward over the back of the chair, intentionally flexing his biceps so they strained against the linen of his shirt. Simon shrank back against the stained bedclothes. He looked like he was going to be sick.

Robert continued in a silken tone of voice that was completely at odds with his physical stance. If it further rattled Simon, all the better. ‘Within a week, you will be taking up residence in lodgings that I will arrange for you here in Edinburgh, with an annual allowance that will be sufficient for you to maintain an adequate level of comfort while you complete a university degree. I really don’t care what it is. Thereafter, I expect you to find employment in some capacity or other. You will continue to be the recipient of my most generous offer, so long as you abide by my further stipulations—you will not set foot in Strathburn House or Lochrose ever again.’

‘Oh I say,’ spluttered Simon, finally finding his voice. ‘You can’t do that. What has Father to say to this? Mother won’t stand for it.’

Robert’s mouth twisted and he cocked an eyebrow. ‘From what I understand, Father has already banished you from Strathburn House, and I don’t give a toss about what your mother will or won’t stand for.’

Simon’s face grew an alarming shade of puce. ‘This is ridiculous. It’s not like Father has died, making you king of the castle. You’ve got no right whatsoever.’

‘Indeed, I have every right, Simon for ’tis I who will be providing your funds, not Father. And I have an inkling that he is not planning on being particularly magnanimous where you are concerned, considering you’ve had me arrested—twice. You need to be accountable for your actions, especially those that have hurt others. You have lived a hedonistic, self-serving existence for far too long. It is definitely time you learned to live within your means and stopped leaching off our family’s estate.’

Robert stood abruptly and pushed the chair away, looming over Simon. He laced his voice with steel to deliver his final pronouncement. ‘And my final condition is this. It concerns Miss Munroe, who is soon to be my wife.’

Simon sneered. ‘What? That Jezebel is to become
Lady
Lochrose. Now there’s a contradiction—’

Enough
. Robert slammed his fist into his brother’s sneering face. Simon hit the pillows, groaning. Robert shook his hand, flexing his fingers briefly, before he continued speaking, as though nothing had happened. ‘You will never set foot anywhere near Miss Munroe ever again. She will never have to look upon you again. If I ever find out that you have breached this condition I assure you, you will face a lot worse from me than a mere punch. Do I make myself clear,
brother
?’

Simon nodded his assent, clutching his cheekbone where a dark purple bruise had begun to flower.

‘Good. I knew you’d see it my way.’ Robert moved to the door and unlocked it. ‘I’ll have Father’s man, MacGowan, advise you of the details of your new accommodation when it has been finalised. If I never see you again, it will be too soon.’

* * *

It was not long after Robert’s departure when another knock sounded at Simon’s door. He groaned and sat up. He doubted it was Robert, given that his brother had somehow managed to purloin a key. It was probably the maid again.

The knock came again, more insistent this time. ‘Simon, it’s me. Open this door at once.’

Mother.
Simon cursed under his breath. What the hell did she want from him other than to inform him of Robert’s release and the subsequent change in the status quo?—as if that would fix anything. Simon staggered from the bed and approached the door.

‘Mother, I’m not decent,’ he called through the door.

‘Well, that’s nothing new,’ she hissed back. ‘I’ll meet you in one of the private parlours downstairs—the Green Room. Don’t tarry. It’s urgent.’

Ten minutes later, Simon joined his mother in the parlour she’d hired. A pot of tea and an assortment of scones and cakes were laid out on a small table before the fire. Simon thought he would be ill and shook his head when his mother offered him a cup as he sat down.

Lady Strathburn cast a critical eye over him. ‘Simon, you look shocking. You really should curb your drinking somewhat.’ She frowned at his freshly bruised cheek. He’d attempted but had been unsuccessful in trying to obscure the older bruises on his jaw by donning a longer than usual periwig and tying an elaborately folded cravat. ‘And how on earth did you get that awful bruising?’ she continued. ‘Not brawling in some cheap tavern I hope. You look like a common criminal.’

Simon shook his head. ‘Bloody Robert paid me a visit, not less than twenty minutes ago.’

Lady Strathburn sucked in a sharp breath. ‘The rogue.’

‘I suspect that’s what you’ve come about, to warn me that my brother has escaped the lion’s den and that Father’s agreed to his ludicrous stipulations to have me all but banished.’

Lady Strathburn’s mouth twisted with a malicious smile. ‘Yes, in part. But I also have a plan in mind, my dear Simon, to get rid of your brother and his upstart of a fiancée. But to succeed in this venture, you will need to maintain your sobriety for at least the rest of this day and the next. And to find some backbone when the occasion calls for it. Do you think you can do that for me and for yourself?’

Simon smiled back. ‘Yes, Mother, I think I can.’

Jessie found it difficult to settle to anything for the remainder of the afternoon. Even though she was exhausted, her mind was too restless for sleep and she was unable to concentrate. Several books were selected from Lord Strathburn’s small library downstairs and then discarded. She attempted repairing a tear in the hem of her black wool cloak, but soon tired of the task.

Eventually she deposited herself in the grey damask shepherdess chair in front of the small grate in her bedroom, and simply stared into the fire, her thoughts lingering on Robert along with the exquisite anticipation of what was to come tonight and in the future when they were husband and wife.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest of her chair, imagining what could be.

‘Miss Munroe, it’s time for ye to get ready for dinner.’

Heavens, she
had
fallen asleep. Jessie stirred and stretched before attempting to focus her bleary eyes on Janet. ‘What time is it?’ she asked on a yawn.

‘Five o’clock, miss,’ replied Janet. She was in the process of lighting the candles on the mantel. ‘An’ dinner is at seven.’

‘Oh.’ Jessie frowned, her stomach suddenly aswarm with nerves. She’d slept for over an hour and she had much to do to get ready for Robert’s celebratory dinner. Which brought her to her next concern. What on earth was she to wear?

A stained travelling dress or a plain woollen day gown would not suit at all. She was betrothed to a viscount. And she so didn’t want to disappoint Robert.

Rising stiffly from her seat, her gaze drifted to the bed. And her breath hitched. There, upon the grey brocade counterpane, was the most beautiful gown she’d ever seen—the amber-gold silk bodice and full skirts were offset with a rich, cream silk stomacher adorned with delicate bows and tiny ribbon rosettes, and a profusion of cream lace cascaded from the tight chemise sleeves.

‘Who … how … where did this come from?’ Jessie stammered as she crossed to the bed and then gently touched the exquisite garment with a trembling finger.

‘I canna be sure miss, but pe’raps it was the same someone who delivered these shoes and … undergarments.’ Janet pointed to a pair of cream silk slippers embroidered with tiny seed pearls sitting on a nearby footstool, and a sheer pair of ivory silk stockings and a fine lawn chemise that had been draped across the armchair beside the bed.

Jessie smiled, grateful tears welling as she clasped her hands together beneath her chin. She had no idea how Robert had managed it, but she knew he must have arranged all this for her. He was far too generous. She would never be able to thank him enough.

Within an hour, Jessie had bathed and with Janet’s help had changed into her new garments. They all fit perfectly, from the size of the slippers, to the length of the gown, to the close fitting bodice with its tightly cinched in waist. The only aspect of the dress that Jessie felt a little uncertain about was the depth of the décolletage. Regarding herself in the dressing table mirror as Janet arranged her hair, she could see a good deal of the tops of her breasts as they swelled above the low neckline. She had never in her life worn anything quite so revealing. She would be blushing all night.

Janet, on the other hand, did not seem to notice that there was anything amiss with her mistress’s appearance. She tamed Jessie’s curls into an elaborate yet artfully arranged pile on top of her head, with a few longer tendrils cascading over one shoulder. The effect was indeed eye-catching, perhaps even elegant. Jessie smiled a little at her reflection; perhaps she would look the part of a viscount’s fiancée, even though inside she was as jumpy as a mountain hare.

When she was ready at last, Jessie moved to the looking-glass and turned slowly this way and that, admiring the swish of the fine silk and the way the light caught the dark golden honey tones. She had to admit the colour of the dress was the perfect foil to her red-gold hair.

‘Miss, you look verra beautiful,’ sighed Janet looking on.

‘Indeed she does,’ agreed a deep, decidedly masculine voice. Jessie whirled around to face Robert.

Oh, my Lord
. The sight of him lounging against the doorframe took her breath away. He’d shaved, revealing the strong, tanned planes of his face and she instantly longed to feel his smooth jaw beneath her palm. His brown-black hair was simply tied back as it usually was but with a black velvet ribbon instead of a leather strip; she was pleased he resisted the fashion of wearing powder, or even worse, a periwig.

Her gaze drifted further downward over his exquisitely tailored evening attire—a black velvet frock coat that seemed moulded to his broad shoulders was worn over an ivory silk shirt and torso-hugging waistcoat of silver-grey brocade. A sapphire pin, the same deep blue as his eyes, winked at her from the depths of a snowy lace jabot at his throat. And how sinfully tight were his black, satin knee-length breeches and ivory silk stockings? Why, they clung, almost indecently to the long, well-defined muscles of his thighs and calves.