This Perfect Kiss (14 page)

She scrubbed her thumb over the faded rose motif on the cup. “Did you love her?” she found herself asking.

“Aye, in the beginning perhaps. When I first met her at Rosecliffe.”

“Did she love you?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Once.”

His gaze went to the bifold door as the sound of Dog barking came to them. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I do not hold to the expectation that little girls need begin social training at eight years of age, and I loathe the idea of turning her into a society darling. But perhaps in my distaste of society, I am doing her a disservice. Maybe Saundra was in the right of it when she reached out to you to be Anna's governess. Anna is fond of you.”

“More like she is fond of my dog. You have an entire staff at your beck and call to help you do right by her.”

His attention shifted to his gloved hands rather than her, and at once, he seemed more vulnerable. “I know you are in debt and that you returned to Scotland with the intent to use your employment with me as a way to help restore Seastone Cottage. I could still make that work for you. You can come two or three times a week to Blackthorn Castle . . .”

She turned her face away and stared, unseeing, at the floor. Her hair fell over her chin, and she brushed one side behind her ear. She doubted that he'd ever allowed more than a handful of people into his life, and it seemed as if he was allowing her a foot inside.

“I can think of no better way to enlist you in her life,” he said after a moment, “than to ask you to teach Anna to paint or sing or to play the pianoforte, whichever you think she will enjoy best.” He stood and walked to the window, staring outside with his hands clasped behind his back. “You do not have to give me an answer today.”

“What will be my other duties, my lord?”

“You will not be required to
perform
any other duties, Christel.”

She studied her hands. “And should I
want
to take on additional duties?”

Leaning with his back against the window, he folded his arms. “As I see it, you are bound only by your imagination.”

She joined him at the window. “Then if I wish to do painting
and
needlepoint you will pay me accordingly.”

“Draw up a contract if you wish,” he said with amusement. “My intentions are noble.”

Noting her hesitation, he dipped his head to peer into her face. “So what is bothering you? I thought I was doing the right thing coming here, and I find I have still managed to insult you.”

“You have not insulted me. I am honored by your trust . . .” She glanced at him, tried to read his mood and could not.

“What else do you want?” he asked.

“I would not miss this answer for the world.”

She and Lord Carrick turned at the same time. Leighton was leaning against the door, his arms folded beneath his cloak.

Lord Carrick swung his gaze from his brother to her. That one cold glance told her more than words could have that the olive branch he'd just tried to extend to her had not only snapped but had also been pulverized into mulch.

“I was on my way out,” Leighton said to her. “And would have made good my escape, except I thought it judicious to warn you that you are about to have company. A platoon of dragoons is headed this way.”

Chapter 8

C
hristel stood inside the stable while a sow of a sergeant, his spurs clinking with every deliberate step, walked around a high-stepping mare his men had pulled from the last stall. The icy draft coming in through the stable door battered the horsehair crest on his helmet as he turned from his official inspection of the horse. He wore the green uniform of a dragoon, but he was missing one button on his waistcoat, which became more evident as he held his hands behind him and rocked back on his heels.

“Where did you get this mare?” he asked her like a turnkey she had once met in a gaol in Williamsburg.

Conscious of Lord Carrick standing behind her, she felt humiliated that this oaf was quizzing her like a criminal, when all she was guilty of was allowing that scapegrace Leighton St. Giles to seek refuge from the storm.

Leighton was still inside the cottage, having informed his brother as the dragoons thundered into her yard that it was best he remain inconspicuously out of sight. Heather continued to occupy Anna in the kitchen, where Christel had also locked Dog out of the way.

The uniformed man beside her holding the bridle waited for her to respond, his glance briefly touching on Lord Carrick. It was clear that these men had no idea who he was, or no one would have dared round them all up like criminals.

Lord Carrick could have halted the interrogation at any time. Even as she understood why he didn't—he was clearly furious and intended to allow this charade to go forward if only to discern the purpose of the dragoons' visit—she felt as if she'd been walking off a plank into the cold sea, except that she also felt hot. And nervous. As a rule, she disliked British dragoons.

With a deep breath, Christel looked at the horse for the first time. She was nearly black and silky smooth, with a coat that glistened in the sunlight filtering through the wooden slats above her. The animal looked exactly like the horse Lord Carrick had given her on loan.

“The horse was stolen last night from the Blue Moon Inn outside Dunure,” the sergeant informed her. “The husband of the lady who that there horse belongs to declared it stolen by a thief that he found in his wife's chambers. And what escaped through a window.”

“Truly, Sergeant,” Christel snapped. “Do I look like I would be visiting a young lady in the middle of the night? And Mr. McTavish's wife can vouch for
his
presence last night. As you can see, a shod is missing. Clearly that horse has been nowhere.”

The observation forced them to look. “We followed tracks here.”

“We did have a disturbance last night. The dog awakened us with his barking. We have had wolves harassing our horses.”

The sergeant's gaze rose to Blue standing near the stall. A man stood at his back, ready to spear him at the slightest provocation.

“We have answered your questions,” she snapped. “You have found naught amiss. Now if you have concluded this ridiculous interrogation, you may now go.”

The sergeant chuckled. “Men, I be thinkin' we got us a true Boudicca in our midst. Maybe someone should frisk her for weapons.”

She tilted her chin. Let them try. “If you knew anything of Boudicca, you would know that fighting a coward who threatens women would be like stepping on a bug to her.”

The sergeant's hand snatched out to grab her cloak. Lord Carrick intercepted his hand. The five men standing in a circle around them raised their long spontoons. Even she froze as his eyes locked on the sergeant's with deadly intent.

“The interview is over,” Lord Carrick said. “Your questions have been answered. Whatever happened at the inn, the lady and this man are not involved.”

The sergeant's eyes narrowed. “And who might you be, guv'nor.”

“The name is Carrick,” he said. “
Lord
Carrick. I own the land you traipsed over to get here.”

The blood seemed to drain from the sergeant's bristly face. His gaze flickered nervously back to Blue, then to her.

“You have already made one enormous mistake,” Lord Carrick said. “Do not make another.”

The click of two pistols sounded loud in the ensuing frozen silence. “ 'Tis true, Sergeant,” Leighton said from the doorway of the barn. “His lordship is who he says he is, and nothing in this barn is stolen.”

The sergeant yanked his hand from Lord Carrick's ruthless grip and adjusted his coat. “I am only doin' my job, guv'nor.”

“Indeed. What job is that?”

“That horse was at the Blue Moon Inn last night with others suspected of bringin' in a shipment of brandy.”

“That horse belongs to me. If someone wants to claim it stolen, then you send him to Blackthorn Castle.”

The sergeant looked to the men who had been searching the grounds and the house. “Did you find anything stowed away?”

They shook their heads.

“Then get out,” Lord Carrick said.

After the group mounted and rode away, Christel chanced an uncertain glance at Lord Carrick. He was looking at her, his eyes as still as an underground pool, their touch so impersonal that she felt it like a bruise against bone. “Thank you,” she found herself saying, hating that he had come to her defense yet wondering what would have happened if he had not been here.

Gone was the camaraderie they'd briefly shared.

Gone was the man who'd solicitously cared about her welfare. She felt fortunate she still had her freedom if he thought she was involved in smuggling along with Leighton.

His face did not change expression as he turned to Blue and gave him the reins of the horse. “I will send someone to shod the mare and get her back to Blackthorn as soon as possible,” she heard him say.

“I will do it, my lord,” Blue said. “I may only have one good arm, but I am no' a cripple.”

“This is not her fault,” Leighton said, stopping his brother as he walked out of the barn.

“You had to involve her in your sordid affairs. You could not wait!”

“Stop!” Christel set her teeth to prevent her jaw from clicking in the chill, afraid that the two would suddenly kill each other.

Whatever was between them went far deeper than what had just happened today and had little to do with her.

“I am not without fault, my lord,” she said. “I did not want his reunion with you to take place at the cottage. I could have told you he had come here last night and that I gave him shelter against the storm, but I did not.” To Leighton, she did not even know what to say, she was so angry with him for dragging her into his disreputable life. “Were you at the Blue Moon Inn last night?” she asked.

“Aye. But I did not know she was married.”

Lord Carrick swore. “You went too damn far, bringing gougers here, Leighton. What the hell were you thinking?”

Leighton's eyes flashed hotly for a heartbeat before his gaze went dead and flat, as if an artist had wiped the life from his eyes. “Does this mean I am no longer welcome at Blackthorn Castle,
brother
?”

“Fook you, Leighton. You have been scraping bits of flesh off my bones for years. I do not even know who you are.”

“I am Grandmamma's other grandson, Anna's uncle, and your heir,
brother
.”

Lord Carrick stepped back, his boot crunching straw. Then he turned and stopped. Anna stood in the middle of the snow-packed yard between the cottage and the barn. The wind was quick and salty. It fluttered the ribbons on her small bonnet and her cloak. She had stopped and was now pressing her hand to her mouth.

Lord Carrick swore.

He strode out of the barn and through the snow, his heavy cloaked form bending as he scooped her into his arms. “Come, Anna.”

“No, Papa!” She stared in confusion over his shoulder. “But I want to see Uncle Leighton.”

He tried to soothe her. “Let us go home, Anna.”

“No, Papa! . . .”

The rest of her cries were lost as Lord Carrick strode with her in his arms across the snow-packed yard. He mounted his horse.

Christel returned her attention to Leighton. “She talked so much about seeing you. You are a fool, Leighton.”

“C
amden?” The dowager stood in the doorway of his private study, backlit by the light from the corridor. “Are you in here?”

He stood in the darkness at his window, staring outside. The snow was falling again. He quaffed the last of his scotch and, surrendering his concealment, moved into the light surrounding his desk. He turned up the lamp and said lightly, “And what brings you into the lion's den, Grandmamma?”

She negotiated a path around the leather chair to the desk. “What the devil has got into you and Leighton? He barely spoke at supper.” Lifting a carafe of whiskey into the light, she gave Camden a careful look. “Drinking alone? That is unlike you.”

He wore no jacket or waistcoat, just a white shirt with sleeves shoved carelessly to his elbows. He set the glass on the desk.

“Anna is finally abed,” she said. “She was too upset to eat much supper. What happened at Seastone Cottage?”

“Did Leighton send you in here to fight his battle for him?”

“Nonsense. As if he would allow it. He is as stubborn as you are when it comes to allowing others to defend him. But I would have you consider Anna's heart in this matter between you.”

“Do not ever accuse me of acting injudiciously when it comes to Anna, Grandmamma.”

“Leighton is not who he wants you to think he is, Camden.”

“He has proven to be exactly who he is.”

“Are you angrier that he spent the night at Seastone Cottage, or that you believe his character corrupt?”

“Grandmamma,” Leighton said from the doorway. “Camden is not interested in anything you or I have to say.” He walked into the room. “Of course he thinks I am corrupt. Go.” He kissed their grandmother on her cheek. “Camden and I need to talk.”

Leighton reassured her they would be fine—that no one had any weapons. Though that was not true; Camden had a pistol in his desk.

“Are you responsible for the rifles on the ship?” Camden asked the instant the door shut behind his grandmother. “For informing the authorities that I was carrying illegal cargo? Did you hope to see me arrested? At the very least, my ship would have been confiscated. Blackthorn depends on the revenue the
Anna
generates to survive.”

“Then why would I sabotage you, Camden?”

“Because watching me fail seems to be your forte. Because you have an acute dislike for high-minded society. Because you have never forgiven me for what happened to Saundra.”

“You are correct on that score, brother, and I do have a massive dislike for authority, particularly that which robs its citizenry. But that war has never been aimed at you.”

“ 'Tis always been easier for you to steal what is not yours.”

“You have chosen to bury your head in the sand, and it does not change the fact that you care as little for Blackthorn and the people here as you did for Saundra. Christel may not believe it now, but I did her a bloody favor today if it keeps you away from her.”

Camden opened his fists. He stepped away. “Oh, aye, you are a ruddy saint, Leighton. I had forgot how well you care for your fellow man . . . and woman. Did you or Christel consider her reputation when you spent the night there? And naturally, a platoon of dragoons will be as discreet as a bevy of fishwives drunk on ale. What were you doing in Dunure?”

Leighton cracked his rake's smile. “Other than enjoying the favors of the sauciest wench this side of Prestwick? While Westmont's men were chasing me,
my
men took twenty tons of tax-free brandy from a broad-beamed beauty of a schooner beneath their very noses just three miles away. I was a-smugglin', brother, a proud tradition in these parts.”

“I do not know you anymore,” Camden whispered.

“I am the spare. A useless one at that, as Papa used to remind me with the back of his hand across my face. Left to my own devices and amusements, I chase gold and women and enjoy both. I admit fully to my faults. You, on the other hand, hide behind the biggest lie of all—”

“Leave Blackthorn Castle, Leighton. You will not involve me in your vices and your crimes any longer. You will not see my daughter again. You will not step foot on these grounds. If you ever show up here—”

“You will have Westmont or the sheriff arrest me?”

“I will shoot you myself.”

Leighton gave a deep bow. “Aye, I believe you would at that.”

Camden was still standing at the window when he heard the sound of a horse riding away.

“Sir.” Smolich stood in the doorway, carrying a silver serving tray. “With the cold and damp, your leg must be bothering you. I brought a cup of chocolate. They say chocolate does wonders for one's spirits.”

“Thank you, Smolich. You may set the tray on the desk.”

By the time Camden left his study and walked the corridor to his daughter's rooms, the tall clock down the corridor had long struck the hours of midnight. He quietly edged open the door and stepped inside. A lamp burned on the dresser, casting an orange glow over the pillow, where he could see Anna's dark curls.

He sat on the edge of the bed. All he could do was bury his face in his hands.

“S
he is gone, Miss Douglas!” Mrs. Gables told Christel two days later, near hysteria. “No one has seen the child since tea yesterday afternoon. I must have dozed for only moments. I did not mean to sleep. But I am not as young as I used to be. When I awakened, she was gone.”

“What happened, Mrs. Gables? Why would she leave?”

“She must have heard her papa and Lord Leighton arguing.” Twisting her hands, Mrs. Gables paced back and forth. “The dowager has taken to her bed ill again. And all this happening just before the holy day of Christ's mass.”

Christel took her hands. “There is a storm surge coming in on the beach. Do you know if Lord Carrick has thoroughly searched the cove?”