Highland Bachelor 02 - This Laird of Mine Read online

  “Is all well?” Jane asked.

  At Jane’s concerned look, Claire straightened, then smoothed her gray linen skirts. “It’s merely nerves at seeing my beloved again.”

  Or for the first time.

  Claire was spared from having to elaborate as they hit yet another rut in the road that pitched them all to the left. When the carriage righted itself, Claire put off more discussion by staring out the small window near her.

  For the first four hours of their trip, the grandeur of Scotland’s countryside with its deep valleys and rolling hills all covered in a thick layer of heather relieved her anxiety. Yet now, as they progressed closer to their goal, Claire’s tension became a palpable thing.

  The carriage gave another violent, creaking lurch to the right. Claire’s shoulder banged into Lady Margaret Galloway’s. “My apologies, milady.”

  “Margaret. Please just call me Margaret. No need for such formality among us. We are all friends,” the older woman said with a wink at her husband, next to her, and to Lord Nicholas Kincaid, who sat beside Jane.

  “The roads up here are in desperate need of repair,” Jane said with an apologetic smile. Jane, Margaret, and Lord Galloway had accepted Claire as Jules’s wife without hesitation. Nicholas had been more reserved in his judgment. He studied her even now with a calculating look. Could he know the truth?

  Claire straightened beneath his regard just as the carriage gave another teeth-jarring lurch. “The road to paradise is not supposed to be smooth,” she said brightly. “Seeing my beloved again will be worth whatever trials await us on this journey.”

  “I can see why Jules fell in love with you.” Jane’s smile broadened. “He is a fortunate man, but then again, you are a fortunate woman. Jules is just as his name proclaims, a jewel among men.”

  An uncontrollable tremor of dread shot through Claire. That was not what she had been told by the dark-cloaked figure who had forced her into this marriage. Her husband, she’d been informed, was a wicked rogue with a reputation for carousing Scotland’s local villages as well as its lustiest locales late into the night. He had started as a youth, and had continued his craven debauchery until he had been imprisoned for the mysterious death of his own stepmother. He had been sentenced to hang, but was spared by the proof of innocence Jane had supplied.

  And yet, there were still rumors of his gambling and carousing. Claire’s skin flinched at the thought of joining her life with his.

  She pressed her hand against her chest as if to physically quell the fear that had suddenly arisen. No matter who or what he was, she had no choice but to achieve her goal. She had to make Jules MacIntyre fall in love with her, then abandon him.

  That was the agreement she had made. In a fortnight, he had to profess his devotion to her or else Penelope, Anna, and Eloise would pay for her failure.

  Claire’s fingers rose to the small silver locket that weighed against her chest. Her breath caught as her fingers clasped the cool metal. The three young women—all of whom were abandoned after the death of their parents, just like Claire—were her wards. She’d been told they would be tortured and killed if she did not do as instructed.

  “Claire, are you certain you are well?” Jane’s voice cut through the dark thoughts swirling through Claire’s mind.

  She startled, releasing the locket, and forced a nonchalant smile. “You remember what it was like to be a new bride?”

  “Yes, I do.” Jane reached for Nicholas’s hand just as the carriage lurched to a stop at the end of a long drive.

  “We have arrived,” Hollister, Lord Galloway, said as he and Nicholas exited the carriage first. Nicholas extended his hand to Claire as she made her way out. She accepted his assistance as her knees suddenly became unsteady. How could she make a man she had never met fall in love with her in two weeks’ time when she had never even managed a flirtation with the opposite sex in all her life?

  Forcing herself to remain calm, Claire took in her surroundings and frowned. This could not be right. The one painting she had seen of Kildare Manor had pictured it as a grand estate set against a landscape of lush green hills and wrapped by the shores of Loch Awe. In that image, the house’s cool gray stone had reflected in the sun like polished silver.

  It was not entombed by bramble bushes that nearly reached the roofline of the two-story structure, or the dull, sad gray that peeked out from beneath the weeds and dust. Kildare Manor was broken and abused and in desperate need of a caretaker.

  Was the estate a reflection of the man who lived inside? Was her supposed husband careless and neglectful as well as a rogue? She shivered. What could Jules MacIntyre have done to someone that was so bad they wanted to break the man’s heart, his very spirit?

  “Claire?” Jane spoke beside her and gently touched her arm. “Jules will no doubt be anxious to see you. Let us go inside.”

  Claire nodded. She had no notion of what the man’s reaction would be, which was why she had arrived with his friends. At least in their presence he would not refuse her outright.

  She hoped.

  As she had learned from his solicitor, if the man was desperate enough to falsely create a bride in order to stop his friends from interfering in his life, then perhaps he would play her game until it reached the only conclusion she would allow.

  Just then, weak summer light broke through the clouds overhead, bathing the manor house in a shimmer of warmth. Claire drew a steadying breath. She could do this. She had to do this.

  “I will help the coachman with the horses and meet you inside,” David called.

  The remaining five progressed toward the crumbling arched doorway just as it swung open to reveal a withered old man with wisps of white hair sticking up at odd angles on his head. “Welcome tae Kincaid Manor,” he greeted, then stepped back, allowing them to enter the large, open foyer. “Milord will be with ye momentarily. In the meanwhile, allow me tae show ye tae the drawin’ room fer refreshments.”

  When Nicholas and Hollister hesitated, the elderly man waved them on. “Leave the bags there. I’ll take them to yer chambers momentarily.”

  Nicholas frowned and cast a speaking glance at Hollister. “We will take them up the stairs and leave them at the landing.”

  The older man shrugged, but gratitude shone in his tired gray eyes before he turned away. “Ladies, this way, please.”

  Claire frowned as she made her way across the bare marble floor and past the unpolished and slightly sagging wooden stairs. No carpets dampened the sound of their footsteps in the hallway or inside the drawing room. The floors were bare, the walls unadorned, and the furnishings sparse. Who was the man who lived here? A shiver worked its way across her neck. Chief among the things she knew about Jules MacIntyre was that he had a reckless spirit, but was he also mad to live in such a place?

  She stepped fully into the room and searched for her missing “husband.” When he was nowhere in sight, she released a pent-up breath. What would he say when he saw her? Would he challenge her outright or play along with her game? Was he absent now in order to build her anxiety? Or worse, would he send her away immediately without even giving her a chance to explain?

  The truth was they were married. He had signed the marriage documents himself. The paperwork was official, the marriage was real, binding, forever.

  For a girl who had lost everything early in life, she finally had something of her own—a real husband. She would take his name, and as a result she would be afforded more independence and be accepted in society’s highest circles. Yet that was all she would keep from this marriage. She would have no protection from him, no financial support when she left him behind.

  Claire shook off the dark thought and looked about the room. Faded and tattered curtains were pulled back, allowing filtered sunlight to illuminate the chamber. At odds with the stark interior of Kildare Manor was the fresh scent of lemons and rosemary. The room was free of dust, and the floors were, although bare and aged, polished to a shine. The furnishings were as spa
rse as in the foyer with only three chairs and a settee, and a small table in the middle of them all, bearing a three-armed candelabra with only one candle.

  Kildare Manor was nothing like what she had imagined. Would the man who owned it be as well? Would she have to adjust her plans? Because suddenly, making this notorious man fall in love with her seemed harder than she had expected.

  “Greetings, my dearest friends,” an unfamiliar voice called from the doorway behind her.

  Claire stiffened, forced her chin up, and slowly turned around. Conversation moved around her as the newly dubbed laird of Kildare Manor greeted his friends. Claire saw their smiles and heard the joy in their voices as they reunited until all sound faded, and all she heard was the sound of her own heartbeat as it filled her ears. She waited. She watched. She couldn’t take her eyes off him and hoped no one else noticed the fact that he would wait to greet his “wife” last.

  But those moments with his friends gave her time to appraise him. She wasn’t sure what she expected, never having seen even a portrait of him, but it wasn’t the handsome man before her. His wavy blond hair fell to the collar of his coat. He was much taller than she expected, and his body, though relaxed, still hinted at lithe power. His jaw was strong and defined, his cheekbones high, and he had a slight cleft in his chin. Her gaze drifted to his lips—lips that were full and expressive and made for kissing. The thought warmed her cheeks as she met his startling blue eyes.

  Those eyes narrowed on her. “My dear, sweet wife.” His voice was rough-smooth with the hint of a Scottish burr. His gaze shuttered as he came toward her. Only a slight curl to his upper lip indicated his current disposition. He was angry, but he would not reveal that to his friends. Only to her.

  The air between them all but crackled as he took a final step closer to her. He leaned toward her, slid his arm about her waist, and pulled her forward, caging her against his body.

  Her nerves flicked and her fantasy of him wrapping her in his arms and accepting her without question shattered about her feet. This close to him, the scent of soap and mint filled her senses. She could feel the tension thrumming through his body, see the challenge in his eyes.

  “Jules.” She didn’t press back or retreat. She held her body erect and tried to force a look of nonchalance into her gaze. He studied her eyes, her lips. Against her will her lips parted.

  “Oh, how I have missed you,” he said. His voice lowered to a gravelly purr as his gaze fixed on her mouth.

  “I’ve missed you, as well, my dearest husband.” The words rang with outright challenge as she met his gaze, dared him to reveal that they had never met. His grip at her waist softened as he pulled her close and lowered his lips to hers.

  She knew it was part of the role she’d been forced to play—that he would have to touch her and she would have no choice but to allow it—yet the brush of his lips to hers sparked not only anger, but a surprising stir of passion, and that angered her more. Why had the solicitor and his cloaked comrades forced her into this situation?

  The girls. Yes, her wards were her life, and all that mattered to her. And still . . . she had wanted a life of her own someday. She had wanted to choose her own husband. Instead, the decision had been ripped from her. And she was now Jules’s property in order to save the only three people who ever cared about her.

  With a flash of temper, Claire brought her hand up to Jules’s face, smoothed her fingers against his jaw. She wanted to push him away. Instead she tunneled her fingers into the hair at his nape and across his neck, pulling him closer.

  He responded with a soft groan that only fueled her pent-up irritation. She put her anger, her frustration, and her fear into her kiss. It felt good to let her emotions loose, to focus all her energy on the one thing that had driven her to this place. If he wanted a kiss, she would give the man, who no doubt had had many kisses before, one more that he would not soon forget.

  She put everything she had, everything she was, into that kiss, and he responded. He wrapped his arms about her and hauled her against his chest. His lips firmed, he tilted his head, and his kiss deepened. He was now in charge. His kiss was fierce and hot as he ravaged her mouth.

  Claire couldn’t think, couldn’t move as the scent of mint once again invaded her senses. Never in her life had she ever felt anything like his mouth on hers. Her nerves fired at the feel of his hard body against hers. Indescribable need and desire infused her core, potent and real. And she wanted to lose herself in that torment.

  She gasped at the thought and jerked out of his arms. What was she thinking? What was she doing? The man was used to seducing vulnerable women.

  “Darling,” she said, breathless. “We have guests.” She studied his profile. There was something compelling about his face, something she couldn’t tear her gaze from. In his eyes she saw not anger and vengeance, but a sense of purpose that sent a chill to her core.

  “We understand,” Hollister said, pulling Margaret close to his side. “It was not long ago that we were newlyweds.”

  Margaret smiled up at her husband as her hand drifted down to her slightly rounded abdomen. “Look at us now. Married not yet a year and both Jane and I are with child.”

  “Now there is an interesting challenge,” Jules said, dryly.

  Claire’s heart thudded in her chest at the prospect of Jules getting her pregnant. Why hadn’t she considered that before now?

  Oblivious to her sudden terror, Jules turned toward the others, releasing her from his gaze. “My apologies. I forgot my manners. I was eager to greet my new wife properly. Each time I see her, it feels as though I am looking at her for the very first time.”

  Claire forced a smile as she tried to recover not only from his bold words, but from that devastating kiss. She could not afford to lose her head over one moment of seduction. She had to remain in charge and guide his emotions where she wanted them to go, not the other way around.

  But one thing was clear. Her husband would not here and now challenge her claim, at least not in front of his friends. Instead, he would taunt and torment her until she revealed her purpose.

  Steel infused her spine. Let him try. She would instead mold him to her needs and desires until he proclaimed his love for her. Then the girls would be freed. Claire frowned as another thought occurred to her. What happened after he fell in love with her? She had not thought to ask the dark-cloaked and masked kidnappers who had invaded her life. It was one more thing she should have thought about before agreeing to their terms. Why had she not?

  She knew the answer even as the question formed—because until this moment, Jules had been just a faceless entity, an end to a means. If she did what they asked, then Penelope, Anna, and Eloise would be safe.

  At least that was what they had promised. Claire clutched her hands together, trying to control the horror that had been her constant companion these last two weeks. One moment she had been in her studio preparing paints. The next, the girls were gone.

  All that remained in the room where she’d left them to prepare for their painting lesson was a note, warning Claire not to notify anyone that the girls had been taken or they would be killed.

  The next day a darkly cloaked person had appeared, and she’d received the kidnappers’ demands. Marry Jules MacIntyre by proxy, make him fall in love with her, and then leave him. She had to break his heart. If she succeeded, the girls would be returned unharmed. If she told anyone what had happened, or failed in her mission, the girls would be killed, and their blood would be on her hands.

  The dire warning was all the motivation Claire had needed. And for two weeks she had done everything that had been asked of her. She had married Jules. She had lied to his friends. She had worked her way into the edges of his life. Only one task remained.

  At that moment, the aging retainer who had greeted them a short while ago appeared in the room. “Milord,” he announced in a gravelly voice. “Another message has arrived.”

  “Put it on the desk with the others,”
Jules said with a frown.

  “The messenger said it was most urgent,” the old man stated, his face growing paler by the moment. When Jules moved to accept the tightly folded missive, the old man hesitated. “It’s fer the new mistress.”

  Jules accepted the letter and turned it over, inspecting the simple white linen. He said nothing as he handed it to Claire, but he gave her an arch look that spoke volumes.

  No one but the people in this room, the solicitor, and the kidnappers knew she was here. A chill went up her spine. Turning away from the others, she opened the missive and froze. Inside the folded paper were three thin slices of fabric from the dresses her wards had been wearing when they were taken.

  A tremor moved through her, and it took every bit of her self-control not to give in to fear. She drew a sharp breath, trying to maintain her composure. The girls would be unharmed as long as she did what they asked.

  Quickly, she refolded the letter, slipped it into her bodice, then turned back to the others. Pasting a nonchalant smile on her face she said, “’Tis a message from my relatives, wishing Jules and me well on our recent nuptials.” The lie was bitter on her tongue.

  Jules’s unamused gaze shifted from her face to her bodice, then back again. He stepped closer to her and offered her a wry, evil grin she knew was meant to intimidate her. And it did.

  He lifted his hand to stroke the side of her neck, down to the edge of her bodice, only a hairsbreadth from where she had stashed the letter. The feather-light touch sent chills over her.

  Her heart pounded. Obviously, whoever had abducted the girls was watching her. They would know if she did not do as they asked. With an over-bright smile she leaned into his touch. There was no time like the present to get started toward her goal.