Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and Unrepentant\Return of the Prodigal Gilvry\A Traitor's Touch (55 page)

‘Yes,' he said, shoving himself out of the chair. ‘For God's sake keep your hat on. That hair of yours is like a beacon on a dark night.'

* * *

They were to remain at Barradine for a few days before leaving for Perth. Not fully recovered from the gruelling ride to Scotland, Henrietta welcomed the respite. Simon had many things to occupy his time and was away for most of the time, so Henrietta took the opportunity to explore the house.

It was a fine, square-set, stone-built house, its imposing front three storeys high. A broad terrace dropped down to a beautiful garden with carefully clipped hedges overlooking the River Tweed. It was also opulent, with beautiful artefacts reposing on gleaming tables, and on the walls were portraits of long-dead family members in gilded frames. The house exuded indefinable qualities—a sense of order, centuries of happiness and disappointments, memories of men and women who had lived and breathed within these walls.

This was a time for her to idle the time away. She often found herself wandering along the banks of the Tweed and stopping to dangle her feet in the cool, swift flowing shallow water. It was as if the whole world existed at Barradine. Nothing outside it—not Jeremy or the Bonnie Prince—existed. She couldn't think of anything else. There was nothing else.

Only Simon.

She was no more immune to Simon than he was to her, for the longer she was a guest in his house she could not prevent her eyes from searching him out or prevent her eyes from straying in disquieting directions. Nothing in her limited experience had prepared her for such a man as Simon Tremain. If she had found him impressive before, to see him at Barradine, surrounded by the men and women who depended on him, made him grow, in her estimation, to an almost invincibility.

The effect he produced was not merely the result of his incomparable handsome looks—it was more than that. The monumental energy he seemed to possess was volcanic, and the discipline and courtesy of his manner, and his occasional sardonic humour, made him distinct from any other man she had ever known.

She would watch him from the window in her chamber talking with the men who worked on his estate, and even when he was absent she felt his dominating presence everywhere. She told herself that nothing he could do could tempt her, but she always looked for him, as if the sight of him was reassuring, quelling her fear and anxiety of the future.

* * *

It was Simon's custom to be up at daybreak and about his business. On the fourth day of her stay at Barradine, as she descended the stairs later, she heard voices coming from the dining room. It was certainly not out of the ordinary for him to receive callers this early and Prince Charles was generally the topic. But somewhat wary of who visited, Henrietta made her way more cautiously.

‘Good morning, Miss Henrietta,' the housekeeper greeted her cheerily, coming out of the room carrying a tray. ‘Another bright morning.'

Henrietta glanced inside the room. Five men sat at the large rectangular table where Annie had dispensed steaming bowls of porridge and freshly baked bannocks spread with honey and they were all looking at her.

‘Henrietta—please, come in.' A chair creaked and a moment later Simon filled the doorway as he came to greet her.

He had hoped to keep her tucked away from prying eyes, but now she was here he could hardly ignore her. His heart began to hammer in deep, aching beats as his eyes glided over her from head to toe in a lingering appreciation of everything they touched. With her hair brushed in a glorious cap of short curls and attired in a deep rose-pink gown, she looked stunning. Despite the crushing chain of circumstances that had bedevilled her since her guardians had died, it was plain to him that she was undaunted and of no weak spirit.

‘I'm so sorry,' she murmured. ‘I would not have come down had I known you had visitors.'

‘It's too late now. Allow me to introduce you. I had hoped to avoid this happening, but there's nothing for it but to brave it out.'

Henrietta's instinct was to protest and return to her chamber, but too many curious gazes were watching them.

‘Come.' Taking her arm and squeezing it reassuringly, Simon led her towards the fresh airy room where the open windows allowed breezes to flow through.

The gentlemen all rose simultaneously and nodded graciously. Henrietta could feel their curious glances. All of them were dressed in serviceable shades of grey and brown, and one in the soft blue-and-green tartan of a hunting kilt.

‘Miss Lucas, these gentlemen are neighbours of mine. They have come to discuss with me the matter that is on everyone's lips at this time and, since I've been away for some time, I must consider their advice on some local matters. This is Miss Lucas, gentlemen, come to visit my mother, Lady Mary—who we all know is in Paris at this time staying with friends and visiting my young brothers. Unfortunately, Miss Lucas was not aware of the fact. If there is to be any kind of conflict due to Prince Charles's arrival in Scotland, it will affect us all—Miss Lucas included, since she is to visit a relative in the north.'

‘Is that so?' a sturdy-looking individual in leather trews remarked grimly. ‘And do you think it wise for a young lady to go visiting in this time of unrest?'

‘I will take my chance,' Henrietta replied lightly, praying she was not about to be drawn into a discussion as to her destination.

‘Miss Lucas, I am indeed honoured to make your acquaintance,' a tall, good-looking, auburn-haired gentleman by the name of Iain Frobisher said. He cast his host an amused glance. ‘Simon, did you intend to keep this ravishing creature to yourself?'

Simon laughed good-heartedly. ‘That is for Miss Lucas to decide. She is welcome to stay at Barradine for as long as she wishes and I am not averse to feminine company, as you know, Iain. However, since the recent addition to your brood of offspring—Alice, I believe you have named her, who will no doubt turn out to be as wild as her brothers—I imagine you will have a good deal to occupy your time without concerning yourself with my—ravishing guest.'

Henrietta smiled, happy to go along with Simon's subterfuge. ‘Do not mistake my friendship with Lord Tremain,' she was quick to point out. ‘He is a friend of my family and a man of impeccable honour. I will not deprive him of my company just yet.'

Simon grinned. ‘Do I look deprived?'

His casual remark caused much laughter. ‘Have a care, Miss Lucas,' Iain warned. ‘Simon loves and leaves his ladies with frequent ease. But
I
would be your most devoted slave,' he said, affecting a courtly bow.

‘Tell that to your wife,' one of the others quipped, giving him a good-humoured slap on the back.

‘You will eat with us, Miss Lucas?' Simon offered.

‘No—I thank you. I have already eaten.'

‘Then some tea, perhaps.'

‘Yes—yes, that would be nice. But I have no wish to intrude on your conversation. I am sure you and these gentlemen have much to discuss.'

‘Nothing that you cannot be privy to.'

‘Then I will sit over here,' she said, moving towards a small table close to the window.'

Annie set a cup of tea before her and went out, leaving her to listen to the conversation. While their voices drifted across to her, she sipped her tea, listening quietly as Simon expressed himself in bold opinion in response to his neighbours' questions, quickly taking up a quill and making sketches of the Highlands and Lowlands of Scotland when needed, acting as a valued peer. He discussed all matters concerning Charles Stuart's arrival in Scotland and the support he was getting from the Highland clans. Henrietta was anything but bored as she listened. She realised he was as clever and keen minded as her father had been. In fact, as the conversation progressed, it became evident he could have taught her father much.

He really was the most impressive man Henrietta had ever met. There was an indomitable pride chiselled into his handsome face, determination in the jut of his chin, arrogance in his jaw and intelligence in every feature of his face. There was an aloof strength and a powerful charisma about him that had nothing to do with his tall, broad-shouldered physique. He was also an experienced man of the world and all those experiences were locked away behind a lazy charm and piercing blue eyes.

And therein lay his appeal. The challenge.

Stealing another look at his profile her heart turned over. She gave herself a mental shake. What did all that matter? Simon Tremain was nothing to her and never could be. All that mattered was that she reached her uncle with her heart, her mind and body intact. She must not allow herself to succumb to Simon's charm. He was a Jacobite, like her father, and only misery and suffering could result from knowing him. He would rend her heart in two—as her mother's had been broken by her father, which had sent her to her grave.

Henrietta would not ignore what her common sense was telling her. She would not allow that to happen to her. Not again. Not ever!

* * *

Having no notion of the paths along which Henrietta's mind wandered, from where he sat Simon couldn't help but admire the depth of her composure and the delicate, almost ethereal beauty in the young face. She had been gently reared in a well-to-do household. He could see it in the way she walked and carried herself. She had the confident, refined elegance of one who has been well tutored and instructed in the social graces. In repose she was the quintessence of the beautiful female animal, her face and body as perfectly formed as they could be. Her sensuality was so beguiling that the gentlemen's eyes seemed to burn with unconcealed pleasure as they sought and lingered on her.

He gritted his teeth in what might have been jealousy as he watched these men covet her. He watched the appreciation in their eyes as they regarded the creaminess of her skin and the simple elegance of her gown, the scooped neckline offering a tantalising view of smooth flesh. He wondered how they would have reacted had they come upon her as the unkempt youth.

He was not sorry when his guests got up to leave. Excusing himself to Henrietta he went with them, but he was impatient for the time when he would return.

* * *

It was nightfall when Simon arrived back at the house. Having eaten, Henrietta was on the terrace, about to take a stroll before retiring to her chamber for the night. The air was chilly and she drew her shawl tighter around her.

Simon emerged quietly from the house. Henrietta had one arm draped loosely round a stone urn brimming with flowers. He paused to watch her for several moments, the moonlight playing over the planes of her face as she stared off into the distance with a melancholy look.

‘Here you are,' Simon remarked at length, joining her.

Henrietta lifted her face and smiled at him. For Simon it was as if a shutter had been flung open and the sunlight had rushed in. Her smile was compounded of a luminous gentleness in her eyes. Her fine-boned face, framed by a halo of red and gold stirring in the flower-scented breeze, was a dainty image of fragility as she stood before a man who dwarfed her. Tenderness washed over him and he wanted to pull her into his arms.

Henrietta's pulse rate quickened when she met his dark blue gaze. Her gaze shifted and took in the whole of him. The muscles of his body rippled beneath his coat as he moved, and the sense of his physical power struck her like a blow. She noted the swell of his powerful shoulders concealed by the cloth with a fascination that was disturbing, a little frightening. His body seemed so honed to be perfect—tough and hard as his mind. Standing close, he was looking at her intently. The effect of that look was physical. At that very moment it was as though her heart expanded.

‘I was about to walk to the river before retiring. Will you accompany me?'

‘I would like that.'

He took her arm as they descended a flight of narrow stone steps to the garden below. His was such an easy, graceful strength, lazy as a big cat stretching in the sun, alert as a cat to spring and strike. His touch and the clean, masculine smell of him, all combined to form a warm, thoroughly intriguing essence that quickened Henrietta's awareness of the man. She realised she was affected in ways she had never dreamt possible, for her womanly senses responded to his gentle touch.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, Simon didn't speak as they walked. On a sigh Henrietta gazed up at the clear expanse of sky.

‘It's a full moon,' she murmured, looking up at the huge yellow orb. When Simon didn't reply, she cast about for something else to say. ‘I can't quite believe I'm really back in Scotland.'

‘Whatever happens, Henrietta, whatever you decide, you do realise that you must go back.'

‘Home,' she murmured. ‘How can it be home when I am a stranger there? There was a time not so very long ago when I believed I could make my own destiny. Suddenly I feel that I am at the mercy of fate.'

‘Maybe it's a bit of both. Sometimes, when we're forced out of the protective walls of the homes we grew up in, we have an opportunity to become instrumental in determining our own fate. We are born with things that define us—personality, humour, resilience—but we can make our own future, too.'

‘What you say might be true, but now that I have been thrust out, I have no greater ambition than to return.'

‘What is he like, your uncle?'

She thought for a moment, then she said, ‘Uncle Matthew is tough—like my father—eccentric, a scholar, perhaps unorthodox. When my father was executed he went away. I don't think he could bear it. I wish he hadn't.'

‘And your mother?'

She averted her eyes. ‘Mother needed someone very badly after... She bore it as best she could. Before the tragedy, I never knew anyone who had so much self-discipline, such control over herself as my mother. Afterwards she—she lost her mind. There was a lot I couldn't understand when my understanding was that of a child. I learned that what couldn't be cured had to be endured and to endure was unrelenting and doomed from the start.'