Highland Heat (13 page)

Breakfast was a quiet affair. The four of them picked at their food as the minutes ticked away until it was time for the men to go. And that time came quickly, when a footman entered the breakfast room to tell them that their horses were saddled and ready.

Grace watched her sister and the major's farewell. They wrapped their arms around each other, whispered in each other's ear, and finally kissed tenderly. “Be safe, my love,” Claire said before the major turned to mount his horse.

As propriety dictated, Grace stood off to the side and said, “Goodbye!” with false cheer, wishing with all her heart that she could fall into Duncan's arms and tell him to be safe. That she loved him and she expected him to come home soon.

She couldn't do any of that. Instead, she had to pretend that she felt nothing for this man, even as a part of her seemed to disappear as he rode at the major's side down the long, winding driveway.

She hated lying to the world.

She hated lying to herself.

After the men disappeared at the bend that led to the main road, Claire turned to her, took one look, and grabbed her hand. “Come upstairs with me.”

Grace followed her sister, filled to bursting with emotion that she was so busy trying to control she had nothing left with which to argue.

Claire led her up to the ladies' sitting room, sat her in the most comfortable armchair, and called for tea. When they were alone, she turned to Grace and crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought I told you to be careful,” she said sternly. “If Papa were here, he would have known right away that something has happened between you and Duncan Mackenzie. As it is, Rob has been about to confront Duncan several times, but I've managed—just barely—to call him off.” She shook her head. “Really, Grace. I never took you for a ninny before.”

Grace's lips tightened and her back straightened. “You've no idea how I…” Her voice broke and she looked away, her cheeks heating.

Suddenly, Claire was in front of her, kneeling. She gathered Grace's hands in hers and kissed her knuckles. “Oh, dear sister, I do know. When I first fell in love with Rob, we were in the exact same position as you and Duncan.”

Claire was right. But a miracle had happened—the major had saved Wellington, been promoted to major and awarded a title, and become one of the most famous and respected soldiers in England. It was ridiculous to even hope that that kind of lightning would strike more than once.

“I'm not as lucky as you, Claire. I never have been. And Duncan's social status is far lower than the major's ever was.”

Claire sighed but didn't argue, because they both knew Grace's words were absolutely true.

Grace lowered her face into her hands. “I just…My life feels like it's been turned upside down. I used to like my life.”

Claire raised a brow. “Really? I think
like
is a bit of a strong word.”

“Fine. I was
content
with my life.”

“Only because you didn't know what you were missing—you didn't know the Theory of Scots. If you had, you surely would have gone looking for more.”

Grace stared at her sister. Yes, that's what this was. More. Being with Duncan didn't make her simply “content.” Instead, it brought her a soul-deep contentment that bloomed through her and sheltered her heart.

“Oh, Claire,” she whispered, “what am I going to do?”

The rest of the day passed slowly. Claire was busy preparing to leave Norsey House, because Rob had told her that if it was safe enough in Manchester he'd send for her as soon as he could. Grace thought her sister's packing somewhat premature, but it kept Claire busy, and happy. So Grace wasn't going to be the one to point out that if the major did send for her, it wouldn't be for at least a few more days.

Claire's distraction and the men's absence gave Grace plenty of time to work on correspondence, plans for the house party, and her other duties. But she couldn't focus on any of it.

Instead, her thoughts were on one thing and one thing alone. Who was Lady Grace Carrington? Who did she want to be?

And the more she thought about it, the clearer her answer became.

She hated hurting people she loved, and she loved her father dearly, even as stiff and stern as he could be. The earl had that softness in him that he rarely showed the world—a true, deep, and abiding love for his daughters. Betraying him would hurt him beyond measure. She would do almost anything to prevent him from feeling pain.

Almost
anything. But where would she draw the line? Would she forsake her own happiness—and Duncan's—to prevent her father's pain? Would she go so far as to forsake her own identity?

The earl would never agree to a match between Duncan and Grace. In fact, if he knew that either of them was even contemplating marriage, he'd go to great lengths to prevent it.

Which meant that if they were to marry, they'd have to do so secretly.

They'd have to go to Scotland.

Grace clenched her fist, wrinkling the parchment of one of the letters she'd been holding and pretending to read.

God, the thought of Duncan taking vows with her, his kilt tickling his knees, standing tall and proud in a kirk tucked within the Scottish moors while a piper played a wedding song…

She sucked in a breath, cutting the fantasy short.

Her father was a man who cherished his image and that of his family. He was proud that the rumor mill had never found anything worthy of grinding when it came to him or his daughters. Because of the major's accomplishments, Claire's love match with him had been given the
ton
's blessing. Grace and Duncan's would be a subject of scorn.

The earl would be devastated. Absolutely, irrevocably devastated.

That night, they had a visit from the Belner family, their closest neighbors. Grace fell into her role as hostess easily, welcoming them, offering them refreshment, and then inviting them to stay for dinner.

The Belners were an older couple who'd been friends with Grace and Claire's parents. They had two sons, both of whom were now attending university at Cambridge. They were lovely people, and Grace admired them both.

After dinner, they were sitting at a pair of card tables, having agreed to a backgammon tournament. Claire would play Mrs. Belner while Grace played Mr. Belner, and the winners would play each other for the championship.

Grace smiled at Mr. Belner as he handed her the dice and her smile grew when she rolled doubles. Mr. Belner sighed dramatically. “How is it that you always beat me, my lady? It seems after all the times we've played, I might've beaten you at least once or twice.”

Grace laughed. “I am an
expert
backgammon player. Hardly anyone ever beats me, and when they do it's a result of pure luck.”

They played on, speaking of London in the summer and the upcoming house party. And then, at the table on the other side of the room, Mrs. Belner laughed and exclaimed, “Well, that's hardly fair, now, isn't it?” and Grace heard the twang of the commoner in her voice.

She never thought much on it, but she'd always known about Mr. and Mrs. Belner. Mr. Belner was the fourth son of a viscount, but Mrs. Belner…well, she'd been a housemaid at the viscount's manor. It was there that Mr. Belner had met her as a youth and had fallen in love with her. They still loved and held great respect for each other.

Grace bit her lip, handing the dice back to Mr. Belner after her roll. “Do you mind very much if I ask you a personal question?”

Mr. Belner grinned. “Of course not, my dear. Ask away.”

She leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “When you married Mrs. Belner, did your father approve?”

Mr. Belner nearly choked on his laughter. “Oh no. Not at all.”

“And yet you married her regardless of his approval?”

He nodded proudly. “Indeed I did. And I've never regretted it.”

Would she feel like that if she married Duncan? Would she have no regrets? Was that even possible?

“Why?” she asked.

His smile was soft. “Have you looked at Margie recently, my lady? Can you not see how she is the most beautiful woman in England?”

Grace glanced over at the older woman. Margie Belner was round and plump, with flushed pink cheeks and hair that had once been blond but now erred on the side of white. She was very pretty…but Grace certainly never would have claimed she was the most beautiful woman in England.

But that was how her husband saw her. Grace smiled. “I see exactly what you mean,” she told Mr. Belner. “But what of your father? Did he forgive you?”

Mr. Belner nodded. “Oh yes. Eventually, in his old age. Margie was very kind to him when he was ill, and at one point he pulled her to him and said he loved her more than any of his children.”

“But nevertheless he was angry with you for many years.”

“He was.”

“Was it difficult?”

Mr. Belner sighed. “My father was a difficult man in his prime. It had to do with more than my marriage.”

“I understand,” she said. “And what of society? Were you shunned at social events? Balls? Parties?”

“No, I never was.” He sighed. “But Margie was. She bore it with dignity—she behaved with more grace than any of those snobbish biddies.”

“I'm sure she did,” Grace said. “And it couldn't have been
so
bad, if you've never regretted it.”

“I've never regretted a moment of our marriage, my lady. A few
ton
grumblings meant nothing to us. My father's rejection was the most difficult part of it, but I never doubted the choice to be with my Margie. Not once.”

“Thank you so much for telling me about it, Mr. Belner.” Grace moved her last backgammon checker off the board and grinned at him. “I win.”

The Belners left late, and Grace and Claire went straight to their bedrooms to go to bed. But after she undressed, Grace slipped on her robe and went across the passage to knock on her sister's door.

Claire opened it, looking disheveled and half-dressed. Mary was still there helping her undress, so Grace sat on the bed and waited until Mary had finished. When the maid finally left, Claire cocked a brow at her. “I think you have something to tell me.”

“I do.” Grace smoothed the skirt of her nightdress calmly, even though inside her, excitement was rising to a fever pitch.

Claire sank down beside her. “Well, what is it?”

“I'm going to London. Tomorrow.”

Claire's brows popped up. “What?”

Grace nodded. “I'm taking the carriage, but I'll send it back straightaway in case the major calls you to Manchester.”

Claire raised her hand. “Wait a moment. I don't understand. Why, exactly, are you going to London?”

“I hope to catch Duncan before they depart for Manchester. They did say it would probably be a few days, didn't they?”

“Yes, but why do you need to catch him?”

Claire took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She straightened her shoulders and clasped her hands in her lap. Then she held her sister's gaze evenly as she said, “I'm going to ask him to marry me.”

Grace and her maid arrived in London the following evening. Grace was terribly tempted to go straight to the Highland Knights' house to propose marriage, but she was travel weary, and she wanted to be at her best when she asked a man to marry her.

So she went home instead, finding the house empty, as the earl had chosen to dine at his club that evening. She retired straight to her bedchamber, then spent her time choosing her dress for the next day—her blue-ribbon-trimmed white muslin. Not extravagant but simple and pretty, and an item of clothing she felt comfortable in and knew showed her shape to advantage.

She retrieved the matching spencer in solid blue wool, in case the day ended up being cloudy or cool, and she set aside a clean chemise and petticoat, and freshly cleaned stays. Silk stockings with ribbon ties, and a pair of sensible leather shoes. She'd wear her straw hat trimmed with blue ribbons that matched the spencer.

When she had her outfit planned to perfection, she called for a bath. She scrubbed her body and washed her hair with lilac soap. Then, she paced until her hair had dried, thinking of how she'd do it. She'd never seen a proposal in person, of course, but she'd heard of them. Most of those were formal affairs, a meeting of a lady and gentleman alone in a drawing room, with the lady's parents' approval and blessing, of course.

It wouldn't be like that with Duncan.

She hastily scrawled a note to him, saying she had returned to London and would like to speak with him, at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, if that was convenient. If not, could he please send her a note and advise her of a better time?

The letter was ridiculously formal, especially considering the intimacy they'd shared in the past week. But although she wanted nothing more than to make that intimacy legitimate, the truth was, it wasn't…yet.

She sent the letter as it was.

The Highland Knights had been instructed to travel to the major's house north of Manchester, where they'd remain for an indeterminate length of time, infiltrating the insurgent cell, learning exactly who was involved and who they were attempting to recruit to their cause, and neutralizing it.

Neutralizing
meant arresting those who were involved. All of them. If any resisted arrest, the Knights were ordered to take stronger measures.

The whole process could mean weeks in Manchester. Possibly months.

It was nearing the midnight hour, and the men had only just finished their dinner. The major seemed restless—he paced the drawing room as if the waiting was annoying him and he wished they could depart for Manchester this instant.

The rest of them were seated and finally shaking off the tension of the day—or drowning it in whiskey.

Duncan sank deeper into the velvet of his armchair. Damn. It might be months before he laid eyes on Grace again.

But hell, he'd known this was coming. It had been inevitable, and he'd been certain he'd prepared himself. However, judging from the lump of coal in the pit of his stomach, he wasn't prepared at all.

The major had already sent a letter to Lady Campbell, telling her it would be safe enough at the house for her, for now. The major, Stirling, McLeod, and Innes all had connections in the area, and they'd be attending social events nonstop for the next few weeks, gathering information from the gossip around town. The remaining men would be keeping their eyes and ears open, asking questions,
spying
in just about every sense of the word.

“Neutralizing,”
Innes, who was sitting in the chair beside him, muttered.

“Aye,” McLeod said cheerfully from where he lounged like a sultan on the sofa, “like we neutralized the damned frogs last month.”

Stirling released a harsh breath, clearly not liking the idea of reliving the nightmare of Waterloo. Then he downed the rest of his whiskey, rose abruptly, and stalked across the room to refill his glass.

He'd been having nightmares, crying out loud enough to wake the whole house. Duncan wished he could help, but beyond offering the man sympathy, he'd no idea what to do. No idea how to exorcise those demons from his friend's mind.

“If you ask me”—McLeod stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles—“
neutralizing
is nothing. It's goin' to be the damned balls and soirees that'll be hell. If we have to sit and watch simpering ladies sing off-key while playing on the pianoforte, just shoot me, please, and put me out o' my misery.”

“I think I'd like the balls and soirees,” Fraser said, grinning. “I'll gladly trade positions with ye, McLeod. You go into the alleys with the cutthroats and rats, and I'll don my best coat and ask all the pretty ladies to dance.”

“They'd all dance with you, Fraser. You're braw enough half the men'll be asking to dance with ye too.” Ross grinned under his mop of red hair.

“Eh”—McLeod waved his hand—“just flip up yer kilt and show 'em yer hairy arse. That'll have 'em running as if their own arses were afire.”

“Not the ladies, though,” Duncan warned. “If one o' those fine ladies saw your hairy arse, she'd faint dead away. And the fine gentlemen of Manchester will have you drawn and quartered by morning.”

Fraser winced. “Och. Maybe it's best for me to stay in the alleys, after all.”

Just then, Bailey slipped into the room. He quickly sorted through the men until his gaze landed on Duncan. Approaching Duncan's chair, he held out the silver salver he was carrying. “A letter for you, sir.”

Duncan took the letter, secretly hoping it was from Grace, although he was expecting letters from his parents and sisters as well—they had kept up a frequent correspondence over the years since he'd joined the army.

But he recognized her elegant hand right away. Ignoring his audience, he unfolded the note and read.

I've returned to London and would like to call upon you at ten o'clock in the morning. If that isn't a good time, please advise on one that would be more convenient for you.

Lady Grace Carrington

He read it a few times—the tone didn't sound like his Grace at all, though he had to admit he'd never received a letter from her before. Perhaps it was her habit to be terse and professional in correspondence.

“What's that all about?” The voice was the major's. He'd stopped pacing some time ago and now stood by the window, staring out at the street, which was busy even at this time of night.

Duncan folded the note quickly and tucked it inside his sporran. “ 'Tis nothing. Just a letter from home.”

The men were silent for a moment, and Duncan wondered how obvious his lie had been. Damn, but he hated lying to his friends. He'd do anything to protect Grace's reputation, but every lie to the Knights felt like a small betrayal.

He rose. “It's been a long day.” That was definitely
not
a lie. “I'm heading to bed.”

The major turned to him. “Aye. I am as well. Tomorrow'll be a busy day.”

Yes, it would. He'd have no time to see Grace tomorrow. They'd be making all the final preparations for their move to Manchester. They'd be leaving at the crack of dawn the following morning.

But damned if he was going to leave London without seeing her.

Duncan was sitting at the edge of his bed when Fraser entered their chamber. Fraser lifted his dark brows. “I thought you were goin' to bed?”

Duncan shook his head. “I will. Later. First there's something I need to do.”

Fraser sat on the end of his own bed and leaned down to remove his boots. “What's that?”

“I need to go see someone.”

Fraser sat up straight, staring at Duncan. “Who?”

Duncan hesitated. The truth? A lie? He opted for the truth. “I canna tell you. It's not safe.”

Fraser frowned so hard his eyebrows touched above his nose. “What're ye gettin' mixed up in?”

Something he shouldn't. But still, Fraser's mind was heading in the wrong direction. Duncan sighed. “It's a woman.”

“A woman?”

“Aye.”

“Who?”

“As I said, I canna tell you.”

Fraser flopped back on the bed, groaning. He covered his face with his hands. “Hell, Mackenzie. Are you mad?”

“What do you mean?”

“Lady Grace is what I mean. She's returned to London, hasn't she? Is that what the note said?”

Ah, hell.

“The major'll kill you if he finds out.”

“How did
you
?” Duncan asked dryly. What the hell had he done to expose them? And if Fraser knew, how could the major not? He'd spent much more time with the two of them.

“I've known you for years.”

“So?”

“I ken when a woman has bespelled ye.”

“None ever has.”

“Exactly. But one has now, hasn't she? In the form of an
English earl's daughter
.” Fraser emphasized each of the last three words.

Damn. Duncan couldn't lie to his friend. He lay back on his bed, too, and stared up at the ceiling. “I need to go to her.”

“If the major—”

“Aye,” Duncan interrupted. “He'll kill me.”

“How long have you been lying to him?”

“I'm no' lying. I'm…withholding information.”

Fraser snorted. “Just a different form of lying. If he found out, he'd consider that a bigger betrayal than the identity of the lass you're ruining.”

“I'm no' ruining her,” Duncan said tersely.

“What are ye doin', then?” Fraser turned on his side and gazed evenly at Duncan.

Loving her? Being with her? Enjoying her?

Those were all selfish things. The fact was, if he and Grace were discovered, the truth of their relationship could ruin her life.

Maybe he
had
ruined her. And the risk of someone discovering her ruin grew each time he saw her.

Perhaps it was best he was leaving for Manchester. They'd—well,
he'd
—fallen in too deep. So deep he was having a difficult time imagining his day-to-day life without her.

Duncan groaned. “I dinna ken what the hell I'm doing.”

“You're risking too much,” Fraser said quietly. “Your position in the Knights. The major's trust. Her reputation.”

Bloody hell. Fraser was right. They'd allowed themselves to grow too close. And now, no matter what Duncan did, someone would be hurt. This was his own damn fault.

Duncan blew out a breath. “I need to go to her.”

“Aye, well. Be careful.”

Duncan needed to have a conversation with Grace—one that would probably end up being painful and miserable. But they couldn't continue like this.

He pulled his jacket on and buttoned it. “Is everyone abed?”

“Aye. Well”—Fraser scratched his chin—“McLeod and Ross were still drinking in the drawing room when I left. But they're too sotted to pay attention to anything that might happen in the house.”

“I'm going, then. If anyone asks, I've gone for a walk.”

“A midnight stroll?” Fraser asked slyly.

“Exactly,” Duncan said. A midnight stroll straight to Mayfair and the Earl of Carrington's London house.

Grace slept fitfully. Surely by now it was past midnight, yet she was fairly certain she hadn't slept for more than a few minutes this time before her restless mind woke her yet again.

Finally, she rose and strode to her basin, where she splashed cool water on her face. She was pressing a towel to her eyelids when she heard a soft voice.

“Grace?”

She jumped, dropped the towel, and spun around. “Duncan?”

It was him. She could see his shape—which had become so familiar to her in the past week—in the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains.

A rush of happiness flooded her. He'd come to her. She rushed to him and flung her arms around his neck. “Oh, I missed you so much!”

He hugged her back, pressing his lips to her hair, a gesture that had quickly become a habit of his. He seemed to love her hair.

“I missed you too,” he murmured. His breath was warm against her scalp. He drew back, holding her shoulders, and gazed at her for a long moment. Then he murmured something under his breath—it sounded like it might be a Scottish curse, and he bent down to kiss her.

His kiss sent sensation whipping through her, hot and seductive. The heat curled and tightened in her belly until she was gasping with desire.

He pulled away abruptly, breathing as heavily as she was. “Christ, Grace.”

She could do nothing but nod. She understood. She felt the same way.

“I came tonight…because I won't be able to see you—no' discreetly, in any case—in the morning. It'll be a busy day. But I needed to see you.”

“I'm glad you came,” she said, but her mind was spinning. He couldn't see her alone tomorrow. Her carefully planned proposal wouldn't be happening—at least as she'd planned. “But how did you get into the house?”

He chuckled softly. “Thanks to Sam Hawkins's excellent training, I've become an expert lock picker. I came in through the servants' entrance.”

“I see.”

“We're leaving London the day after tomorrow, before dawn. So this is my only chance to see you before we go.”

Her heart sank, and she closed her eyes. “Oh. I wish you weren't going so soon.”

“I do too,” he said, “more so now that you're in Town.” He tilted his head, his eyes searching hers. “Why did you come? Has something happened with your father?”

She shook her head. “No. I came…” She heaved in a breath, feeling scattered and confused. What should she say? What should she do? “I came because…”

His hands tightened on her upper arms, concern creasing his brow. “What is it?”

“I came…” the words emerged ragged and breathy, “to…to…”