The Tempting of Thomas Carrick (16 page)

Lucilla set down her spoon and looked at Manachan. “The Burns sisters. The staff have laid them out in your ice-house. Given they have no remaining family, a decision will need to be made as to their burial.”

Manachan, Thomas, and Lucilla looked at Nigel, but he had his head down, eating dessert, and didn’t notice their expectation.

Manachan grimaced. Looking at Lucilla, he said, “Our standard is burial four days after death.”

She nodded. “So two days from today.”

“Aye—in the morning, at the church in Carsphairn. There’s a Burns family plot in the churchyard. Thomas”—Manachan glanced at Thomas—“will tell Ferguson. He’ll know what arrangements need to be made.” His gaze returned to Lucilla. Manachan paused, then said, “If you can, I think they—Joy and Faith—would have liked you to attend. To represent the other side, so to speak. Both were adherents of the old ways—they believed in the Lady.”

She inclined her head. “I wasn’t sure, but yes, I will be there.”

Manachan’s lips quirked. “One of your duties?”

“Yes.”

When she said nothing more, Manachan grew pensive. “I realize it’s an imposition, but as Alice Watts is not fully trained, I would appreciate your assessment of how the still room and all other matters pertaining to the healer’s duties stand. How did Joy leave things—especially as she didn’t expect to leave?”

“I’ve already taken a look at the still room. From all I can see, Joy had everything well in hand. She’s got the basics well covered, and she had started preparing summer tonics.” Lucilla seized the moment to ask, “One thing—what tonics did Joy prescribe for you? Alice will need to know to put more up.”

Manachan waved dismissively. “Don’t worry about me—I’m an old man. Look to the bairns first. Make sure Alice knows all she needs to cope with broken bones, burns, and cuts, and the usual childhood ailments.”

If he hadn’t been the laird, if he hadn’t been sitting at his dining table surrounded by his children, Lucilla would have pushed, but there was something in Manachan’s tone that warned her away from the subject of his medicines. So she inclined her head in polite acceptance.

For now.

The charlotte and all the sweet cream had disappeared. The footmen cleared the table.

Lucilla saw Ferguson enter bearing a tray with crystal glasses and three decanters. She glanced at Niniver, but the daughter of the house was sitting with her hands in her lap and her gaze on the table before her. Lucilla swiftly debated her options, then, looking at Niniver, shifted her chair back and rose. “Niniver—I believe it’s time we retired to the drawing room.”

The men hastily rose, all except Manachan. Niniver did, too, rather more slowly. She met Lucilla’s gaze, then glanced at her father.

Manachan caught her gaze and nodded curtly.

Niniver recovered quickly. She looked at Lucilla. “Yes, of course.” Laying her napkin beside her plate, Niniver waited for the footman to draw back her chair.

Thomas performed that office for Lucilla.

With a smile, she murmured her thanks, then, inwardly shaking her head over the lack of social eptitude displayed by the Carricks, followed Niniver into the corridor.

* * *

“I’m sorry.” Niniver dropped into one corner of the sofa in the drawing room. “I should have remembered, but I’m so used to not having any other lady at our table.”

Lucilla gathered her skirts and sat in an armchair facing the sofa. “I didn’t think of it before, but are you living here without any female companion?”

Niniver grimaced lightly. “My old governess, Hattie, lives here, so technically I do have a chaperone. But Hattie doesn’t approve of Papa or my brothers—she refuses to bear with what she calls ‘their baseness.’ She keeps to her suite of rooms upstairs, unless I need her to accompany me to some event. She never joins us at table.”

“So.” Lucilla settled more comfortably. “I recall seeing you at the Hunt Balls. I must admit that, other than those, I don’t go into local society all that much.”

“Nor do I.” Niniver caught her lower lip between her teeth for an instant, then added, “And if it wasn’t for Papa insisting, I wouldn’t go to those, either.” She wrinkled her nose. “I find all that—the balls, dinners, and parties—so…well, restricting. And unnecessary. The young gentlemen always complain about having to do the pretty, as they say, with us young ladies, yet it never seems to occur to them that some of us find being polite to them and pretending to be interested in them and their exploits equally excruciating.”

Lucilla laughed. “I take it you harbor no fond dreams of going into the ton, or even joining society in Edinburgh or Glasgow.”

“Heaven forbid!” Niniver shook her head. After a moment, she looked across and met Lucilla’s eyes.

Somewhat to her surprise, behind the pretty blue of Niniver’s eyes, Lucilla saw a mind far more shrewd, quick, and calculating than she’d expected to see.

“You probably understand better than most,” Niniver said, “being so centrally involved with your clan—even if you don’t call it a clan, the people of the Vale are that, aren’t they?” When Lucilla inclined her head, Niniver went on, “I was born here, in this house, on this land. I’ve lived here all my life, and although everyone assumes that, at some point, I’ll marry and move away, I…don’t think I want to. No—I already
know
I don’t want to.” Her blue gaze open and true, Niniver held Lucilla’s eyes. “This is my home—I care about the place and I care about the people. My roots are here, and that’s important to me.”

Lucilla saw the strength in Niniver’s delicate jaw, read the steadiness in her gaze—sensed the backbone her small frame and fairy-like features disguised. She nodded. “Yes. I understand.”

She recognized devotion when she saw it.

Niniver’s features eased. After a moment, she arched a brow. “Should I ring for tea?”

Lucilla waggled her head. “Not yet. Let’s give them a few minutes more.”

Niniver glanced at the pianoforte sitting in one corner. “I don’t play—or at least, not well—so I can’t entertain you with music.”

Lucilla grinned. “I do play, but I don’t feel so inclined.” She hesitated, but finding Niniver to be something of a kindred soul was too good an opportunity to pass up. “You could entertain me by telling me about a topic I would like to know more about.”

Niniver’s blue gaze fixed on her. “Thomas?”

With Niniver’s powers of observation confirmed, Lucilla nodded. “I’ve realized I know little about his background, and I’m curious.” Mainly about his connection with the Lady, but she didn’t want to reveal that much. “His relationship with Manachan and your brothers is…not quite as I expected, given Thomas and Nigel must be of similar age.”

“Thomas is the elder by thirteen months.” Niniver leaned back, getting more comfortable. “And there’s another thirteen months between Nigel and Nolan.”

“I’ve always assumed Thomas was born here.”

Niniver nodded. “He was. However, he didn’t grow up here. His parents—Uncle Niall and Aunt Katherine—lived in Glasgow. I’ve been told that they used to come here for all the holidays, so Thomas knew the clan and they knew him. I gather Uncle Niall—I can only just remember him—was well liked by everyone. He and Papa got along very well—I can still remember them laughing together, and coming in from hunting together. They were close, up until Uncle Niall and Aunt Katherine died in a carriage accident. I was only little at the time, and Norris was a baby. Our mama had died shortly after Norris’s birth. And then Uncle Niall and Aunt Katherine died, too, and Thomas came to live here with us.”

“How old was he then?”

Niniver screwed up her face in thought. “Ten—he must have been ten years old. He stayed for a year or so, and then he went to Glasgow, to go to school and live with Aunt Katherine’s brother, Quentin Hemmings, and his wife, Winifred, and his son Humphrey, who is the same age as Thomas. From what I’ve gathered, Papa and Quentin, who were Thomas’s co-guardians, thought that with Thomas inheriting half of Carrick Enterprises, he needed to learn about business and Glasgow.” Niniver lifted a shoulder. “And with Nigel to take over after Papa, there wasn’t any reason for Thomas to learn all that much about the estate.”

Lucilla managed not to look puzzled; there had to be more. “How much time did Thomas spend here after he went to live in Glasgow?”

“Not that much. He came for the holidays, and sometimes stayed for a month or so in summer.” Niniver shifted. “In those days, he was closer to Nigel and Nolan, but the older they grew, the more…different they became.” She frowned. “Ever since they reached twenty or so, Thomas has seemed much older, much more mature and reliable than Nigel and Nolan.” Niniver glanced across and met Lucilla’s eyes. “Much more adult.”

There was no arguing that, but what about Thomas’s connection to the land? How had that evolved, and when? Although he’d been born with a link to the Lady, time was generally needed for such a bond to grow, strengthen, and mature.

Lucilla glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “We should probably ring for the tea trolley.”

While Niniver rose and went to tug the bellpull, Lucilla inwardly frowned over what she’d thus far learned of Thomas’s past.

She’d assumed he’d been born in the Lady’s lands, under her mantle, and he had been.

He
was
Lady-touched; that was beyond question. Lucilla knew it, and Marcus did, too.

But given Thomas had spent so little time on the Lady’s lands, either in childhood or as an adult, did
he
know he was Lady-touched? Did he understand what it meant?

Most important of all, did he know he was Lucilla’s Lady-ordained consort?

He had to know, surely?

But if he didn’t understand about the Lady…

When Thomas walked into the drawing room ahead of the tea trolley, Lucilla’s gaze locked on him.

He saw and arched a brow. “The others have retired.” He came forward and sat in the other armchair, shoulders square against the padded back, his long legs bent.

Despite the question humming in her brain, Lucilla drank in the inherent masculine strength on display; for a large man, he possessed a certain fluid grace, one that brought to mind the flexibility of steel rather than the rigidity of iron.

“Shall I pour?”

Niniver’s question broke the spell. Lucilla glanced at her. Ferguson had positioned the tea trolley between the sofa and her armchair. Lucilla smiled. “Please.”

Niniver did the honors, and Thomas passed Lucilla her cup, then accepted one himself. Lifting her own cup and saucer, Niniver sat back.

Lucilla sipped. She wanted to ask Thomas about his understanding of the Lady, but she couldn’t think of any subtle way to introduce the topic.

She felt Niniver’s gaze as she, too, sipped, then Niniver lowered her cup and looked at Thomas. “How are your uncle and aunt? And Humphrey?”

In other circumstances, Lucilla would have listened, eager to learn more about Thomas’s life. Instead, she felt consumed by a welling urgency to confirm that he knew, that he understood—that he recognized what he was to her and, conversely, what she was to him.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, her thoughts in a whirl, but her cup was empty when Niniver delicately smothered a yawn, then, somewhat unexpectedly, rose. “I’m for bed. I’ll see you both at breakfast.” Setting her cup and saucer on the trolley, Niniver walked out of the room.

Leaving Lucilla blinking after her. Then she glanced at Thomas and saw his understanding grin.

“Just as well we’re not in London. Or even Glasgow.” He set his cup and saucer on the trolley, then reached for hers.

Lucilla surrendered it. And mentally shook her wits into place. Niniver had handed her an opportunity—one she needed to use. “I…” She feigned a grimace. “I don’t always sleep well when away from the Vale. I would like to stroll in the fresh air for a short while before I try to sleep, but I don’t know where would be appropriate.” She met Thomas’s eyes and made sure her own gaze was limpid, devoid of intent. “Will you walk with me? I would prefer not to walk alone.”

Thomas studied her green eyes. He could see no calculation therein, yet…he was fairly certain there was a subtle threat in her last sentence. She would walk alone if he didn’t go with her—and he didn’t want her walking alone, not with even the vaguest possibility that they might have a murderer lurking.

That said…while he would trust her with his life, he wasn’t sure he could trust her in this. Could afford to trust her in this. He could remember all too well—indeed, with senses-stealing clarity—just what had happened the last time they’d strolled. Yes, she’d tripped. Yes, he’d caught her. But that kiss…she’d initiated that all on her own.

And she’d snared him. Hauled him out of his carefully controlled environment and shown him just what she represented.

Something elemental. Something so viscerally powerful and potent that if he surrendered to it, it would swallow him—all he was—whole.

He shouldn’t walk with her.

Yet every instinct he possessed, every fiber of his being, wouldn’t allow him to let her take even the small risk of walking outside alone at night.

He didn’t let any of his thoughts reach his surface. Instead, he inclined his head. “Yes. Of course.” Uncrossing his legs, he rose.

CHAPTER 7

The side terrace ran along the length of the disused wing. That side of the house was clear of shrubbery; the terrace lay bathed in faint moonlight, devoid of shadows and with no bushes crowding the balustrade anywhere along its length.

It was the perfect place to stroll, knowing that no danger could approach unseen.

Of course, for him, the biggest danger walked by his side.

Lucilla was, indeed, plotting how to gain the insight she needed into his mind. Now that the question of what he understood about the Lady—about them—had risen, she couldn’t concentrate on anything else. She doubted conversational inquiry would get her anywhere, or at least not get her the answers she wanted; she needed to shift their interaction to a different, more personal plane.

But how? He was ambling alongside her, slowing his pace to match hers, yet she sensed he was alert.