Chapter 1
“How do I look?” Helena twisted in front of the looking glass in the dressing room of the hotel suite she’d taken. “Like a lady?”
“Just like a lady.” Her maid, Amy Mister, was packing away the curling tongs she’d used to accomplish such a feat, having long ago figured out that the heat which curled some women’s hair could actually straighten Helena’s tight coils, mimicking the latest styles. “No one could guess the truth.”
“That I am not a lady?” Papa had been wealthy, thanks to the sugarcane he’d grown, and he’d sent her to the best boarding schools in Britain. She’d had plenty of experience rubbing elbows with debutantes, and could fake it well. “Or that I am suffocating in this corset?”
Mister winked as she latched the case. “No one would guess that you’re sick of being in London, can’t wait to get home to Islay and go tromping about through your barley fields, or spent yesterday evening pacing in frustration.”
Throwing up her hands in said frustration, Helena whirled away from the looking glass.
“I am eager to get home!” She’d originally been drawn to Islay just because it reminded her, in part, of the insular community she’d grown up with in Jamaica, but she’d long since fallen in love with its magnificent views, beautiful air, and interesting people.
“And if Mr. Lindsay and his entourage do not show up soon, I will have to pay for another night in this ridiculously overpriced hotel, just to keep up appearances!”
“They’ll be here soon.” The maid held open the door to the dressing room, and Helena heard the yip that always made her heart happy. “In the meantime…”
Wulf came trotting into the room, his tail held high, preening from his new fur-style.
“There you are, my baby!” Helena crooned, stooping to scoop the tiny dog up in her arms. “Did ‘oo have a good din-din, my schmoopy? Is your tum-tum full?”
“His tum-tum is indeed full, madam,” Mister intoned dryly. “He ate a sirloin steak. I’m off to heat what I hope is beans for my luncheon.”
Helena paused in her cuddling to glare at the maid over Wulfie’s head. “You had better not eat beans, if you are planning on sharing our train carriage. Which, I should note, you are—for propriety’s sake.”
“Oh?” Her friend lifted a sardonic brow. “You don’t want to be alone with your husband?”
Helena’s lips pursed into a frown. “Go eat steak, Amy.”
Mister curtseyed deeply. “I live to serve.”
“Wait!” Helena tucked the dog up against her side and hurried into the suite’s sitting room after her maid. “We are all packed?”
“As soon as you have the forms you need—and the husband you’re waiting for—we can head to the train station.”
“Good.” Helena exhaled. “Good. Soon we will be home.”
And not a moment too soon. Who knew what mischief Huffington had been up to while she was gone.
The suite’s door clicked behind Mister, and Helena lifted little Wulfie to bury her nose against the animal’s fur.
“You have been such a good puppers, have you not, my love? Soon you will be able to sleep in your own comfortable bed, instead of making do with these pillows. Oh, the hardships we put up with for those we love, hmmm?”
The dog huffed and twisted his head until she obliged him by moving her fingers to the spot on his neck behind his ears. He rewarded her with a sound somewhere between a yip and a satisfied growl.
“There you are, my little smoogums.” When the knock on the door came, Helena drifted closer, still scratching. “Finally! Let us go meet our guests. Be on your best behavior.”
Half-distracted, Helena pulled open the door to see Mr. Hunter Lindsay with his fist raised to knock again. He looked…surprised.
“Good morning,” she said smoothly, stepping back to allow him into her suite. “How are you?”
“Surprised,” the man said, his gaze dropping to Wulfie, then back to her. “Didnae expect a married lady to be answering the door herself.”
Well, bumbaclot.
Something that she would know, if she had ever actually been married and hadn’t lied about it for years on end…
Inwardly wincing, Helena backed into the room, allowing him to scoop up his valise and cautiously step into the room.
“Yes, well, you know how it is,” she managed, waving airily. “One’s servants are busy doing servanty things. Besides, there is no impropriety to us being alone together if we are supposed to be married—yes, yes, forgive me, my schmoopy.”
Wulf had begun to growl again, so she dropped her hand to his favorite spot and continued scratching him. Considering Mr. Lindsay was eyeing Wulfie warily, she nodded to him.
“Mr. Lindsay, this is Wulf. I call him Wulfie.”
The brawny man slowly set down his suitcase, eyeing the animal warily. “Ye keep…an emaciated hedgehog as a pet.”
“He is a dog!” Helena managed not to scowl, but her fingers stilled. “I have had him for almost ten years.”
“Ye’re certain he’s no’ a squirrel with the mange?”
“Mr. Lindsay.” It wasn’t until he glanced up that she saw the twinkle in his blue eyes and realized he’d been teasing her. “You have been having a go at me, have you not?”
“Aye, lass.” He rocked back on his heels, hands on his hips. Then he grimaced, glanced at Wulfie again, and shrugged. “And ye’d better call me Hunter, eh? Unless I should go by yer husband’s name?”
Her mind blanked in panic for one horrifying second, then the details of her scheme came into focus. “No, no. I have never used my husband’s first name with the men of Islay, they know him only as Mr. Lickfold,” she announced in relief. “So I suppose Hunter would be acceptable.”
“Aye, but when he does eventually visit, they’ll ken his name—och, nay.
” Hunter frowned, lifting his hand to rub at the back of his neck.
“Because unless the man’s my twin—and considering I already have a twin, it’s extremely unlikely another will pop up—they’ll take one look at him and realize he’s no’ me, whom they’ve already met. ”
Well, he was going to realize sooner or later.
So Helena forced a smile, the same smile which had served her well in drawing rooms and polite meetings, when she’d rather have been out checking on the barley yields or sampling the latest mash.
“My husband will not be visiting Islay, Mr. Lindsay. Hunter. He will never leave Jamaica, so as far as my people on Islay are concerned, you will be Mr. Lickfold.”
The lie was easily forced, and Helena was momentarily concerned with how effortlessly the lies were coming these days.
Damnation, what had she become?
Still, this Hunter gentleman seemed to accept it, because he was nodding thoughtfully.
“I had a chance to think about the job last night, and it makes sense.” Slowly, he turned in place, studying the fine hotel room.
“I grew up in Aberdeenshire, but I’ve visited the Hebrides a time or two—wild, untamed place, with people to match.
I can imagine ye didnae want to hire some prissy fancy-pants Society gent like my uncle. ”
It took Helena a moment to remember that the seemingly equally young Bull Lindsay, the man who ran the agency, was Hunter’s uncle. “You do not like him?”
But Hunter—who’d been examining a piece of art over the hearth—sent her a smile over his shoulder. “I love him, but that doesnae mean I have to be like him. Or refrain from giving him shite.”
There were…he’d said some words. Words she should likely respond to. And she would…she would respond, just as soon as she could make her tongue work.
Because that smile? That simple, easy-going smile Hunter had just gifted her with?
Lord above, but it was enough to make any female’s knees weak. Why wasn’t the man already married?
It wasn’t until Wulfie growled at her that she realized instead of scratching him, she had her palm pressed to her chest.
Goodness.
Yesterday, she’d recognized that Hunter Lindsay was handsome in a distracted sort of way—but this morning? This morning, right before she was ready to set out on the suffocatingly long train journey that would take them to Islay to pretend to be married?
Well this moment was damned inconvenient to recognize how incredibly stunning he was.
White teeth bright against tanned skin, a scar at the corner of his mouth, a nose which had been broken at least once, auburn hair that brushed his collar, eyes that sparkled… Goodness. It all added up to devastation.
And Helena couldn’t afford devastation.
Not if she wanted to beat Huffington. His distillery would not win the competition this year, not if she could help it.
Focus, girl.
She could hear Papa’s voice in her head, reminding her how hard she needed to work if she wanted to be successful. Wanted to be known as the Best of Islay.
Right. Focus.
What had they been speaking about?
In her arms, Wulfie began to growl.
“Oh, hush darling.” Helena settled him more firmly against her chest, her fingernails finding the spot under his ear. “We shall be on our way soon.”
Hunter turned. “Yer sick ferret is coming with us?”
“Of course he is coming with us.” Helena frowned fiercely. “Wulfie is my baby.”
That smile again, this time accompanied by a chuckle. “Och, lass, when ye have a bairn she’ll be as beautiful as ye, no’ that scrawny creature.”
This would be a perfect time to put him in his place. Remind him you are his employer. That you will not allow insults or insubordination.
She had years of practice managing her distillery, after all.
But.
But that smile. That laugh. That compliment.
Knees weak, heart pounding too quickly, Helena swallowed. “You think me—” she began, only to bite down on her words. She wasn’t so starved for compliments that she was going to ask him to repeat it, was she?
His easy, charming grin told her he knew exactly what she was thinking and that, more than anything, hardened her resolve. That and the reminder that she would never be married for real, and thus never have a daughter who looked like her.