Chapter 2
Two
Horatia stirred and leaned her head back against Lachlan’s shoulder and sighed.
He was so warm, and she was tempted to snuggle closer to him, but she knew better.
This entire situation was a scandal in the making.
Her reputation teetered on the edge of ruin.
It did not matter that he had rescued her and was helping her after a dreadful ordeal.
The ton would see her as damaged, and she would be utterly ruined.
That is, if word of her misadventure in Scotland ever reached them.
Was it too much to hope that what transpired in this remote country might remain a secret? She fervently prayed that it would.
In the distance, a large, foreboding castle came into view.
Its towering turrets framed the four corners of the imposing structure, and a narrow moat surrounded it.
The water wasn’t expansive, but it was enough to enhance the castle’s austere charm.
A small bridge arched over the moat, leading to the castle’s entrance.
There was no drawbridge—perhaps a concession to modernity—but Horatia could easily imagine how it might have appeared a century or more earlier, when knights fought on battlefields and wars were waged.
She chastised herself for finding it romantic, for there was nothing romantic about war.
Yet, the sight stirred her imagination, leaving her a little dreamy at the thought of days long past.
“Is that your estate?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“Aye, that is Montclaire,” he replied, his pride evident. “It’s a fine castle, is it not?”
She inclined her head slightly. “Indeed, as far as drafty old castles go.” She would not allow him to realize how romantic she found the castle. His ego seemed far too large already. He did not need anything to boost it further.
“Are ye not impressed by it, then?” He laughed softly.
“Ye need not answer, lass. It’s clear from yer tone that ye are already falling in love with it.
” Leaning down, he murmured in her ear, “It’s all right if ye do.
There is nothing quite like Montclaire. Once it seeps into yer heart, there’s no escaping it. ”
She allowed herself a small smile. What must it be like to live in such a place?
“I think I shall manage to resist. There is no need to worry about me losing my heart to your home.” Though she feared he was right.
It had already captured her heart. It would be devasting if the man claimed it as well.
Then she would find it far too difficult ever to leave Montclaire.
It truly was a breathtaking estate. Almost as breathtaking as its owner.
“There’s no need to protest,” he teased. “I wouldna complain if ye loved the castle. It’s mine, aye, but there’s room enough for more than just me.”
His charm was nearly irresistible, and that was precisely why she had to guard herself.
Falling for this man would be a disaster.
She knew little of him beyond his apparent kindness in rescuing her.
The thought of her father’s reaction made her stomach turn.
He might neglect her most of the time, but the Duke of Hampstead would never forgive her for entertaining the idea of marrying a Scotsman.
He already disapproved of her cousin Rosebery for residing in the Highlands, despite his English heritage.
“I cannot allow myself to fall in love with your castle, my lord,” she said firmly. “It would be too heartbreaking to leave it, should I do such a foolish thing.”
“Ye may try to remain aloof,” he said, his tone laced with humor. “But ye’ll not resist its charm.”
The charm of the castle—or the man who resided within it?
She suspected she might be unable to resist either.
His charm was palpable, an invisible force she felt with every breath.
This man could easily become her undoing.
If she did not remain vigilant, she would find herself enraptured by him.
“You need not concern yourself with my attachment to your home,” she said lightly. “I shall be all right. I always am.”
“It is within my purview to worry about whatever I wish tae,” he countered. “You’re in my care, and it’s my duty tae ensure ye have everything ye need—at least until ye leave Montclaire.”
“And after that, you will no longer care what happens to me?” she asked with a hint of undeniable curiosity. “You only wish to ensure my safety while I remain here?”
“That is not what I mean,” he said quickly. “I would never wish harm on ye.”
“But after I am gone, you will not think of me?” she pressed.
He hesitated, then shrugged lightly. “I canna say what I’ll think after ye leave.
Perhaps ye’ll cross my mind.” His tone was deliberately casual, though his words carried weight.
They crossed the bridge and stopped in front of the grand entrance.
Dismounting, Lachlan extended his arms to help her down.
“Come inside, my humble abode. Let me show ye Montclaire, and we’ll see if ye can resist her. ”
She sighed and followed him inside. The castle’s interior was beautiful, its grandeur evident despite its age. “I don’t know,” she said, casting a sidelong glance at him. “You mentioned it was drafty and cold. How can I love a castle that cannot offer me the warmth I require?”
“Because, even with the biting cold, one can find a piece of heaven,” he replied, his voice low and inviting. It sent a shiver up her spine and longing into her heart.
Lachlan was undeniably handsome. His dark auburn hair looked so soft that she felt an almost overwhelming urge to run her fingers through it.
Of course, she would never act on such an impulse.
What would he think of her if she did? “I shall have to take your word for it,” she said.
“I’ve never found anything resembling joy while shivering. ”
“There are other reasons a woman might shiver,” he said wickedly, his tone rich with suggestion. “Mayhap one day ye’ll discover that pleasure and know of what I speak.”
She rolled her eyes, uncertain if he was truly flirting with her. Horatia had no experience with such matters and doubted she would acquire any now. “I don’t suppose you could assign me a chamber and have a bath prepared? I am exhausted and could use a good soak.”
“Of course,” he said with a congenial smile. “I’ll send for a maid to assist ye. Wait here for the maid.” He bowed slightly. “We’ll speak further at dinner. And I’ll send that missive to the Earl of Rosebery as ye requested.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, though she was unsure if he heard her as he strode down the corridor, leaving her alone in the vast foyer.
She could not decide whether he had been rude or merely efficient in addressing her needs.
Either way, she chose to forgive him. He had saved her, after all, and she could not begrudge him for failing to meet her expectations of decorum.
Horatia watched him go until the turn of the corridor swallowed his broad shoulders and the easy confidence with which he moved through his own house, as though stone and shadow were obedient to his step.
Only then did she remember to breathe.
The foyer seemed twice as large without him in it, the air cooler, the silence louder.
A great stair swept upward to a dim landing, and beyond it, passages yawned like the mouths of caves.
The house was impressive in a bleak, Highland sort of way—ancient, stern, and unapologetically itself.
Horatia drew her cloak tighter about her shoulders, though she told herself it was not the cold that made her do it.
There are other reasons a woman might shiver.
The words returned with infuriating clarity.
She pressed her lips together and refused to let her cheeks warm.
Men said all manner of things when they thought themselves clever.
It did not signify. It could not signify.
Not when she was stranded, dependent upon his hospitality, and awaiting news that would determine the course of her entire future.
A maid would come. A bath would be prepared.
She would wash the road from her skin and the fear from her bones, and then she would sit at dinner like a rational, well-bred lady and speak of practicalities—letters and routes and plans.
She would not think about the way his voice had turned rough upon the word pleasure, as though it was a thing he knew intimately.
Horatia turned toward the nearest window, more for occupation than interest. Outside, the light was beginning to thin, the sky a wash of pewter.
The hills rolled away into mist, touched here and there by dark brush and the faint bruised purple of heather.
It was wild and beautiful—and very far from everything she had known.
Her throat tightened. She would not indulge in melancholy.
She had come too far, endured too much, to fall apart now because a corridor echoed and a man with wicked eyes had decided to tease her.
It mattered not that she did not want to be in Scotland and she certainly had never anticipated this sojourn at Castle Montclaire.
She could not drown in those thoughts or lose her mind in what might or might not happen.
The master of the castle did not want her.
At least not in a permanent way… Did she want him to want her that way?
Of course she didn’t. Truly. She. Did. Not.