Chapter 3
Three
Lachlan strolled into the sitting room, uncertain of what he might find.
Horatia had gone to the bedchamber he had arranged for her, and he assumed she had taken the bath she had requested.
The thought had provided ample fodder for his imagination.
Ever since her departure, all he could envision was her, naked and wet—her beauty unveiled for him alone.
But of course, he had not acted on such fantasies.
To enter her bedchamber uninvited would have been the height of impropriety and exceedingly rude.
If she had extended an invitation, however…
well, that would have been another matter entirely.
He had made every necessary arrangement beforehand.
The bedchamber had been prepared, and yes, it was the one designated for the Duchess of Montclaire, had he a wife to occupy the room.
He had placed her there strategically, knowing that if—or rather, when—he seduced her, access would be very convenient.
Only a dressing room separated her chambers from his, though she likely had not noticed the connecting door.
Lachlan had also dispatched a footman to her broken carriage to retrieve her trunk.
The man had returned earlier with the trunk, reporting that the driver was no longer at the site.
Lachlan suspected the driver had gone to fetch help.
It would not be long before that odious Earl of Rosebery repaired the carriage and began searching for his betrothed—if, indeed, the scoundrel had any true affection for her.
Lachlan doubted it. One thing he knew for certain: Horatia deserved far better than to be shackled to a man as vile as Rosebery.
But did that mean she ought to be with him?
Lachlan was not blind to his own hypocrisy.
His intentions toward Horatia were no less dishonorable than the earl’s.
He had no plans to marry her; his aim was purely seduction.
Yet, even as he recognized her innocence, he could not abandon his scheme.
His desire for her burned too fiercely, and he had set them both on this course.
As he stepped farther into the sitting room, he frowned.
He had expected to find her there, but the room was empty.
Just as he turned to search for her, Horatia entered with a bright smile.
“Ah, there you are,” she said. “I feared you had abandoned me to this castle.”
“This is my home,” he replied. “Even if I were tae leave, it would no’ be for long—especially with a lass as bonny as ye awaiting my return.”
A faint blush tinted her cheeks, and she glanced away.
She was not immune to him. That spark of attraction between them would make her seduction all the easier.
“Such pretty words, my lord,” she said, tilting her head to study him.
“Tell me something.” She stepped farther into the room, her gown flowing around her in a way that accentuated her figure.
The fabric clung to her bosom, making Lachlan jealous of its proximity.
His hands itched to replace the fabric, to cup and caress her.
“How is it,” she began, “that a gentleman as charming as you remains unmarried?”
“Och, lass,” he said with a chuckle. “Are ye hoping tae convince me of the merits of matrimony?” He winked, his tone teasing. “Or are ye applying for the position yerself?”
“Of course not!” Her eyes widened in indignation, though her lips twitched as if fighting a smile. “It simply seems odd that you have not yet found a woman to fill the role.” She narrowed her gaze. “Is there something I should know? Some dark secret that keeps ladies from knocking down your door?”
“No’ at all,” he replied smoothly. He would not confess that he had no desire to wed, nor that many ladies did, in fact, pursue him.
A ducal title—even a Scottish one—held a certain allure.
“I simply have no’ found the right lady for the role.
” He extended his hand to her. “Shall we go in tae dinner? Ye must be famished.”
She sighed, as though resigning herself to her fate. “I have not had a proper meal in some time,” she admitted. “Dinner would be most welcome. However,” she added with a pointed look, “this is only a temporary reprieve. I have many questions for you.”
He suppressed a grin. She did not even know he was a duke yet, and already her curiosity seemed endless.
Once she discovered his title, her questions would likely double.
He had no qualms about evading whatever queries she posed.
“Ask me anything ye wish,” he said lightly.
“I have nothing tae hide.” The lie slid off his tongue with ease.
There were things he would not confess to or even admit to for any reason.
She did not need to know that though. Taking her hand, he placed it in the crook of his elbow and led her from the sitting room.
They walked in companionable silence to the dining room.
Pulling out a chair for her, he waited until she was seated before taking his place at the head of the table.
This was not the formal dining room but the smaller, more intimate one used for family meals.
He rarely dined there alone, but it seemed fitting for the occasion.
“Now,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “tell me about yerself. Why are ye traveling to the earl’s estate? ”
“Are you acquainted with the Earl of Rosebery?” she asked.
He grinned at her as he thought of his rival. “We have met,” he said in a light tone. “It would be hard no’ tae have. He is my closest neighbor.” and they loathed each other…
“Then we are that close?” Horatia lifted a brow. “Good. It should be simple enough for him to retrieve me on the morrow.”
Like hell he would. Lachlan’s jaw tightened at the thought of Rosebery coming anywhere near Horatia.
His Horatia. That man was not going to be anywhere near her.
When had he started thinking of her as his?
That was dangerous. He stewed silently, grappling with thoughts he did not care to examine.
This situation was becoming far more complicated than he had anticipated.
He had much to consider, and he did not like the direction of his thoughts. This was not good at all…
Lachlan forced his expression into something approaching ease, though the possessive thought still scraped at the edges of his mind like a burr caught in wool.
His Horatia. A ridiculous notion. A dangerous one.
He lifted his wine and took a measured sip, buying himself a moment while the footman set down the first course—broth fragrant with leeks and pepper, a plate of oatcakes beside it.
The very ordinariness of the food steadied him.
This was a dinner table, not a battlefield, and he had faced worse than an inquisitive English lady with a fine mouth and eyes that did not know how to lie.
Horatia’s gaze followed the footman’s movements before returning to Lachlan.
She held her spoon with perfect propriety, yet there was a restless energy in her posture, as though her body wished to pace while her manners demanded she remain still.
“You did not answer my question,” she said gently, but the gentleness did not soften the edge.
“What question was that, lass?” he replied, setting his glass down with care. “I doona recall one.”
“How familiar are you with Lord Rosebery?.” She took a delicate sip of broth. “You said you were neighbors.”
Lachlan’s mouth twitched. “Aye we are. I have met him.” He had met him several times. Not once had he found the man appealing. He was wretched and selfish to his core.
“So you are not friends?”
“No we are not,” he said, letting the Scots syllable slide into place because it felt safer than the truth. “We doona have many common interests”
Horatia frowned, clearly unsatisfied. “He is… your neighbor.”
“He is,” Lachlan agreed.
“And you don’t want to be friendly with him?” She tilted her head to the side and studied him. “Not even in a neighborly sort of way.”
He watched her carefully. She had not asked his title outright and he wondered about that.
Why hadn’t she? She had not said my lord with any hint of recognition beyond the polite assumption that a man who owned a castle must surely be something.
Perhaps she truly did not know. Perhaps Rosebery had not bothered to tell her the name of the man whose land he bordered—though of course he would not, if he wished to keep her compliant and ignorant.
Lachlan softened his voice. “He had no given me any reason tae pursue such a relationship with him. It is easier this way.” He tilted his lips upwards. “Are ye concerned for my welfare lass?”
Her lips curved, as though she accepted the evasion for what it was. “You are charming.”
“So ye keep sayin’.” He reached for his spoon. “Now—why were ye traveling tae his estate?”
Horatia’s fingers tightened fractionally around her spoon. A pause—small, but telling.
“The earl is to marry,” she said at last. “I am here for the wedding.”
The words landed with such quiet certainty that Lachlan’s chest tightened, as if a strap had been pulled too hard across his ribs.
He had known it. Of course he had known it.
Lachlan knew the wedding was to happen soon.
She had asked him to send a missive to that dreadful man too.
Yet hearing it spoken plainly, in that clear voice, turned it from suspicion into something sharper.
“And ye’re pleased about it?” he asked, keeping his tone light by sheer force of will. “The wedding that is?”
She gave a short laugh that held no mirth. “Pleased? I don’t have any reason not to be.” Horatia shrugged. “I have no say in the matter either way. I am here because my father bid me to come.”