A Highland Conquest Read online

  Lauren’s preparations were almost complete. She wore an ice-green taffeta gown that swept low over her breasts, and there were pearls in her ears and around her throat. Her hair was twisted up into a knot at the back of her head, with a wreath of leaves encircling the knot. Her arms were sheathed in long white gloves and she carried a white silk fan embroidered in gold.

  She would already have left to go down to the ball had not Peggy noticed that a pin had come loose in her hair, and she was therefore still seated before the dressing table when Hester tapped at the door and came in, having pronounced herself much better after her rest. She wore sapphires and a silver lace gown. A jeweled comb sparkled in her dark hair and she brought with her the fresh flowery fragrance of lilies of the valley. There was no doubt that she looked better than she had earlier, but she couldn’t fully disguise the fact that she was unwell. However, it wasn’t the pallor beneath the rouge which caught Lauren’s immediate attention, but rather her urgent excitement.

  “Lauren, I must speak to you! In private,” she added, glancing at Peggy.

  The maid swiftly put the finishing touches to Lauren’s hair and then withdrew. As the door closed behind her, Lauren turned at the dressing table to face her cousin. “Whatever is it?” she asked curiously.

  “Alex believes he’s remembered where he saw Emma and it’s so astonishing that I simply had to come to tell you straightaway.” Hester sat on the edge of the bed. “Lauren, when he was in the billiard room earlier with all the other gentlemen, he happened to read something in a newspaper he found lying on a chair. It was a recent paper and there was an item tucked away in a corner inside which he managed to read before Jamie called him away. When he returned the newspaper was gone, and he now thinks Jamie took it.”

  “Took it deliberately, you mean?”

  “Alex believes so, on reflection. Anyway, the article was about Robert du Maurier having died in prison, and—”

  “Who’s he?” Lauren interrupted.

  “Oh, of course, you won’t have heard of him. It was quite a cause celebre about four years ago. Du Maurier and his wife ran a rigged gaming hell in Brighton—at least, it turned out that it was rigged—but at the time it was simply very popular among gentlemen who liked to wager on whatever they could. Du Maurier, who was an Irishman from Dublin in spite of his French name, was always seen on the premises, but his wife seldom was; indeed, very few people knew what she looked like. Anyway, before he knew me, Alex went there with some acquaintances and on that occasion Mrs. du Maurier did appear, albeit fleetingly. He is convinced that she and Emma are one and the same, and Fitz did meet Emma in Dublin, if you recall.”

  Lauren stared at her.

  Hester leaned forward, her eyes bright with excitement. “

  The whole point of this is that when du Maurier was arrested, his wife escaped. Lauren, if Alex is right, and Emma is really Mrs. du Maurier, it means that Fitz cannot possibly be legally married to her. You see, the newspaper specifically stated that the late Mr. du Maurier’s wife is still being sought for her part in running the club. If there had been a divorce, then she would have been referred to as his former wife. Now, I don’t for a moment imagine that any of this is known to Fitz, which means that she deceived him and committed bigamy, and if Jamie did deliberately remove the newspaper, then maybe he is aware of her true identity. It’s all guesswork of course…”

  Lauren rose slowly to her feet. “Yes, and based upon whether or not Alex has remembered correctly. After all, he only saw this Mrs. du Maurier once.”

  Hester sighed. “I know, but he’s convinced about it. If only we could prove it.”

  “Proof is essential,” Lauren agreed, going to the window and staring out at the dazzling sunset on the loch. “Hester, there is something I must tell you. It concerns Lady Mary.”

  “Oh?”

  “You know I said earlier that I believed she was in love with Fitz?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, she is; she has admitted it to me.”

  “Does he love her?”

  Lauren faced her. “It seems so, but he is doing the noble thing. Hester, this really mustn’t go any further, for if it does—”

  Hester interrupted a little reproachfully. “Lauren, I haven’t breathed a word, not even to Alex when he told me his suspicions about Emma being Mrs. du Maurier. You asked for my discretion, and you have it completely.”

  “Forgive me, I didn’t mean…” Lauren’s voice died away a little awkwardly. “It’s just that I did promise her she could confide in me.”

  “And so she can. In fact, she can confide in both of us, if she wishes, for we can both be trusted to show every discretion.” Hester smiled and got up from the bed. “Oh, if only we could prove Emma’s guilt, then maybe Mary and Fitz would have a chance of happiness, for he would be free to pay open attention to her.”

  Lauren turned from the window. “We decided earlier that we’d have to think of something, and now we must apply ourselves even more.”

  “Inspiration hasn’t descended upon me yet,” Hester said ruefully.

  “Nor upon me.” Lauren looked at her. “How is the queasiness now, by the way?”

  “Still there a little. I feel wishy-washy and lackluster.”

  “Are you sure you’re up to this ball?”

  “Miss a ball? Me? Lauren Maitland, the day has yet to dawn.” Hester smiled.

  “Neither Alex nor I want to have you swooning away.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You must promise me one thing,” Lauren fixed her with a determined look.

  “Yes?”

  “The moment you feel even vaguely odd, you must say so, and either he or I will accompany you to your room and stay with you.”

  “Lauren—”

  “Your word, Cousin.”

  Hester sighed crossly. “Oh, very well.” She glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf, “Come on, we should go down.”

  * * *

  When they reached the staircase, they had to pause halfway down to gaze in delight at the dazzling scene that greeted them. The pipers on the gallery were playing the first part of a reel, a strathspey, and there was much merriment as a sea of dancers whirled to the music. The ladies were beautiful in jewels, silks, and plumes, and some of them also sported tartan silk scarves which were pinned over their shoulders with glittering brooches. The gentlemen were either in formal black evening coats and white silk trousers, or in dashing highland dress, with kilts, sporrans, black velvet jackets, and spills of lace at their throats and cuffs. The ice blocks were already lending coolness to the air, and champagne was flowing freely, as was refreshing lime cup for those who preferred a less alcoholic drink. But above all there was whisky, some of it in punch, some neat from the decanter. Nothing could have been more breathtaking than the flowers which had taken so long to arrange, and no ballroom could have set off such a very Scottish occasion more fittingly.

  Lauren’s attention was drawn to one of the sets, where she noticed Emma and Fitz dancing together. Emma looked very lovely in midnight blue satin and diamonds. She laughed as she moved, but her glances were for Jamie, not her husband. Rory’s brother stood at the side of the floor, a glass of whisky in his hand as he watched his mistress. He wore highland dress and it suited him well. Lauren paid him scant attention, except to hope he’d forgotten requesting her to honor him with a dance, for it was Emma she was really interested in. Was it really possible that Emma was the infamous Mrs. du Maurier? And was it also possible that Jamie knew? Maybe he’d taken the newspaper innocently, or maybe it had been very intentional indeed, a precaution against Alex’s memory being jogged about what he’d once seen in Brighton.

  Mary stood with Rory at the foot of the staircase, receiving the guests. She was enchanting in rose silk, and she wore a blue-and-green Ardmore tartan silk scarf which was fixed to her waist and then over her shoulder with a gold brooch. Lauren couldn’t help noticing with some pleasure that she carried the fan from Boston.

/>   Like Jamie, Rory wore highland dress, but Lauren thought it suited him far more. He had the looks, build, and presence to carry off such a flamboyant costume, and of all the gentlemen present who wore similar clothes, he was by far the most dashing.

  Hester nudged her suddenly. “Don’t look now, but the she-cat of Maxby is coming down the stairs behind us,” she hissed.

  With that Isabel spoke. “Why, if it isn’t Mrs. Kingston and Miss Maitland, and both of you looking so very charming.”

  They turned reluctantly. She was wearing crimson silk, sheer and low cut, and her beauty was very predatory as she halted. Her russet hair was piled up on top of her head and threaded with diamonds, and more diamonds flashed at her throat. She smiled a little, snapping her fan open and shut as she ignored Hester and gave Lauren her full attention. There was no trace now of the false remorse she’d shown that afternoon after managing to drop the locket into the well; on the contrary, she was flagrantly hostile.

  “I have a warning for you, Miss Maitland,” she said softly, her voice only just audible above the sound of the bagpipes.

  “A warning?”

  “For your own good, of course.”

  “Oh, of course,” Lauren replied, reminding herself that this woman had lost Rory and therefore held no trumps.

  “You would be advised to pay heed, Miss Maitland, or it will be the worst for you.”

  Hester was incensed. “Isabel, is it your habit to issue threats?”

  Isabel took no notice. “My advice is that you make arrangements to leave Glenvane without delay. Indeed it would be sensible if you left first thing in the morning.”

  Hester was aghast. “Isabel!”

  Lauren met the malevolent bluebell gaze. “And why should I do that, Lady Maxby?” she asked coolly.

  “Because, as I’ve already said, it will be the worst for you if you don’t,” Isabel replied.

  Hester gave her a contemptuous look. “This does you no credit, Isabel.”

  Isabel’s eyes flickered briefly toward her. “This has nothing to do with you, Hester; it is solely between your cousin and me. Suffice it that if Miss Maitland insists upon remaining here where she isn’t wanted, then she will suffer the consequences. She has been warned.” Flicking her fan open again, she swept on past them and down the staircase, where she made much of greeting Rory. She presented her cheek to be kissed, she smiled, and she dazzled, but still she suffered the humiliation of seeing how his gaze was easily drawn away toward Lauren.

  He left his former mistress and came lightly up to where Lauren stood with Hester, and after greeting the latter with every courtesy, his eyes became very warm and dark as he bowed over Lauren’s hand.

  “You look exquisite,” he murmured, then he gave them both an arm to descend to the hall just as the reel ended and the pipers were replaced by the orchestra for a waltz.

  Lauren barely had time to speak to Mary before Rory invited her to dance. He whirled her away on to the crowded floor, his arm around her waist as they waltzed. She was floating. The orchestra’s playing faded away into the background, and it was as if they were alone, dancing on an empty floor. An electricity passed between them, tingling to their very fingertips, and she was sure that there was an aura surrounding them, glowing and setting them apart. Surely everyone could see, everyone could tell how much in love they were. But as the sounds of the ball returned, and reality swept over her, she saw that no one was looking. No one else had seen that shimmering halo.

  Knowing the waltz would have to end and they would have to part again, Rory tightened his arm around her waist. “I love you, Miss Maitland from Massachusetts,” he murmured.

  She smiled up into his eyes. “I love you, too,” she whispered.

  “It would be reprehensible if I were to ask you to dance again straightaway, and so I must contain myself, but I will ask you again. You have my word upon it.”

  “I trust it will be another waltz?”

  He smiled. “What else can it be when I need to hold you?”

  Her fingers curled in his, and they danced a little more before he spoke again. “What say you to my highland togs?”

  “You are very splendid, sir.”

  “I trust you mean the compliment.”

  “Oh, I do, my lord,” she breathed, gazing up at him. “I have found you irresistible each time we’ve met, but tonight, in your kilt and lace, I find you even more attractive. I desire you, Lord Glenvane, and I am not ashamed to say it.”

  “Oh, Lauren, would you have me make love to you right here and now?” he whispered, unable to help pulling her even closer.

  She wanted to laugh her happiness aloud, to fling her head back and exult in the sheer rapture of knowing he loved her. This was joy of a kind she’d thought lost to her forever on the day Jonathan had died, and it was hers again now, here at Glenvane Castle on this most wonderful of nights. She had crossed the Atlantic with such reluctance, not wanting to set foot in Britain, but, oh, how glad she was that she’d come!

  All too soon the waltz was over and they had to part. It was hard to turn away from each other, but they knew they must, for tonight was Mary’s night and they didn’t want to draw any attention away from her.

  For the next hour or more Lauren danced with a succession of partners, although not Jamie, who did indeed appear to have forgotten her. She was even enticed into a set for a rather too lively highland fling. She wasn’t alone in not knowing the steps, and the resultant shambles caused a great deal of hilarity. It was after the fling, when she’d retreated a little breathlessly from the floor, that she was at last reunited with Rory.

  She didn’t know he was there until suddenly he caught her hand and without anyone knowing drew her into the adjacent dining room, where supper would soon be served. They hurried across to the door on to the garden terrace, and then out into the warm night air. Lanterns twinkled everywhere, even on rowing boats out on the loch, and the gardens were like fairyland itself as Rory led her away from the castle and down to the water’s edge. There were other guests enjoying the night, but no one paid any attention to anyone else, and no one saw Lord Glenvane taking Miss Maitland in his arms to kiss her on the lips with a passion which consumed them both.

  Chapter 16

  It was a long kiss, savored to the full, and neither of them was conscious of anything else in the word except the ecstasy flooding their veins. Their hearts beat swiftly, pounding together as breathless desires swept them along.

  Lauren’s very soul longed to capitulate, and she didn’t know how long she could endure without the slaking of the unbearable thirst he’d aroused. She wanted him, and the feeling knew no bounds of chastity or propriety. Her true sensuality had been awakened at last, and she knew herself as never before. She wasn’t meant to be prim and correct, always mindful of etiquette and manners; she was meant to share voluptuous passions with this one man. This one man…

  He tore his lips away and crushed her close, whispering against her hair. “Dear God, I cannot go on like this. I need you, Lauren, and now that I know you feel the same way, there is only one course to be taken.”

  “Course?” she breathed, still lost in the beguiling sensations which swirled through her mind and body.

  “Mere seduction will not suffice, for I must have you completely. You must be properly mine, and I yours.” He cupped her face in his hands, his eyes bright in the lanternlit darkness. “You must be my bride, Lauren; you must be mistress of both the castle and its lord.”

  “Marry you?” she breathed, caught off guard.

  He smiled, his thumb moving softly over her cheek. “Does such a prospect hold no attraction for you?”

  “It’s not that…”

  “What then?”

  “I know how determined you were never to take another bride.”

  He searched her eyes. “Lauren, I know that you aren’t another Fleur, for you are all that is honest and true. I also know that after all that has passed between us today, we must never allow a
nything to part us. We were made to be together, my darling, and I want to cherish you as you should be cherished. I want you to share my love, my title, my fortune, and my future, and so I ask you to be my bride.”

  “Oh, Rory—”

  He brushed his lips softly over hers. “Be my countess, Lauren,” he whispered.

  “But there is so much to think of…” His lips were distracting, denying her the will to reason.

  “What is there to think of, except that we love each other and are free to marry?”

  Her wits seemed to have been scattered into the night. “But my home is thousands of miles away, and I belong there, not here.”

  “Look into my eyes and say that, Lauren. Glenvane has been waiting for you, and you should be its mistress.”

  She met his gaze and then turned to look at the brilliantly illuminated castle.

  He stood behind her, his arms lovingly around her waist as he whispered a line of a poem in her ear. “If thou woud’st view fair Glenvane aright, go visit it by the pale moonlight.” He gave a low laugh. “I know the poet was actually writing about Melrose Abbey, and that the ring around tonight’s moon quite clearly heralds a dire change in the weather, but the sentiments are appropriate to Glenvane, don’t you agree?”

  Glenvane in the pale moonlight? With Rory Ardmore’s arms around her? She leaned her head back against his shoulder. “Yes, I agree,” she murmured.

  “Can you leave this place and its master, my darling?” he asked softly.

  She closed her eyes. Leave? She was bound to Glenvane forever. “No, I can’t,” she replied softly.

  “Will you marry me?” he asked again.

  “Yes. Oh, yes…” She turned back into his arms, and a searing joy seized her as he crushed his lips to hers.