Her Highland Protector. Ann Lethbridge
who did not exist.
Her cousin and Mr Gilvry were engaged in conversation beside the hearth. They turned at her entry. Once more, Jenna could not but be startled by Mr Gilvry’s towering height, the lean length of him encased in well-fitting evening clothes, his youth and manly figure more apparent beside her portly cousin.
Freshly shaven, his face was all hard planes and sharp angles. He looked sterner than earlier in the day, more remote, as if he had donned armour to keep the world at bay. The face, undeniably handsome in a rugged kind of way, did not seek to set her at ease. And those broad shoulders were just too intimidatingly wide.
She blinked as she got a good look at his waistcoat. Instead of the usual discreet cream or other pastel shade worn by men these days, it was pale green, embroidered with delicate sprigs of heather. It demanded attention. On another man it might have looked effeminate. On him, it only served to emphasise his stark masculinity. Her stomach gave the same odd little jolt it had given when she first saw him on the road. Surprise. It could not be anything else.
The man clearly knew nothing of fashion.
She dipped a small curtsy, acknowledging their greeting.
Mrs Preston, on the other side of the hearth, looked up with a pained smile. She had an unnatural pallor. A peptic stomach again, no doubt. The widow held out a hand. ‘Come, sit beside me, child.’
Dutifully, she did as requested.
The woman lived in fear of her cousin’s opinion. Fear she would be turned off to fend for herself on the meagre funds left her by her husband if she did not appease Lord Carrick’s every wish, though never by word or deed had he indicated he entertained any such thoughts.
‘It is good to see you up and about again, ma’am,’ Jenna said.
The lady shot a nervous glance at Carrick. ‘How could I not, when we have a guest for dinner?’
‘A member of the household and a relative, too,’ Jenna said, giving Mr Gilvry a cool smile. Playing the great lady was a skill she had learned from Mrs Blackstone, and it would be as well to keep this young man at a distance. Put them back on a proper footing.
Mr Gilvry acknowledged her words with a slight incline of his head.
‘Ratafia?’ Carrick asked.
She nodded. ‘Thank you.’
Her cousin served her with a glass of the icky stuff. She sipped at it, keeping her grimace of revulsion hidden. Oh, for a nice dram of whisky. But ladies did not drink whisky in public.
‘Fine weather we are having for this time of year,’ Mrs Preston said, filling the silence.
Gilvry raised a brow. Carrick sighed.
‘Surprisingly fair,’ Jenna said, trying not to smile at how the words echoed those she had exchanged with Mr Gilvry on the road. Better to recall nothing of their meeting.
‘And are your rooms in the castle to your satisfaction, Mr Gilvry?’ Jenna asked.
‘Yes, thank you, my lady.’
‘Oh, don’t thank me. Mrs Preston organises all on behalf of Lord Carrick.’
His quizzical look said he was wondering if she’d had the ordering of it, she would have left a basket full of snakes in his room. Clearly the man had a sense of humour, even if he was a tattletale.
He bowed to Mrs Preston. ‘Then I thank you, ma’am, for the excellent accommodations. To be truthful, I did not expect such lavish quarters.’
Too charming to be true. But it was working on Mrs Preston, who fluttered her fan and looked pleased. ‘You are welcome, Mr Gilvry, though nothing was undertaken without his lordship’s instructions, I can assure you.’
Carrick waved off the compliment. ‘How are things at Dunross, Gilvry? I understand your brother is making improvements to his lands. And how is dear Lady Selina? I really must find the time to visit.’
‘My brother is well, my lord. As is his wife. I am sure they would be honoured by your company and that of the ladies, too, should they wish to accompany you.’
‘I really would prefer to go to Edinburgh, as soon as it can be arranged,’ Jenna said, giving her cousin a bright smile. ‘As we discussed.’
Inwardly she winced as Carrick stiffened. Perhaps she should not have been quite so pointed. Carrick wouldn’t like the insinuation he had not kept his word. Or it might make him stir his stumps. If he did not make it so difficult for her to have this conversation in private, she wouldn’t be forced into this tactic.
A look of disgust flickered in Gilvry’s eyes. His lip curled slightly. He was judging her again. Assuming her to be a woman with nothing but frippery pleasures on her mind. Well, she didn’t give a hoot what he thought. Not about something so important. This was between her and Carrick.
Her cousin tugged at his collar. ‘I have been meaning to talk to you about that, Jenna.’ He slid a look at Gilvry. Had they been discussing her behind her back? Heat flared through her, anger at the assumption that they, having her interests at heart, knew what was best.
‘I am sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but I do not think it is going to be possible this year.’
Jenna’s chest emptied of every gasp of air. This she had not expected. How was she to find a suitable husband if she never met anyone? ‘But you promised.’
Carrick’s face froze. Blast. She really had gone too far.
‘Dinner is served, my lord,’ the butler said from the doorway.
‘We will discuss this later,’ Carrick said smoothly.
Oh, no. He thought he was going to put her off yet again. She would not allow it. She had been the very soul of patience these past few months, but she wanted to go home. Surely Carrick could see how necessary it was? She’d told him often enough. Or perhaps that was the trouble. The more she pressed him, the more he resisted.
Naturally, while Carrick took Mrs Preston’s arm, Mr Gilvry came forwards to escort her into dinner. As she placed her hand on his sleeve, she felt the heat of his body down her side and sensed the raw power of his arm beneath her fingers. Tingles shivered up her arm in reaction to that leashed strength. She recalled how casually he had faced those villains on the road and how safe he’d made her feel.
A foolish impression. The man was ruthless in pursuing his own ends. A tremble shuddered deep in her bones. If it was fear, it came all tangled up in an excitement she did not understand.
She lifted her chin and walked beside him steadily, outwardly calm, while inside her unruly blood ran hot. She was glad when he released her to pull back her chair so she could be seated. The relief, when he moved to the opposite side of the table, was tainted by a confusing feeling of loss.
As they talked of political matters of interest to Carrick and the court gossip that so entertained Mrs Preston, Jenna glanced at Mr Gilvry from beneath her lashes. What about him set her in such disarray? His darkness? His reserve, except for the odd flash of interest when he glanced her way? Every time he did that, she felt a surge of blood in her veins. And all the time her heart felt too high in her throat.
No. It wasn’t he who had her feeling at sixes and sevens, it was Carrick’s about-face on the visit to Edinburgh, and the strain of saying nothing of importance until the moment was right.
Somehow, she managed to chatter on about inanities, all the while aware of Gilvry’s speculative glances.
What had Carrick said about her? Had he been told she’d been brought up a hoyden by an indulgent father and spoiled by her lonely widowed aunt? It wasn’t entirely true. Yes, she was determined to have her way, but she had to be. She had responsibilities. She’d learned what she needed to know about being the mistress of a house and it was time to put that learning into practice.
The servants brought in the last course: platters of sweetmeats and fruit. Now that