One Night with the Highlander. Ann Lethbridge
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These were all things she would learn on the morrow. “Mother and I will come in the afternoon. If you would be so good as to let Lady Jenna know.”
He bowed. “She will look forward to it. Feel free to bring Lord Merton, if he accompanies you.”
The mention of her husband brought the evils of her situation back in a rush. “Lord Merton passed away earlier this year,” she said, keeping her voice emotionless. “Good day, Mr. McLaughlin. I look forward to seeing you and Lady Jenna tomorrow.”
No amateur in the ways of the world herself, she took a small step toward the door, forcing him to stand aside and bow his farewell. “Until tomorrow, Lady Merton.”
She did not miss the spark of interest in his eyes.
Was she wrong about him? Had he heard, and decided to try his luck? But surely he would not knowingly expose his precious cousin to a woman with her reputation? Edinburgh’s wanton Black Widow.
* * *
Gordon could not help but watch the sway of her skirts at her quick firm step as she departed the shop. Or the proud tilt of her head on her slender neck. She’d been lovely as a girl of eighteen, with dove-gray eyes and hair the color of amber. A spirited girl. All laughter and passion. As a woman she had new depth. A new reserve. And secrets. But the passion between them remained. Held in check. Controlled. But there nonetheless, as it had been the first and only time they met. Like last time, he had only to look at her to want her.
And she was a widow.
Available. His body tightened in anticipation. Attractive widows were fertile hunting grounds for a man who wanted the satisfaction of mutual pleasure without ties. More than one of his liaisons had thrown their caps at him over the years, but he’d never had the wherewithal to support a wife, let alone a family, in the way he thought he should. Finally he’d saved enough money to leave his father’s business and strike out on his own.
Gordon thrust his inconvenient lust to the background. “Do you have a package for me?” he asked the hunched, balding clerk behind the counter. “Gordon McLaughlin.”
“Yes, sir. Arrived on the mail.” He reached beneath the counter and produced a bulky package. “From London.” He eyed it with interest.
As he would. In this quiet backwater in the north of England, the death of one of its prominent citizens and the subsequent arrangements would be of interest to all. But this package had no relevance in the death of Jenna’s aunt. Mrs. Blackstone had been her brother-in-law’s pensioner. This package was Gordon’s own personal business. His father had demanded he see Lady Jenna back to Carrick Castle the moment he stepped off his ship from Boston. Impatient at the delay, Gordon had sent word to his man of business to forward the contract to him here.
Once he signed the papers he would be the owner of his first merchant ship. He hefted the parcel in his hand and wandered out into the street, surprised when he caught himself glancing up and down, seeking sight of the lush figure of Lady Merton, like some randy youth.
But lust didn’t completely cover the things he had felt on seeing Annabelle, though there was no mistaking its presence. There was also a sense of words unspoken. Promises not kept. Even a sense of loss.
He was imagining things. Had to be. All he felt was unrequited lust. Not something he couldn’t control. Yet he found himself looking forward to meeting her again on the morrow.
Blackstone Manor lay about half a mile from the village. It was a fine day for a walk along a country lane. The scrub-covered foothills of the Cheviots, while not as rugged, reminded him of the hills around his home in Scotland. He felt a twinge of regret. With his plans set in motion he was likely to see as little of them in the future as he had these past few years. His father would likely be less than pleased with his decision. It was not an interview he looked forward to with pleasure.
Unlike seeing Lady Merton again. The passage of years had certainly added to her feminine appeal. His palms tingled yet with the desire to explore her lush curves. And if the flush on her creamy skin and the answering warmth in her gaze spoke true, she, too, had felt the pull of desire.
And she’d been widowed twice. He stopped, staring unseeing at a flock of sheep in the field on the other side of a stone wall. Two husbands. Envy for those unknown men twisted sharply in his gut. It would be another five years of hard work before he could think of supporting a wife.
Inside he froze, shocked that he was even thinking about the idea. He wasn’t. He was thinking about how he would break the news of his departure to his father. He’d let thoughts of a pretty woman distract him from an unpleasant duty. And now there was no time left for contemplation.
Nestled at the edge of a forest that marched up the hill behind it, Blackstone Manor was typical of the stone houses hereabouts. A pony and trap tied to the fence indicated Jenna had a visitor. There had been several visits of condolence since he arrived two days ago. Groaning inwardly at the thought of another round of stiff conversation, he passed through the gate in the fence surrounding the neat little garden, and entered the front door.
The housekeeper took his hat. “Lady Jenna asked me to tell you that Mrs. Tracey is sitting with her in the front parlor.” She jerked her head toward the closed door. “There is a cup laid for you.”
From that he gathered he was to rescue Jenna from the vicar’s wife. He glanced regretfully down at his package. He would far rather go through the papers and make sure all was in order, but he could hardly leave Jenna in the lurch. He strolled into a room with closed drapes and black crepe adorning the pictures. Only one candle had been lit. Poor Jenna. She felt bad enough about losing her aunt without being forced to be reminded of it in such a gloomy way.
And he was glad he had decided to join them when he heard the relief in Jenna’s voice as she made the introductions and he made his bows.
He sat down and Jenna handed him a cup of tea. “How very kind of you to call on Lady Jenna in this sad time,” Gordon said with a smile.
“I am not one to be found lacking in my duty, Mr. McLaughlin. Lady Jenna tells me she is to return to her cousin at Carrick Castle.”
“Yes,” he said calmly, trying not to show annoyance at the woman’s obvious prying. “My mother anxiously awaits her arrival. Since my sister married last year, she has been lacking female company.”
Jenna gave him a smile, her heart-shaped face lighting up with pleasure. “I look forward to seeing her, too.”
“I met Lady Merton in the village,” he said, by way of filling an awkward pause in the conversation. “You knew her as Annabelle Dawson, Jenna. She plans to call tomorrow.”
Mrs. Tracey’s lips thinned in disapproval. “You surely will not entertain that...that woman here, Lady Jenna.”
Jenna bristled at the admonition in the woman’s tone. Gordon did a bit of bristling of his own. He held his temper and replied before Jenna’s quick tongue doused them both in hot water. “Lady Merton is the daughter of your husband’s predecessor,” he said mildly. “Is there a problem?”
The woman’s eyes gleamed. She glanced over her shoulder as if she expected the subject of their discussion to appear from nowhere, then leaned forward. “Both of her husbands died under very mysterious circumstances. In Edinburgh they call her the Black Widow.”
Gordon’s jaw dropped.
Mrs Tracey nodded, clearly satisfied by his reaction. “The first one died of a supposed fever, but now there is talk that it might have been something in his food or drink. And the night Merton died, there were unexplained comings and goings, according to neighbors. My brother, a magistrate in Edinburgh, says it was a havey-cavey business, indeed. He is sure Lady Merton knows more than she admits, and so do her servants.”
Their visitor sat back with a jerky nod. “And her no better than she should be, by all accounts. Not the sort of woman you should be admitting to the house, Lady Jenna.”
Gordon felt his blood growing hotter by the