One Night with the Laird. Nicola Cornick
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you tried bedding a harlot for the sake of a cure?” Methven asked. “Replace one whore with another—”
Jack was already half on his feet, his hand going to his sword, before he realized what he was doing. He saw his cousin raise his brows in laconic amusement, realized that he had been set up and wondered what on earth was showing in his eyes.
“I apologize,” Methven said swiftly. “I did not realize it was like that.”
“It isn’t,” Jack growled. He subsided into his seat with a sigh and splashed some more coffee into his cup. “I don’t know...” He stopped. He did not know why he had reacted so badly when his cousin had, in all likelihood, been correct and the woman had probably been a high-class harlot. Except that somehow he knew she was not. And for some reason it mattered.
“She wasn’t a whore,” he said stubbornly.
“Have you been back to the place you met?” Methven said. His blue eyes were steady and watchful now, measuring Jack’s reaction. Jack kept his expression studiously blank.
“I have,” he said. The masked ball had been held at Lady Durness’s town house in Charlotte Square. The house was closed now for the summer and the butler had been less than helpful on the subject of her ladyship’s guest list. The anonymous black carriage had had no family crest. The house in Candlemaker Row, so opulent, had given no clues.
He had to accept that she did not want to be found, and as he was not a man who forced his attentions on unwilling women, that was the end of the affair. He was left with nothing but frustration, anger at having been used and a sense of thwarted lust.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. He summoned up a smile. “Was there something in particular you wanted, Rob? Your note mentioned a favor.”
His cousin nodded. He was staring thoughtfully into the middle distance in a way that made Jack feel uneasy. Then he raised his eyes to meet Jack’s gaze. “You know that Ewan is to be christened at Methven in a month’s time?” he said. “We would like you to be present.”
Robert had married Lady Lucy MacMorlan three years before and they already had two sons, the second baby having been born two months previously. James, the heir, had been baptised at a grand occasion the previous year. Now it seemed that the spare would be getting the same treatment.
“I suppose this will be another of your grand clan gatherings,” Jack said.
Robert played with the stem of his wineglass. “The christening will certainly be a formal occasion,” he said at last, “but the house party is a family event.”
Jack tried not to groan aloud. He hated family occasions, formal or informal, and this one would no doubt prove even more uncomfortable than the last. Traditionally the Methven and the MacMorlan clans had been enemies. Some members of the family still seemed to think that they were.
“Surely your marriage should have been sufficient to heal the rift between the clans?” he said. “Must you do more?”
Robert’s blue eyes were amused. “Yes, I must. Lucy and I have not seen Lachlan and Dulcibella since they eloped. They had the tact to stay away from James’s christening last year.”
“Well, you are not missing anything,” Jack said. “Don’t invite them. Grandmama can’t stand them. No one can. You had a very lucky escape there, Rob.”
Robert’s eyes warmed and Jack knew he was thinking of his wife. Three years previously Robert had been betrothed to marry Miss Dulcibella Brodrie when she had eloped with Lucy’s brother, Lachlan. Robert, Jack thought, had been immensely fortunate; Lucy was charming, clever and beautiful and loved him to distraction. Dulcibella was spoiled, shallow and spiteful and loved no one but herself. There were already rumors of a rift in her marriage to Lachlan.
“I have to be on good terms with Lachlan,” Robert said. There was an edge to his voice now. “Now that Dulcibella has inherited the Cardross estates, we are neighbors. I don’t want any border disputes.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “There was something else, Jack. We wondered... Will you stand as godfather to Ewan?”
The atmosphere changed; silence settled. Jack could find no words. He felt cold to his bones at what his cousin was asking. To be a godfather he would have to embrace family ties, family responsibilities. He would need to be a real active presence in his godson’s life. God forbid that anything might happen to Robert and Lucy, but if it did he might even be required to act as both boys’ guardian, a role for which he was supremely unfit. Jack repressed a shudder.
“You don’t need me,” he said lightly. “Ewan has a whole clan of relatives far more suitable than I.”
Robert’s eyes narrowed. “Jack,” he said, “should anything happen to Lucy or I, I would want you to stand as guardian to both James and Ewan.”
Cold fear seeped through Jack’s body. It was impossible.
“Rob—” he said, with difficulty.
“Lucy and I would like it very much,” Robert said gently. “If you feel able to accept.”
Jack did not look at him. He kept his gaze fixed on the dregs of the coffee that swirled in his cup.
“I am not exactly an ideal role model,” he said, striving for a light tone. “Ewan deserves better.”
“On the contrary,” his cousin replied evenly. “Ewan could not do better.” Then as Jack remained silent, his tone quickened with impatience. “Jack, for God’s sake, give yourself some credit. I know what you are thinking, but you did what you thought was best for Averil—”
Jack cut him off with one swift gesture. He never talked about his sister and he was not going to start now. “I left her to rot in that terrible school, Rob,” he said. “I did nothing for her.”
There was silence, heavy with unspoken comment. Then Robert sighed. “Very well. I respect your frankness and I do understand.” He shifted in his chair. “You will still come to Methven for the christening, though?”
“That’s not really a question, is it?” Jack said. “You are ordering me.”
Amusement gleamed in Robert’s eyes. “I can do no such thing, as you are well aware.” He allowed a moment’s quiet. “Grandmama would appreciate it. She has been in poor health lately, as you know. Seeing you would cheer her.”
“I don’t respond well to blackmail,” Jack said mildly. He let out a long sigh. “Oh, very well. As long as she has no further plans to marry me off.”
“It would make her happy to see you wed,” Robert said.
“You’re looking shifty,” Jack observed.
His cousin sighed. “Grandmama may—and I only say may—have invited a number of eligible ladies to Methven for the house party—”
“Like a cattle mart,” Jack said. His mouth twisted. “You’re not selling this to me, Rob.”
“Now that you have the estate at Glen Calder, you must surely be thinking of the future,” Robert said mildly.
“My future does not involve a wife and family,” Jack said, his voice hard. “Not every man wants such things.” He gulped down a mouthful of coffee, and another. It was not what he wanted. What he wanted—what he needed—was the fierce burn of brandy. It was not often these days that he thought of drinking himself into oblivion, but tonight the prospect was tempting. Too tempting. He knew his weaknesses, knew how little it would take. He pushed the bottle further away. He wished Robert was not drinking brandy but it was not his cousin’s fault. Robert had offered to take coffee with him and Jack had refused and ordered him the spirits. He hated anyone pandering to his weakness.
“Jack, you should not blame yourself,” Robert said. He cursed under his breath. “You should not have to bear the weight of your parents’ mistakes.”
“Let