Lion of Caledonia: International Billionaires VII: The Scots (22 page)

“Now don’t go and withdraw.” He tightened his grip on her hand. “I have a right to my opinions and they still stand.”

She tugged again.

“Yet I have to admit, your father gave me a precious gift in you.”

Shocked, she gaped at him. His gaze had lost the blur of buried memories and his mouth was tight with pain.

He’s dying, Jen, give the old bitterness a rest.

“Grandfather—”

“There, I said it.” He sighed, as if letting go of the painful truth had hurt him. “And I’ll admit, your mother might have been right.”

“Right?”

“That love was more powerful than family. More important than family.”

She ran the words through her head and then, her heart. “No, Grandfather.”

“No?” His bushy brows rose.

“Love creates family.” She stared at him, as amazed by her words as he obviously was.

His mouth twisted. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” She knew the rightness of her claim in the center of her soul. “Absolutely yes.”

He lifted the ruby ring and glared into its glittering depths. “Perhaps your mother and you are both right.”

She’d stared at him, not knowing what to say to ease the pain of losing him and the pain she saw in his grey eyes. “Grandfather—”

“I’m tired.” His hand closed over the ring, shielding it from her gaze. “I need to think some more.”

She hadn’t had time alone with him again. From then on, Cousin Edward had guarded entry to Grandfather’s hospital room like a sentry sworn to protect a king. He’d only had to do his duty for another two weeks.

The solicitor coughed into his handkerchief, bringing her back to the present. “I also leave the cottage in Inverness, Scotland to Edward and Helena and their children.”

“We’ll be selling that off straight away.” Her cousin huffed.

“I have no idea why your grandfather kept that worthless heap for so many years,” his wife said, shooting an approving gaze her husband’s way.

Inverness, Scotland.

A glimmer of intuition pulsed through her. Cam’s mother had come from Inverness. She remembered reading that in the information Grandfather had given her before she’d left for Scotland. Could it be? Could Cam’s mum be her grandfather’s lost love?

How ironic if it was true.

Twice a Fellowes would fall far too hard for a Scot.

Sighing, she put the thought away. This list of possessions had gone on for too long. They all knew the rest of the estate would go to her oldest cousin. What she’d like to do is have a sip of lemonade and walk through the gardens one more time to say goodbye.

“I also bequeath the Rolls Royce and the two Bentley convertibles to Edward.” The solicitor rolled on, oblivious to her wishes.

“You bastard,” James snarled once more.

Edward gave his cousin a glinting look of satisfaction.

If she had more of a backbone, she’d get up and leave. Yet there wasn’t much she had to rush off to. Her job at the garden center had lost all attraction. Her small cottage she’d hoped to make into a home left her cold. Everything about her life seemed dull and boring.

What ye need, lass, is an adventure
.

“In the event Jennet decides not to keep the Aston Martin roadster, Edward will be allowed to purchase it at cost.”

A stunned hush fell over the room.

The only thought swirling in Jen’s brain was that her grandfather had left her a car. If she remembered correctly, it was the flashy red one James always used when he wanted to impress a girl. Why would Grandfather think for a moment she would want a speedster?

The solicitor rustled the papers in front of him and adjusted his glasses. “The remaining portion of my estate, I leave to my granddaughter, Jennet Douglas Fellowes.”

The shock of his statement reverberated through the room.

But again, she could only cling on to the actual words.

Grandfather had never accepted her as a Douglas. Never used the last name she’d been given at birth. She’d been stunned when he’d used the name in formulating her disguise.

“You are a Fellowes now,” he’d said to her, after he’d rescued her from the foster home. As they’d driven from Scotland to Kent, he’d begun his indoctrination. “Never will you be a Douglas again.”

Apparently, he had changed his mind about that, too, before his death.

“This is an outrage!” Edward stood, trembling with fury. “When did this happen, Briggs? It was that time I let you into the hospital room, wasn’t it? He wasn’t of sound mind by then. He was dying.”

The solicitor glanced at him, his expression pleasant, his look pointed. “Lloyd told me you’d say that.”

“I’ll contest.” Her cousin threw Jen a glare and the shock of it pushed the rest of what was happening straight into her conscience.

She’d inherited this estate.

Most of Grandfather’s considerable wealth.

All of the other properties scattered across England: his Mayfair townhouse in the middle of London, the farm in Derbyshire, the posh house in Bath where she’d never even been.

“Lloyd said you would say that too.” Mr. Briggs rose and opened his leather satchel. Slipping the will inside, he inspected the red-faced man who had strode to the other side of the desk. “I would advise you not to. None of the estate left to Ms. Fellowes was entailed.”

“I’ll bloody well—”

“You knew your grandfather.” The solicitor smoothed the satchel closed. “If you go against his wishes, Edward, you are going to suffer some repercussions.”

The murmur of the rest of her cousins, aunts, and uncles blurred around her. Jen thought she might have a panic attack, but her breathing didn’t slow or clutch in her throat. Because she couldn’t take it in. This wasn’t reality. This couldn’t be.

She’d wanted a home.

Instead, she’d inherited a kingdom.

“
D
a
.” His son’s voice came from the doorway.

Cam swung his sullen gaze from his contemplation of the gardens. “What?”

“Come play with me.” Rob marched into the library, a militant glare on his face.

“Naw. Not feeling much like playing, lad.” He went back to staring at what he’d come to think of, during the last several weeks, as Jenny’s garden. It had been the only thing he had left of her. The memories of her digging in the dirt, the pictures in his mind of the mouse ordering his landscaping crew about, the aching wish to see the sun dappling on her porcelain skin and wheat-colored hair once more.

“I don’t care.” His son grabbed his hand and tugged. “I want to play pirates.”

He’d figured it out with Tre. The two of them always had been able to figure most things out when they’d compared notes. His best friend had unknowingly sent Jenny to the boathouse at precisely the wrong time and she’d seen some of what had passed between Amanda and him. Being his mouse, she hadn’t yelled at him and slammed him over the head with a claymore.

Instead, she’d fled. Ran. Gone back to her usual habits.

Damn her.

“Da.” The tug became insistent and he finally had to turn away from her garden and confront his son’s angry scowl. “Come on.”

Sighing, he grabbed his boy and lifted him into his arms. “I’m not feeling much like playing.”

“I know.” A small head with spiked hair nestled into his neck, the hair brushing on his skin. “I don’t either. But Jen would want us to.”

Once he and Tre had figured it out, they’d searched. Cam had been determined to find her and set things straight between them. His friend had felt horrible guilt and wanted to make amends. Both of them had used their formidable investigative skills to find her.

Find Jennet Douglas.

Who did not exist.

The boy wiggled in his arms. “Let me go and we’ll have a great sword battle.”

“Will we?” He managed a dry chuckle as he set down the boy.

“Yes. We’ll explore new places.” His son’s glasses glinted and he gave his father a determined smile. “Then we’ll make sure the treasure is still where it’s supposed to be.”

During the last month, as he’d come to realize Jennet Douglas was a hoax, Cam’s emotions had run the gamut. From disbelief to outrage. From denial to despair. From rage to regret.

Now he felt numb. Hollow.

“Come on, Da.” His son yanked again. “Ye can’t worry about Jen any longer. She’ll come to us when she’s ready.”

He hadn’t told Rob. Hadn’t told him his Jen was a farce, someone who didn’t exist. He hadn’t told him the woman they’d both fallen in love with had come under a false name for some reason he still hadn’t figured out.

Tre had his theories.

“She wanted to meet the famous Cameron Steward and maybe draw your interest.” His friend’s voice had cynically drawled the words over the phone.

“Then why did she leave when she had me right where she wanted?” He had shaken his head, his mobile bobbling in his hand. “That makes no sense.”

“When did women ever make any sense?” Tre responded. “Maybe she’s the type who likes to sleep with famous men, one right after the other.”

“Naw.” He’d stood and stared through the bay window at her garden. “Not my Jenny.”

“She’s not yours, dobber.”

Truer words had never been spoken.

Cam grimaced at the cliché running through his head, yet it was true. Jennet Douglas, Jen, Jenny…Whoever she was, she’d come into their lives and then, she was gone. After a month, he knew in his gut, she was gone for good.

“Da.” Rob scowled. “Come on and play.”

He might as well. He’d been staring at the garden all morning. There was no use trying to write. Advertising for a new transcriber still felt wrong and even if he had one, he had lost the thread of the story the moment his mouse and muse had disappeared. “All right, lad. Where do ye want to have this sword fight?”

“Yeah!” The boy ran toward the library door. “Let’s do it outside.”

They spent a vigorous hour storming the hedges and clacking wooden swords on the edge of the loch. Cam couldn’t help thinking of how much Jenny would enjoy the brisk breeze coming off the water and the soft sunlight shifting across the garden. Then he inwardly cursed himself for giving her the gift of a thought.

“Let’s go inside and explore new places now.” His son danced around him, his face alight with mischief.

He’d worried about how Jenny’s disappearance would affect his boy. But after sulking for a few days, Rob had taken it in stride. “She’ll be back.” He’d said the words often and with a knowing smile.

The childish confidence in the claim made Cam’s heart hurt. He didn’t have the courage, though, to tell him she was gone forever and she’d lied to both of them the whole time she’d been here.

“Ye know every inch of the house.” Ruffling the boy’s hair, he forced a smile. “And every inch of the land, too.”

In a moment of pique a week ago, he’d thought about selling the damn place Jenny had made into a home. Maybe he and his son could travel the world together—not to dangerous places, naturally. But there was an entire world to explore.

He’d suggested the idea to his son.

“Naw.” The boy had shaken his head with vigor. “We have to stay here so Jen will find us when she comes back.”

After more thought, he had come to realize he could take a boat to Thailand, a train to Paris, a plane to the West Indies, and he couldn’t escape her. Plus, his son needed stability right now. The next day, he’d marched into town and enrolled Rob in the local school for the fall. Without Jenny, this house had turned into a prison once more. Yet he owed it and more to Rob.

This boy was the only thing he had in his life now that he valued.

“Not every inch.”

Rob’s wary tone returned him to the conversation. He looked down into his son’s cagey gaze. “What do ye mean by that?”

“There’s one room I’ve never seen.” Rob shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but his body language screamed his true wishes. “One place I’ve always wanted to explore.”

After their son’s birth, Martine had moved into her own bedroom.

“
I’ll never go through that again, so you stay away from me,
” she’d hissed as she took her clothes and trinkets into a room far down the hall.

Cam hadn’t complained.

He’d heartily agreed with her.

The birth had been hard. Not only for Martine, who’d despised the blood and sweat, but for him. He hated feeling helpless and had avoided the emotion most of his life. Knowing he’d been the cause of her suffering had made the whole experience even worse.

Sex didn’t necessarily mean babies, though.

They’d argued about that a time or two.

Sex with his uptight wife had never been stellar, yet it had at least scratched the itch. He’d stayed away from her throughout the pregnancy at her insistence so he’d been looking forward to the one benefit he’d received from their marriage. But before he could win the argument, he’d been swept into the maelstrom of her madness. He’d been a stupid young man who knew little about postpartum depression, much less postpartum psychosis. By the time he’d caught a clue about how serious it all was, she’d been dead. The day of her funeral, he’d locked the door of her bedroom for good, and locked the guilt and regret deep in the recesses of his heart.

“Da.” His son, the one gift Martine had given him other than the loch, scowled at him, clearly tired of his silence. “It’s time for me to see my mum’s room.”

“Is it?” Rob had never seemed interested in his mother or the abandoned room. “Why now?”

“Because.” A petulant pout threatened.

“Because.” He let out a gust of air. Well, why the hell not? He’d been wrestling with depression for a month. Why not confront one of the many ghosts in his past? Since he couldn’t find the real Jenny and confront her, he might as well take a go at Martine’s memory. “Come on, then. We’ll go explore your mum’s room.”

Rob’s face went slack with astonishment. “Really?”

“Ye said ye wanted to, so let’s go.” Cam grabbed his shoulder and nudged him forward.

A flicker of doubt sprang into his son’s eyes. “Are ye sure ye want to, Da?”

“It’s time for both of us.” He paced toward the house and for a moment, he felt as if Jenny laid a hand on his heart in a gesture of support.

But his mouse was now only another ghost in his life, and one he’d find much harder to banish than his dead wife.

* * *

M
artine’s ghost was gone
.

Cam had imagined he’d find her lingering in the huge dressing room filled with what had been her overriding obsession: clothes. Or maybe she’d be whispering in and around the perfume bottles, makeup, and trinkets she’d collected in passionate frenzy. He’d certainly expected her to still be loitering by the grand Louis XIV gilt wood vanity she’d insisted on carting over from France.

But she was gone.

Gone from the tiny part of his heart she’d held for having his child. Gone from his twisted, ugly memories. Gone even from his regrets and guilt.

A shock ran through him.

Something shifted inside.

He’d done the best he’d been able to do for his wife. He’d called doctors, pleaded with her to get help, dragged his mother to this outrageous estate in a last attempt to make things right.

Martine hadn’t been right, though. Right in the head and the body and the heart.

No matter what he’d done, he couldn’t make her right.

Tre had told him this over and over.

“She was sick,” his friend said again and again. “Would ye be beating yourself up if she’d died of cancer, ye dobber?”

“She didn’t die of cancer,” he’d shoot back every time, the ugliness of her death still streaming in his mind. “She died because I got her pregnant.”

“She got herself pregnant.” Tre always snorted in derision. “She wanted ye and she knew ye had too much honor to walk away. It’s not your fault, Cam.”

It’s not your fault, Cam
.

The words and realization rang inside as he stood in the center of her room, staring at the weird painting hanging above her bed. Martine had bought it a week before her death in another frenzied shopping spree in London. The warped timepiece in the picture sagged along the edge of a table, the gold and green springs and stems spewing out in a cascade of crazy.

Maybe that was what she’d felt inside.

Everything falling apart and her time coming to an end.

An end he hadn’t been able to stop, through no fault of his own.

“Da?”

An impatient tug brought him back to reality. He glanced at his scowling son. “What?”

“What was she like?” Rob threw a disgruntled glare at the ornate room. “She sure liked clothes and stuff.”

He kneeled to stare at his boy. “I suppose it’s a bit like ye and your collections, eh?”

A spark of understanding lit in his son’s eyes. “Aye. I suppose it is.”

“Your mum liked to collect clothes while ye like to collect marbles.” He swept Rob into his arms and stood. “She loved to shop and make herself pretty.”

Their son grunted in mild disgust, making Cam smile for the first time in a month. “Girls are different. You’ll have to accept that.”

“Like Jen enjoys sitting and reading a book while I like to climb trees.” Rob smiled at him, his two-toned eyes sparkling with fond memories. “Or like Jen always has to be tugged into an adventure, while we like to jump right in.”

“Something like that.” A sharp cut sliced into Cam’s heart at her name, at the memories swimming in his boy’s eyes, at the knowing Jenny wasn’t ever coming back to make new ones. Trying to distract himself, he swung in a circle, taking inventory. “I’m thinking it’s time we gave some of this stuff away.”

“I think my mum would like that.”

He stifled a wry grin. Martine would not have liked it, but she wasn’t here anymore—in bodily or ghostly form. It was time to clear her from this house as he’d done from his memories and heart.

Rob wiggled. “Now it’s time to see the treasure.”

“Hmm.” He set the boy down and followed him into the hall. Leaving the bedroom door open, for the first time in seven years, he paced behind the boy until they arrived at the other locked door in the house.

“Come on, Da.” His son batted at the doorknob. “Open it up. I haven’t seen my treasure since ye locked it in.”

“Your treasure, eh?” Fishing out the circle of keys he’d become accustomed to carrying with him after taking charge of his boy’s pastimes, he clicked open the lock. “I’m thinking they're mine more than yours.”

“Nope.” Rob shoved the door wide and danced into the shadowed room. “I found them, so they’re mine.”

Cam flicked on the light and prowled into his mother’s bedroom, braced for a wall of memories and regrets.

But again, he found nothing.

Nothing except a faint bittersweet emotion sighing out the last of its hold on him.

His mother had stayed after his wife’s death. Someone needed to take care of the new baby and her wild, irresponsible son couldn’t do it. Diana Steward had lost her beloved husband two years before Martine’s death and had been at loose ends in Edinburgh until Cam had called her in frantic fear.