My Heart's in the Highlands (5 page)

“
Not at all, Lady Ayr. I am happy to have you here,” the marquis assured her.  “You are my cousin.  You and his grace are my family now as well.”

Mikah could feel Hero’s joy as
the worries of being ejected from the property, which had been weighing her down, released, unleashing her buoyancy.  Pushing herself fully to the front of Mikah’s consciousness, Hero suddenly asked, “Have you seen the dungeons yet?”

Dungeons?
Mikah wondered, though a mental image immediately followed.

“
I have not,” Ayr replied, grinning boyishly in response to her enthusiasm.  “I believe my steward mentioned their presence, but I hadn’t thought they were of much note.”

“
Oh, but they are!” she rejoined earnestly.  “I’ve been telling Papa all about them, about Cuilean and the Firth and the gardens.  The dungeons are vastly interesting and quite unlike anything I’ve even read about.  You simply must see them!”

“
And so we shall.  It will be too late to do so when we arrive, but perhaps you might join me for a walk in the morning?” he asked politely, and when she nodded, he added, “and perhaps dinner tonight if you’re not too fatigued from our journey?”

Mikah felt a rush of blood in her cheeks and knew Hero was blushing over the masculine appreciation in Lord Ayr’s eyes and voi
ce.  Had she been more naïve, a blush might have been her first response as well.  Even so, she was positively giddy at the thought of his company tonight, tomorrow, and in the days to come.  “Yes, my lord, that would be lovely.” 

Turning
to look out the window once more, Mikah’s breath caught at the sight of the old castle breaking through the dense trees.  Dùn Cuilean!  Her heart leapt in time with Hero’s.

Home,
they thought together, and Hero’s joy mirrored Mikah’s own.

Chapter Five

Later that evening,
Ian stood in the pillared circular hall that marked the center of the castle, waiting for the marchioness to join him for dinner.  The sweeping central staircase had become a symbol of the majesty of Dùn Cuilean to the new marquis, a visual focal point for the pride that engulfed him whenever he thought about being the Marquis of Ayr.  That pride flooded him whenever he put a foot on that first tread or descended them, as he just had. 

Dùn
Cuilean was a magnificent castle, ancient in history yet glorious.  This central hall, for example, was comprised of a wide white marble staircase to the first floor split at the landing into two white wings that wrapped back around to the first floor, curving along the sides of the oval.  On each level, the balustrade was made up of an ornate railing of wrought iron shields upon long spikes that awed visitors with their metaphor of power.  Twelve Corinthian columns and arches encircled the oval hall on the ground floor and were topped by Ionic columns on the first floor in a reversal of classic style that emphasized the height of the hall.  At the top of it all, a glass-domed cupola allowed a shaft of light to beam down at the marble floor of the lowest hall as if the place were under the grace of God himself. 

To know that it was all his was empowering.
  Ian felt his chest expand with that knowledge as he waited for the marchioness.  The way she had looked at him during the carriage ride home was just as empowering, he realized.  The attraction between them had been instantaneous and intense.  He couldn’t remember ever feeling anything like it.

The urge to touch her, to hold her hand or caress her cheek
, had been almost overwhelming.  It had been difficult not to act on that attraction, to assume the familiarity he felt.  Instead he had settled for watching her.  Watching her expression as she’d looked out the window of the carriage as Cuilean had come into view had enthralled him.  Her anticipation and excitement had been palpable, rousing an answering anticipation in him.  But it was her expression when she looked at him that enthralled Ian the most.  She looked at him as if he were godlike, like something she’d never seen before, and Ian felt the same when he looked at her.  It was intoxicating.

It was magical.
 

So magical that he wanted to grasp it in his hands and never let it go.
  He wanted her to stay at Dùn Cuilean, wanted to share it with her.  Wanted to share more than he cared to consider just yet.

Not the least of those things was her bed.
  The attraction he had felt for the woman in the portrait in his chambers for the last month had become undeniable lust since seeing Hero in the flesh.  Ian shook off the arousal that gripped him at the mere thought of her and seized again on the puzzle that was Hero Conagham.

Though
it pleased him that she loved the castle as much as he and considered it home, Ian had to wonder again what prompted her return to this place.  The castle, despite its vast beauty, was certainly far removed from society.  Indeed, it was almost removed from civilization itself in its remote locale on the coast of the Firth of Clyde, miles from anything or anyone, with just Ian in residence, if one didn’t count the bevy of servants it took to run the castle.

Why would she return?

All of those questions fled his mind the moment Hero appeared on the landing above him, and Ian’s breath caught.  Only one question remained and, for a bachelor of long standing, it was an uncomfortable one that boggled the mind.

How could
he convince her to stay?

The rustling of silk caught his attention and Ian turned.

She was so incredibly lovely, Ian thought again as he awaited Hero at the foot of the steps as she swept down the curved staircase toward him.  Her evening gown was a widely striped rose and bronze silk.  The broad hooped skirt was nearly as wide as the staircase as she descended, and at its center, her tiny cinched waist was encircled by a band of bronze silk that trailed in lace-edged streamers over the belled skirts.  The bodice clung tightly to her every curve.  The notched collar—for lack of a better word—was edged with lace and hung low across her bosom and arms, leaving her shoulders bare.  The tops of her breasts nearly spilled over the low neckline with every breath.  Her arms were bare as well, as she eschewed gloves.  Only the long ribbons trailing from the silken rosettes on lacy trim that served as the arms of the gown made any attempt to cover her bare flesh.  Hero wore no jewelry, either, only gold and rose silk flowers in her hair.

His fingers itched to encircle that tiny waist, to caress that ivory skin.
  Ian had never seen a more breathtaking sight … that is, until she looked down at him with a brilliant smile.

Ian
felt as if the bare-knuckled prizefighter, Tom Sayers, had just hit him below the belt.  The wind was nearly taken from him but Ian stood tall and welcomed his guest with a broad smile and a gentlemanly bow.  Surely the marchioness would expect her husband’s heir to treat her with detached respect, not tethered lust. 

Reaching the foot of the stair, Hero returned the marquis’s bow with a reflective curtsey of her own, marveling at how wonderful he looked in his evening attire.  His white shirt and cravat contrasted sharply with his dark complexion, his brilliant blue waistcoat doing the same against the shirtfront.  Over it, Ian wore a navy coat so dark it almost appeared black.  She loved the peppery darkness of his hair with just enough salt to soften his dark coloring.  Hero held out her hand and allowed him to kiss it formally.  The feel of his warm lips against her bare skin, however, was beyond cordial.  Tingling tendrils of electricity set her fingers curling around his.

If he objected to her tight grip, Lord Ayr said nothing of it, merely tucking her hand in the crook of his arm and offering polite conversation as he escorted her out of the hall.
  “I must apologize for the meal beforehand,” he offered as they paced slowly through the Library to the Eating Room beyond.  “Being alone here, I have instructed Cook to prepare only the simplest fare these past weeks.  I hope you will not be disappointed.”

“
I’m sure I won’t be,” Hero answered in her cultured tones.  “Cook is a joy and makes everything taste wonderful. Besides, like you, I don’t tend to favor elaborate meals when I am not entertaining, and I am only family here, right?”

Hero
cringed as the words escaped her, and Mikah did a mental face-palm as well.  Neither of them considered this virile man to be part of her family.  The last thing Mikah wanted was any requirement for a platonic relationship.  Appearances, Hero reasoned more primly, must be kept lest he misinterpret her intention and begin to feel her presence as an uncomfortable burden.  Ian’s eyes narrowed at her words, however, and Hero liked to think that perhaps he didn’t care for the familial connection either. 

Still, the marquis
said nothing except to ask,  “Won’t your father be joining us?”

“
No.  Papa is tired from the journey and will take a meal in his rooms.” Hero’s brow creased momentarily.  “I apologize.  He doesn’t intend any rudeness.”

“
None taken,” Ayr assured her, and Hero could hear the uncertainty in his voice as he asked, “I hesitate to mention it lest I offend you in turn, but your father seems an interesting character.”

“
That is the kindest interpretation I’ve yet to hear of his condition,” Hero said, smiling, and squeezed his arm.  “It is easy to see that Papa is a gentleman out of sorts with the world as it were.  Since Mama’s death a couple of years ago, my father has, in some people’s opinion, gone quite mad.  I’m sorry if he disturbs you.  I can keep him from …”

“No, no,”
Ayr interrupted.  “I meant nothing beyond curiosity.  I confess I find him a somewhat amusing fellow.”

“It has been a good day for him,
my lord,” Hero told him.  “It will not always be so.  Papa wavers between his old self, forgetfulness, and distraction.”

“It must make him quite unpredictable.”

Hero nodded.  “It does.  My brother, Arthur, has taken over the business of running the dukedom.”

“And left you t
o watching after your father?” he asked.

“It is not a difficult burden,
my lord,” Hero said, shrugging away the implication of Ian’s question.  “I have a pair of nurses to assist me and, I have to admit, I quite prefer Papa this way.  He was as stern a father as he was a duke before.   While there are moments these days that are quite heartbreaking, I find him more engaging most of the time.”

“Heartbreaking?”
Ayr queried.  “In what way?”

“Can you imagine your father looking at you and having no idea who you are?”

The marquis’s steady stride paused for a moment before he drew her into the Eating Room.  “I cannot.  It must be quite painful to experience.  Surely there are other moments to compensate?” 

Hero could hear the sincere sympathy in his voice when he spoke and felt it touch her heart.
  She considered his query, thinking of the moments of childlike enthusiasm her father displayed for life these days, the interest he paid her and affection he felt toward her that he’d never had time for in years past.  In many ways, she was closer to him now than she’d ever been.  “There are indeed, my lord.”

“Enough of that, now.”
 

Hero looked up to find his brow furrowed.
  “My lord?”

“Aye, that.
  I am Ian, my lady, if you would,” he insisted.  “I’m afraid I haven’t gotten used to being ‘my lord’-ed as yet.”

“You will, my lord.”

“But not yet.”

Hero met his dark gaze.
  Nothing would please her more than to say aloud the name that had been pounding in her mind since she had discovered it.  “Very well, Ian.”

Ian watched Hero as she left his arm and greeted his butler, Boyle, warmly hugging the old man and pecking him on the cheek.  It was a display entirely improper for a marchioness, yet that impropriety charmed Ian thoroughly.

“Welcome home, my lady. I am so pleased to see you much recovered since your arrival,” the starchy old butler offered in an affectionate voice that Ian had not been privy to since taking over the marquisate.  “The others and I were quite worried for you.”

“
Thank you, Boyle,” she answered graciously.  “Please let everyone know how much I appreciate their concern.  I’m sure I will get around to seeing them all on the morrow, if they are all still here.  I am so glad to see that Lord Ayr kept you on when he arrived.  I had wondered.”

“My lord made nary a change, my lady,
since his arrival,” the butler returned as he stepped forward and pulled out a chair for her at the foot of the long dining table.  “Everyone will be glad to greet you on the morn.”

“Please move Lady Ayr’s setting to join me at the head of the table, Boyle,” Ian suddenly commanded, startling the pair as well as himself.  At Hero’s inquiring look, he offered only a shrug.  “It makes no sense to sit so far away if there are only the two of us here.”

“
I couldn’t agree more,” she smiled in return and journeyed up the long table to wait beside the chair that would be to his right.  Boyle hastened to please her, pulling out her chair and seating her before doing the same for the new marquis.

Once
they were seated, a pair of footmen poured their wine and Ian lifted his in toast. “Welcome home, Lady Ayr.”