Pleasured (34 page)

She straightened her shoulders and drew in a deep breath. She was here. There was nothing for it now but to go on. Picking up her cape, Violet wrapped it around her shoulders, and stepped down from the carriage. The postboy, who had slipped off his horse, stood holding the reins as he gaped up at the house before them.

“You may unload my trunks,” she told him with a great deal more assurance than she felt. It would be humiliating indeed if Mardoun sent her packing now.

She tied her cloak as she walked up the steps to the grand doors. There was more wind up here than there had been in the valley below, and it sliced through her, tugging at her hat. The house was utterly dark; no lights shone in the myriad of windows, not even a glow through the drapes or around the edges. It was too early for everyone to have retired, surely.

Violet raised the ornate knocker and banged it firmly against its plate. After a long moment with no response, she gave it several more sharp raps. What seemed an eternity passed, and she was beginning to despair of an answer when at last, one of the heavy front doors opened, revealing a young man, obviously hastily dressed, holding a lamp in one hand. He raised the light and stared at her blankly.

“I am Lady Violet Thornhill,” she said briskly. She had learned long ago that one could not show any sign of hesitation or lack of confidence if one hoped to be taken seriously. “I am here to see Lord Mardoun.”

The young man gaped at her, looking—if such was possible—even more incapable of speech. A woman’s voice sounded faintly somewhere in the house behind the man, and with a look of relief, he turned away. “Mrs. Ferguson! Some lass is here tae sae the earl.”

“What nonsense is this?” The female voice was closer now, and the lad stepped back as an older woman appeared at the door. Mrs. Ferguson was a square, substantial woman wrapped in a heavy flannel dressing gown. Her hair, liberally sprinkled through with iron gray, hung braided in one thick plait over her shoulder. She held up a lamp and regarded Violet suspiciously. “What do you think you’re doing, pounding on people’s doors at all hours of the night?”

“It is barely eight o’clock.” Violet returned an equally steely gaze, refusing to be intimidated. “I am here to see Lord Mardoun.”

“Well, you have nae chance of that. Gae on with you noo.” She made as if to close the door, but Violet hastily slipped inside.

“I am here at the express invitation of Lord Mardoun,” Violet went on. That was stretching it a bit, but the man
had
invited Lionel, and Lionel would have brought her with him if he had been able to come.

Mrs. Ferguson crossed her arms, blocking Violet’s way. “That’s a puzzle, then, since his lordship is not here.”

“Not here!” Violet’s stomach sank. She had been counting on Lord Mardoun recognizing her as Lionel’s student. “What do you mean? Will he be gone long?”

“Aye. He’s gang to Italy on his honeymoon. As you would ken if you were really a friend of Lord Mardoun’s.” With a triumphant expression at having bested her opponent, she began once again to move the door forward. “Now, gae along with you.”

“No, wait.” Recovering somewhat from her surprise, Violet dug in her reticule and pulled out her silver-chased card case. She extracted one of her calling cards and held it
out. “I did not say I was a friend of Lord Mardoun. But he is acquainted with me. I am Lady Violet Thornhill.”

The mention of her title had the desired effect, for Mrs. Ferguson paused, then took the card and perused it, frowning. Violet dug in her reticule again and pulled out the earl’s letter.

“This is Lord Mardoun’s invitation to my mentor, Mr. Lionel Overton, to visit and examine the ancient ruins he found. You can see that it is written in his hand. Here, read it.”

Mrs. Ferguson drew herself up and said frostily, “It is not my place to read his lordship’s letters.”

“Then surely it is not your place to turn away Lord Mardoun’s guests, either,” Violet pointed out and was pleased to see uncertainty flicker across Mrs. Ferguson’s face. She pressed her advantage. “If his lordship is not in residence, who is in charge of Duncally?”

“I am the housekeeper here,” Mrs. Ferguson said.

“Then you are the one who reports to the earl?”

“Well, to the butler, of course.” The older woman began to look a trifle flustered. “But he has gang back to London with his lordship.”

“So that leaves you responsible for deciding whether or not you will refuse Lord Mardoun’s hospitality to his acquaintances? He delegated such authority to you?” Violet felt a twinge of remorse at browbeating the woman; she had always despised her father’s aristocratic bullying of all those in lesser positions. But she had no idea what she would do if Mrs. Ferguson cast her out of the house. She could not fail after she had come so far.

With a final glare at Violet, the housekeeper turned to
the footman, still hovering with his lamp in the background. “Bobby, gae fetch Mr. Munro.”

The young man beat a hasty retreat down the shadowy hall. Mrs. Ferguson turned and regarded Violet stonily, her arms crossed over her chest. Violet, affecting a false air of unconcern, sat down on the hall bench as if prepared to wait there forever. Minutes dragged by. There was no sound but that of a large clock striking the hour somewhere down the hallway. Violet wondered who Mr. Munro was, but she was not about to give the other woman the satisfaction of appearing curious. Finally, there was the sound of a door closing somewhere in the back recesses of the house, and soon heavy footsteps came toward them along one of the hallways.

Violet turned as a tall blond man strode into the entry. He came to an abrupt halt. “You!”

Violet’s stomach sank. Mr. Munro—the man who would decide whether she stayed or left—was the man who had rescued her on the road. The man with whom she had just quarreled.

Author photograph by Anastasia Hopcus

CANDACE CAMP
is the
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author of more than sixty ovels, including her Willowmere series—
A Lady Never Tells
,
A Gentleman Always Remembers
, and
An Affair Without End
—and the Legend of St. Dwynwen trilogy:
A Winter Scandal
,
A Summer Seduction
, and
The Marrying Season
. Her other bestselling Regency romances include
The Courtship Dance
,
The Wedding Challenge
, and
The Bridal Quest
. She lives in Austin, Texas, with her husband, and is the mother of young adult author Anastasia Hopcus. Visit Candace and learn more about her books at
www.candace-camp.com
.

ALSO FROM CANDACE CAMP

The Secrets of the Loch Series

Treasured

The Marrying Season

A Summer Seduction

A Winter Scandal

An Affair Without End

A Gentleman Always Remembers

A Lady Never Tells

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Candace Camp

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First Pocket Books paperback edition April 2015

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Cover illustration by Jon Paul Studios

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ISBN 978-1-4767-4109-3
ISBN 978-1-4767-4113-0 (ebook)