Chapter Three

Perthshire, Scotland, McMullen Castle

“I hope I am not overstepping, Your Grace, when I offer my sincerest felicitations on your upcoming nuptials.”

Those murmured words from Thomas Biddleton, Alexander Masters’s most trusted steward, arrested him as nothing had ever done. Well, except for the sight of his sister chasing a pig through the woods only a week ago, screaming for it to run and be free.

The pig had been recaptured later that day, but he knew better than to tell her so.

The memory pulled a ghost of a smile to his lips, and the other men gathered in his study shared a speaking glance. Except he did not understand its language. Did they ponder the nature of his smile or the beastly mien that must have been highlighted in stark silhouette with that small movement of his lips?

As it were, the taut skin marring his left cheek down to his neck ached at the movement. There had been little reason to exercise those scarred muscles of late. Even his sister’s wild antics rarely managed to bring levity to his heart, when before a simple hug from her had made him feel whole. The echoing emptiness had become somewhat of an enigma to Alexander, for he did not perceive its purpose. He’d long accepted his fate and no longer roared his anguish at his misfortunes, yet he was also inexplicably aware of the heart of darkness that lingered within him.

He was lonely.

The stark reality of it had been a crack in the belief that all he needed was his sister, Penny. But he’d decided to send her to England for the necessary social polish and a season. She would not like it, but he would not allow her to bury herself in the wild moors of Scotland forever when the possibility of happiness might await her.

“Please forgive my impertinence, Your Grace,” the man hurriedly said at his lack of response.

Positioned in a high wingback chair by the fire, Alexander swallowed the last of his brandy, schooling his expression into impassivity. “My nuptials? To whom?”

Startled owlish eyes cut into his, and Mr. Biddleton seemed lost for words. “Miss Katherine Danvers, I believe she prefers to be called Kitty…is she not your betrothed? Everyone has said so.”

“Then it must be true,” Alexander said caustically, dismissing yet another intrusive rumor into his life. In the ten years since he had withdrawn from society, he had heard it all—the exotic French mistress he had to throw off a cliff, that he had perished in the fall that had broken his body, then damn his black heart, he had done away with his heir presumptive. Those were the rumors that had reached him in his cold corner of Scotland.

Mr. Biddleton’s furtive glance cut to the three solicitors seated around a massive oak table. They were meticulously packing up reports in the proper order for his perusal later. From the stiff manner in how they held themselves, he surmised they were discomfited. Perhaps they dreaded the invitation for dinner he would extend, as was his custom. They were too afraid to refuse him, and they were aware he knew their discomfiture.

Something ugly scuttled across his thoughts, a black awareness that he was lonely and had only these retainers resembling obsequious cockroaches who sat without spine, bowing to all his whims because he was the duke.

Mr. Pryce, a new addition to the law offices, and who was aiming to leave his mark on the world, cleared his throat. “I had the privilege of finding a suitable town house for Miss Danvers when her late father’s lawyer was unable to do so, Your Grace. Miss Danvers was quite pleased with the house in Portman Square.”

Alexander was momentarily transfixed. A member of his team had seen and spoken to this creature?

Then a peculiar stillness settled over his mind. It seemed this was more than gossip crafted from the silver tongues of boredom and spiteful pettiness. It was quite astonishing. He took a few minutes to assess the strangeness of not having his mind darting in several directions, calculating profits, or penning some inflammatory letter to Britain’s parliament.

“Was she?” he murmured in a deliberately disinterested tone.

The pup, evidently eager to please, and dismissing the cautioning look from his superiors, hurried to extrapolate. “Miss Danvers has been declared incomparable, Your Grace, and the story of your courtship is splashed in every newspaper and scandal sheet. They do admire her for her charm and kindness. The story of your meeting and secret courtship has become a sensation. You…you’ve become the rage…”

Mr. Pryce’s voice left him as he became aware of the heavy disapproval beating down on him from his two senior lawyers.

None of that mattered to Alexander, as for the first time in years, a pulse of raw, vibrant emotion stirred beneath the controlled surface he presented to the world. A young lady had deliberately claimed to be his fiancée; she had either been struck with madness or ingenuity.

He felt an unfamiliar twist of curiosity.

He turned the crystal brandy glass slowly between his hands, absently tracing the puckered scars dissecting his thumb. “This meeting is over, and I will see you all next month.”

Mr. Pryce and his senior lawyers stood, bowed, and made their way from the study.

“Not you.”

Somehow sensing that it was he, the young buck faltered. “M-me, Your Grace?”

“Yes.”

Everyone else shuffled out, the last one closing the door to the study quietly.

“Tell me, Mr.…”

“Adolphus Richard Pryce, Your Grace,” the young man hurriedly answered.

Alexander could feel his uncertainty and did nothing to put him at ease. “You’ve personally met Miss Danvers.”

The man hurriedly explained how he had found the town house for her and had tried to open a line of credit with the best dressmakers and milliners, but she had refused.

How interesting. A charlatan who was not interested in his money? Who are you and what do you want?

The lawyer’s voice droned on in his eagerness to please. Certain phrases caught at the sharp edges of Alexander’s mind; others he dismissed as he stared into the flickering flames. The scarred half of his face throbbed, as it always did whenever he looked upon the force of nature that had caused his greatest pain.

The ton is fascinated…

Everyone is amazed at how indulgent you are…

It is a love match…

A winter wedding…

A duchess at last…

It was simply too outrageous to be believed.

“I task you to ensure that every newssheet that has mentioned Miss Danvers is delivered to me immediately, and all that mention her moving forward should be sent to me posthaste with no expenses spared.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Mr. Pryce murmured, pleasure rich in his tone. “I am happy to serve.”

“You are dismissed.”

The man bowed, a spring in his step as he made his departure.

Silence once more blanketed the massive study like a shroud. He stood, gripping the head of his cane, absorbing the pain winding across his back. The doctors recommended he try to operate without his wheeled chair for at least an hour each day. Alexander had ignored them, and no less than three hours was spent on his legs every day, despite the agonizing discomfort.

He made his way along the hallway, which was redolent with the scent of lemon wax and flowers. The large hall echoed with memories of a life long forgotten, a time when his sister had shrieked without decorum as she ran down these hallways, the servants smiling at the unlikely picture of his mother, a duchess, chasing her child. His sister’s presence had never allowed him the luxury of being overly maudlin.

She’d needed him more than he’d needed darkness to hide away in.

Each step jarred him, the pain at times making his steps falter. But he did not call for his bath chair or his manservant. He made his way down the winding stairs, past the drawing room and the grand ballroom, to a private room that had been designed solely for his use. Gripping the handle, he opened the door and entered the only paradise he allowed himself—his library.

A room where shelved walls of books and scrolls and stone tablets rose in three stories of splendor. It was decorated in antique gold and blue, with six soaring windows facing the rolling expanse of the green castle grounds. It was a room fit for a pasha, overflowing with antiques and unique items he had collected before his accident.

There had always been a deep-seated need inside him to study human culture and the different civilizations. He had toured the continents, locating precious gems and stones, revered scrolls, miniature sphinxes and statues of exotic animals, rare vases from the Ming dynasty, and books; he had hoarded them like a dragon protecting his lair of treasure.

During his recovery, he’d hired a team of archaeologists, lawyers, and hunters of exceptional and unique things, and each year something more precious, more unique had been brought to him. He felt as if he collected the great beauties and wonders of the world, yet he had never been fulfilled. He touched his latest acquisition: Emperor Kublai of the Mongol Empire immortalized in the cold jade of the statue.

It brought him no pleasure.

The void was not filled; there was no rioting need to immerse himself in the rare books that accompanied this and each acquisition. His mind did not reach toward the abyss where he could submerge himself in another exotic world and be free. For his desire to collect suddenly burned with a furious need to add another object to his growing trove of treasure.

Miss Katherine “Kitty” Danvers.

But once they came behind these massive oak doors, his treasures did not leave. An unusual interest pulsed through him at the notion of this daring creature in his castle.

“Finally, your meeting is over!” a muffled voice filled with annoyance exclaimed.

He smiled, moving farther into the grand library and around a wall of bookcases to another open area to see his sister sprawled indecorously on the dark green oriental carpet, her peach day dress already showing signs of smudges. She had been in one of his crates.

“I surmise you have been waiting long?”

“At least two hours.” She shot him a quick smile, her turquoise eyes filled with excitement. “Look what has arrived, Alexander. A sacramental vessel from the Temple of Seti. Isn’t it glorious? I believe Mr. Cook has outdone himself with his latest acquisition. There is a book of hieroglyphic—” Penny pushed to her feet and fisted her hands on her slim hips. “You seem out of sorts! Should I summon Dr.—”

He waved aside her concern. “I’m quite well. I simply got a bit of unexpected news.”

She shot him a birdlike look of inquiry. “Is it news from the doctors?”

“No.”

Relief lit in her eyes. “Is it good or bad news?”

“It depends on your outlook on—”

“Please spare me any more philosophical lectures and tell me,” she cried with endearing frankness.

Alexander chuckled, recalling their spirited debate this morning as they had rowed on the frigid loch waters. “It appears I am engaged.”

She gasped and sank into the well-padded cushion of the sofa. “You are to be married?”

“So it seems,” he said with droll amusement.

“But how? I cannot credit it or perceive if I should be delighted or pity the poor lady who will have to withstand your eccentricities,” breathed Penny, looking eagerly up at him.

He scowled.

“Though they are delightful ones,” she added hurriedly with an impish grin. “But truly, how did this happen?”

“As I understand it, it was announced in the papers by Miss Kitty Danvers. I do admit, I have yet to meet this lady.”

The import of his words reached his sister, and she straightened. “Oh dear. I wonder what circumstances would embolden someone to announce such a falsehood? Are you considerably angry?”

Letting his finger trail over the cold marble statue of Hera, Alexander moved with his jerky gait over to the wall of windows overlooking the palatial lawns and gardens of his estate. “I’m…surprisingly not angry,” he murmured, testing the emotions behind the words.

What he was was curious.

The moon struggled to appear, the clouds covering it like a thin veil. It was then he felt the press of silence. It swarmed through him and burrowed beneath his skin. An almost overpowering restlessness came over Alexander.

Who are you, Miss Kitty Danvers?

Intemperate and reckless, that much he knew. There would be no other reason to summon a beast into her life. Why would anyone say they were engaged to him? What charade was she playing—and why?

He was no longer society’s brightest diamond, the mad, bad, and most elusive catch all the beauties had yearned for. He’d become their scarred, reclusive monster. He remained an influential voice in British politics through his pen. No woman wanted him, and he desired none, for his cock was an empty husk that would never rise again. Yet somehow, he had himself a fiancée…one who was taking the ton by storm.

A rustle behind him indicated his sister had returned to the mound of scrolls on the floor. She was quite used to his lengthy introspections and always knew when to leave him be with his ruminations.

He was intrigued. The hovering loneliness with its jagged and sharp edges, which pierced him when he least expected it, flickered as if it sensed something different on the periphery of his soul and thoughts. Instead of icy darkness settling over his emotions, instead of a muted fury of loss, instead of a sense of nothingness, a curious sort of anticipation blanketed his mind.

…

A couple of weeks later, another set of newspaper articles had been delivered to Alexander. Mr. Pryce had executed his commission exceptionally well. Before Alexander, laid out in an organized sprawl on his oak desk, were five stacks of articles, all from various newspapers. The Morning Chronicle, Times, the Gazette, The Morning Herald, and a Lady Goodie’s Scandals and Secrets, a paper he was unfamiliar with but one that promised all the juicy gossip for those avid devourers of scandals.

They were just as silly as himself, it seemed, for they followed Miss Danvers’s outings relentlessly.

Alexander plucked up the sheet taken from The Morning Chronicle. It was an interview. Incredulous amusement filled him as his gaze devoured her brazen words.

The reporter: “Society has not seen the duke for a number of years. What can you tell us about that?”

Miss Danvers: “That the duke likes and values his privacy.”

Alexander tried to envisage the expression that could have possibly accompanied that sassy remark. An arched eyebrow, a sweetly deceptive curl of her lips?

The reporter: “Will the duke travel to town for this season?”

Miss Danvers: “Dear me, no. The duke much prefers the quiet comfort and fresh air of the countryside. But he does write me quite often. Such delightful letters.”

The reporter: “And where in the country does the duke reside?”

Alexander imagined that she had laughed before responding. Was it low and husky or bright and thrilling?

Miss Danvers: “Come now, Mr. Dawson, surely you do not expect me to own to it. My dearest Alexander surely would not forgive me. I must keep his confidence.”

Now Alexander imagined the reporter shifting closer, entirely charmed by the deceptive vixen.

The reporter: “And what does he write you?”

Miss Danvers: “Oh, the most charming letters and poems.”

Such breathtaking insolence. Had she blushed prettily when she told that lie? Or fluttered her lashes?

The reporter: “Does the duke send you more gifts?”

Miss Danvers: “Very charming and acceptable gifts between an engaged pair. Alexander spoils me endlessly with books of poetries and the most eloquent verses of his creation. He dotes on me and I, too, dote on him.”

The reporter: “Is your attachment a love match, then?”

Miss Danvers: “I do declare it to be so! He indulges me shamelessly.”

Impudent wench! He indulged her, did he? And not just the regular kind…but shamelessly.

The reporter: “Will the duke return to the House of Lords anytime soon? He’s a powerful voice of reason, his pen an instrument for change.”

Miss Danvers: “We do not discuss anything as droll as politics, Mr. Dawson. We speak on matters of the heart.”

Somehow, Alexander did not think her as vague as she implied. No, this woman was as cunning as they came.

With an impatient sigh, he moved on to the mention in the scandal sheets.

Lady Goodie has spied the most daring lady of the season walking to Hyde Park several times, her lady’s maid a few paces behind. Discreet inquiries indicate Miss Kitty Danvers is without a phaeton or a carriage of her own.

Whoever this Lady Goodie character was, she made it her duty to inform society in each of her weekly columns how lacking Miss Danvers was in appearance and gentility to become a duchess. Last week’s scandal sheet had mentioned how vibrantly Miss Danvers laughed, and that her riding boots had seen better days.

Why the charade, Miss Danvers? And how exactly does it benefit you? he silently mused. She hadn’t used her deception to gain anything for herself, beyond the town house his lawyer had insisted on securing for the lady. He felt an odd compulsion stirring inside him to understand this stranger’s drive and complexities.

Flipping the newssheet, he carefully read several mentions of her. While the other papers’ articles were done in admiring tones, Lady Goodie seemed of a mind to vilify Miss Danvers with biting, sarcastic remarks that poked at Miss Danvers truly being the fiancée of the Duke of Thornton.

Lady Goodie has it on the highest authority that the captivating and almost scandalous Miss Danvers was once again seen riding a horse astride in Hyde Park! Shocking, of course, and the last lady to titillate society in such an audacious manner was our darling Lady Caroline Lamb. This author wonders: What does the duke have to say about his fiancée’s outrageous and speculative manner?

Alexander picked up another paper, which referred to the same incident but defended her action as courageous and defying conventions of the biddies of the ton. In fact, this article thought the duke should be proud to have such an intrepid duchess-to-be.

It seemed one set of society was liable to believe the lying wretch, but the other half was wary and cutting. How was she maneuvering the dark and treacherous waters she’d willingly dived into?

With deft aplomb…or are you afraid, Miss Danvers?

His lips curled, and he reached for the inkwell and feather. Pulling a sheaf of paper from his top drawer, he started his composition. He was too enthralled by the unconventionality of Miss Danvers to ignore her any longer.

Dear Miss Danvers…

Alexander paused, assessing the impulse to write to her. And say what? Demand an explanation? Alert the bold vixen that he was aware of her scheme?

Blast his heart for being so perplexed, so intrigued by her subterfuge. She was a puzzle…and he liked puzzles for how they occupied the mind and allowed for the passage of time with some modicum of enjoyment.

Damnable nonsense to be so captivated by a female he knew to be a lying wretch.

His heart jerked and he blew out a slow, audible breath. Yet…he was enchanted. And she’d achieved this without Alexander ever meeting her.

Instead of sending her a letter, he quickly scrawled:

Mr. Pryce,

You will see that Miss Danvers is fitted with a phaeton and a matching pair. You’ll arrange for the horses to be stabled and cared for. At no time must you make Miss Danvers aware that you and I have discussed her. You must convince her to take these items as befitting the fiancée of a duke. She must not be told that I had anything to do with the command.

The Duke of Thornton.

His letter would perplex the young lawyer, but Alexander knew he would obey him without questions.

A quick knock on his study had him lowering the quill. The door was flung open with exuberance, and his sister fairly skipped into his sanctuary, a small pink bundle squished lovingly between her arms.

She’d found the pig.

Even more surprising, the cook had left the animal for her. Clutched in her other arm was a newspaper.

“Dear brother, have you seen this one?” his sister cried out with a choked laugh. “I daresay I’ve won our wager. Our Miss Danvers is beautiful.”

A quick jerk of his heart, a primal slither of interest. In one of his earlier ruminations, he’d imagined Miss Danvers was unattractive and unmarriageable, and this ruse was a desperate bid to make herself more appealing to suitors. He’d dismissed that assumption almost immediately, but he’d still wagered with his sister that Miss Danvers was unattractive.

“Is she?” he murmured.

“Oh yes,” Penny gushed, her eyes dancing with merriment and admiration.

With a grunt, Alexander took the paper, which showed a cartoon drawing of a small-boned lady, a hat with several plumes of decorative feathers perched rakishly atop her head, a gloved hand pressing to her lips in apparent delight. And a man who was supposedly him, lowered to one knee, holding up a bouquet of flowers and what appeared to be letters spilling from every conceivable pocket, looking every inch a besotted fool.

Alexander blinked; then he chuckled.

His sister sucked in a harsh breath and he glanced up.

“You laugh,” she said with wonderment.

A peculiar jolt went through his heart. “Do not act as if the action is strange for me.”

“I dare not wish such genuine amusement, or is your fascination growing for this strange creature?”

“Perhaps I should not have shared the newspaper mentions.”

His sister rolled her eyes. “You did not take me into your confidence. I fettered the truth.”

He’d been so engrossed in reading about Miss Danvers last week, he hadn’t heard Penny creep up on him. A voice too close had simply drawled, “I never knew you read the scandal sheets, Alexander. And how curious you read only the sections that mention Miss Danvers. How I wish to know her.”

He’d swiveled to meet Penny’s broad, heartwarming grin. Then a wager of sorts had started between them.

Was she comely with blond hair and a buxom figure as he had preferred women in the past? Or was she plain with hardly any rousing attributes? Was Miss Danvers plump or petite? He’d said it was neither here nor there in his estimation; Penny had said a woman with such a large and bold personality must have the body and attitude to match.

His gaze lowered again to the small-boned woman in the garish cartoon.

Another wager had been: Was she blond or dark haired?

He’d put up fair, Penny dark haired. The cartoon shed no light there.

When would she outrageously set a wedding date? Alexander had wagered never. Penny had said a December wedding.

“I just finished reading about the first time you met her,” Penny said, her eyes wide with amusement. “How I wish I could meet Miss Danvers! She must be so very brave and original. I wonder what outlandish tale we will read of next?”

Alexander grunted, trying to bury that flare of interest for a damnable stranger who was quite shameless and unorthodox in her manners.

“I am persuaded that when you have made her acquaintance, you shall love her!” Penny declared.

He smiled at his sister’s naïveté. Love? A notion he hadn’t thought or dreamed of in years.

And for this unusual creature? Unlikely.

But why was he humoring her wild and improper antics? He could hardly find the answer.

He had been reading all the mentions of her in the newspapers, his curiosity growing in leaps at her unchecked audacity. He could not help being intrigued by her daring. His haven of treasure and books that fed his intellect and entranced him so much could not push away the stark, raw loneliness of his existence. And this Miss Danvers served as a distraction from that disquieting awareness.

A part of him that had been dead and buried whispered through his soul. What would you do should I come for you, Miss Danvers? Retreat and hide? Or would you face me…challenge me…compel me?

And inexplicably, Alexander knew that before the season was over, he would find out.