Now she really did blush hard, as though his good opinion mattered to her more than anything else on earth. "Thank you," she said simply. She smiled at him and it felt to Lucas as though the sun had come out.

"Now." Her voice changed, became businesslike. "I have a problem and I require your help, Mr. Ross." She tapped a letter that lay on the desk in front of her. "My sisters write that they will be visiting Kilmory at the end of next week."

Lucas felt a flash of alarm. If Lady Mairi Rutherford saw him at Kilmory, then his impersonation of a servant would be over. She had met him and there was not a hope in h.e.l.l that she would not recognize him. Either he was going to have to skulk around out of sight in the garden grotto for the entire visit or he was going to have to work fast, complete his inquiries before the ladies arrived and get the h.e.l.l out of there.

d.a.m.nation.

Ten days was no time at all to complete his mission.

But Christina was still speaking, looking down at the letter, a faint hint of asperity in her tone: "Apparently Mairi and Lucy are bringing some friends with them from the Highland Ladies Bluestocking Society. The ladies were very excited to hear that Lady Bellingham is staying nearby. They want to meet her. I understand she is something of a bluestocking heroine. I am to invite her to tea in order for the ladies to discuss with her all manner of subjects ranging from the practical applications of trigonometry to the return of Halley's Comet."

"The Highland Ladies Bluestocking Society," Lucas said. "Is that an entirely female enterprise?"

"It is," Christina said. "The clue is in the name, Mr. Ross. Gentlemen are not invited to the meetings unless they are attending as expert speakers."

Lucas breathed a little easier. At least Jack would not be escorting Mairi. He doubted that Jack's specialist subject was a suitable discussion topic for a group of earnest bluestocking women. On the other hand, they might be riveted to hear a lecture on the seduction techniques of the practiced rake.

"Are you a bluestocking yourself, ma'am?" Lucas asked.

Christina put her pen down with something of a bad-tempered slap. "No, Mr. Ross, I am not. It takes leisure to be a bluestocking and I have no time to spare for such fripperies." She rubbed the back of her neck. Tiny wisps of golden-brown hair escaped her chignon. Lucas wanted to press his lips to the tender curve at her nape. The impulse was so powerful that he had to clench his fists to stop himself.

"There is so much to do," Christina said, half to herself. "Everyone just a.s.sumes..." She broke off. "Well, that is nothing to the purpose. But as I said, I need your help with this visit, Mr. Ross."

"Either you wish me to make myself scarce in the greenhouses or you require me to wait at table," Lucas said, hoping it was not the latter.

Christina eyed him frostily. "Please do not attempt to read my mind, Mr. Ross. I require neither of those things from you. I could not have you waiting at table." She drummed her fingers on the desk in irritation. "There would be a riot in the dining room. The Highland Ladies are very partial to a handsome man. They have quite a reputation." She rubbed her head absentmindedly, leaving another smear of ink down her cheek. "What I would ask is that you provide appropriate cut flowers for the house on each day of the visit," she said.

"So you would require me to bring the flowers up to the house," Lucas said. "Indoors?" He could imagine himself hiding behind a huge spray of roses when Mairi Rutherford walked past. This was going to be awkward.

Christina was looking at him oddly. "Only as far as the housekeeper's room," she said. "Mrs. Parmenter and I will then arrange the flowers and display them." She tilted her head thoughtfully as she looked at him. "You are starting to know the difference between a rose and a hollyhock, I hope?"

"Hollyhocks are taller than roses," Lucas said. He grinned. "I will collect some of the gardening books on my way out. Hopefully then I will not disgrace you."

"Thank you," Christina said. She moved her papers into a businesslike pile and stood up. Clearly it was the end of their interview.

"If you will excuse me," she said. "I have errands to run in the village. Soup to take to Mrs. McGregor and medicines for the Morrison children. They have the ague. I hope there will not be a major outbreak."

Lucas caught her arm as she moved toward the door. "You look very pale," he said. "You should be careful not to wear yourself out."

His hand closed over hers and she froze, catching her breath. Her face was in profile to him and he could see the curve of her lips and a pulse beating in the delicate hollow of her throat. Beneath his hand her fingers trembled. The awareness shimmered between them like a heat haze.

"I am very well," she whispered.

"You are not," Lucas said. Suddenly he felt fiercely protective. "You never give yourself a rest."

Her gaze came up to his, cloudy with tiredness. He could see all his own confusion reflected in her eyes. "I appreciate your concern, but I do not think you should be so familiar, Mr. Ross," she said. "Only a moment ago you agreed to behave with absolute propriety-"

Lucas gave a growl deep in his throat. "To h.e.l.l with propriety," he said.

He pulled her toward him. He could feel the hesitation in her but also the wicked current of temptation that swept away all her objections. He spun her around so that her back was against the door and held her there whilst he kissed her long and deep, his tongue plundering the sweetness of her mouth, his body holding hers trapped. She slid her arms about his neck and kissed him back. He felt a rush of something so elemental it could not be denied: power, possession and desire. Yet beneath the clamor of his body was an infinitely more disturbing feeling of protectiveness.

She pulled away from him, breathing hard, and he cupped her face, brushing the fragile line of her jaw with his thumb. He felt conflicted, tenderness warring with the compulsion to push her away, to keep her at arm's length before he plunged into even more uncharted waters. But it was too late. A fierce sense of need swept through him, bound up with the urge to shield her from all harm.

"Take care of yourself," he whispered, kissing her again, gently this time.

She freed herself. He could see the withdrawal in her eyes and knew she was determined to end this, no matter how much she wanted him. He caught her hand and felt her try to draw away.

"Promise me," he said, "that if you are with child you will tell me."

Her eyes opened wide, blank with shock. He could see she had not thought of that.

"It won't happen," she said. "It could not. You didn't..." She stopped, clearly unable to form the words.

"It can still happen," Lucas said grimly. He tightened his grip on her. "I will not be like my father," he said. "I won't ever abandon the mother of my child."

He saw the shift of expression in her eyes; a grief and sadness he could not understand, mingled with a longing that turned his heart inside out. She smiled, though he thought there was the glitter of tears on her lashes.

"You are a good man, Lucas Ross," she said. She touched his cheek fleetingly. "A very good man."

She turned, pulled open the library door and walked away, closing it softly behind her. Lucas listened to the sound of her footsteps fade as she went away, back to her life as chatelaine of Kilmory, laird in all but name. He knew he had no role in that; he was not a part of her life, and for the first time he disliked that intensely.

THERE WAS SO much to do; there were menus to agree with Alice Parmenter on and a meeting scheduled with the land agent to discuss the increase of rents at the home farm, and food and medicine to take to the village and calls on Mrs. MacPherson and Lady Bellingham. There were rooms to be aired in advance of the visit of the Highland Ladies Bluestocking Society and the servants to encourage and placate and stray sheep to be recaptured and a new batch of the peat-reek to distill. Yet Christina could not concentrate. All she could think about was Lucas.

She had barely seen him for a week. That very denial meant that she dreamed about him at night, dreams full of heat and longing, and woke feeling desperately lonely. Her body ached for him, but his absence was much more than that. She felt as though a part of her was missing and no matter how she tried to fill the void with activity, the pain would catch her unawares in odd moments, as it was doing now. She was seated in the drawing room full of people, a place that could have been a hundred miles away from Lucas's little cottage and the secrets they had shared.

She had not wanted to feel like this. It was one thing to give her love and her time to her people, but quite another feeling such an intensity of emotion for one man. She was afraid of that feeling, so afraid that if she gave in to it she would risk losing everything again. As a young girl her heart had been open and she had loved without reservation. That love had curled up and died when she had lost her mother and her world was shattered. Never again would she give of herself so freely.

"Christina, you are not attending." Gertrude poked her none too gently in the ribs with her fan. Her face was wrinkled with dissatisfaction, her gaze darting across the room to where Allegra was deep in conversation with Richard Bryson, the riding officer. Allegra was smiling; it was the first time that Christina could remember seeing her looking so genuinely animated. Her mother was also looking animated, but with annoyance not pleasure. It was clear to Christina that she had just missed one of Gertrude's diatribes on her daughter's bad behavior.

"I beg your pardon," she said automatically. She had been paying attention, just not to what Gertrude was saying. What scared her was that it felt too late to turn back. She was in love with Lucas and she did not know how to stop. It exhilarated her, but it frightened her, too. Loving Lucas made her want to take risks she had sworn never to take again. Loving him made her want to dare to trust that the future would not be like the past, that this time she would not be hurt. Caution warned her that she was a fool, setting herself up for further pain. She did not know what to do.

Gertrude prodded her again and Christina was tempted to take the fan and snap it in half.

"I was saying that when you chaperone Allegra during the winter season in Edinburgh, you must make absolutely sure that she does not waste her time on unsuitable men like that," Gertrude said, waving the fan in the direction of Richard Bryson. "She is not to marry below the rank of a duke's heir. Or perhaps we could tolerate an earl if we are absolutely desperate. But below that I simply will not go, Christina. Do you understand?"

"Allegra is the one you should be speaking to, not me," Christina said, a little more sharply than she had intended. Gertrude's complacent a.s.sumption that she would chaperone her daughter was deeply irritating. She had not asked her, and whilst Christina would have enjoyed a trip to the capital, the price of being at Gertrude's beck and call was a high one.

"Have you asked Allegra what she would like, Gertrude?" she continued. "You should consider her feelings for once, since her marriage is a decision that will affect the whole of the rest of her life. Perhaps she does not wish to marry, or at least not immediately. Or perhaps she would rather have a man who has a genuine regard for her than make a dazzling match simply to gain a duke's coronet."

Gertrude stared. Her mouth fell open a little in what Christina a.s.sumed could only be shock at having her opinions challenged. "Don't be absurd!" Gertrude snapped. She stood up, equally snappily, and walked off, her back ramrod straight with outrage as though Christina had suggested something improper. Christina smiled faintly. As someone whose father had comprehensively ruined her own prospects of marriage, she felt a little warm glow of pride to be standing up for Allegra and her future happiness. With any luck Gertrude would also realize that she was an unsuitable chaperone. Christina had heard her telling various people that it was an act of kindness, to give her something to do.

She had been deplorably lax in the past in allowing Gertrude to get away with her barbs, but not anymore. Lucas had helped her to see that her sister-in-law's att.i.tude need not be tolerated.

She watched Thomas Wallace trying to serve the tea and cakes. Galloway was training him, but he was all fingers and thumbs, cake crumbs scattering, cups tilting at dangerous angles. Christina sighed. She had tried to do the right thing in giving Thomas the footman's job. His father had recently suffered from illness so severe that he could not longer work his croft. But Thomas was not cut out to be a footman. Lucas Ross would have served tea so much more elegantly. Lucas was not cut out to be a footman, either, but for very different reasons.

Tea at Kilmory was not usually as busy as it was today. There had been an unexpected influx of visitors, including the doctor and his wife and daughter, a sweetly pretty blond girl of seventeen who was talking with modest shyness to Lachlan. Lachlan never normally took afternoon tea, and it was a tribute to Miss Cameron that he was present. Christina sighed. Lachlan had always been a ladies' man, the indulged younger son and not the steadiest of characters. She wondered again whether she should write to Dulcibella, Lachlan's wife, begging her to come back to him, but the prospect of begging Dulcibella for anything was not appealing.

A burst of laughter drew Christina's attention back to Allegra. Allegra was looking exceedingly pretty, her blue eyes sparkling, leaning close to Richard Bryson as she made some emphatic point in their discussion. For a moment Christina thought, but could not be sure, that Allegra's fingers had brushed the back of Bryson's hand in a gesture that had looked very intimate. She frowned, feeling the first stirring of concern. It was surely impossible that any intimacy should exist between the two of them, and yet Allegra sparkled as though she was in love. As though they were lovers.

Christina had been astonished earlier in the afternoon when Allegra had returned from a ride, pink cheeked and full of repressed excitement, with Bryson in tow. She had said they had met on the cliff path and ridden back down to Kilmory together and that she had invited him to stay for tea. Gertrude had been almost speechless with outrage. Christina had not been certain that she would not rescind the invitation on the spot, and so she had stepped in quickly to reinforce Allegra's invitation, even though she did not want Bryson in the house. She supposed it was not his fault that he was a riding officer and she was the criminal he was sent to capture. He seemed to be a very pleasant young man and he had his way to make in the world. But if his future plans involved Allegra-if they were already involved-that put a very different complexion on matters.

Christina watched them again, uncertain, irresolute. Bryson was behaving with absolute propriety toward Allegra. Yet Christina's own heightened emotions told her that there was something between them. But surely she had to be mistaken. Allegra would never take a lover.

There was a commotion in the doorway. Galloway was attempting to maneuver what looked like an enormous marketing basket into the room. It was full of roses-deep red roses and white rosebuds tinged with the most delicate blush of pink. They overflowed the sides of the basket in a wonderful cascade and brought with them a scent of summer.

"Roses for Allegra!" Gertrude rushed forward, a smile emblazoned across her face as she elbowed Bryson aside and appeared to be about to s.n.a.t.c.h the basket. "An admirer! Who can it be?"

Galloway held the basket away from her. There was an expression of furtive triumph on his face that he quickly wiped away.

"The flowers are for Lady Christina, ma'am," the butler said. "They were left on the doorstep with a card." He crossed the room to where Christina was sitting and bowed deeply. "My lady."

"For Christina!" Gertrude recoiled as though the flowers had bitten her. "How inexplicable!"

Christina brushed the rose petals with her fingers. She was rather inclined to agree with Gertrude. Such an extravagant gift seemed extraordinary. Admirers were in short supply in Kilmory. And now she looked more closely, she thought she had seen that marketing basket before, in the potting sheds. Mr. Hemmings had been using it for his seedlings.

Peering closer, she saw a gleam of bronze beneath the tangle of stems. It was her pistol.

Lucas.

She swallowed hard. She had almost forgotten that he had not returned the pistol to her and now here it was, delivered in full public view, swathed in roses, brought into the drawing room by the butler. Anyone might have seen it. But that was typical of Lucas. He liked to take risks. She sensed that in him every time they spoke, that edge of danger, and it attracted her like a moth to the flame.

Something hot and arousing tugged deep inside her and she closed her eyes for a second. She had taken the dangerous step between wanting a lover and taking one, and now that she knew how pleasurable it could be, she wanted that pleasure again. She hungered for it, for Lucas.

Belatedly she became aware that everyone was looking at her and cleared her throat rather self-consciously.

"The flowers are from Mr. Grant," she said. "I asked him to send some roses to refresh the arrangement in the library."

"Ah." Gertrude's face cleared. "I had thought it quite impossible that you would receive roses from an admirer, Christina."

"I'm sure you did," Christina agreed.

The tea party was coming to an end. The doctor, belatedly aware that Lachlan's attentions to his daughter should be firmly squashed, was gathering up his family and making to leave. Richard Bryson excused himself with every appearance of deep regret. Gertrude scowled as Allegra gave him her hand and said airily that she would see he was invited to dinner. No sooner had the drawing room door closed behind the guests than she rounded on her daughter.

"You are not to encourage him, Allegra. Do you hear me? He is n.o.body. He is beneath our notice. How can you be so foolish? You have every advantage of birth and fortune. Use them to catch a husband worthy of the MacMorlan lineage."

All of the bright, happy color faded from Allegra's face and she stormed out of the drawing room, slamming the door behind her. Gertrude turned on Christina. "And do not think to encourage her, Christina, by inviting that young man to dinner!"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Christina said truthfully, taking the wind out of her sister-in-law's sails.

"Oh, well..." Gertrude sounded mollified. "I am glad that you share my views on Mr. Bryson's lowly antecedents."

"I don't care whether Mr. Bryson comes from the top drawer or the sheep byre," Christina said, "but I will not dine with a man whose work requires him to persecute my tenants and villagers. Excuse me, Gertrude. I have things I need to do."

She picked up the basket of roses. "Please put this in my bedroom, Galloway," she said, pa.s.sing the basket to the butler on her way out the door. "I don't think I shall waste the flowers on the library-Papa never notices these things." On an afterthought, remembering the pistol, she added, "Please don't water them. I will do it later."

"Ma'am." Galloway bowed.

Christina went out into the gardens. The sun felt hot even though it was getting toward evening. Or perhaps she was the one feeling hot and fl.u.s.tered. She had come out without bonnet or parasol. Her mind had been on other things. She walked along the terrace, looking at the dazzling sparkle of the sun on the sea. Only the slightest of breezes stirred the pines.

At the corner of the walled garden, she got a st.i.tch in her side and was obliged to stop and rest one hand against the wall, doubled over, whilst she tried to regain her breath.

"Lady Christina? Are you quite well?"

It was Lucas's voice. She felt him take her elbow gently as he a.s.sisted her toward a seat in the arbor. She felt like an ancient dowager. Her gown was sticking to her in the heat. She knew her face was flushed. She had never felt less attractive in her life. "I am quite well, thank you," she said. "The heat..."

"It is very hot today," Lucas agreed seriously.

"Thank you for returning the pistol," Christina said.

He smiled. Her heart did a little flip. "My pleasure," he said.

"It was ingenious," Christina said, "if foolhardy. You must not do such a thing again."

Lucas shrugged. "The matter will not arise unless I am obliged to disarm you again," he said. He spread his hands. "I could not simply walk into the parlor and present it to you on Galloway's silver tray." His voice changed, deepened. "Besides, you deserve roses. Red roses that smell heavenly, and delicate white ones with a touch of pink that look as though they are blushing."

If she had not already been in love with him, Christina thought that was the moment when it would have happened. She felt a great wash of love for him steal her breath, leaving her feeling weak. The arbor was surrounded by honeysuckle that smelled sweet and strong. It made her head swim. She looked at Lucas and felt even dizzier. He was watching her with a smile in his eyes, but behind that gentleness she saw a harder light of desire that both fascinated and almost scared her with its intensity.

"Mr. Ross," she said. "Really. You should not say such things to me."

"I know," Lucas said. He did not apologize, nor did he look remotely regretful. Her heart gave another flutter of hopeless longing.

d.a.m.n it. Simply by existing he was making this very difficult for her.

"You are well, I hope," he said. "I have not seen you lately."

"I am very well, thank you," Christina said. "There has been a very great deal to do. And you?" She added politely. "Is all well?"

She saw the smile deepen in his eyes at the ridiculously formal tone of their conversation. "All is well with me, too," he said gravely. He paused, smiled at her again. "I must go and finish my work," he said. "The grotto is almost complete."

She watched him walk away with his long, lithe stride. She was tempted to run after him and simply throw herself into his arms. The strain of maintaining such an unnaturally decorous conversation had left her feeling strangely exhausted. It was so far from what she wanted, and yet she had made herself a promise and she could not break it. She had to keep Lucas at a distance.

With a little sigh, she walked slowly back toward the castle. Inside there were so many things to do, yet she rebelled at the thought of each and every one of them. She felt restless and hot. Seeing Lucas had just made matters worse; she really should not seek him out again. She wandered through the maze-it was cooler there between the high hedges-and down to the avenue where the limes led to the fountain.

Trailing her fingers in the water, she thought what a perfect afternoon it would be for a swim. Down on the beach there was the Round House, a small stone building that her father had had constructed as a changing room for swimming. The duke had stopped sea bathing after contracting a chill the previous year, and Christina was the only one who used it, except when her sisters visited. A dip in the water was precisely what she needed. Perhaps it would help to soothe the desire she had for Lucas. Or perhaps not.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE ROUND HOUSE was cool and dim after the heat outside. The duke, always mindful of his comfort, had furnished it with a great deal more luxury than his servants' cottages. There were soft rugs on the floor and fluffy towels in a cupboard, along with the rather shapeless gowns the ladies wore for bathing.