Page 16 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

Deep, rumbling laughter made Jane spin around. Spencer leaned on the doorframe, gray eyes sparkling in mirth.

“Bless you that you did,” he said. He came to Jane and put a strong hand on her arm. “You and your ancestors will always have my gratitude, sir. Jane and I will be married by the end of the month.”

Grandfather gave Jane a hopeful look. “All’s well, that end’s well?”

Jane dashed forward in a burst of love and caught her grandfather in an exuberant embrace. “Yes, Grandfather. Thank you. Thank you. I love you so much.”

“Go on with you now.” Grandfather struggled away, but the tears in his eyes touched her heart. “The pair of ye, be off. Ye have much more kissing to do. It’s Hogmanay still.”

Spencer twined his hand through Jane’s. “An excellent suggestion.”

“And don’t either of you worry about Barnett. I’ve already caught him kissing Miss Pembroke.”

Jane blinked. Miss Pembroke was the daughter of her parents’ friends from Kent. “He is quick off the mark. The wretch.”

“Then he can toast us at our wedding,” Spencer said. He pulled Jane firmly to the door. “I believe I’d like to adjourn to the library again, to continue our… planning.”

Jane melted to him, her anger and exasperation dissolving. She needed this man, who’d come to her so unexpectedly to lift her out of her dreary life. “A fine idea.”

In the cool of the hall, Spencer bent to Jane and whispered in her ear. “You are beauty and light. I love you, Janie. This I already know.”

“I already know I love you too.”

They sealed their declaration with a kiss that burned with a wildness Jane had been longing for, the fierce freedom of her youth released once more.

* * *

Left alone in the sitting room, Hamish MacDonald raised his flask to the painting of a beautiful woman whose flowing hair spilled from under a wide-brimmed hat. She smiled at him over a basket of flowers, her bodice sliding to bare one seductive shoulder. Her eyes were deep blue, her hair black as night.

“I did it, Maggie,” he said, his voice scratchy. “I’ve seen to it that our girl will be happy. Bless you, love.”

He toasted the portrait, done by the great Ramsay, and drank deeply of malt whisky.

He swore that Maggie, his beloved wife, heart of his heart, forever in his thoughts, winked at him.

* * *

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