Page 53 of Return of the Scot
Jaime nodded, and MacInnes escorted the man out.
“I suppose this was something that was a long time coming,” Jaime mused, staring hard into the amber-colored spirits in her tiny cup. “And we can be glad he married her rather than abducting her.”
“A long time coming?” Aunt Beatrice finished her dram but still had the wild look of a hunted deer in her eyes. Really, the dramatics were too much.
“Aye, I’ve a feeling Gordie is actually Gille’s son.” Jaime tipped the cup into her mouth, letting it burn a path down her throat, relishing that little bit of punishment.
“A feeling? What makes you say so? That’s not true.”
“We may need to open our minds to the possibility, Aunt.”
Aunt Beatrice scrunched her nose in disapproval, and Jaime didn’t have the patience now, despite the whisky, to give her aunt any further information. Instead, she rose and went to the writing desk, penning a quick note to Lorne.
“If ye’ll excuse me but a moment, Aunt.”
“No, no, I think I shall retire. I’ve had quite a shock.” Aunt Beatrice rose. “It might be time for me to return to London, where I can quell some of the rumors before they run rampant.”
In other words, she didn’t want this news to reflect badly on her daughters, Jaime’s cousins, who were starting in society. Jaime had not seen them in a decade—by choice of her aunt and uncle, who didn’t want Shanna’s reputation to influence their own three daughters. This had rubbed Jaime the wrong way.
“Oh, that is a shame ye feel the need to leave, and we’ve been having such a lovely visit,” Jaime tried to keep her voice soft and sweet rather than elated. “But I understand. I will be sure to keep ye informed of all that happens.”
“Yes, please do.” Aunt Beatrice handed Jaime her empty whisky glass.
“Would ye like a glass to take up?”
Aunt Beatrice paused a moment, likely wanting that very thing, but shook her head. “I’ll never sleep if I do.”
Once her aunt was on her way up the stairs to the bedchambers, Jaime found MacInnes again.
“Please see this delivered to the duke.” She pressed the note into her butler’s hand.
“As ye wish, Miss, but might I remind ye of the time?”
“Nay, MacInnes, ye may no’.” She smiled at him to soften her denial. “I am well aware, but this is a matter that can no’ wait. Besides, I’ve already destroyed my reputation where the duke is concerned if ye read the papers.”
“I never read such rubbish.”
“Good, ye’ll only want to burn them as I do.”
MacInnes grinned. “Shall I wait for his reply, miss?”
“That will no’ be necessary. Goodnight, MacInnes.”
“And a goodnight to ye as well, miss.”
Jaime watched her faithful servant leave, and then she wandered up to her room, her maid helping her undress and brush out her hair. Later, while she was sipping warm tea and curled on her chaise reading a novel, there came a tapping at her window. An erratic sound as if a branch hit the glass with every gust of wind. Except there wasn’t a tree outside her bedroom—and hardly any gusts of wind.
Closing her book, Jaime rose and headed for the window, peeling back the curtain and lifting the sash. She inspected the large shape of a man looming in the shadow of her yard and a pebble hit her in the arm.
* * *
“Oh, damn, sorry!”Lorne called up.
Like an angel peering out over the land, Jaime’s chestnut locks cascaded around her gorgeous face. The white of her nightgown looked ethereal in the moonlight. And all he could imagine was that beneath that gauzy film of fabric was her skin—naked. It was enough to make Lorne nearly lose his train of thought about why he’d made the late-night visit and pinged little stones from the gravel walk at her window like a rebellious lad.
“What are ye doing here?” she whispered loudly. “Ye’ll wake my aunt.”
“I got your missive.”
