With the one woman who had made him fall in love.
And bloody hell, but he did not like it!
Chapter Twenty
Clare smiled atCaro’s attempts to be gentle but firm with her. Her sister’s true gift was giving orders and expecting any and everyone in the vicinity to jump to fulfill them. This change in Caro’s strategy, for that’s what it was, was soothing and frightening all at once.
“I am glad you decided to join us,” Caro said. “I have missed having your company at these dreadfully boring dinners.”
“If you took a small interest in Nairn’s—”
“I am interested in Nairn, Clare. At least the interesting bits of Nairn,” Caro said, lowering her voice. “I have been wanting to see this house since it was finished last year,” she confided.
Clare could not help but laugh aloud. Her sister had been at her side these last weeks, silently supporting her. At times, Clare would swear she could hear Caro’s teeth grinding in frustration as she held herself back from asking all manner of questions.
She had given a broad sketch of what had happened between her and Iain—there had been an attraction, a moment or two of infatuation, a business deal and now they were done. Caro knew it involved her now-cancelled plans to open a large location for her school and so she designed her explanation to elicit this change and clearly it had worked. Oh, Caro was biding her time and would pounce when she thought the time was right.
Nairn’s large carriage came to a stop before a huge townhouse on the very fashionable, in-demand St. Andrew’s Square. Twice as wide as any of the others that ringed the perimeter of the square, it was built from the same butter-colored sandstone used in most of the other townhouses but, being newer, the color had not yet descended into what residents called ‘the symphony of greys’ from the soot and ash of the city.
This one had six windows across, with a large entrance in the middle of the first floor. Light poured from the windows, illuminating the entire area and making the outside lanterns unnecessary. Footmen and attendants swarmed, opening doors, helping them down, escorting up the double staircase and into a foyer that Clare could not help but stare at in awe.
The height of understated luxury, the décor was in muted tones rather than the garish golds she would have expected from the owner of such a magnificent home. She’d known that some large townhouses here in New Town were large enough to have ballrooms that could hold one hundred people and now staring up at the staircase leading up to a second and grander floor, Clare knew this was one of them.
“Who owns this house?” she asked Caro in a whisper. “I thought it was one of his partners in that investment scheme in the west?”
“Nairn said the owner has just been raised to the peerage. A hereditary title of earl from the king for his substantial investments in both canals and industry in the west.” There was a faint echo of displeasure in her sister’s tone, but then Caro had never fallen from the elite ranks that held that bloodlines—the longer the better—as Clare had.
The Caledonia Canal had been under development for years now, perpetually underfunded, undermanned, undersupplied and just behind schedule. Nairn, along with several others, had been organizing funding for the huge project meant to help unemployment in those living in the Highlands after the last Jacobite Rising. In the last years of the war against Napoleon, ships and supplies were always in danger and the reliance on canals had grown.
Nairn and even her father had been original subscribers on the Forth and Clyde Canal, the other western canal system, and Jonathan had invested as well. Passenger and transport of goods during the war had earned a good return for investors. Clearly the king and government wanted to reward someone who’d been a steadfast supporter of the projects. A strange thought teased at her as she realized that—
“My lord, the Earl of Ardgour,” the butler droned out from the doorway that led to a large drawing room behind him.
Clare noticed the expression on Caro’s and Nairn’s faces just before their host entered. She did not need to turn around to know who the new Earl of Ardgour was. Caro watched her closely now and Clare could see her concern. Even Nairn who was familiar with showing his emotions to his wife, only stared as Iain joined them in the foyer.
“Welcome, Nairn, my lady,” he said to the others first. When he turned his attention to her, Clare was torn apart. Her body reacted, even weeks and weeks after they’d had any contact at all. It had taken all of a few encounters and one night to train her to want his touch. Worse, she could not look away.
He wore formal apparel for dining in society and she could not help but stare at him. He still favored black, but now his waistcoat was an exquisite pale blue, embroidered with gold and white and deep blue thread in patterns of... She stopped herself as she took the first step to get closer to see what was decorating his waistcoat. No matter what they were, they matched the shades in his eyes.
“Lady Clare, welcome to Ardgour House.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said as she curtsied to him. If he was now a peer, he was due the courtesy. “This is new?”
“The house? Nay, just the name of it. The title, aye.” He shrugged. “I received notice from the Prince Regent of my elevation, but luckily my title will not include that troublesome summons to Parliament. So, as I understand it, I am not to be toogaucheand inform everyone of my new title yet. I am keeping it among... friends for now.”
She could not help it—his attempt at a French pronunciation made her laugh. The memory of him trying to twist his tongue to repeat the naughty French words flitted in her thoughts.
Clare glanced around him and found her sister and brother-by-marriage staring at them, and so concerned that Caro did not bother to put on her polite face. The expression she wore now was the one Clare had seen on her sister’s face when she’d fallen off her horse and lay senseless on the ground at age nine.
“Forgive them,” he said. “I asked them to bring you to dinner.”
“Because you knew I would refuse an invitation from you?”
His self-deprecating smile surprised her—it was a far cry from the usual supremely confident one he wore. “I suspected you would.”
“You have lived here all this time?” Clare’s legs were shaking so much she needed to sit. At her first step towards the chair nearest her in the drawing room, he nodded to the nearest footman.
“I have. There was just no opportunity to invite you here.”
