PROLOGUE
Laird Duncan Sinclair shifted uncomfortably in the armchair that had been provided for him in the sitting room of Brooke Manor, the large but shabby home of the Tewsbury family. The chair was too small for his big, muscular frame, and he felt as though he was being squeezed by a giant pair of hands, but propriety stopped him from complaining to his host, the Earl of Harwick, Lord Tewsbury.
When he had first arrived, he had been rather taken aback by the state of the house, which was the seat of the Earldom itself. The whole building, both inside and out, had seen better days. The mansion was at least two hundred years old, and although it must have been magnificent in its heyday, it was now a shadow of its former self, since it had been allowed to fall into disrepair by years of neglect.
Tiles had fallen from the roof of the house but had not been replaced, the gardens were overgrown, and paint was peeling from the woodwork. When Duncan went inside, he was greeted by a faint but distinct odour of damp and mould. The furniture inside the house was ornate and expensive, and some attempt had obviously been made to keep it in good condition, but it stood in stark contrast to the shabby state of the rest of the place.
Horace Tewsbury came forward to meet him, smiling widely. He was a thin, spare man who had obviously been reasonably handsome in his youth. Now in his fifties, his hair was grey and receding, and wrinkles were beginning to crisscross his fine chiselled features. He had sharp, predatory blue eyes, and there was something about him that made Duncan feel distinctly uneasy. Duncan held out his hand to shake the Earl’s, and found its grasp limp and lacklustre, something he despised; in his opinion it showed a lack of character.
“Welcome to my home, my Laird!” the Earl said, and his voice carried a note of forced enthusiasm which set Duncan on edge at once.
“I am glad to be here,” Duncan replied, politely but insincerely.
The Earl led him into a sitting room and ushered him into the too-small chair, then poured him a glass of red wine and handed it to him without asking him if he wanted any.
“To your good health, My Laird,” he said, holding his glass up.
“Sláinte Mhath,” Duncan replied, smiling.
The Earl looked baffled for a moment, then he asked, “Gaelic?”
“Aye,” Duncan replied, his amber eyes gleaming with mischief. “Good health.”
The Earl laughed. “You learn something new every day,” he remarked. “Now, tell me about yourself. I must make sure that whichever one of my daughters you choose will have a good home and a kind husband.”
Duncan bristled. There was something deeply wrong with a man who pretended to care for the children he was effectively selling. With an effort, he schooled his face into an expression of neutrality.
“I own the Lennoxburn Estate on the south-east side of Scotland. I am comfortably off, and your daughter will want for nothing. I need an heir, so I have to have a wife, and I want a woman of good quality.”
The Earl nodded slowly. “That sounds sensible,” he said.
“Now tell me about yourself,” Duncan instructed him, looking at the Earl shrewdly. “Why do you need your daughters to marry wealthy men?”
Tewsbury dropped his gaze and sighed. “My wife was very beautiful and had a sizeable dowry, so I married her, and I did not regret it until I put my trust in her brother, who tricked me with a foolproof investment opportunity. It was a disaster, and I lost almost everything. Now I cannot provide properly for my girls.” He sighed and finished his wine. “They have been well brought up, and you will never be ashamed of whomever you choose. I can assure you of that. The idea for letting a man such as yourself look after them came from my brother James, who found himself in the same situation. It is not something I am doing willingly—but it cannot be helped.”
Duncan felt uneasy. Something about the Earl’s story did not ring true, and he actively detested the man, but he had no time to think about why—that would have to wait until later.
The Earl swallowed the rest of his wine in one gulp, then poured another for himself and turned to Duncan again.
“Will you have another glass, My Laird?” he asked, smiling insincerely. He held up the decanter and moved to Duncan’s side, and he had a sudden vision of a sharp-eyed cat waiting to pounce on him.
“Nay, thank you,” Duncan replied with a tight smile. “I like to keep a clear head at all times.” He did not mention that the wine was foul and cheap. He was no expert, but even he could discern that its taste had more than a hint of vinegar about it.
He was about to open his mouth to make some more polite but pointless small talk when the door opened to admit three young women. They were obviously sisters, since their features bore a striking resemblance to each other, but Duncan could tell in some indefinable way that their characters were quite different.
He stood up reflexively, as propriety demanded when any woman entered a room, and was surprised to see the Earl frowning at him. He ignored it, however, then bowed to them, and they curtsied in return.
The Earl pointed to each of the young women in turn. “My Laird,” he said, “this is Juliet, my eldest. This is Margot, my middle daughter, and Eliza, my youngest.”
Duncan smiled and kissed each sister’s hand in turn, then looked at them all a little more closely. Juliet and Eliza resembled each other the most, both having dark brown hair and eyes, while Margot had auburn hair and green eyes. None of them looked enchanted to meet him, but it was the youngest, Eliza, who stood out, since her dark eyes were almost smouldering with fury.
Something inside Duncan responded to that gaze. It seemed as if she had thrown down a gauntlet to challenge him to a duel, and all his primitive male instincts told him to respond. He wanted to approach her and look down at her so that she could see what a big, impressive man he was.
Then he tossed the thought away; he was indulging his fantasies, nothing more.
“Girls, twirl around for the Laird so that he can see you properly,” the Earl ordered.
Margot and Juliet exchanged indignant glances but obeyed their father. However, Eliza stood completely immobile and glared at Duncan as though her gaze would bore a hole in him.
