Chapter One
6 months ago
Horses thundered pastLord Loughton as he wandered along Rotten Row. His quarry, Lady Clara, was further ahead on a bench in Hyde Park. Her bonnet tilted askew as she gestured with a hard slash of her hand to a severely dressed gentleman sitting with her. Rather than adjust her bonnet, she ignored the sunlight on her face, and her freckles appeared like dots of burnt sugar on her cheeks. Fortunately, he was a fan of freckles, so they didn’t diminish her allure but made him smile as she continued to press her point, whatever it was, to the gentleman beside her.
Lady Clara was a lovely woman with a passionate nature, at least in conversation, and Liam cared not a whit. It was her dowry and her brother’s position in government that had caught his attention. Still, she appealed to him, so he approached her the only way a Scotsman could approach a titled English lady—by apparent accident.
“It’s not possible,” she was saying to the man. “Think of the height of those castle towers. You’d have to get water all the way up there. You’d have to carry it up. Imagine the amount of work!”
The gentleman shook his head. “Begin with a cistern to catch rainwater. And then, with the right application of pulleys, a single maid could bring water up from a well.”
“A well, yes, but not all the way up to the top of a castle.” The lady gestured with her hands to a place high above her head.
“Yes, she could,” the gentleman countered. “Think of a line of buckets on a pulley that dunked buckets in the nearest stream.”
“But that could be miles away!”
She took a deep breath in preparation of continuing her argument, but Liam grabbed the opportunity to intrude. “Excuse me,” he said, doing his best to hide his accent. “I couldn’t help but overhear. By any chance, have either of you ever lived in a castle?”
Lady Clara blinked. “I’ve toured them, of course—”
“Myself, as well,” the gentleman said.
“But they’re drafty, awful places compared to a modern home,” she finished.
They could be, he thought, but his expression was one of challenge. “I live in a castle, and I can tell you that it’s not always that way.” He smiled. “Were you talking about plumbing? I would very much like to hear your ideas.”
The gentleman frowned. Liam could tell he wasn’t interested in sharing the lady’s attention. Fortunately, Lady Clara lived up to her reputation of being willing to talk to anyone about anything. “You live in a castle? Is it in Scotland?”
So much for hiding his accent. Either he’d been very bad at it, or she had a good ear. He bowed again. “Lord Loughton, at your service.”
“See here,” the gentleman said as he pushed up from his park bench. “You can’t go up to strangers and introduce yourself. That’s not the way it’s done in London.”
What he meant was that as a Scotsman, Liam couldn’t approach strangers. Fortunately, Lady Clara was more open-minded.
“Don’t be a prig, Julian. I’m pleased to meet you, Lord Loughton.” She held out her hand and he made a show of being excruciatingly proper as he kissed it. And if he squeezed her extra tight, she seemed pleased by his strength. She smiled as he eyed her over her gloved hand, and her companion huffed at the insult.
“This isn’t proper,” he said.
“It wasn’t proper for me to meet you, Julian, and yet here I am without a maid in the middle of the afternoon.” She turned back to Liam. “Lord Loughton, pray allow me to introduce you to my fussy friend, Mr. Julian Russell. He’s got a passion for architecture that has lately turned to plumbing. I think we would both benefit from your knowledge of castles.”
“I would be happy to answer whatever questions you might have. Indeed, I could even arrange a tour if you were so inclined.”
“All the way in Scotland?” Mr. Russell exclaimed. He might as well have called it Hell, for that was the tone of his statement. “I assure you, we have plenty of castles in England if we need further education.”
“As you wish,” he said. “But I doubt your castles have the same kind of ghostly tales that we Scots enjoy.”
He watched Lady Clara closely as he spoke. His information on her was sketchy at best, but everyone had heard of her love of the occult. It was said she went to séances with regularity.
“A ghost story? I do love those. Is it a murdered bride?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “An old lonely cleric who wanders the halls and terrifies boys who don’t do their lessons.”
Lady Clara laughed, her nose wrinkling such that her freckles pressed together. “Sounds like a tale to keep young boys in line.”
“It would be,” he acknowledged, “if I hadn’t seen the terrifying sight myself.”
“And did you then complete your lessons?”
