Page 4 of This Laird of Mine

“Yes, I do.” Jane reached for Nicholas’s hand just as the carriage lurched to a stop at the end of a long drive.

“We have arrived,” Hollister, Lord Galloway, said as he and Nicholas exited the carriage first. Nicholas extended his hand to Claire as she made her way out. She accepted his assistance as her knees suddenly became unsteady. How could she make a man she had never met fall in love with her in two weeks’ time when she had never even managed a flirtation with the opposite sex in all her life?

Forcing herself to remain calm, Claire took in her surroundings and frowned. This could not be right. The one painting she had seen of Kildare Manor had pictured it as a grand estate set against a landscape of lush green hills and wrapped by the shores of Loch Awe. In that image, the house’s cool gray stone had reflected in the sun like polished silver.

It was not entombed by bramble bushes that nearly reached the roofline of the two-story structure, or the dull, sad gray that peeked out from beneath the weeds and dust. Kildare Manor was broken and abused and in desperate need of a caretaker.

Was the estate a reflection of the man who lived inside? Was her supposed husband careless and neglectful as well as a rogue? She shivered. What could Jules MacIntyre have done to someone that was so bad they wanted to break the man’s heart, his very spirit?

“Claire?” Jane spoke beside her and gently touched her arm. “Jules will no doubt be anxious to see you. Let us go inside.”

Claire nodded. She had no notion of what the man’s reaction would be, which was why she had arrived with his friends. At least in their presence he would not refuse her outright.

She hoped.

As she had learned from his solicitor, if the man was desperate enough to falsely create a bride in order to stop his friends from interfering in his life, then perhaps he would play her game until it reached the only conclusion she would allow.

Just then, weak summer light broke through the clouds overhead, bathing the manor house in a shimmer of warmth. Claire drew a steadying breath. She could do this. She had to do this.

“I will help the coachman with the horses and meet you inside,” David called.

The remaining five progressed toward the crumbling arched doorway just as it swung open to reveal a withered old man with wisps of white hair sticking up at odd angles on his head. “Welcome tae Kincaid Manor,” he greeted, then stepped back, allowing them to enter the large, open foyer. “Milord will be with ye momentarily. In the meanwhile, allow me tae show ye tae the drawin’ room fer refreshments.”

When Nicholas and Hollister hesitated, the elderly man waved them on. “Leave the bags there. I’ll take them to yer chambers momentarily.”

Nicholas frowned and cast a speaking glance at Hollister. “We will take them up the stairs and leave them at the landing.”

The older man shrugged, but gratitude shone in his tired gray eyes before he turned away. “Ladies, this way, please.”

Claire frowned as she made her way across the bare marble floor and past the unpolished and slightly sagging wooden stairs. No carpets dampened the sound of their footsteps in the hallway or inside the drawing room. The floors were bare, the walls unadorned, and the furnishings sparse. Who was the man who lived here? A shiver worked its way across her neck. Chief among the things she knew about Jules MacIntyre was that he had a reckless spirit, but was he also mad to live in such a place?

She stepped fully into the room and searched for her missing “husband.” When he was nowhere in sight, she released a pent-up breath. What would he say when he saw her? Would he challenge her outright or play along with her game? Was he absent now in order to build her anxiety? Or worse, would he send her away immediately without even giving her a chance to explain?

The truth was they were married. He had signed the marriage documents himself. The paperwork was official, the marriage was real, binding, forever.

For a girl who had lost everything early in life, she finally had something of her own—a real husband. She would take his name, and as a result she would be afforded more independence and be accepted in society’s highest circles. Yet that was all she would keep from this marriage. She would have no protection from him, no financial support when she left him behind.

Claire shook off the dark thought and looked about the room. Faded and tattered curtains were pulled back, allowing filtered sunlight to illuminate the chamber. At odds with the stark interior of Kildare Manor was the fresh scent of lemons and rosemary. The room was free of dust, and the floors were, although bare and aged, polished to a shine. The furnishings were as sparse as in the foyer with only three chairs and a settee, and a small table in the middle of them all, bearing a three-armed candelabra with only one candle.

Kildare Manor was nothing like what she had imagined. Would the man who owned it be as well? Would she have to adjust her plans? Because suddenly, making this notorious man fall in love with her seemed harder than she had expected.

“Greetings, my dearest friends,” an unfamiliar voice called from the doorway behind her.

Claire stiffened, forced her chin up, and slowly turned around. Conversation moved around her as the newly dubbed laird of Kildare Manor greeted his friends. Claire saw their smiles and heard the joy in their voices as they reunited until all sound faded, and all she heard was the sound of her own heartbeat as it filled her ears. She waited. She watched. She couldn’t take her eyes off him and hoped no one else noticed the fact that he would wait to greet his “wife” last.

But those moments with his friends gave her time to appraise him. She wasn’t sure what she expected, never having seen even a portrait of him, but it wasn’t the handsome man before her. His wavy blond hair fell to the collar of his coat. He was much taller than she expected, and his body, though relaxed, still hinted at lithe power. His jaw was strong and defined, his cheekbones high, and he had a slight cleft in his chin. Her gaze drifted to his lips—lips that were full and expressive and made for kissing. The thought warmed her cheeks as she met his startling blue eyes.

Those eyes narrowed on her. “My dear, sweet wife.” His voice was rough-smooth with the hint of a Scottish burr. His gaze shuttered as he came toward her. Only a slight curl to his upper lip indicated his current disposition. He was angry, but he would not reveal that to his friends. Only to her.

The air between them all but crackled as he took a final step closer to her. He leaned toward her, slid his arm about her waist, and pulled her forward, caging her against his body.

Her nerves flicked and her fantasy of him wrapping her in his arms and accepting her without question shattered about her feet. This close to him, the scent of soap and mint filled her senses. She could feel the tension thrumming through his body, see the challenge in his eyes.

“Jules.” She didn’t press back or retreat. She held her body erect and tried to force a look of nonchalance into her gaze. He studied her eyes, her lips. Against her will her lips parted.

“Oh, how I have missed you,” he said. His voice lowered to a gravelly purr as his gaze fixed on her mouth.

“I’ve missed you, as well, my dearest husband.” The words rang with outright challenge as she met his gaze, dared him to reveal that they had never met. His grip at her waist softened as he pulled her close and lowered his lips to hers.