Page 5 of The Widow Wore Plaid

“There you are, my dear.”

Jane jumped at the deep, rumbling tones of Kinellan’s baritone voice. A chill sluiced down her spine.

She turned to him, her best seductive smile in place. “I’ve been waiting for you, Kinellan.” Using throaty tones, she purred the words. “I know a host must do his duty, but it is your duty to dance as well, is it not?” Eyes mere slits, she looked him up and down. “A lady can get dangerous thoughts if left too much to herself.”

Lord, but he was a handsome devil, enough to give her downright wicked thoughts. Attired in an elegant black evening jacket, Kinellan had also elected to wear his clan ceremonial kilt in the ancient Seton red-green tartan plaid that adorned the walls. The garments fit Kinellan’s trim form superbly, both in cut and style. Not every man could wear a kilt and still look dashing and elegant. It also gave him a rugged, dangerous air, attributes he well lived up to, as Jane had good cause to know. A more determined, decisive man she had never known. Tark, her late husband, could have taken lessons from Kinellan in determination, and Tark had been a major-general.

“And no lady here tonight would have thoughts more dangerous than you, my love.” He raised her hand to his lips and gooseflesh rose all over her. Returning her bold look, he whispered, “You are stunning this evening.”

As befit the occasion, she had taken some pains with her appearance this evening. Her cream silk undergown had a daring V-neckline, accentuated by Kinellan’s sapphire. An overdress of gold silk, trimmed in pearl-studded braid all along the edges, gave an illusion of lightness. The puffed sleeves of the undergown peeped through the slashing on the overgown, accentuating the softness of the fabric. To honor the Munros, her father’s clan, she’d attached a sash in their bold black and red plaid.

“You are kind, Kinellan.” His intent gaze did not diminish, and her heart began to race.

“May I have this dance, Jane?”

“Of course you may.” Smiling up into his face, she took his arm, thrilling as always to the hard muscles that lurked just beneath his clothes.

He led her onto the floor just as the orchestra struck up and began the Eightsome Reel. A very lively Scottish country dance that kept Jane and her partner busy the whole way through circling, setting-to their partners and seconds, heying with partners and seconds, and the ladies and gentlemen dancing a set-to in the center with various partners of their set. There was no time for conversation and scarcely time to breathe, although she did manage to admire Kinellan’s well-shaped calves, splendidly on display because of his kilt. There was certainly something to be said for Scottish formal dress.

At the final swing of partners, laughing though out of breath, Kinellan grabbed Jane’s hand and tugged her toward a corridor at the end of the Hall.

“Wait, Kinellan, I must catch my breath.” Laughing, Jane allowed herself to be pulled into the corridor and led through narrow passageways until Kinellan pushed open a door and suddenly there was cool air and moonlight. They emerged into the quietness of the formal garden, Jane still gasping for air. He led her to a crescent-shaped stone bench and assisted her to sit.

“Can I speak with you for a moment?”

His words would have thrilled her had his tone not filled her with apprehension. The serious note in it made her clutch the sapphire pendant at her throat. Dear Lord, what was he about to say? Would he ask her to marry him once more, breaking his vow not to do so, or would he ask her to leave the castle? Gathering her strength, she took his hand and tried to smile. “What is it, Kinellan?”

“Jane, I have tried to abide by your wishes as you asked me to do in May. I have not renewed my offer to you, in the hope that through my deeds you would see my sincere appreciation for you as both a woman and a partner.” His voice was gentle, soothing. Lethal. “I had hoped you would indicate to me in some manner that you were ready to allow me once again to pay my addresses to you, but I have seen nothing to offer me hope that such a change of heart has occurred.”

Mouth dry, throat as though she’d poured sand down it, Jane could only sputter, shaking her head to stop the words before he ended their association for all time.

“Jane, I think it best if—”

“My lord.”

They both jumped, Jane starting so badly she shook.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion, Rory?” Kinellan’s jaw creaked as he spoke, through tightly clamped jaws.

“Begging your pardon, cousin.” A sheepish look on his face, the dark-haired young man, not long ago a boy, looked from Kinellan to Jane. “Aunt Prudence sent me to find you. She says she must speak with you on a matter of utmost importance this moment.” His eyes were wide and wild. “What must I tell her?”

Kinellan drew in a long breath and expelled it slowly. “Thank you, Rory. Tell Aunt Pru I’ll be there directly.

The lad bowed and backed away, perhaps afraid Kinellan would attack him if given the chance.

Kinellan stood and held out his hand to Jane. “Duty calls yet again, my dear. Perhaps we can resume this conversation later.” He raised his eyebrows. “After the household has settled for the night?”

On the tip of her tongue to plead a headache or her courses, Jane looked into his dear face and could not refuse him. “I’ll be waiting.”

He offered his arm and she took it, trying not to tremble. In all likelihood this would be their last tryst. As soon as the throes of passion had been spent—their final interlude perhaps—he would continue with the words he had been about to speak just now, telling her he would not be renewing his addresses and that it would be best for all if she left with the other guests when the gathering was over in two days’ time.

They continued slowly into the castle, each step a death knell to Jane unless she could convince herself in the next few hours that this man was the one for whom she would sacrifice everything. And pray he would propose again.

Chapter Three

The mantel clock had struck twelve sometime before although it had not chimed the half hour yet. Jane sat stiffly on the sofa before the fireplace, staring into the banked embers, in the apartment usually reserved for the Marchioness of Kinellan. One thing to be said for Kinellan—he had not even attempted to be subtle in his wooing of her. Of course, her placement here could have been a simple logistical tactic. This comfortable chamber, with an expansive dressing room, neatly arranged sitting area, and massive four-poster bed, adjoined that of the marquess’s rooms so no one need see Kinellan when he frequently visited her late at night. Still, she thought he wanted to do more than hint at his intentions.

The clock’s insistent ticking reminded her that time was flying by. Not only tonight, but for her whole life as well.