The Highlander's Christmas Countess (The Lairds Most Likely 8)

To his mortification, he blushed. “You’ve been watching me.”

She shrugged. “You’re very easy to look at, but as my old nurse used to say, handsome is as handsome does.”

“I think you should tell me because I want to help.” Self-mockery turned down his lips. “Not to mention, I’m powerfully curious about what would drive one of the richest women in Scotland out of her silken bower and into my uncle’s stables.”

“I’m not one of the richest women in Scotland. I don’t have a penny

to my name, unless my stepbrother allows it. And believe me, he never allows it.”

Quentin started to develop a healthy dislike for this unknown stepbrother who sounded like a domestic tyrant, at best. At worst, Quentin suspected the bastard had done something heinous to put the fear into Kit’s bluebell eyes. He could see this girl had been bullied. How badly, he hoped to find out. But whatever lay behind her terror, he was already on her side.

“So what happens at Christmas?”

She sighed and at last subsided onto the stool. “I become one of the richest women in Scotland.”

Something she’d said earlier came into focus. “You turn twenty-one, and you take control of your inheritance.”

She nodded. “And Neil Maxwell’s rule at Appin will come to an abrupt end.” Her tone was flinty, incongruous in such a slight figure, but enough for Quentin to recognize the steel that existed beneath her soft skin.

Of course she was strong. And brave.

Admiration tinged his voice as he returned to the other stool. “Good for you. But couldn’t you hold out safely at Appin, if it was only a few weeks until you’re free?”

She studied him with a hint of hostility. He didn’t appreciate it. Kit might have called him charming and handsome, but he began to suspect that in her book neither word counted as a compliment.

“You’re determined to get my story out of me.”

“Would it be so bad to confide in me?” He paused. “I’ve worked most of it out already.”

She arched her eyebrows with an aristocratic disdain no stableboy had ever possessed. “Have you indeed?”

He rose and threw some more peat on the fire. The flaring light revealed her face as a combination of beautiful shapes. Again he wondered how anyone had ever believed this girl to be a male.

“Neil Maxwell likes being in charge of your fortune, and he knows you hate him, so he’s well aware that his days of access to the Urquhart coffers are limited. The looming danger of Christmas spurred him to do his best to get his hands on the money. He tried to force you to marry him because once he did, he gained permanent control of your fortune.”

Quentin prayed that Neil hadn’t used violence against the girl. Her skittishness hinted that he had, although she’d said he hadn’t. Perhaps the threat of violence had sparked her escape and masquerade.

“Neil didn’t want to marry me. The real sticklers wouldn’t approve, although it would be legal, I suppose. Neil has political ambitions and doesn’t want whispers of a vaguely incestuous marriage to tarnish his chances. Instead, he cooked up a scheme with one of his odious friends. The friend got me and half the money and Neil got the rest.” Her dry tone did nothing to hide her loathing for her stepbrother or for his machinations. “I’m sure if Neil could get his hands on everything, he’d try, but he’s a gey canny laddie and he knows half of the Urquhart money is better than none.”

“Is he young?”

“He’s twenty-eight. He’s always hated me.”

“He’s jealous.”

“Aye, I suppose so, although he’s far from penniless in his own right. He’s inherited a substantial property in the Borders. I was twelve when my father married his mother. She didn’t like me either.”

“You were close to your father?”

A range of emotions crossed her face. Grief and love mainly. “Aye.”

“No wonder she didn’t like you, especially when you grew up to be a beauty.”

She cast him an unimpressed look. “Right now, I doubt if you can tell what I look like when I’m dressed as a girl.”

Quentin shot her a straight look. “I can tell.”

She surged to her feet, and her gaze fluttered towards the door. How he cursed himself for frightening her again.