The sun was baking the grass dry. Soon, it would rise above the beech tree’s branch, which extended like a long arm over the water.

“What ideas have you?” She sounded anxious to know.

“The most important thing is to identify a source of the four hundred pounds,” he said. “We’re here in a remote corner of Scotland. Who here has that sort of money? The next question to ask is: why would they hand it over to us?”

Miss Montgomery attached another worm to her hook. “The villagers and farmers aren’t well off in the least. Even if they pooled their resources, I’m sure they wouldn’t have that amount. And then there’s Mr. Beebs, the overseer at the Keep. He’s been there for several years. He might as well be the owner himself. But he’s not. So I don’t think he has the funds.”

“Who does own the Keep?”

“Mr. Beebs is very quiet and doesn’t talk about them. Probably because absentee property owners aren’t looked fondly upon by the locals. They became quite prolific after the Clearances, of course.”

Charlie looked up at the fortress on the side of Ben Fennon. The Keep was a spectacular example of castle architecture. Its windows sparkled, the grounds were immaculate, and the building itself, with its scarlet pennants waving stiffly in the Highland breezes, had a general air of prosperity about it.

“Mr. Beebs’s employers must spare no expense to keep it looking so fine,” Charlie guessed.

“True, and it’s why the village endures his presence. Occasionally, he employs local help to maintain the castle and its grounds, although many times he resorts to using craftsman and laborers from Edinburgh, Glasgow, or even England, depending on the project.”

“Have you been inside?”

“No. But according to the villagers who’ve had that privilege, the interior’s as lavish now as it was back then. Hester says it used to be a showpiece—the heart and soul of Glen Dewey. But since Mr. Beebs took up residence, no one visits anymore. The Highland games and the subsequent ceilidh—all held on the Keep’s grounds—ceased, as well.”

“That’s a shame.” And Charlie truly felt it was. “Can you not hold the festivities at Castle Vandemere?”

“I suppose we could, although it wouldn’t be the same. We cling to the side of a cliff here, and our grounds aren’t nearly as extensive as those at the Keep. Vandemere itself is small and snug, more charming than the Keep, in my opinion, but it’s hardly adequate for a ceilidh grand enough for all of Glen Dewey to attend. But you’re right. The Keep’s inaccessibility is all the more reason to keep Vandemere from crumbling. The locals need some reminder of our history and a recollection of the traditions that bind us. It’s no accident that since Mr. Beebs has been in residence, village morale is the lowest it’s ever been.”

While she was speaking, she caught another trout.

She was now in the lead.

Charlie attended to his own line, baiting it with the largest worm he could find in the flannel bag. “All right, then. No one here has four hundred pounds. We’ll have to go outside Glen Dewey to find it, perhaps to wealthy folk who don’t know about its treasures. People like those travelers at Brawton who dropped me nearby.”

“Yes,” said Miss Montgomery.

“Do they stalk deer in Brawton?” He pulled in two more trout. He was winning now.

Miss Montgomery shook her head. “It has only fishing to recommend it.”

“They certainly don’t have Joe’s whisky, either.” Just remembering how good it was made Charlie happy.

“Nor has Brawton ever had a Highland games,” Miss Montgomery said.

“Do they have any castles there?” Suddenly, Charlie was praying they didn’t.

“No.”

He saw Miss Montgomery’s eyes gleam with something … he hoped something along the lines of what he was thinking. “You said yourself at dinner last night—Glen Dewey has all that’s best about the Highlands.”

She nodded vigorously. “But we’ve no inn. We’re not set up to host visitors, especially lots of them at once.”

“But that’s what you need—many visitors at once. Rich ones. People who’ll pay to stay somewhere in style. People who want … the Highland experience.”

“I like that,” she said. “The Highland experience. Perhaps they could stay with us at Castle Vandemere.”

“It’s too small.”

She winced. “And it’s not very grand. Not at the moment.”

Something zinged between them. A flash of understanding.

“We need a place like the Keep,” Charlie said.

Miss Montgomery said it, too, at the very same time.

And then he noticed that the sun was over the branch of the beech tree.


“I won,” the viscount said, a slow grin spreading over his face.

Daisy was so excited about the idea forming in her head, she didn’t know what he was talking about.

“I won the bet,” he explained further, and held up the sack of trout.

“Oh, that.” She whirled away from him to stare at the Keep. Was it the solution to her money woes? “We’ll worry about the bet later. Let’s think about the Keep. Can we borrow it?”

It was an outrageous idea.

“You can always ask.” Lord Lumley grabbed her wrist. “And we won’t think about the bet later. Now’s more like it.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “But the bet’s not important—not in the least.”

“Which is why we need to get it out of the way. I won’t be able to fully concentrate on the task at hand while it’s hanging in the air between us.”

“I don’t feel it hanging in the air at all.” She huffed.

“That’s because you’re all business. It’s time you had some fun.”

“This is an inopportune moment.” She flapped her hands at her sides. “We have an idea. A marvelous idea.”

“It’s never the wrong time.”

Never?

“Not even during church?” she demanded to know.

“That’s the best time.” His voice was like silk.

“Are you saying you’ve kissed someone during church?”

“Behind the church. Does that count?”

“Yes. And it’s very bad of you.”

“Don’t criticize until you try it.” He stood at the ready.

She leaned up and then—

She pulled back. “I can’t. What if someone sees?”

“No one will observe us,” he said, “especially if we retreat here.” He pulled her behind the beech tree.

She bit her lip. “I have to do this fast. Cassandra would be furious if she knew. And I can’t risk that.”

“What do you mean?”

“She and my stepmother have threatened to get rid of Hester and Joe if I spend too much time with you. And that can’t happen. They mean more to me than anyone in this world. So please—don’t push me.”

Concern lit his eyes. “They’d do that?”

Daisy nodded. “Even though I’m supposed to be your fiancée, Cassandra still plans to be your viscountess.”

“Have they made any other threats to you?”

Daisy hesitated. She could never tell him about the other. “No,” she lied. “But that one is enough.”

“I should say so.”

“I’m warning you now,” she said, “to be prepared in case I appear standoffish in their presence.”

“I see. But you’re standoffish now, too.”

“No I’m not. You’re used to flirts in London. I’ve no interest in flirting.”

“Why not?”

The viscount’s was a face that had probably caused many a virgin to consider leaping into bed with him.

“Because I have responsibilities,” she enunciated clearly, more for her own benefit than his. She wished she were one of those badly behaved virgins—it wasn’t as if she’d ever get married, here in a remote village with a dearth of young men. She wished she didn’t have to rebuff him. But it was true. She did have responsibilities.

Besides, you don’t deserve what your parents had. Never. Ever.

She closed her eyes against an image of Cousin Roman with his glib smile and open shirt and wished she didn’t have to say such cruel things to herself.

But she did.

She must.

“Are you all right?” Lord Lumley’s words, rich and rough, penetrated her thoughts.

She opened her eyes again.

His gaze was intense, worried, his face mere inches from her own. “Surely even a young lady with responsibilities can find some time for amusement.”

She shook her head. “Not until Castle Vandemere is safely back in my possession.”

And not even then, she thought, although she’d never tell him.

“Then I am more committed than ever to securing those funds,” he said, oblivious to her inner turmoil, so unaware how deep it went, how unchangeable her position was.

After Mama died, Papa used to call her his North Star. It was a loving observation—his whole world revolved around her, he’d said. But now she felt she must be pinned to the sky like a fixed point, reaching and shining … but never blurring her borders.

Never touching.

Never connecting.

“I’d like to see you lighthearted, Miss Montgomery,” the viscount said. “I’d like to see you bat your lashes at me and beg me with your eyes to kiss you behind a rhododendron bush, after a picnic. Do you go to picnics?”

“No.” She couldn’t help it. Despite her dark thoughts, she laughed. “You’re impossible, Lord Lumley.”

“So some people say.” His mouth tipped up, but he said it as if he were very lonely. And as if she were the only person in the world who could make him happy again.

He was a roué.

She knew it, but even so, something propelled her out of her darkness. It urged her to lift up on her tippy toes and kiss him. Full on the mouth.

He kissed her back.