Chapter Three

R uarke knew he had badly botched his encounter with Miss Alwyn yesterday, and now he could not draw near her without her flinching or finding an excuse to skitter away.

Blast the girl.

But he was as much to blame for phrasing his intentions awkwardly and making her believe he wanted to have his wicked way with her.

Well, the thought of having her in his bed had crossed his mind. But that pleasure would remain firmly in his fantasies and nothing more.

He might look like a frightening beast to the girl, but he would not hurt her for the world. In truth, he was worried for her safety.

She had seen the ghost.

Perhaps he should have told her then and there, but how did one start such a conversation when they had never spoken to each other before? Ah, by the way, Miss Alwyn, that girl you saw by the Singing Caves does not exist. So, keep away from her because she is a phantasm who will lure you to your death the moment you draw near those caves.

That would have been interesting.

No, he could not tell her about the ghost.

Forbidding her to go near those caves ought to be enough.

Still, he needed to watch her and protect her.

It troubled him that she had seemed to be under the enchantment of the Singing Caves when he came upon her by the cliffs. She had taken forever to notice him, and might never have been aware of his presence had he not broken the silence.

Enchantment.

The term suited the girl, for she was beautiful. A quiet beauty, not the sort to make a grand entrance and dazzle everyone. But for him, her impact was more potent. The sight of her yesterday, her dark gold locks drawn back in a fat braid down her back, and her big eyes, as green as meadow grass, looking back at him, remained vivid in his mind.

Legend had it the caves were haunted by a young girl of about seventeen years who had dark gold hair and green eyes. Was she somehow connected to Miss Alwyn? Perhaps this was why he had been so disturbed by the sight of her standing by the cliff's edge.

He needed to learn more about his aunt's companion, but this would require their spending time together. That could not happen while everyone's attention was upon him. Still, he was determined to find a way to be alone with her. He had no intention of waiting until next Wednesday afternoon to approach her.

"Miss Alwyn, get up and fetch me another sherry," his aunt commanded, purposely sending her away as Ruarke strode toward them. "Go on! Move along, girl."

The evening's festivities were about to begin.

They were in the parlor, the men now joining the ladies after having imbibed their after-supper brandies and engaged in a hearty political debate. As the night wore on, they were to be regaled by an opera singer and afterward would organize into pairs to play cards.

"A moment, Miss Alwyn."

"I'm sorry, Your Grace," she said, looking down at her toes in order to avoid meeting his gaze. "Lady Audley requires her sherry."

She scurried past him.

"Lazy girl," his aunt muttered as he took what had been Miss Alwyn's seat beside the old crone.

"She isn't lazy, Aunt Lydia. I've seen how attentive she is toward you. She treats you better than you deserve."

"And how does she treat you, nephew? Quite nicely, I'm sure. Have you got her into your bed yet?"

"I am warning you, Lydia. I will not hear a disparaging remark against her. If you chase Miss Alwyn away as you did your other companions, I will cut you off without a pence and discharge your entire staff. I'll wager you won't last a day fending for yourself."

"How dare you threaten me? We are in company and anyone might overhear your boorish remarks. Do you wish the world to know what a brute you are?"

"Everyone thinks it already." But he said no more, for he hadn't approached her to provoke a confrontation. "Tell me what you know about the girl's father, the former baronet, Sir George Alwyn, and his wife, Lady Alwyn."

His aunt pointed her nose in the air and gave a disdainful sniff. "I know nothing about them. Why do you care? The man was not a peer. Who knows how he obtained his title? I would not be surprised if it was through his connections in trade. I am sure his wife's family was no better. What has the conniving girl told you about them? She is one to put on airs."

He slapped his hands on his thighs and rose with a sigh. "Never mind."

Why had he bothered with the embittered old crone? She would not understand about the haunted caves or care that Miss Alwyn might be in danger. He was not even certain there was a danger. But he could not dismiss those icy tingles running up his spine when he had spotted her yesterday staring down at those caves.

"That's right," his aunt muttered. "Do not waste your time with that one. She should not matter to you. With her parents dead and no family support behind her, she is nothing."

"You are ever a delight." He left her side to mingle with his other guests.

"Your Grace!" One of the peahens sidled up to him, smiling coyly and batting her lashes as though to entice him. "Will you partner me at cards after the recital?"

He shook his head. "Alas, I must decline, Lady Sylvia. Urgent business requires my attention, and I am not certain I will be done in time to join my guests for the card games. However, my cousin, Lord Hereford, will be delighted to take my place."

He called over his amiable cousin and arranged the connection before he strode off to the next peahen and secured an escort for her.

He sensed Miss Alwyn, who had by now returned to his aunt's side, watching him. He noticed the widening of her eyes and her astonished smile the moment she realized what he was doing. Never in his life had he expected to play the matchmaker. But her earlier words had stung. He was thoughtlessly amusing himself at the expense of these young ladies.

In his own defense, he had not done it on purpose. He was serious about finding a bride. It was time he married. But none of these ladies would do. Yet instead of making his feelings clear, he had given in to conceit and allowed them to continue fawning over him.

It was not well done of him to give them hope where there was none, especially since his own bitter experiences with hurt and hardship ought to have made him more compassionate. To allow others to suffer because of his careless arrogance was unpardonable.

As soon as everyone made their way to the music room for the opera singer's recital, he withdrew to his study and searched for old books or family ledgers concerning MacArran Grange and its ghost. He found several that looked promising and opened one to read.

But it was not long before there came a light knock at his door.

He rose and strode across the room, prepared to bar entry to any peahen seeking a moment alone with him. If they thought to trick him into a compromising position, they would be the ones to suffer.

His brutish reputation was deserved, for he could be ruthless when necessary.

But there was something in the knock that had his heart beating faster, for he sensed who stood on the other side of the door before he opened it.

His little elf.

"Come in, Miss Alwyn."

He had no qualms about allowing her in.

First of all, she could not trap him into marriage because she had no family to insist on his doing the honorable thing. Nor would he ever surrender to coercion. But this girl did not need to coerce him. If her reputation were ever sullied—a possibility, because his aunt was just the cruel sort of creature to spread such lies—he would not hesitate to marry the girl.

The realization caught him by surprise.

But it should not have been all that surprising to him, for he had sensed she was someone special the moment he set eyes on her the day of her arrival.

He stepped aside to allow her in.

"No, Your Grace." She shook her head. "I dare not enter."

"Very well." He rested a hand on the doorjamb as he took in her appealing smile. "Why are you here?"

"To thank you for what you are doing."

He arched an eyebrow. "What is it you think I am doing?"

Her smile now reached into her eyes and made them sparkle. "I expected you to ignore my words, but you haven't. May I say, your matchmaking skills are excellent. I could not have done a better job of pairing these ladies to their suitable bachelors."

He responded with a light, rumbling chuckle. "I am glad my schemes have met with your approval."

"I'm sure my opinion does not matter at all, but I heartily approve. I expect your cousin, Lord Hereford, will also be grateful. He has been trying to catch Lady Sylvia's eye the entire week without success."

"He's a good fellow."

She nodded. "He seems very nice."

"Unlike me?" They were both nephews to Lady Audley, a woman who was impossible to tolerate. His cousin came from the poor side of the MacArran family and was a gentle, good-hearted soul. However, he also had the MacArran pride, and for this reason had yet to accept Ruarke's offers of a loan or other infusion of capital to help him out.

Yes, pride was a trait that ran strong in all MacArran men.

However, his cousin was obviously willing to marry an heiress such as Lady Sylvia to save his holdings. Well, he would be a good husband to that silly lady, and would not come completely empty handed to the marriage, since he had a title and several good parcels of land to offer in exchange for her dowry that would be put toward improving them.

"No one would ever mistake you for nice, Your Grace." Miss Alwyn cast him an impish smile, her gaze sweet and soft as she looked up at him. "I think it is because you do not dare show anyone this honorable part of you. But I have seen it and wish to thank you again. I had better return to your aunt."

"Wait." He caught her by the wrist, careful to keep his grasp gentle. "Before you go, I need to see you again."

She paled.

What was wrong with him? His usual prowess with women seemed to be failing him with this girl. "Do not work yourself into a state. I am not going to kiss you, Miss Alwyn. I have no intention of doing anything untoward. But I must learn more about you."

She glanced at his hand still holding her fast. "Why?"

"To be perfectly honest, I'm not certain yet. Specifically, I wish to know more about your mother's family. Did she ever reside here?"

"At MacArran Grange? How could she? Has it not been owned by your family for over a century, and much of that time in faded grandeur until you came along and restored it?"

"You seem to know my family history."

"Your aunt constantly speaks of it. She enjoys flaunting her family connections, and is especially pleased by how magnificently you have improved the family fortunes."

"But she is not pleased with me at the moment," he said.

She glanced at her wrist again, for he was still holding on to it. "Because you are paying me too much attention. She has noticed and does not like it."

"I am interested in you, but not for the reason you and she believe. Do not laugh at me, Miss Alwyn. There is a connection between you and MacArran Grange. It is a palpable bond, as though a string ties you to my home. I cannot shake the feeling that you belong here…or are in some way important to this house. Am I making any sense?"

She stared at him with those big green eyes of hers.

By heaven, she could lure a man to drowning in those emerald pools.

"I do feel it." She released a breath. "I wanted to tell you, but did not think you would ever believe me. These past two weeks, I thought I was going mad. How can I know this place when I have never been here before? The house. The grounds. The Singing Caves. All of it is so familiar. Even the song of those caves. I was humming it before I had ever heard it."

"Then my concerns are founded, Miss Alwyn. Do you have any idea why you are having these recollections and how they are significant?"

She shook her head. "No, not at all. It is a puzzle I would like to solve."

"Let us figure it out together. This is why I want to meet you again. Tomorrow, all right? Do not put me off until next Wednesday. This is too important. You know it is."

"All right." She nibbled her lip, once more drawing his attention to the lovely shape of her mouth. "These evening entertainments, much as your aunt enjoys them, will tire her out. She always sleeps in after an active night like this one. We ought to meet in the morning."

"How about sunrise at the grove of trees where we sat yesterday?"

"Yes, that is perfect. Everyone ought to be abed at that hour. I'll be there, Your Grace."

He released her wrist and watched as she hurried back inside the parlor.

He glanced up at the ceiling. "Lord, help me."

It was an odd request for a man who had lost faith years ago. But something strange was going on. Miss Alwyn had seen the ghost and now admitted the MacArran estate was familiar to her. How was this possible?

That ghost.

The smart thing to do was send the girl back to London and never allow her to return. Was this why she could tell him nothing of her mother's family when he'd asked yesterday? Had her father purposely kept his daughter in the dark?

Was it because of the ghost?

No, it was all too far-fetched.

Besides, he could not bring himself to send her away.

What irony?

He prided himself on being impenetrable, but Miss Alwyn had found a way into his heart with remarkable ease. He could not look at her without feeling her warmth penetrating its darkest recesses.

He did not like to think he was attracted to her beyond a casual interest, but he was. Nor did he wish to consider he might be falling in love with her.

Was he?

He certainly hungered for a taste of her mouth, those beautiful lips that fascinated him to the point of distraction. They were in the shape of a bow…or a heart…or a heart-shaped bow, the bottom one plumper than the top, but both of them perfect for kissing.

He groaned, knowing he would have wicked dreams of her tonight.

Very wicked.

He shook his head, irritated by these wayward thoughts, and then opened the book he had been reading on the history of the MacArran family. Several accounts were written of the infamous Dukes of Arran. He hoped they would reveal information on when the Singing Caves had been given the name. More important, he wanted to know precisely when the haunting of these caves had started.

He knew this ghost had been around for a while, perhaps seventy years or more. Few people ever saw her, but those who did described her as a girl with dark gold hair and green eyes.

Just like Miss Alwyn.

He rested his elbows on the desk and buried his face in his hands. "Heather, my little elf. Are you in danger? If so, how am I to keep you safe?"