Jamie politely declined a second ladleful of soup, the footman remembering how heartily he’d eaten when he lived here. “Good for you. She’ll learn what a strict taskmaster you are. Be terrified of the forbidding Megan Mackenzie.”
Megan made a face at him and began eating her soup.
“Megan is not a taskmaster,” Ian said from the head of the table. “She is far more gentle than any of us.”
“I know, Dad.” During his travels, Jamie had missed his father’s literal interpretation of whatever was said. “I was teasing.”
“Yes.” Ian’s nod told Jamie he understood exactly what was going on. “I think you should not.”
“Sorry Megan.” Jamie gave his sister a nod, which she graciously accepted.
The conversation continued, but Jamie remained evasive to questions about his day, other than to explain how he’d met Violent and Daniel and family in Southampton and then driven the car to the London lock-up before he returned home, and had met Alec there. He said nothing about the fight, though Aunt Eleanor would have the story from Alec and tell Beth soon enough.
His mother’s and sister’s voices flowed around him—punctuated at intervals by Ian, who would make an astute statement then fall silent again. As Jamie ate the marvelous meal and listened to them, he realized that his heart was here. Home. With people who loved him and accepted him for who he was.
Jamie had always longed to impress his father by accomplishing something brilliant, and he’d set off at an early age to do so. So far, he’d crashed an aeroplane near Baghdad, nearly killed himself in India and again in Egypt, and almost got himself lost forever in the Australian desert. Not the most impressive of careers.
He pushed these thoughts aside and tried to enjoy his supper, their cook being one of the best in London. His thoughts were far from that dining room, however, as he imagined Evie tucking into whatever meal the staff at the Langham brought in, her eyes lighting in delight. Dark blue eyes, like a deep lake under the sunniest skies.
When supper ended, Jamie prepared to follow his mother and sister from dining room to the small sitting room. Unlike in some households, where the men and women would separate after the meal, this family adjourned together to continue whatever conversation they’d begun while dining. After that they might have a game of some kind or listen to Megan play the piano for them, always a treat.
Beth and Megan disappeared into the sitting room, but Ian stepped in front of Jamie.
“A word,” he said in his calm voice.
Jamie uneasily curled his fingers into his palms. Ian wouldn’t request to see Jamie alone unless it was to discuss something important.
Without waiting for an answer, Ian walked up the stairs to his private study, a chamber filled with books and papers, neatly filed, along with a Ming bowl in a glass case, the lights positioned to bring out its beauty.
As Jamie entered, Ian strolled to a side table to pour out two glasses of whisky from a crystal decanter. Jamie almost dropped his worry about why his father wanted to see him in anticipation of tasting it. Ian stocked this house with only the best from the Mackenzie distillery.
Almost.
Ian was a big man, hard with muscle that hadn’t diminished in the nearly twenty-seven years Jamie had been alive. Ian rode, walked all over the Highlands, and strode for miles through London’s streets, too impatient to wait for transport.
He did not hurry as he measured out the whisky exactly and carefully returned the decanter to the center of the tray. Only then did he hand a glass to Jamie.
“Slàinte.” Ian lifted his goblet.
“Slàinte,” Jamie responded. They clicked glasses and drank.
Jamie’s anticipation was rewarded. The whisky flowed across his tongue like silk before burning pleasantly down his throat.
Ian lowered his glass and fixed Jamie with an unblinking stare from golden eyes.
“Son.” Ian liked to call Jamie son rather than by his name, which Jamie did not mind at all. His golden gaze intensified. “Who is the lady?”
Chapter 6
Evie had taken a sip of the most marvelous tea she’d tasted in an age, when she heard a woman’s brisk voice outside the suite’s front door. Evie was alone in the sitting room, her mother and sisters still in their chambers, washing up and changing.
“Never worry, my good man,” the woman was saying. “I have my own key. I’ll just pop in and see if my mother’s embroidery basket is there. It is her favorite, and she’s been in a tizzy since she mislaid it. You know how she is about her embroidery.”
A key rattled in the lock, and the door swung open to reveal a young woman of extraordinary beauty on the threshold.
“Oh,” the apparition said as Evie sprang to her feet. “Good evening.”
“Good evening,” Evie returned hastily.
The young woman in a splendid dark blue gown with a flowing skirt peered at Evie in avid curiosity. “I beg your pardon—my manners are atrocious. I am Gavina Mackenzie.”
“Evie McKnight.” Miss Mackenzie must think Evie’s manners were even more atrocious. As Miss Mackenzie had been speaking of searching for her mother’s embroidery basket, she must be of Lord Cameron’s family, whose suite this was. “Mr. Mackenzie—Jamie—suggested we stay here,” Evie continued quickly. “Out of kindness, as no other hotel in London could take us.”
Evie’s face heated as she blurted the explanation. She watched Gavina assess her, trying to place her among Jamie’s friends—or conquests, perhaps.
“Yes, that sounds like something Jamie would do,” Gavina concluded. “How do you know him?”
Evie had no intention of repeating the whole, sordid story. “From Cambridge. I met him briefly there. I was at Girton.”
Gavina’s interest grew. Her hair was the gold of a brilliant sunrise, tinted with enough red to glow. She had eyes of clear gray, like the sea under cloud-filled skies.
“Truly? I was at Newnham.” She named the other ladies’ college at Cambridge. “You knew Jamie only briefly? I’d say you were better friends than that, as he’s installed you in our suite.”
Evie regarded her in dismay, not liking her implication. But was it not true? She wasn’t a friend of Jamie’s—she was a woman he’d kissed.
“Did you need the rooms?” Evie couldn’t recall when she’d felt so awkward. “Mr. Mackenzie gave us to understand your family was in the country.”
“Dad and Mum are, yes. Racing season is upon us. But no, I don’t need a place to stay.” Gavina strolled inside, and a pageboy in the hall quickly closed the door behind her. “We were curious, is all. Alec and I were, I mean.”
Evie frowned, lost. “Who is Alec?”
“Another of our many cousins. Alec deduced that Jamie had placed someone in the Langham he didn’t want us to know about. I agreed to pop around here and find out who.” Gavina beamed Evie a warm and beautiful smile. “You are not who I expected.”
“Gracious, who did you expect?”
“No one respectable, I confess.” Gavina’s impudence faded. “Forgive me, Miss McKnight. I did not mean to offend you.”