In the Boss's Castle Page 12

  ‘So which end do you fancy, claws or teeth?’ Kit wasn’t being serious, he was intending to send her to get some water and some help, but to his amazement she laid a gentle hand on Thistle’s head, slowly rubbing the sweet spot behind his ears and crooning to him in a low voice.

  ‘Who’s a brave bear? I know. I know it hurts but you need to let us look at it.’ Her voice and the slow caress of her hand were almost hypnotic and Thistle gave a deep sigh, slumping down, his massive head on her knee. Maddison continued to talk to him, gentle words of comfort and love, one hand still rubbing his ear, the other sliding along the dog’s shoulder until she was supporting the dog’s paw. Thistle gave a quick jerk in pain and then lay still again.

  With a quick glance at Maddison to make sure she was all right, Kit slowly and carefully turned the great paw over. The three dark pads, usually velvety soft, were damp, the fur between matted with blood. ‘I think he’s got glass in there,’ Kit said as quietly as he could. ‘Are you okay down there while I get some tweezers, water and some antibacterial cream?’

  He rose to his feet as she nodded, and backed towards the door, one hand reassuring Heather, who had stopped pacing to sit staring anxiously at her litter mate still half lying in Maddison’s lap.

  And Maddison... Kit’s breath caught in his throat. The fire lit her up, turning the strawberry-blonde hair gold, casting a warm glow over her pale skin. She was unmoving, her face set, partly through concentration, partly to hide the fear he knew she felt. With the blood from Thistle’s paw on her hands and soaking into the white hem of her dress, she looked like Artemis straight from the hunt. Fiery, blood-stained warrior queen.

  His heart gave a painful lurch, as if the ice encasing it were cracking. But that was okay. It was thick enough to handle a few cracks. He was in no danger of melting anytime soon.

  * * *

  ‘I can’t wear this.’ Maddison plucked at the long skirt and stared at Kit’s mother anxiously. ‘Really my, I mean, Lady Buchanan.’ She hated that she’d stumbled over the words but what the fricking heck? She’d never thought she’d need to know the right way to address a viscountess before.

  If Kit’s mother was a viscountess. Was that even a thing?

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Lady Buchanan said briskly. ‘Your own dress is covered in blood.’ Her mouth twisted in an unexpectedly vulnerable movement. ‘Attending my son’s widow’s marriage is hard enough. We’ll be the victims of more than enough vulgar gossip without bringing the bride of Dracula with us.’

  ‘That’s a good point. I promise I’ll try not to spill on this.’ Maddison eyed her reflection nervously. There was an awful amount of fabric to keep clean and away from candles, especially in the floating skirt and the long, see-through chiffon sleeves. Apart from the neckline. There wasn’t nearly enough material there; she swore she could see her navel if she looked hard enough.

  ‘It’s just so nice to see it being worn again.’ Lady Buchanan’s eyes were wistful as she rearranged the beading that encircled the low, low neckline and looped higher up Maddison’s chest like a necklace. ‘Bridget won’t touch any of my clothes and dear Eleanor, well, it wasn’t really her style. I wore this the first time I met Iain, at Hogmanay right here in this house. I wore a cape over it so my father didn’t make me get changed. It was a little risqué back in the seventies.’

  It was still risqué as far as Maddison was concerned. But the mint green suited her colouring and besides... ‘It’s vintage Halston,’ she breathed reverentially. ‘A design classic. It’s an honour to wear it.’ Even if it wasn’t standard wedding attire, Maddison suspected she’d have got less attention in the blood-stained dress.

  ‘It’s the least I can do. You were so quick-thinking and brave, helping poor Thistle like that. Kit thinks he has all the glass out but Morag is going to stay late and wait in for the vet just in case. I’d have stayed myself but it’s important we attend this wedding with our heads high. Never let it be said that the Buchanans retreat from a challenge although...’ Her voice broke off, her eyes so sad that Maddison wished she could give her a hug.

  But could she hug a viscountess without permission or was that some kind of treason? And besides, she wasn’t confident that she could lean forward in this dress and stay in it.

  ‘It was nothing. Thistle was very brave.’

  ‘It’s not just Thistle you’re helping though. Kit seems different, less brittle. Happier. To see my boy smile I’d hand over one hundred dresses.’

  Maddison tried not to squirm as the sincere words washed over her. It couldn’t be denied that she was making Kit happy, but not in the way Lady Buchanan meant. Kit’s mother was talking about his heart, not his body. One she was happily familiar with, the other she suspected had been locked away several years ago.

  And she was pretty sure he had no intention of handing over the key. Even if he did, was she the right person to unlock it? What did she know of families and castles and long-standing traditions? She didn’t belong in a place like this; she never would. Coming here was a reality check she badly needed. She could enjoy Kit’s company, share his bed—but she would never be the right person to share his life. Cinderella might have made the move from the fireside to the castle, but the trailer was a step too far down. And pretend as she might, she would never shed her past completely.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘HAVE I TOLD you that you look...?’

  ‘Inappropriately dressed?’ Maddison supplied, resisting the temptation to hoick the sides of her dress together back across her chest. She’d give anything for a pin right now.

  ‘I was going to say hot. Definitely hotter than the bride.’

  ‘That’s always my goal at weddings.’ Maddison stepped even further into the shadows at the back of the hall. ‘At least it’s so gloomy in here I’m hoping no one knows this is actual skin on show and assumes there’s some kind of nude-coloured top going on.’

  ‘When Eleanor decided on candlelight I don’t think she took into consideration just how much light these old banqueting halls need. It feels more like Halloween than a wedding.’

  ‘She looked beautiful though. Eleanor.’ Maddison hadn’t expected the surge of jealousy when the bride, a mere thirty-five minutes late, had glided ethereally down the aisle. She hadn’t known what to expect from Kit’s first and only love but it hadn’t been the dark-eyed, dark-haired, diminutive beauty who had floated along in a confection of lace. No wonder both brothers had fallen for her, chosen her over their sibling bond.

  Even her voice was beautiful, chiming out her vows in clear bell-like tones. Maddison, hidden in a back corner, shrank into herself, uneasily aware of just how gaudy her own brilliant colouring could look, how brash her own decisive tones.

  ‘She always looks beautiful.’ But Kit didn’t sound admiring or wistful. Just dismissive. ‘It’s all she has, really. She’s good at turning those big eyes on you and making you think she matters, but when I look back at our year together I can’t remember much that she said of any substance. Still, Angus wants someone to look good when he’s hosting parties and to pop out an heir or two so they’ll both be happy.’

  Maddison winced as his words sliced into her. That was her plan, wasn’t it? Find someone who wanted a compatible partner to keep the home fires burning, be a corporate wife and raise the kids. That was her goal. Planned for, prepared for, ready for... Maddison looked from Kit, slightly dishevelled yet absurdly sexy in his tux, to Angus, sweaty, balding, one arm proprietorially round his bride, and swallowed, a lump in her throat. It didn’t seem such a laudable goal any more.

  Kit followed her gaze and huffed out a short laugh. ‘Good Lord, Angus is already half-cut. Some wedding night this is going to be.’ As he spoke Eleanor looked round and caught sight of Kit. Was that regret in those huge eyes? Regret for turning him down the first time? Or regret for not hooking him in the second?


  ‘I don’t think I can stand much more of this. We’ve definitely done our duty,’ Kit whispered into her ear, his breath heating the sensitive skin, sending tingling, hopeful messages straight to the pit of her stomach, to her knees, so she wanted to melt into his voice, his strength, his touch. ‘Fancy finding a real party?’

  Normally Maddison would be in her element in a gathering like this. Kit had pointed out several titles, a brace of millionaires and a group of heirs and a wedding was the ideal place to start up a conversation with any eligible man. Even though she wasn’t looking for a UK-based guy, a picture of Maddison and the heir to an oil fortune posted somewhere Bart would see should be very satisfying. But somehow in the last couple of weeks she had lost any interest in impressing Bart.

  Kit was right. Maybe he had been interested in her the way she was originally and her attempt to be his perfect woman had bored him. And if he hadn’t been, then would she really want to build a whole life on a pretence? ‘Sure. Only...’ Maddison gestured at her dress. ‘Where on earth can I go dressed like this? Studio 54?’

  ‘You’ll be fine where we’re going. No one will raise an eyebrow.’ He stopped to consider, his gaze travelling slowly down the deep vee in her neckline. Neckline? Navel line. ‘Okay. They might raise an eyebrow, both eyebrows. But if we’re lucky you might score us free drinks all night and they’ll crown you harbour queen.’

  ‘Harbour queen? Is that a thing?’

  ‘It definitely should be. What do you say?’

  Maddison cast a quick look around the high-ceilinged, grey stone room. It had been decorated to within an inch of its five-hundred-year-old life, the walls draped in a deep red fabric, the floor covered in matching carpeting, huge vases of red and white flowers dotted in every alcove, on every table. A violin quartet were playing traditional music high up in the minstrels’ gallery and food and drink circulated freely. But even with the opulent decor, with the candles glittering from the candelabra on the wall and the gigantic chandelier, the gloom penetrated and, she shivered, the temperature remained chilly.

  ‘It seems kind of rude to just go.’

  ‘You’re right. Besides, the ceilidh will start soon and in that dress you’re going to be every man here’s partner of choice. Think your neckline will stay intact after a round of Gay Gordons?’

  Maddison had no idea what a Gay Gordon or a ceilidh was but the suggestive glint in Kit’s eye warned she might be better off not finding out. ‘As I was saying, it seems kind of rude to just leave but there’s so many people here I guess no one will miss us.’

  His smile was pure wickedness. ‘I think you’ve made the right choice.’

  It took a while before they actually left. Kit wanted to make sure he had fulfilled his role as Master of Kilcanon and switched on the professional facade so familiar from the office as he circulated the room, shaking hands, kissing cheeks and making easy small talk as if he had been born to it.

  Which of course he had.

  The whirlwind charm offensive finished at the bridal party with kisses for the bride, her mother and bridesmaids and a hearty, back-slapping conversation with the bemused-looking groom before they finally slipped out of the room.

  ‘No one will be able to accuse me of not giving the wedding my full blessing,’ Kit said as they collected their coats, heading out of a small side door into the cool, dark evening rather than making their way back along the long formal hallway to the gigantic front door.

  ‘I think you scared the groom. He looked like he thought you were going to kiss him at one point.’ Eleanor had kept that same cool half-smile on her lips, Maddison had noticed, but there had been a hint of hurt in her eyes. What had she been expecting? Pistols at dawn?

  They made their way around the rectangular building, their way lit by small hidden lights on the path, the sounds of merriment floating out of the opened windows into the evening air. Angus’s house wasn’t as old as Castle Kilcanon or as elegant as the big house but it made up in size and ostentation what it lacked in authenticity. Surely it didn’t need quite so many towers?

  Looking up, Maddison saw the darkest sky she’d laid eyes on since she had first moved to New York four years ago, a deep, velvety blackness studded with stunningly bright flickers of light. Normally this level of darkness would panic her but Kit had tight hold of her hand, as if he knew that she might react.

  Maddison’s pulse began to throb. Nobody had anticipated her needs, her moods in such a long time. She squeezed his hand thankfully and breathed in deep. The air was so pure, so fresh it almost hurt her city lungs, better than any perfume or room spray.

  The path brought them out onto the long, sweeping driveway and their taxi waited at the end, beyond the imposing wrought-iron gates, the modern equivalent of a drawbridge. Maddison gave a heartfelt sigh of relief when she saw the headlights; her shoes were pinching, her toes were cold and her bones so chilled she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel warm again.

  It was the same driver who had taken them to the wedding. Maddison suspected he was probably the only taxi driver in Kilcanon, which gave her little comfort as he set off at a white-knuckled fast pace down the dark and twisting road. Kit settled back in his seat, silent as the car flashed through the night, covering the three miles in what surely must be record time but, as the car raced to the top of the hill and the first lights in the village could be seen in the dip below, Kit reached out and took her hand again, lacing his fingers through hers with a strong, steady pressure.

  There was an intimacy about holding hands in the dark that went beyond the kisses, the caresses, the passion they had shared yesterday. Maddison swallowed, a lump burning in her throat. She shouldn’t get used to this. He didn’t do love, remember? Neither did she.

  Only she wasn’t quite as sure about that any more. She wasn’t sure she would swap this taxi for the fanciest of limos, the man next to her for a Kennedy, last night for a lifetime of security. Maddison stared out the window at the darkness. In that case what did she want—and was she in danger of trading all she’d ever dreamed of for heartbreak?

  Maddison had expected that they would head either to a private house or to the whitewashed grand hotel that dominated the corner where the main road hit the harbour, but the taxi drove straight on, bypassing the hotel, bypassing the grand Victorian villas looking out to sea, bypassing the small and friendly pub she’d noticed earlier. The moon was high and full, laying out a silvery path along the dark sea, and Maddison had an urge to follow it and see what strange land it took her to.

  Finally, once they had swept right around the harbour road and reached a small row of cottages, the taxi pulled up. Maddison opened her door, gratefully gulping in some air, her stomach unsettled by the fast and twisting journey. She looked around, confused. In front of her a door stood open but the inner door was closed and the windows tightly shuttered, although she could hear music coming from within.

  ‘Where are we?’

  Kit had walked around to join her. He extended a hand to help her out of the car and gestured towards the door. ‘This is where the locals come to play. Ready?’

  Maddison cast a long, covetous look back along the harbour wall towards the hotel, shining beacon-like, a promise of hospitality, warmth and civilization. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Good.’ And Kit opened the shut inner door and ushered her inside.

  The first thing that hit her was the noise. Or the lack of it. Just like any good western, the room came to an abrupt silence as she was propelled through the door to stand gaping on the threshold. The second thing to strike her was the simplicity: whitewashed walls, wooden tables and stools, a dartboard and pool table visible in the adjoining room. The third thing she noticed was the heat, the glorious, roaring heat that came from a generous log fire.

  The fourth and final thing Maddison realized was that, if she had been inappropriately dressed for a we
dding, here, in a room full of jeans, plaid shirts and sweaters, she looked like a bordello girl amidst the cowboys. Only more underdressed.

  ‘Kit!’ The man behind the bar broke the stunned silence and slowly, like dominoes falling into each other, the room came back to life. Conversations restarted, darts were thrown and through the alcove Maddison could hear the unmistakable clink of pool balls being lined up. She hadn’t played for years. Nice girls didn’t hang around pool tables. Another thing she missed.

  ‘All right, Paul.’

  Maddison was barely listening as the two men launched into a series of ‘how are you?’s and ‘what have you been up to?’s. The accents in the little bar were stronger than any she had come across before and it was easier to let the voices wash over her than try and make sense of the conversation, which, from what she could glean, revolved around fishing anyway. A pint of something amber was handed to her and she took it. Beer. She didn’t drink beer, not any more, not since high school, an illicit keg on the beach wearing her boyfriend’s varsity jacket even though she wasn’t cold. Because it marked her. Marked her as an insider.

  She sniffed the beer cautiously, breathing in the nostalgia of the tangy, slightly metallic aroma, then took a sip. It was delicious. She took another.

  ‘There’s a seat by the fire.’ Kit had finished his conversation and turned to her. ‘Fancy it?’

  ‘For now.’ She smiled slowly, licking the slight froth from her lip as she did so, and watched Kit’s eyes darken to navy blue. ‘But later I want to play pool.’

  * * *

  Was this what a relationship was? Discovering new parts of someone, being surprised by them, delighted by them, in new ways every day. Eleanor had always been the same—cool, collected, affectionate but in a way that made it clear she was in control. He saw it now for what it was: a way to keep him in line, wanting more. And he’d never allowed anyone else close enough to find out what one facet of their personality was like, let alone several.