Page 4 of Hope in the Highlands (Seduced in Scotland #1)

Graham cursed as Hope scurried off and climbed the hidden staircase to a room that would have been his own while he was growing up had his father not lost Lismore Hall. He had become familiar with the house over the past ten years, since striking up a friendship with Lady Belle, but this was too much. To put this Trojan horse of a woman in that room was malicious as far as Graham was concerned.

He was already in a foul mood, given that he had been delegated by his uncle to inform Lady Belle that the McTavish clan would hold a ball in her nieces’ honor a week from Friday as a welcome to the Highlands. Graham had never heard something so preposterous. It seemed his uncle had forgotten their lifelong hatred of the English. But when he’d said as much, his uncle had only smiled, apparently enjoying his discomfort. He wondered if his uncle and Lady Belle were conspiring against him.

Shaking out his bruised toes, he speculated what Miss Hope Sharpe would do when she saw him at the dinner table in an hour or so. She might scream, or try to kick him again. He wished she would. Anything to distract him from the unprecedented attraction he felt for her.

It had been immediate, like being on a horse that spooked. His heart dropped into his stomach the moment he laid eyes on her. She was fresh-faced and beautiful, with pale skin, dark eyes, and a set of lips the color of apple blossoms before they bloomed. With her curly, coffee colored hair tied back by only a single ribbon and draped over her shoulder, she resembled some medieval maiden.

Her soft, lush frame had been detailed by the cinching of her pale green robe, and for a moment, he had been stunned at the sight of her, looking like some fairy princess standing in her private kingdom. Only it wasn’t her kingdom.

It was his.

That Lady Belle had chosenhermade him particularly hostile. She was perfection, the picture of his every desire, and he had no doubt that Lady Belle had made a deal with the devil himself to lure Graham to do her bidding. Well, he wouldn’t do it. He was his own man, and no amount of female meddling would control his fate.

He stalked across the garden as a voice within him reasoned that perhaps all was not lost. Why shouldn’t he marry an attractive woman to gain his home back? It would hardly be a sacrifice to lay with a woman like Hope for the rest of his life. And if she were even-tempered and kind-natured, too, well, he just might be able to count himself a lucky man if he were her husband.

But it was the principle of the matter. Lady Belle had long implied that Lismore Hall would return to him one day, and while she had never outright promised it to him, it now felt as though she had snatched it away from him all the same. She was meddling in his life’s affairs; a habit she had formed the very day he was born.

And as far as marriage went, Graham hadn’t ever given the matter much thought. He always assumed it would happen after he gained ownership of Lismore Hall, and now that seemed highly unlikely. Hope Sharpe seemed prepared to kick him out, literary. He wondered if Belle had explained to Hope who he was and if she knew her aunt’s plans.

Striding into the castle without preamble, Graham ran into Rose, who gave him a curious look. Why Lady Belle had hired this mouse of a woman to be her personal secretary, he did not know. Rose barely spoke above a whisper, and her intense stare made people uncomfortable. She would scurry away whenever she found herself in the presence of Graham and his cousins, particularly Jared McTavish.

She was an odd woman, to say the least.

“Mr. MacKinnon,” Rose said softly, nodding to acknowledge his presence.

“Where is she?” he asked, ignoring pleasantries.

“The parlor,” she said so quietly he had to strain to hear her. “But beware. She’s in no mood for your antics today.”

“My antics?”

“Yes. Her nieces have just arrived, and she’s in high spirits. I doubt very much she wants you to spoil her jovial mood.”

“So, you don’t wish me to bother your mistress?”

“No, I do not.”

“What a little traitor you are,” he said, glowering at her. “You’re a right loyalist when it comes to that Englishwoman.”

“She pays me far too much money not to be,” Rose said quietly as she continued walking, heading to do Lady Belle’s bidding no doubt.

Graham smirked, unable to argue with that, even though he knew it wasn’t the only reason Rose was loyal to Belle. In truth, everyone for twenty miles liked the unorthodox old woman. Any person who could disparage the King of England earned their trust, and while her popularity irked Graham, he couldn’t deny it. If she didn’t hold the ownership of Lismore Hall over his head, he wouldn’t be able to find a single fault with her.

Stalking into the parlor, he found Lady Belle seated behind a large desk with her loyal butler, Andrews, standing beside her.

“Ah, MacKinnon,” she said, scanning a paper in her hand. “You’re punctual this evening.”

“Did you send her out into the garden dressed in nothing but a night rail?”

“Send who into the garden?”

“Your niece, Hope Sharpe.”

Genuine surprise lit the old woman's face as she handed the paper back to Andrews.

“That'll be just fine,” she said to the butler, who bowed and then left. She motioned to Graham. “Now tell me, you met Hope already?”

“You mean you didn't plant her in the garden for me to ‘accidentally’ find? Knowing full well I always enter the grounds from the east door.”

“I didn't know you enter from the east door.”

He rolled his eyes.

“The hives are outside the east door. Of course I always come in from there.”

“Am I supposed to remember every detail concerning your honey enterprise?”

“It's on your own grounds. How can you not know about it?”

Belle waved her hand dismissively.

“I've far too many concerns to remember them all. And as radical as I may have been in my life, sending my innocent niece out in her undergarments to entice a foul-mouthed highlander is not on my to-do list.” She paused for a moment; her mouth pursed together. “Did she seem impressed by you?”

“I knew it,” he said, pointing at her. “You put her in the green room to agitate me.”

“I did no such thing,” she denied. “Aside from my room, the green room is the largest, and with the early summer flowers in bloom I thought she’d appreciate it the most. Besides, she is the oldest and deserves more space.”

“You're lying.”

“I've no intention of humoring your foul mood today, MacKinnon,” she said, rising. “Why even come if you're going to be all brooding and miserable?”

“I came because you and my uncle conspire against me,” he said, taking a seat as he dropped his body loudly into a leather club chair. He frowned, looking down at the seat. “This is uncomfortable. Where did it come from?”

“London, and it's not uncomfortable, it’s fashionable,” she said, coming around slowly with her cane to face him. “What did your uncle wish to send you for?”

“He'll be holding a welcome ball for your nieces by week’s end,” he said suspiciously. “No doubt an attempt to undermine me and that unsuspecting lass of yours.”

“Your uncle is merely being neighborly,” she said. “Tell me, did you introduce yourself to Hope?”

“Nay.”

“Well, then you'll have an opportunity to do so at dinner,” Lady Belle said. “But really, MacKinnon, you should know I've never been mistaken in matters of the heart. I genuinely believe you and Hope would do very well together.”

Graham snorted. Even if they did get along, it wouldn't matter. He wouldn't marry a woman simply to gain property, especially when it should already belong to him.

“It wouldn't be fair to her,” he said. “Even if we did suit, Lismore Hall would always be between us. You've tainted it.”

“So, I should have kept my mouth shut and hoped that you two would just naturally come together?”

He shrugged.

“Perhaps.”

“Well, I haven't the time to wait around hoping for you and her to come together on your own. Especially since you seem so determined to not start a relationship with anyone until you possess this house. Aren’t you lonely?”

“I have company enough,” he said, knowing he was barely telling the truth.

Graham had cavorted with a number of women over the years, but they had been entirely casual affairs, focused on the physical rather than the emotional. He had never considered any of them a potential life partner—he had barely even considered any of them to be friends.

“You have bedmates,” she corrected him.

“Same thing. And why don't you have the time?”

Lady Belle's face became shuttered and she pivoted around so that she no longer faced him.

“No one does, MacKinnon. Tomorrow is never promised. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some correspondence to finish before attending dinner.”

She left the room, leaving Graham to wonder what she had meant. She acted as though she knew for a certainty that time were running out. Possibly at her age, it could be. But as far as he could tell, she was perfectly healthy and only wanted to use him to make a match for one of her spinster nieces.

Although, spinster was hardly the word Graham would use to describe Hope. It was anybody's guess why the dark-haired beauty hadn't found a husband yet. She certainly stirred his curiosity, which irked him even more. Why was she unattached?

He stood up and walked toward the drink cabinet in the back of the room. Perhaps Hope was sharp-tongued or lacking in some inane talent that gentlemen of first society focused on. Or perhaps the Englishmen she had been accustomed to simply had terrible taste.

After withdrawing a bottle of scotch from the cabinet, he poured himself a draught and sank onto the settee positioned before the fireplace. Though the summer season had just begun, a fire blazed as Lismore Hall was often cold.

Taking a sip of the peaty scotch, Graham couldn't shed his curiosity when it came to Hope. A beauty like she should have been plucked from the marriage market years ago. Why was she still unattached? It was something he planned on learning, along with all the stipulations of Lady Belle's will.

Just then, footfalls and feminine chatter echoed throughout the outside hallway. Graham turned towards the doorway as two ladies entered, smiling, and talking to one another before they spotted Graham. They halted in their tracks.

A stilted silence followed before Graham raised his glass and nodded.

“Hello,” he said, guessing these must be Hope's sisters.

They had the same dark hair as Hope, though their features varied. One had blue eyes and wore a violet day gown with white stripes. She had a straight nose and did not smile at him. The other wore a rose-colored tiered dress. She had amber color eyes, with a more defined brow than her sisters and a slimmer mouth. She gave him a cheerful grin.

They were both quite attractive, though Graham believed Hope was the most pleasing to look at. Her dark hair matched her eyes in a way that made her skin glow with a beauty that neither of her sisters could match. Still, he couldn’t understand why none of them had been married.

The one in rose regarded Graham with a smile while the one in violet pinned him with a suspicious stare.

“Hello,” the smiling one said, coming forward. “Are you a guest of Belle's?”

“A permanent pest, more like it,” he said, standing. “You must be two of the three Sharpe sisters.”

“We are,” she said. “I'm Grace Sharpe. This is my sister, Faith.”

The suspicious one nodded but made no attempt to come closer.

“How do you do?”

“Fine,” he said, winking at the quiet one. Might as well have some fun with them before Hope arrived. “And you?”

Faith frowned while humor appeared in Grace’s eyes as she looked back at her sister. Graham got the impression that Faith didn’t appreciate teasing and that Grace was rather entertained by her discomfort.

“We’re very well, thank you,” Grace said, beaming at him. “Have you seen our Belle? We were told it was nearly time for supper.”

“She's gone to finish some correspondence, but I'm sure she'll be done soon enough,” he said, nodding towards the door. “The dining hall in just to the left, across the hallway. Her dining etiquette is quite casual, so if you wanted to meet her there, you should feel free to go ahead. She will not be offended.”

“Are you attending dinner, Mr… ?” Grace let her last word linger so that he might introduce himself.

“Graham MacKinnon. And I'm still debating if I should subject Lady Belle and the rest of you to my presence.”

Grace angled her chin, frowning. Just then, another set of footsteps sounded from behind them. Before Grace could inquire as to him what he meant, Hope entered the parlor, dressed in a pale pink evening gown. Graham noticed her slight breathlessness, as if she had rushed there.

Upon seeing him, she stopped short, her dark eyes focusing on him and demanded, “What are you doing here?”

“Hope!” Grace chided, glancing between her and Graham. “Have you met Mr. MacKinnon?”

Graham watched to see if his name sparked any sort of recognition in her, but she showed no signs of being familiar with it.

“Who?”

“This is Mr. Graham MacKinnon. He's a friend of Belle.”

“A friend?”

“I wonder what sort,” Faith said beneath her breath.

“I must apologize, Mr. MacKinnon,” Grace began, glancing between Hope and Faith. “My sisters do not seem to be themselves.”

“It's no trouble to me,” he said, though his eyes remained on Hope.

It seemed to Graham that none of the Sharpes knew who he was. Grace glanced between him and Hope for a moment, as if waiting for something. Finally, when no one acted, she spoke again.

“Well, I suppose we should find that dining room,” Grace said. “Mr. MacKinnon, have you decided whether you will be joining us for dinner?”

“I think I might,” he said, having made up his mind to at least garner some information from the women. “Follow me.”

He held out his arm. As they were all the same social rank, the honor of his escort fell to the eldest. Hope hesitated for a moment, as if disbelieving that she was to be escorted by a man she had assumed was an intruder. Still, she gingerly placed her hand in the crook of his elbow.

The warmth of her small hand sent a warning throughout Graham's body. An image flashed in his mind of that same small hand moving over him, exploring, and learning the anatomy of his body. He cleared his throat and struggled to banish the image from his mind as they walked.

“So, you are not an intruder?” Hope asked softly enough that her sisters couldn't hear.

“No,” he answered gruffly. “Far from it.”

“Then who are you to my aunt?”

“A friend,” he said, giving her a side glance. “For nigh ten years now.”

“Ten years?” Hope repeated. “She's never mentioned you before.”

Graham’s brow lifted. Surely Lady Belle had informed her niece about him if she wanted them to marry.

“Hasn't she?” he replied.

“No,” she answered. “Why would you believe otherwise? Should I know who you are?”

“I'd have presumed Lady Belle would have told you who I was. Considering…”

“Considering what?” she asked as they reached the dining room.

For a fleeting moment, he nearly told her about her aunt's heinous plan, but when they entered the room, they saw the old woman standing before them, leaning on her cane.

“Considering that it is rather uncouth to have a brutish Scotsman roaming about the castle,” Belle interjected.

Hope's hand fell away from his arm, and he refused to acknowledge his regret at her release. The old woman winked at him in an infuriatingly knowing way, which only made him scowl.

He would not be managed.

“Considering your aunt—”

“—is more than ready to start supper,” Lady Belle said, cutting him off as Faith and Grace came around from behind him. “Come. Hope, you’ll sit to my right, and Grace can sit next to you. Graham? On my left, as with you, Faith.”

All three sisters went towards their seats as Belle lifted her cane and pointed to the portrait of Graham's great-grandfather that hung on the wall behind them. “Do you see that painting, my dears?”

The ladies swung around while Graham stared at Belle. So, she hadn’t told Hope anything about her matchmaking idea. Curious that she seemed to intend to hide it from her niece after being so frank with him.

“Is that who lived here before you, Aunt Belle?” Hope asked, her eyes scanning the painting.

“It is. That there is Old Fergus MacKinnon,” Belle said as the girls all looked back at Graham. “Great-grandfather of our friend here.”

“This castle belonged to your family, Mr. MacKinnon?” Hope asked, her eyes widening.

“I had no idea,” Faith said.

“Neither did I,” added Grace.

Graham opened his mouth to explain, but something stopped him. Whether it was shame at the story or the pointed glance Belle was giving him, he did not know, but a part of him wished to stay quiet, if only for a moment to see what Belle had in store for them.

He closed his mouth and shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Lismore Hall never belonged to me.”

“How did you come to live here then, Aunt Belle?” Faith asked as a footman came forward to pull out her seat.

Several other footmen came forward to seat the rest of the party. Faith and Grace observed Belle while Hope kept her eyes on Graham.

“Well, let's just say I had a bout of good luck the day Lismore Hall came into my possession. But that was a lifetime ago,” Lady Belle said as the ladies reached for their napkins, only to have them taken from their hands as the footmen opened them with a flare and placed them on their laps. Graham noted the surprise on the sisters’ faces at being treated so delicately by the staff and he wondered what their life had been like in London. “Long before any of you were born.”

“A lucky day indeed,” Graham said sarcastically.

“Mr. MacKinnon said that you and he have been friends for ten years,” Hope said as a footman came up and ladled potato leek soup into her dish. “Is that true?”

“It is,” Belle said. “Although we weren't great friends in the beginning.”

Graham watched her as she spoke, wondering how far she would go with her story.

“You weren't?” Hope asked, peering at Graham.

“No. As you can imagine, Mr. MacKinnon was quite annoyed with me.”

“Whatever for?” Faith asked.

Belle leaned towards her great-niece.

“Why do you suppose, dear?”

None of the sisters seemed able to come up with a reason why Graham would be upset, prompting him to speak.

“Because she didn’t come into ownership of Lismore by buying it from my family,” he said slowly. “She won it.”

“Won it?” Hope repeated. The small line between her brows appeared again and Graham had the sudden urge to press his thumb against it to sooth it away. “How?”

Graham was still for a moment, surprised that he was uncomfortable with Hope’s concerned tone. Clearing his throat, he leaned back in his chair and waited for Lady Belle to continue. She only nodded at him, prompting him to continue.

“In a card game. If rumors are to be believed, they played at this very table.” Graham’s hand moved across the well-worn wood. The table was nearly two-hundred years old and seemed more fitting for a Viking banquet hall than in the home of a member of the modern English aristocracy. It didn’t matter that his family had eaten off this oak table for two centuries. It belonged to her now.

Graham pressed his thumbnail into the corner of the table, unconsciously trying to leave a mark. The Paris Porcelain vases from the other day had been replaced with crystal vases, now filled with white roses. “Isn't that right, Lady Belle?”

“It is,” she said.

“Who were they exactly?” Hope asked.

“Well, who was it now? Your aunt here, obviously. My father and King William IV, before he was king, and his brother.”

Each Sharpe sister froze with their mouths open. An uncomfortable heat began to crawl up Graham’s neck as their watchful gaze glided back and forth between him and Lady Belle.

“King William?” Faith said incredulously.

“Yes. I suppose your grandmother never told you. Hardly surprising, actually, as she wasn't particularly proud of it,” Belle said, and for the first time since they had met, Graham saw a flicker of discontent pass over her eyes before disappearing. When she spoke again, however, she held her head up. Graham wondered if she wasn't as sure of herself in front of these three innocent misses. “But the king and I were very much in love.”

“In love?” Hope repeated, her hands coming up to either side of her head, as if she were trying to comprehend this baffling piece of information. “But how?”

“My dear, if I have to explain how, I don't—”

“No, no,” Hope said, shaking her head. A bright blush bloomed on her cheeks. “I don't mean how were you in love. I mean, how did you ever come to know the king?”

Lady Belle took a deep breath.

“Your grandmother and I grew up in London. We lived in a very fine house and were well-received by the most prominent families. Alice and I were all set to make prosperous matches, but I couldn't stand the idea of marriage. I was an arrogant child and assumed I knew everything. Refusing to be cowed into a life I had no desire to be a part of, I ran away.”

Graham had heard about her escapades before, but the reaction of the sisters was interesting to watch. Grace’s forehead was crinkled as a hand covered her mouth, while Faith appeared much too interested as she leaned closer, eager to hear more. Hope, on the other hand, remained perfectly still, her eyes locked on the old woman.

“At the tender age of sixteen, I decided to become an actress. My parents disowned me, and Alice never forgave me for leaving, but I would not be shamed. I was wildly successful on the stage, if I do say so myself. After spending nearly five years on Drury Lane, one evening during a particularly moving performance of Pizzaro , I was spotted by none other than the Duke of Clarence, which was his title at the time.” Lady Belle smiled, seemingly lost in the long-ago memory. “He found me afterwards and claimed to have fallen instantly in love with me. I told him he was a fool and shooed him away.”

“You told the king he was a fool?” Grace asked, shocked.

“Well, as I said, he wasn’t the king yet—merely a duke. And yes, I did, and I continued to tell him so for months. Of course, he eventually wore me down. He asked me to quit the stage and while I didn't want to necessarily, I knew the reality of my situation. Old actresses never ended up with much. So, I rented my own private apartments and became his mistress.”

The silence that followed was piercing.

“But … but Grandmother said you had a rich husband who died early in your marriage,” Grace said.

“I've never been married a day in my life,” Belle said, her nose in the air.

“A mistress …” Hope repeated.

“So that's why Lord Bartley always asked if the apple fell farm from the tree!” Faith said, her small fist hitting the table. Seeing the surprise on everyone’s face for her outburst, she smiled apologetically and uncurled her fingers, her nails tapping against the wood. “It never made any sense to me.”

“He asked you that?” Grace asked.

“More than once.” Faith said, the corners of her mouth pulled up in a sneer. “I never understood why. Only now it makes sense.”

“So, you didn't buy this house with money left to you by your husband?” Hope asked.

“No, I did not,” Belle said. “You see, Willie and I travelled quite extensively together. Thirty years ago, we decided to come to Scotland to visit with his friend, Mr. James MacKinnon. It was a grand time, filled with dancing and merrymaking and a slew of other things that young ladies need not know about. On the last night of our visit, we decided to play a game of whist.”

Familiar heat crawled over Graham’s skin. He hated this part of the story.

“Willie and his brother were very poor players, but then, Mr. MacKinnon was rather good. We played back and forth for several hours. I put up as collateral all of my jewelry, a stable of royal horses, and even a vineyard in Italy that Willie had bought me as a gift. He wasn't very pleased about that, but he dared not stop me.” She bobbed her head at Graham. “Mr. MacKinnon was eager to win that vineyard. So, he put up Lismore Hall. We laid our cards down and I won.”

“And your father lost,” Hope said quietly as she turned to face Graham.

Graham remained still as he listened. Hope's genuine reaction unnerved him, and while he told himself he didn't need her sympathies, he felt rather grateful for them.

“Did you remove the MacKinnons?” Faith asked.

“Heavens no,” Lady Belle said. “I clean forgot about my winnings until a year or so later, when I received the deed by post. His solicitor had found the deed, which had been signed over to me, while going through Mr. MacKinnon’s papers after his death. You see, darlings, the very night of the card game, our friend Graham here was born. Unfortunately, his mother died in childbirth and his father, so ashamed at having lost the only thing left to his family, drank himself to death only months afterward.”

“Oh goodness no,” Hope said, her hands flying over her mouth.

Graham didn't appreciate the pity he heard in her voice. All three sisters were observing him with various amounts of commiseration, and he hated it. He had long made peace with the fact that his father hadn't been strong enough to hold himself accountable, but Graham wouldn't be subjected to their pity.

“That's enough, Lady Belle,” he said, his tone rougher than he would have liked. “They don't want to be bored to death about histories long since passed.”

“But you became friends?” Faith asked, swiveling her head between her aunt and Graham. “So, there is a happy ending, isn't there?”

“Well, that depends on when you believe the story ends,” Belle said. “But Mr. MacKinnon is right. It's been a rather boring friendship since he came back to Scotland ten years ago.”

“Where did you go?” Grace asked. “Or were you not raised in the area after the deaths of your parents?”

“My uncle—my mother’s brother—took me in, and I was raised not at all far from here. But I never had reason to return when I was a child, and once I was grown, school took me away and then business,” he said. “I returned ten years ago.”

“Where do you live now?” Faith asked.

“When he’s not in Glasgow to see to his business affairs, Mr. MacKinnon occupies the estate's old hunting lodge, some miles north of here,” Belle said just as Hope stood up unexpectedly.

“If you'll excuse me,” Hope said, obviously distracted as she left the room in a hurry.

Concern tugged at Graham’s chest as she left. He thought he had seen her wipe at her cheek. He faced Belle who only shrugged and then back to the others who were giving each other a knowing look.

“What is it?” he asked them. “What's wrong with her?”

An unspoken conversation seemed to transpire between the sisters. Grace nodded and Faith twisted to face Graham.

“Mr. Pennington dropped Hope a little under a month ago,” Faith said, uttering the man's name with disgust. “I believe she’s just realized why it was so easy for him to do so.”

“But what could my father’s story have to do with her courtship troubles?”

“Nothing,” Grace assured him. “But Mr. Pennington was very concerned with what was proper. He must have known something about our…” she shot Belle an apologetic look, “…colorful family history,” she continued, “which would explain why he stalled so much when it came to making Hope a proper offer. And then I suppose the latest scandal was the final straw that made him wash his hands of her for good.”

“Men,” Belle huffed, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “Fools, the lot of them.”

Graham ignored her and continued his questioning.

“What scandal? Did Miss Sharpe do something?”

“No, it wasn't Hope,” Grace said quickly.

“Grace,” Faith warned.

Some secret was being kept from Graham and though he hardly wanted to be involved with these women, he evidently didn’t have much of a choice.

“What happened?” he asked with authority.

Grace and Faith faced one another other. Grace swallowed hard and shook her head while Faith rolled her eyes and sighed heavily.

“One of us was caught in a rather compromised position at a ball in London, over a month ago,” Faith said.

“But because we all look quite similar from behind, no one could identify which one of us it was,” Grace added.

“And your Mr. Pennington believed it was Hope?” Graham asked.

“He’s hardly my Mr. Pennington,” Faith said with a scoff, wrinkling her nose. “I wouldn’t take him as a gift. And no, Hope told him it wasn’t her. But he wished to take her away. He proposed to marry her and leave the two of us behind to bear the consequences of our supposed shame without her. She refused.”

Graham stared at the two before glancing at Belle, whose brows lifted with delight.

“Blood of my blood!” Belle said joyously. “I had heard there was some sort of scandal, but I didn't know to what extent. No wonder you were all so eager to come north.”

“So?” Graham said. “Which one was it?”

Both sisters stared at him.

“We won't tell,” they said in unison.

“We decided that since we’d all be considered in disgrace regardless, we shouldn’t give the gossips the satisfaction of knowing who it was,” Grace added.

Graham was dumbfounded when Belle yelped with laughter.

“What a fine set of sisters, indeed!” she said happily. “Oh, you truly are my kin. You know your grandmother and I had a very similar pact years ago, before my acting days.”

As Belle went into a story about her youth, Graham observed the doorway Hope had exited. He was under no obligation to go after her, and he certainly wasn't interested in involving himself any more than he already was, but where the other Sharpe sisters appeared content to leave Hope alone, he couldn't quite accept it. She’d seemed decidedly upset—surely someone should check on her.

Pushing his chair back and standing up, he mumbled his excuses and left the dining room. Searching up and down the hallway, he noted the closest doors she could have escaped through would have been either the parlor door or the front door. When he found the parlor empty, he exited the castle.

Far to the left, on a stone bench beneath a lilac tree, sat a slump-shouldered Hope. She seemed unaware of his approach at first. Her head only swiveled toward him when she heard a twig snap beneath his foot.

“Oh, Mr. MacKinnon,” she said, wiping her tear-streaked cheek. Her eyes were red. “I'm so sorry.”

“For what?” he asked as he came to a stop before her.

They were only a few feet apart.

“For having to see me like this,” she said, head bowed as if she were ashamed. “I must look a fright.”

“You look fine,” he said, ignoring the uncomfortable tightness in his chest. There was something about seeing women cry that unnerved him. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Are you well?”

“I am,” she said, appearing to force a smile. “It's just that, I had been rather confused about something that was said to me in London, and Belle's story filled in a blank spot.” A hand came up to her forehead and pressed her index and middle fingers against the small wrinkle in between her brows. “I'm sorry that your home was gambled away.”

Graham hadn't ever believed anyone who said they were sorry for his misfortune. Until now.

“It's not your fault,” he said.

“But I am appalled by it. Belle shouldn't have taken this place away from you. Not when you’d been orphaned already.”

“It was my father's property. He had every right to do what he did.”

“It wasn't just his though. It was the family's home,” she said. “He did not have a right to gamble away that.”

Graham stared at her, hesitant. She had put into words the very thought that plagued him during his most volatile moods. It moved him that she recognized the unfairness of it all.

For whatever reason, the bitterness he had often tasted when he thought of Lismore Hall diminished as the silence stretched between them.

“Thank you for saying that,” he said, ashamed for being so brash towards her earlier in the garden. “And I don't know what was said to you in London that would make you cry, but I know who ever said it is a damned fool.”

She stared at him as another small, sad smile appeared on her face.

“That's kind of you to say—”

“No,” he said, taking a step towards her. “You don't understand me. Whoever would make someone like you cry deserves far more pain than they could survive.”

Although Graham had decided not to like her before even meeting her, whether out of spite or principle, he now found himself wanting to comfort her. She sniffled again as her gaze fell, apparently unsure how to respond, and before he could stop himself, Graham lifted his hand and touched her cheek. She froze, as did he. Surprisingly, neither one pulled away.

“Mr. MacKinnon,” she breathed after a moment, her eyes lifting to meet his. “What are you doing?”

Damned if he knew, except that he was overcome with a desire to banish whatever bad memories haunted her that made her cry. A shiver went through her body and he wondered if she was cold. For the barest of moments, he speculated what it might be like to pull her into his arms—and perhaps even warm her lips with the press of his own. What might she taste like if he were to lean down and kiss her? And would it be effective for making her forget all the things that plagued her?

He dropped his hand immediately. Clearing his throat, he turned, scraping his thumb nail against the pads of his fingerprints, as if to rid himself of any evidence of touching her.

What was wrong with him? And why was he so suddenly bewitched by a woman he had already decided had no business in his life? Even if she wasn’t aware of her aunt’s plot, he needed to remember and repeat it as often as possible.

Hope was not for him.

“My apologies,” he said roughly, hating his own voice. “I should go.”

“Oh,” she said as he turned his back on her. “Good-bye?”

But he didn’t answer her. Instead, he focused on long, deep breaths as he made his way to the stables, repeating his newfound mantra.

Hope is not for me. Hope is not for me.