Alasdair kissed her.

It was a true wedding kiss, a lordly kiss, the kiss of the Lord of Duncairn claiming his bride. It was a kiss with strength and heat and passion. It was a kiss that blew her fragile defences to smithereens.

Jeanie shouldn’t respond. She shouldn’t! They were in a church, for heaven’s sake. It wasn’t seemly. This was a business arrangement, a marriage of convenience, and he had no right…

And then her mind shut down, just like that.

She’d never been kissed like this. She’d never felt like this.

Fire…

His mouth was plundering hers. She was raised right off her feet. She was totally out of control and there was nothing she could do but submit. She fought desperately to gather herself, regain some decorum, and maybe Alasdair felt it because finally, finally he set her on her feet. But his dark eyes gleamed at her, and behind that smile was a promise.

This man was her husband. The knowledge was terrifying, but suddenly it was also exhilarating.

The Earl’s

Convenient Wife

Marion Lennox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MARION LENNOX has written more than a hundred romances and is published in over a hundred countries and thirty languages. Her multiple awards include the prestigious RITA® Award (twice) and the RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award “for a body of work which makes us laugh and teaches us about love.”

Marion adores her family, her kayak, her dog and lying on the beach with a book someone else has written. Heaven.

With thanks to Rose M, my new and wonderful neighbour and friend.

Gardening will never be the same again.

Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

MARRY...

There was deathly silence in the magnificent library of the ancient castle of Duncairn. In specially built niches round the walls were the bottles of whisky Jeanie had scraped to afford. Weirdly, that was what she was focusing on. What a waste. How much whisky could she fit in a suitcase?

How many scores of fruitcakes would they make? There was no way she was leaving them behind. For him. For her prospective bridegroom?

What a joke.

She’d been clinging to the hope that she might keep her job. She knew the Lord of Duncairn didn’t like her, but she’d worked hard to give Duncairn Castle the reputation for hospitality it now enjoyed.

It didn’t matter. Her efforts were for nothing. This crazy will meant she was out on her ear.

‘This must be a joke.’ Alasdair McBride, the sixteenth Earl of Duncairn, sounded appalled. It was no wonder. She stood to lose her job. Alasdair stood to lose his...fiefdom?

‘A last will and testament is never a joke.’ Edward McCraig, of the prestigious law firm McCraig, McCraig & McFerry, had made the long journey from Edinburgh to be at today’s funeral for Eileen McBride—Alasdair’s grandmother and Jeanie’s employer. He’d sat behind Jeanie in the Duncairn Kirk and listened to the eulogies with an air of supressed impatience. He wished to catch the last ferry back to the mainland. He was now seated in one of the library’s opulent chairs, reading the old lady’s wishes to her only surviving grandson—and to the live-in help.

He shuffled his papers and pushed his glasses further down his nose, looking at neither of them. Crazy or not, Eileen’s will clearly made him uncomfortable.

Jeanie looked at Alasdair and then looked away. This might be a mess, but it had little to do with her, she decided. She went back to counting whisky bottles. Maybe three suitcases? She only had one, but there were crates in the castle cellars. If she was brave enough to face the dark and the spiders...

Could you sell whisky online?

She glanced back at Alasdair and found his gaze was following hers, along the line of whisky. With an oath—a mixture of fury and shock—he took three glasses from the sideboard and poured.

Soda-sized whiskies.

The lawyer shook his head but Jeanie took hers with gratitude. The will had been a nasty shock. It was excellent whisky and she couldn’t take it all with her.

But it did need to be treated with respect. As the whisky hit home she choked and sank onto one of the magnificent down-filled sofas. A cloud of dog hair rose around her. She really had to do something about Eileen’s dogs.

Or not. This will said they were no longer her problem. She’d have to leave the island. She couldn’t take the dogs and she loved them. This castle might be over-the-top opulent, but she loved it, too. She felt...befuddled.

‘So how do we get around this?’ Clearly the whisky wasn’t having the same effect on Alasdair that it was on her. His glass was almost empty. She looked at him in awe. Actually she’d been looking sideways at Alasdair all afternoon. Well, why not? He might be arrogant, he might have despised her from the first time he’d met her, but he’d always been worth looking at.

Alasdair McBride was thirty-seven years old, and he was what Jeanie’s granny would have described as a man to be reckoned with. Although he didn’t use it, his hereditary title fitted him magnificently, especially today. In honour of his grandmother’s funeral he was wearing full highland regalia, and he looked awesome.

Jeanie always had had a weakness for a man in a kilt, and the Duncairn tartan was gorgeous. Okay, the Earl of Duncairn was gorgeous, she conceded. Six foot two in his stockinged feet, with jet-black hair and the striking bone structure and strength of the warrior race he’d so clearly descended from, Alasdair McBride was a man to make every eye in the room turn to him. The fact that he controlled the massive Duncairn financial empire only added to his aura of power, but he needed no such addition to look what he was—a man in control of his world.

Except...now he wasn’t. His grandmother’s will had just pulled the rug from under his feet.

And hers. Marry? So much for her quiet life as the Duncairn housekeeper.

‘You can’t get around it,’ the lawyer was saying. ‘The will is inviolate.’

‘Do you think...?’ She was testing her voice for the first time since the bombshell had landed. ‘Do you think that Eileen might possibly have been...have been...?’

‘Lady McBride was in full possession of her senses.’ The lawyer cast her a cautious look as if he was expecting her to disintegrate into hysterics. ‘My client understood her will was slightly...unusual...so she took steps to see that it couldn’t be overturned. She arranged a certificate of medical competency, dated the same day she made the will.’

Alasdair drained the rest of his whisky and poured another, then spun to look out of the great bay window looking over the sea.

It was a magnificent window. A few highland cattle grazed peacefully in the late-summer sun, just beyond the ha-ha. Further on, past rock-strewn burns and craggy hills, were the remnants of a vast medieval fortress on the shoreline. Two eagles were soaring effortlessly in the thermals. If he used binoculars, he might even see otters in the burns running into the sea, Jeanie thought. Or deer. Or...

Or her mind was wandering. She put her glass down, glanced at Alasdair’s broad back and felt a twist of real sympathy. Eileen had been good to her already, and in death she owed her nothing. Alasdair’s loss, however, was appalling. She might not like the man, but he hadn’t deserved this.

Oh, Eileen, what were you thinking? she demanded wordlessly of her deceased employer—but there was nothing Jeanie could do.

‘I guess that’s it, then,’ she managed, addressing herself to the lawyer. ‘How long do I have before you want me out?’

‘There’s no rush,’ the lawyer told her. ‘It’ll take a while to get the place ready for sale.’

‘Do you want me to keep trading? I have guests booked until the end of next month.’

‘That would be excellent. We may arrange for you to stay even longer. It’d be best if we could sell it as a going concern.’

‘No!’ The explosion was so fierce it almost rocked the room. Alasdair turned from the window and slammed his glass onto the coffee table so hard it shattered. He didn’t seem to notice.

‘It can’t happen.’ Alasdair’s voice lowered, no longer explosive but cold and hard and sure. ‘My family’s entire history, sold to fund...dogs’ homes?’

‘It’s a worthy cause,’ the lawyer ventured but Alasdair wasn’t listening.

‘This castle is the least of it,’ he snapped. ‘Duncairn is one of the largest financial empires in Europe. Do you know how much our organisation gives to charity each year? Sold, it could give every lost dog in Europe a personal attendant and gold-plated dog bowl for the rest of its life, but then it’s gone. Maintained, we can do good—we are doing good. This will is crazy. I’ll channel every penny of profit into dog care for the next ten years if I must, but to give it away...’

‘I understand it would mean the end of your career—’ the lawyer ventured but he was cut off.

‘It’s not the end of my career.’

If Lord Alasdair had had another glass, Jeanie was sure it’d have gone the way of the first.

‘Do you know how many corporations would employ me? I have the qualifications and the skills to start again, but to haul apart my family inheritance on a stupid whim?’

‘The thing is,’ the lawyer said apologetically, ‘I don’t think it was a whim. Your grandmother felt your cousin treated his wife very badly and she wished to atone...’

‘Here it is again. It all comes back to my wastrel cousin.’ Alasdair spun around and stared at Jeanie with a look that was pretty much all contempt. ‘You married him.’

‘There’s no need to bring Alan into this.’

‘Isn’t there? Eileen spent her life papering over his faults. She was blind to the fact that he was a liar and a thief, and that blind side’s obviously extended to you. What was she on about? Marry Alan’s widow? You? I’d rather walk on hot coals. You’re the housekeeper here—nothing more. Marry anyone you like, but leave me alone.’

Her sympathy faded to nothing. ‘Anyone I like?’ she retorted. ‘Wow. Thank you kindly, sir. As a proposal, that takes some beating.’

‘It’s the only proposal you’re likely to get.’

‘Then isn’t it lucky I don’t want one?’

He swore and turned again to the window. Jeanie’s brief spurt of anger faded and she returned to shock.

Marriage...? To Alasdair? What were you thinking, Eileen? she demanded again of the departed Lady McBride.

Was she thinking the same as when she’d coerced Alan into marrying Jeanie? At least it was out in the open this time, she conceded. At least all the cards were on the table. The will spelt it out with startling clarity. It was an order to Alasdair. Marry Jeanie, collect your inheritance, the only cost—one year of marriage. If not, inherit nothing.

Oh, Eileen.

‘I believe the time for angry words is not now.’ The lawyer was clearing his papers into a neat pile, ready to depart, but his dry, lawyer’s voice was sounding a warning. ‘You need to be quite clear before you make rash decisions. I understand that emotions are...high...at the moment, but think about it. Neither of you are married. My Lord, if you marry Mrs McBride, then you keep almost the entire estate. Mrs McBride, if you marry His Lordship, in twelve months you get to keep the castle. That’s a substantial amount to be throwing away because you can’t get on.’

‘The castle belongs to my family,’ Alasdair snapped. ‘It has nothing to do with this woman.’

‘Your grandmother treated Jeanie as part of your family.’

‘She’s not. She’s just as bad as—’

‘My Lord, I’d implore you not to do—or say—anything in haste,’ the lawyer interrupted. ‘Including making statements that may inflame the situation. I suggest you take a couple of days and think about it.’

A couple of days? He had to be kidding, Jeanie thought. There was only one decision to be made in the face of this craziness, and she’d made it. She looked at Alasdair’s broad back, at his highland kilt, at the size of him—he was practically blocking the window. She looked at the tense set of his shoulders. She could almost taste his rage and his frustration.

Get this over with, she told herself, and she gave herself a fraction of a second to feel sorry for him again. No more, though. Protect yourself, she scolded. Get out of here fast.

‘Alasdair doesn’t want to marry me and why should he?’ she asked the lawyer. ‘And I surely don’t want to marry him. Eileen was a sweetheart but she was also a conniving matriarch. She liked pulling the strings but sometimes...sometimes she couldn’t see that the cost was impossibly high. I’ve married one of her grandsons. I’m not marrying another and that’s an end to it. Thank you for coming, sir. Should I ring for the taxi to collect you, in, say, fifteen minutes?’

‘That would be excellent. Thank you. You’ve been an excellent housekeeper to Duncairn, Mrs McBride. Eileen was very fond of you.’

‘I know she was, and I loved her, too,’ Jeanie said. ‘But sometimes...’ She glanced again at Alasdair. ‘Well, the family has always been known for its arrogance. The McBrides have been ordering the lives of Duncairn islanders for generations, but this time Eileen’s taken it a step too far. I guess the Duncairn ascendancy is now in freefall but there’s nothing I can do about it. Good afternoon, gentlemen.’

And she walked out and closed the door behind her.

* * *

She was gone. Thankfully. Alasdair was left with the lawyer.

Silence, silence and more silence. The lawyer was giving him space, Alasdair thought, and he should be grateful.

He wasn’t.

His thoughts went back to his grandfather, an astute old man whose trust in his wife had been absolute. He’d run the Duncairn financial empire with an iron fist. Deeply disappointed in his two sons—Alasdair’s and Alan’s respective fathers—the old man had left control of the entire estate in the hands of Eileen.

‘By the time you die I hope our sons have learned financial sense,’ he’d told her. ‘You can decide who is best to take over.’

But neither of his sons had shown the least interest in the estate, apart from persuading Eileen to give them more money. They’d predeceased their mother, one in a skiing accident, one from a heart attack, probably caused by spending his life in Michelin-starred restaurants.

No matter. That was history. Eileen had come from a long line of thrifty Scots, and in Alasdair she’d found a family member who shared her business acumen and more.

As they’d turned the company into the massive empire it now was, Alasdair had tried to talk his grandmother into making it a public entity, making it safe if anything had happened to either of them. She’d refused. ‘I trust you,’ she’d told him but she’d maintained total ownership.

And now this...

‘Surely it’s illegal,’ he said, feeling bone weary.

‘What could be illegal?’

‘Coercing us into marriage.’

‘There’s no coercion. The way your grandmother worded it...

‘You helped her word it.’

‘Mr Duncan McGrath, the firm’s most senior lawyer, helped her draft it, to make sure there were no legal loopholes.’ The lawyer was suddenly stern. ‘She was very clear what she wanted. The will states that the entire financial empire plus any other assets she owns are to be liquidated and left in equal parts to a large number of canine charities. As an aside, she states that the only way the intentions of the will can be set aside is if you and Mrs McBride marry.’

‘That woman is not a McBride.’

‘She’s Mrs McBride,’ the lawyer repeated sternly. ‘You know that she is. Your grandmother loved her and treated her as family, and your grandmother wanted to cement that relationship. The bequest to the canine charities can only be set aside if, within a month of her death, you and Mrs Jeanie McBride are legally married. To each other.’

‘We both know that’s crazy. Even...Mrs McBride...didn’t consider it for a moment.’ He ran his fingers through his hair, the feeling of exhaustion intensifying. ‘It’s blackmail.’

‘It’s not blackmail. The will is set up so that in the—admittedly unlikely—event that you marry, your grandmother provides for you as a family.’

‘And if we’re not?’

‘Then she’s done what any lonely old woman in her situation might do. She’s left her fortune to dogs’ homes.’

‘So if we contest...’

‘I’ve taken advice, sir. I was...astounded at the terms of the will myself, so I took the liberty to sound out a number of my colleagues. Legal advice is unanimous that the will stands.’

More silence. Alasdair reached for his whisky and discovered what he’d done. The table was covered with broken glass. He needed to call someone to clean it up.

Mrs McBride? Jeanie.

His cousin’s wife had operated this place as a bed and breakfast for the past three years. As cook, housekeeper and hostess, she’d done a decent job, he’d had to concede. ‘You should see how it is now,’ his grandmother had told him, beaming. ‘Jeanie’s the best thing that’s happened to this family.’

That wasn’t true. Even though he conceded she’d looked after this place well, it was by her first actions he’d judged her. As Alan’s wife. She’d run wild with his cousin and she’d been beside him when he’d died. Together she and Alan had broken Eileen’s heart, but Eileen had never been prepared to cut her loose.

Marrying Alan had branded her, he conceded, but that brand was justified. Any fool could have seen the crazy lifestyle his cousin had been living was ruinous. The money she and Alan had thrown round... That was why she was still looking after the castle, in the hope of inheriting something more. He was sure of it. For an impoverished island lass, the McBride fortune must seem seductive, to say the least.

Seduction... By money?

If she’d married for money once before...

His mind was suddenly off on a crazy tangent that made him feel ill.

Marriage... But what was the alternative?

‘So what if we did marry?’ he demanded at last, goaded into saying it.

‘Then everything reverts to how it’s been,’ the lawyer told him. He was watching him cautiously now, as if he half expected Alasdair to lob whisky at him. ‘If you and Mrs McBride marry and stay married for a period of no less than one year, you’ll legally own the Duncairn empire with all it entails, with the exception of the castle itself. Mrs McBride will own that.’

‘Just this castle?’

‘And the small parcel of land on the same title. Yes. They’re the terms of the will.’

‘Does she have a clue how much this place costs to maintain? What she gets with the bed and breakfast guests couldn’t begin to touch it. And without the surrounding land...’

‘I’d imagine Mrs McBride could sell,’ the lawyer said, placing his papers back in his briefcase. ‘Maybe to you, if you wish to continue the Duncairn lineage. But right now, that’s immaterial. If you don’t marry her, the castle will be part of the whole estate to be sold as one. Mrs McBride needs to consider her future with care, but maintenance of the castle is immaterial unless you marry.’

And there was the only glimmer of light in this whole impossible situation. If he didn’t inherit, neither would she. It’d be great to be finally shot of her.

He didn’t need this inheritance. He didn’t. If he walked away from this mess, he could get a job tomorrow. There were any number of corporations that’d take his expertise.

But to walk away from Duncairn? His ancestral home...

And the company. So many people... He thought of the firm most likely to buy if he no longer had control and he felt ill. They’d merge. All his senior management... All his junior staff... Scotland was struggling after the global financial crisis anyway. How could they get new jobs?

They couldn’t, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Unless...unless...

‘She has been married before,’ he said slowly, thinking aloud. He didn’t like the woman one bit. He didn’t trust her, but if he was careful... Initial revulsion was starting to give way to sense. ‘She married my cousin so I’m assuming money’s important to her. I guess—if it got me out of this mess, I might be prepared to marry. In name only,’ he added hastily. ‘As a business deal.’

Marriage... The idea made him feel ill. But Lords of Duncairn had married for convenience before, he reminded himself. They’d married heiresses to build the family fortunes. They’d done what had to be done to keep the estate safe.

And the lawyer was permitting himself a dry smile, as if his client was now talking like a sensible man. ‘I’ve considered that option,’ he told him. ‘It would meet the requirements of the bequest—as long as you lived together.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Lady Eileen was very sure of what she wanted. She has...all eventualities covered.’

He exhaled and took a while to breathe again. Eventualities... ‘Explain.’

‘You and Mrs McBride would need to live in the same residence for a period of at least one year before the estate can be settled. However, Lady Eileen was not unreasonable. She acknowledges that in the course of your business you do need to travel, so she’s made allowances. Those allowances are restrictive, however. In the twelve months from the time of your marriage there’s an allowance for no more than thirty nights spent apart.’

Alasdair said nothing. He couldn’t think what to say.

He’d loved his grandmother. None of what he was thinking right now had any bearing on that love. If he had her in front of him...

‘She’s also taken steps to ensure that this arrangement was kept.’ The lawyer coughed apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, but you would need to keep to...the intent of the will.’

‘You mean she’d have us watched?’

‘There are funds set aside to ensure the terms are being adhered to.’

He stared at the lawyer in horror. ‘You’re out of your mind. Next you’ll be saying you’ll be checking the sheets.’

‘I believe,’ the lawyer said and allowed himself another wintry smile, ‘that your sleeping arrangements within the one residence would be entirely up to you and your...your wife. Mind...’ he allowed the smile to widen ‘...she’s an attractive wee thing.’

‘Of all the...’

‘Though it’s not my business to say so, sir. I’m sorry.’

‘No.’ Though she was, Alasdair conceded, his thoughts flying sideways again. He’d been astounded when his cousin had married her. Jeanie McBride was petite and freckled and rounded. Her soft brown shoulder-length curls, mostly tugged back into a ponytail, were nothing out of the ordinary. She didn’t dress to kill. In fact, the first time he’d met her, he’d thought how extraordinary that the womanising Alan was attracted to such a woman.

But then she’d smiled at something his grandmother had said, and he’d seen what Alan had obviously seen. Her smile was like the sun coming out after rain. Her face lit and her freckles seemed almost luminescent. She had a dimple at the side of her mouth, and when she’d chuckled...

He hadn’t heard that chuckle for a long time, he thought suddenly. He hadn’t seen her smile, either.

In truth, he’d avoided her. His grandmother’s distress over Alan’s wasted life had been enough to make him avoid Jeanie and all she represented. He’d known she was caring for the castle and he acknowledged she’d seemed to be making a good job of it. She’d steered clear of him these past few months when he’d come to visit his grandmother. She’d treated him formally, as a castle guest, and he’d treated her like the housekeeper she was.

But she wasn’t just a housekeeper. Right after Alan’s death Eileen had said, ‘She seems like a daughter to me,’ and he’d thought, Uh-oh, she’ll stick around until the old lady dies and hope to inherit, and now he was proved right.

She must be as shocked as he was about the will’s contents. She’d get nothing unless they married...

That could be used to his advantage. His mind was racing. The only cost would be the castle.

And a year of his life...

The lawyer had risen, eager to depart. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I understand I’m leaving you in a quandary but my task here was purely as messenger. I can see the taxi approaching. Mrs McBride has been efficient as always. Will you bid her farewell for me? Meanwhile, if there’s anything else myself or my partners can do...’

‘Tear up the will?’

‘You and I both know that we can’t do that. The will is watertight. From now on there’s only a decision to be made, and I have no place here while you make it. Good luck, sir, and goodbye.’

CHAPTER TWO

THERE WAS TOO much to get his head around.

Alasdair paced the library, and when that wasn’t big enough he took himself outdoors, through the great, grand castle entrance, across the manicured lawns, down the ha-ha and to the rough pastures beyond.

The shaggy highland cattle were still where they’d been while the lawyer had been making his pronouncements. The day had been warm and they were feeling the heat. If it got any hotter, they’d be wandering down to the sea and standing belly deep in the water, but for now they were lying on the rich summer grass, grazing where they could reach.

He loved the cattle. More, he loved this whole estate. His grandparents had made one small section of the castle liveable when his grandfather inherited, and they’d brought him here as a boy. He’d wandered the place at will, free from the demands his socialite parents put on him, free of the restrictions of being known as a rich kid. He’d fished, climbed, roamed, and when his grandmother had decided on restoration he’d been delighted.

Only that restoration had brought Jeanie into their lives.

If it hadn’t been Jeanie, it would have been someone else, he thought grimly, striding down the line of battered fencing towards the bay. His grandmother’s two dogs, Abbot and Costello, elegant spaniels, beautiful, fast and dumb, had loped out to join him. The smell of rabbits would be everywhere, and the dogs were going nuts trying to find them.

Alan’s wife...Jeanie...

His grandmother had said she’d loved her.

He’d thought his grandmother had loved him.

‘So why treat us like this?’ he demanded of his departed grandmother. ‘If we don’t marry, we’ll have nothing.’

It was blackmail. Marry... The thing was nonsense.

But the knot of shock and anger was starting to untwist. Jeanie’s assessment was right—his grandmother was a conniving, Machiavellian matriarch—so he might have expected something like this. Marriage to Alan’s widow... Of all the dumb...

Eileen had loved reading romance novels. He should have confiscated every one and burned them before it was too late.

He reached the bay and set himself down on a great smooth rock, a foundation stone of an ancient fortress. He gazed out to sea but his mind was racing. Option one, no inheritance. Nothing. Walk away. The thought made him feel ill.

He turned and gazed back at the castle. He’d hardly been here these past years but it had always been in his mind. In his heart?

There’d been McBrides at Duncairn Castle since almost before the dinosaurs. Would he be the one to let it go?

The woodchip industry would move in, he thought. The pastures included with the castle title were mostly wild. The castle was heritage-listed, but not the land.

There were deer watching cautiously just above the horizon, but money was in woodchips, not deer. The land would go.

Which led—sickeningly—to option two.

Marriage. To a woman he couldn’t stand, but who also stood to gain by the inheritance.

He gazed around again at the cattle, at the distant deer, at the water lapping the shores, the dogs barking in the distance, the eagles...

His land. Duncairn.

Was the thing impossible?

And the more he calmed down, the more he saw it wasn’t. His apartment in Edinburgh was large, with separate living quarters for a housekeeper. He’d bought the place when he and Celia were planning marriage, and afterwards he’d never seen the point of moving. He worked fourteen-, fifteen-hour days, especially now. There were things happening within the company he didn’t understand. Nebulous but worrying. He needed to focus.

He still could. He could use the Edinburgh house simply to sleep. That could continue and the terms of the will would be met.

‘It could work,’ he reasoned. ‘The apartment’s big enough for us to keep out of each other’s way.’

But what will she do while you’re away every day? The question came from nowhere, and he briefly considered it.

‘She can shop, socialise, do what other wives do.’

Wives...

He’d have a wife. After Celia’s betrayal he’d sworn...

Eileen had known that he’d sworn. That was why she’d done this.

He needed to suppress his anger. What he’d learned, hard and early, was that emotion got you nowhere. Reason was everything.

‘It’s only for a year,’ he told himself. ‘There’s no choice. To walk away from everything is unthinkable.’

But walking away was still an option. He had money independent of Duncairn—of course he did. When he’d first started working in the firm, his grandmother had insisted on a salary commensurate with other executives of his standing. He was well-qualified, and even without this dubious inheritance he was wealthy. He could walk away.

But Duncairn...

He turned and looked back again at the castle, a great grey mass of imposing stone built by his ancestors to last for centuries. And the company... The financial empire had drawn him in since his teens. He’d worked to make it the best in the world, and to let it go...

‘I’d be able to buy the castle from her when the year’s up,’ he told himself. ‘You can’t tell me she’s not in for the main chance. If I’m the highest bidder, she’ll take the money and run.’

Decision made. He rose and stretched and called the dogs.

‘I’ll do this,’ he said out loud, addressing the ghost of his absent grandmother. ‘Fine, Grandmother, you win. I’ll talk to her and we’ll organise a wedding. But that’ll be it. It might be a wedding but it’s not a marriage. If you think I’ll ever be interested in Alan’s leavings...’

Don’t think of her like that.

But he couldn’t help himself. Alan’s betrayal, his gut-wrenching cruelty, was still raw after all these years and Jeanie was Alan’s widow. He’d stayed away from this castle because he’d wanted nothing to do with her, but now...

‘Now we’ll have to share the same front door in Edinburgh,’ he told himself. For a year. But a year’s not so long when what’s at stake is so important. You can do it, man. Go take yourself a wife.

* * *

She was in the kitchen. The kitchen was her solace, her joy. Cooks had been baking in this kitchen for hundreds of years. The great range took half the wall. The massive oak table, twenty feet long, was pocked and scratched from generations of chopping and rolling and kneading. The vast cobbled floor was worn from hundreds of servants, feeding thousands.

Eileen had restored the castle, making it truly sumptuous, but she’d had the sense to leave the kitchen free from modern grandeur. Jeanie had an electric oven tucked discreetly by the door. There was even a microwave and dishwasher in the vast, hall-like pantry, but the great stove was still lit as it seemed to have stayed lit forever. There was a sumptuous basket on each side for the dogs. The effect was old and warm and breathtaking.

Here was her place, Jeanie thought. She’d loved it the first time she’d seen it, and she’d found peace here.

She was having trouble finding peace now.

When in doubt, turn to scones, she told herself. After all these years she could cook them in her sleep. She didn’t provide dinner for the castle guests but she baked treats for occasional snacks or for when they wandered in after dinner. She usually baked slices or a cake but right now she needed something that required no thought.

She wasn’t thinking. She was not thinking.

Marriage...

She shouldn’t care. She hadn’t expected to inherit anything, but to tie the estate up as Eileen had... It didn’t matter how much she disliked Alasdair; this was cruel. Had Eileen really been thinking it could happen?

And even though her thoughts should be on Alasdair, on the injustice done to him, there was also a part of her that hurt. No, she hadn’t expected an inheritance, but she hadn’t expected this, either. That Eileen could possibly think she could organise her down that road again... Try one grandson, if that doesn’t work, try another?

‘What were you thinking?’ she demanded of the departed Eileen.

And then she thought: Eileen hadn’t been thinking. She’d been hoping.

Those last few months of her life, Eileen had stayed at the castle a lot. Her normally feisty personality had turned inward. She’d wept for Alan, but she’d also wept for Alasdair.

‘His parents and then that appalling woman he almost married...they killed something in him,’ she’d told Jeanie. ‘If only he could find a woman like you.’

This will was a fanciful dream, Jeanie thought, kneading her scone dough. The old lady might have been in full possession of her faculties, but her last will and testament was nothing more than a dream.

‘She mustn’t have thought it through,’ she said to herself. ‘She could never have thought we’d walk away from what she saw as irresistible temptation. She’d never believe we could resist.’

But Eileen hadn’t had all the facts. Jeanie thought of those facts now, of an appalling marriage and its consequences, and she felt ill. If Eileen knew what she’d done, it’d break her heart.

But what could she do about it now? Nothing. Nothing, nothing and nothing. Finally she stared down and realised what she’d been doing. Kneading scone dough? Was she out of her mind?

‘There’s nothing worse than tough scones,’ she told the world in general. ‘Except marriage.’

Two disastrous marriages... Could she risk a third?

‘Maybe I will,’ she told herself, searching desperately for the light side, the optimistic bit of Jeanie McBride that had never entirely been quenched. ‘Eventually. Maybe I might finally find myself a life. I could go to Paris—learn to cook French pastries. Could I find myself a sexy Parisian who enjoys a single malt?’

She almost smiled at that. All that whisky had to be useful for something. If she was honest, it wasn’t even her drink of choice.

But since when had she ever had a choice? There was still the overwhelming issue of her debt, she thought, and the urge to smile died. Alan’s debt. The bankruptcy hung over her like a massive, impenetrable cloud. How to be optimistic in the face of that?

She glanced out of the window, at the eagles who soared over the Duncairn castle as if they owned it.

‘That’s what I’d really like to do,’ she whispered. ‘Fly. But I’m dreaming. I’m stuck.’

And then a deep masculine response from the doorway made her almost jump out of her skin.

‘That’s what I’m thinking.’

Her head jerked from window to doorway and he was standing there. The Lord of Duncairn.

How long had he been watching? Listening? She didn’t know. She didn’t care, she told herself, fighting for composure as she tossed her dough into the waste and poured more flour into her bowl. McBrides...

But this man was not Alan. She told herself that, but as she did she felt a queer jump inside.

No, he wasn’t Alan. He was nothing like him. They’d been cousins but where Alan had been out for a good time, this man was rock solid. Judgemental, yes. ‘Harsh’ and ‘condemnatory’ were two adjectives that described him well—and yet, gazing at the man in the doorway, she felt the weird inside flutter that she’d felt in the library.

Attraction? She had to be joking.

He was her feudal lord, she told herself harshly. She was a peasant. And when peasantry met gentry—run!

But for now she was the cook in this man’s castle. She was forced to stay and she was forced to listen.

‘Jeanie, my grandmother’s treated us both badly,’ he said and his tone was one of conciliation. ‘I don’t know what you wanted but you surely can’t have expected this.’

She started at that. The anger she’d heard from him had disappeared. What came through now was reason and caution, as if he wasn’t sure how to proceed.

That made two of them.

‘She hasn’t treated me badly.’ She made herself say it lightly but she knew it was true. Eileen had had no cause to offer her a job and a livelihood in this castle. There’d been no obligation. Eileen’s action had been pure generosity.

‘Your grandmother has been very, very good to me,’ she added, chopping butter and starting to rub it into the new lot of flour. The action was soothing—an age-old task that calmed something deep within—and almost took her mind off the sex-on-legs image standing in the doorway. Almost. ‘I’ve loved living and working here but jobs don’t last forever. I don’t have any right to be here.’

‘You were married to Alan. You were... You are family.’

It was as if he was forcing himself to say it, she thought. He was forcing himself to be nice?

‘The marriage was brief and it was a disaster,’ she said curtly. ‘I’m no longer your family—I’m your grandmother’s ex-employee. I’m happy to keep running the castle until it’s sold but then... Then I’m happy to go.’ Liar, liar, pants on fire, she added silently to herself. It’d break her heart to leave; it’d break her heart to see the castle sold to the highest bidder. She had so little money to go anywhere, but there was no way she was baring her heart to this man.

Right now she was almost afraid of him. He was leaning against the doorjamb, watching her. He looked a warrior, as fierce and as ruthless as the reputation of the great lineage of Duncairn chieftains preceding him.

He was no such thing, she told herself fiercely. He was just a McBride, another one, and she needed to get away from here fast.

‘But if we married, you could keep the castle.’

Jeanie’s hands stilled. She stood motionless. In truth, she was counting breaths, or lack of them.

He’d said it as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. If you give me a penny, I’ll give you an apple. It was that sort of statement.

Ten, eleven, twelve... She’d have to breathe soon.

‘Maybe it’s reasonable,’ Alasdair continued while she wondered if her breathing intended starting again. ‘Maybe it’s the only sensible course of action.’ He’d taken his jacket off and rolled his sleeves. His arms were folded. They were great, brawny arms, arms that gave the lie to the fact that he was a city financier. His kilt made him seem even more a warrior.

He was watching her—as a panther watched its prey?

‘It’d get us both what we want,’ he said, still watchful. ‘Alone, we walk away from everything we’ve worked for. Eileen’s will is a nightmare but it doesn’t have to be a total disaster. We need to work around it.’

‘By...marrying?’ Her voice came out a squeak but she was absurdly grateful it came out at all.

‘It’s the only way you can keep the castle.’

‘I don’t want the castle.’

That stopped him. His face stilled, as if he wasn’t sure where to take it from there.

‘No matter what Eileen’s will says, the castle should never be my inheritance,’ she managed. She was fighting to keep her voice as reasonable as his. ‘The castle’s my job, but that’s all it is. You’re the Earl of Duncairn. The castle’s your ancestral home. Your grandmother’s suggestion might be well-meant, but it’s so crazy I don’t believe we should even talk about it.’

‘We need to talk about it.’

‘We don’t. I’m sorry your grandmother has left you in such a situation but that’s for you to sort. Thank you, Lord Duncairn, for considering such a mad option, but I have scones to cook. I’m moving on. I’ll work until the lawyer asks me to leave and then I’ll be out of your life forever.’

* * *

Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this. A straight-out refusal to even talk about it.

Okay, it was how he’d reacted, he decided, but he’d had an hour’s walk to clear his head. This woman clearly hadn’t had time to think it through.

To walk away from a castle... This castle.

What else was she angling for?

He watched her work for a bit while she ignored him, but if she thought he’d calmly leave, she was mistaken. This was serious.

Keep it as a business proposition, he told himself. After all, business was what he was good at. Business was what he was all about. Make it about money.

‘I realise the upkeep would be far too much for you to keep the castle long-term,’ he told her, keeping his voice low and measured. Reasoning as he talked. Maybe she was still shocked at not receiving a monetary inheritance. Maybe there was anger behind that calm façade of hers.

‘The company has been funding long-term maintenance and restoration,’ he continued, refusing to see the look of revulsion on her face. Revulsion? Surely he must be misreading. ‘We can continue doing that,’ he told her. ‘If at the end of the year this inheritance goes through and you don’t wish to stay, the company can buy the castle from you.’

‘You could afford that?’ she demanded, incredulous?

‘The company’s huge. It can and it seems the most sensible option. You’ll find I can be more than generous. Eileen obviously wanted you looked after. Alan was my cousin. I’ll do that for him.’

But at that she flashed him a look that could have split stone.

‘I don’t need looking after,’ she snapped. ‘I especially don’t need looking after by the McBride men.’

He got it then. Her anger wasn’t just encompassing Eileen and her will. Her anger was directed at the McBride family as a whole.

She was holding residual anger towards Alan?

Why?

He and Alan had never got on and their mutual dislike had meant they never socialised. He’d met Jeanie a couple of times before she and Alan had married. Jeanie had worked as his grandmother’s part-time assistant while she was on the island. On the odd times he’d met her she’d been quiet, he remembered, a shadow who’d seemed to know her place. He’d hardly talked to her, but she’d seemed...suitable. A suitable assistant for his grandmother.

And then Alan had married her. What a shock and what a disaster—and Jeanie had been into it up to her neck.

Until today he’d seen her as a money-grubbing mouse. The fire in her eyes now suggested the mouse image might possibly be wrong.

‘Jeanie, this isn’t about looking after—’

‘Don’t Jeanie me.’ She glowered and went back to rubbing butter. ‘I’m Mrs McBride. I’m Duncairn’s housekeeper for the next few weeks and then I’m nothing to do with you.’

‘Then we’ve both lost.’

‘I told you, I’ve lost nothing. The castle’s my place of employment, nothing more.’

‘So you wouldn’t mind moving to Edinburgh?’

Her hands didn’t even pause. She just kept rubbing in the already rubbed-in butter, and her glower moved up a notch.

‘Don’t talk nonsense. I’m moving nowhere.’

‘But you are moving out of the castle.’

‘Which is none of your business.’

‘I’m offering you a job.’

‘I don’t want a job.’

‘If you don’t have the castle, you need a job.’

‘Don’t mess with me, Alasdair McBride. By the way, the kitchen’s out of bounds to guests. That’s what you are now. A guest. The estate’s in the hands of the executors, and I’m employed here. You have a bed booked for the night. The library, the dining room and your bedroom and sitting room are where you’re welcome. Meanwhile I have work to do.’

‘Jeanie...’

‘What?’ She pushed the bowl away from her with a vicious shove. ‘Don’t play games with me, Alasdair. Your cousin messed with my life and I should have moved away then. Right away.’

‘I want to help.’

‘No, you don’t. You want your inheritance.’

‘Yes,’ he said and he lost it then, the cool exterior he carefully presented to the world. ‘Yes, I do. The Duncairn financial empire is colossal and far-reaching. It’s also my life. To break it up and use it to fund dogs’ homes...’

‘There are some very deserving dogs,’ she snapped and then looked under the table to where Eileen’s two dopey spaniels lay patiently waiting for crumbs. ‘These two need a home. You can provide for them first.’

‘Look!’ He swore and hauled his phone from his sporran—these things were a sight more useful than pockets—and clicked the phone open. He flicked through a few screens and then turned it to face her. ‘Look!’

‘I have flour on my hands.’ She glowered some more and she looked...sulky. Sulky but cute, he thought, and suddenly he found himself thinking...

Um...no. Not appropriate. All this situation needed was a bit of sensual tension and the thing was shot. He needed to stay calm, remember who she was and talk sense.

‘Just look,’ he said patiently and she sighed and rubbed her hands on her apron and peered at the screen.

‘What am I looking at?’

‘At a graph of Duncairn’s listed charitable donations made in the last financial year,’ he told her. ‘The figure to the left represents millions. It scrolls off the screen but you can see the biggest beneficiaries. My grandfather and my grandmother after him refused to make Duncairn a listed company, so for years now the profits have either been siphoned back into the company to expand our power base, or used to fund worthwhile projects. AIDS, malaria, smallpox... Massive health projects have all been beneficiaries. Then there are smaller projects. Women’s refuges, otter conservation, even dogs’ homes.’

And Jeanie seemed caught. ‘Those bars are...millions?’ she whispered.

‘Millions.’

‘Then what was Eileen thinking, to leave the lot to just one cause?’

‘You know what she was thinking,’ Alasdair said wearily. ‘We both do. She was blackmailing us into marriage, and as far as I can see, she’s succeeded. I have no choice.’ He sighed. ‘The value of the castle ought to be enough for you, but if it’s not, I’ll pay you what you ask. I’ll mortgage what I have to. Is that what you’re after? You can name your terms but look at the alternative to us both. Use your head. I have no expectations of you, and I’ll expect nothing from you as my wife. Eileen’s will says we have to share a house for one full year before the inheritance is finalised, but I have a huge place in Edinburgh. I’ll fund you well enough so you can be independent. Jeanie, do this, if not for the charities I represent, then for you. You’ll earn even more than the castle this way. You’ve won. I concede. We’ll marry and then we’ll move on.’

And then he stopped. There was no more argument to present.

There was total silence and it lasted for a very long time.

* * *

Marriage...

Third-time lucky? The thought flashed through her mind and she put it away with a hollow, inward laugh. Lucky? With this man?

What he was proposing was purely business. Maybe that was the way to go.

This was a marriage for sensible, pragmatic reasons, she told herself, fighting desperately for logic. She could even feel noble, saving the Duncairn billions for the good of all the charities it assisted.

Noble? Ha. She’d feel sullied. Bought.

He thought she’d walk away with a fortune. If he only knew... But there was no point in telling him about the bankruptcy hanging over her head.

‘Would you like to see through the place in Edinburgh?’ he said at last. ‘It’s good, and big enough for us never to see each other. I’ll have contracts drawn up that’ll give you a generous income during the year, and of course we’ll need a prenuptial agreement.’

‘So I don’t bleed you for anything else?’

‘That wasn’t what I was thinking.’ But of course it was. It was an easy supposition—a woman who’d angled for the castle would no doubt think of marriage in terms of what she could get. ‘But the castle will be worth—’

‘Shut up and let me think.’

Whoa.

This woman was the hired help. She could see him thinking it. She was his cousin’s leavings. The offer he’d made was extraordinary. That she would tell him to shut up...

He opened his mouth to reply, she glared—and he shut up.

More silence.

Could she? she thought. Dared she?

She thought suddenly of Maggie, her best friend on the island. Maggie was a fisherman’s wife now, and the mother of two bright boys. Maggie was solid, sensible. She imagined Maggie’s reaction when...if...she told her the news.

You’re marrying another one? Are you out of your mind?

She almost grinned. It’d almost be worth it to hear the squeal down the phone.

But...

Act with your head. Do not be distracted, she told herself. You’ve done this in haste twice now. Get this right.

Marriage.

For a year. For only a year.

She’d have to live in Edinburgh, on Alasdair’s terms.

No. Even the thought left her exposed, out of control, feeling as she’d vowed never to feel again. No and no and no.

She needed time to think, but that wasn’t going to happen. Alasdair was leaning back, watching her, and she knew if she left this kitchen without making a decision the memory of this man would make her run. Physically, he was a stronger, darker version of Alan.

Alan had betrayed her, used her, conned her, but until that last appalling night he’d never frightened her. But this man... It was almost as if he were looking straight through her.

So leave, she told herself. It’d be easy, to do what she’d first thought when the terms of the will were spelled out. She could stay with Maggie until she found a job.

A job, on Duncairn? There weren’t any.

She glanced around her, at the great kitchen, at the big old range she’d grown to love, at the two dopey dogs at her feet. This place had been her refuge. She’d built it up with such care. Eileen had loved it and so had Jeanie.

It would have broken Eileen’s heart if she’d known Alasdair was forced to let it go. Because of her? Because she lacked courage?

What if...? What if...?

‘Think about it overnight,’ Alasdair said, pushing himself away from the door. ‘But I’m leaving in the morning. I need a decision by then.’

‘I’ve made my decision.’

He stilled.

She’d poured the milk into the flour and turned it to dough without noticing. Now she thumped the dough out of the bowl and flattened it. She picked up her cutter and started cutting, as if perfectly rounded scones were the only thing that mattered in the world.

‘Jeanie...’

She shook her head, trying to figure how to say it. She finished cutting her scones, she reformed and flattened the remaining dough, she cut the rest, she arranged them on the tray and then she paused.

She stared down at the scone tray. They were overworked, too. They wouldn’t rise properly. She should give up now.

But she wouldn’t give up. She’d loved Eileen. Okay, Eileen, you win, she told her silently and then she forced herself to look at the man before her.

‘I’ll do it if I can stay here,’ she managed.

* * *

He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand where this was going, but business acumen told him not to rush in. To wait until she spelled out terms.

She was staring down at her scones. She put her hands on her waist and her head to one side, as if considering. She was considering the scones. Not him.

She had a tiny waist, he thought irrelevantly, for one so...curvy. She was wearing a tailored suit under her apron—for the funeral. Her suit had showed off her neat figure, but the tight ribbons of the apron accentuated it even more. She was curvy at the bottom and curvy at the top... Um, very curvy, he conceded. Her hair was tied up in a knot but wisps were escaping.

She had a smudge of flour on her cheek. He’d like to...

Um, he wouldn’t like. Was he out of his mind? This was business. Stick to what was important.

He forced himself to relax, walking forward so he had his back to the fire. Moving closer.

He felt rather than saw her flush.

Inexplicably, he still had the urge to remove that smudge of flour, to trace the line of her cheekbone, but the stiffening of her spine, the bracing of her shoulders, told him he might well get a face covered in scone dough for his pains.

‘We’d need to live in Edinburgh,’ he said at last, cautiously.

‘Then there’s not even the smidgeon of a deal.’

‘Why the hell...?’

And at that she whirled and met his gaze full on, her green eyes flashing defiance. She was so close...

She was so angry.

‘Once upon a time I ached to get off this island,’ she snapped. ‘Once upon a time I was a fool. The islanders—with the exception of my father—support and care for me. In Edinburgh I have no one. I’d be married to a man I don’t know and I can’t trust. I’ve married in haste before, Alasdair McBride, and I’ll not do so again. You have much more to gain from this arrangement than I have, so here are my terms. I’ll marry you for a year as long as you agree to stay in this castle. Then, at the end of the year, I’ll inherit what the will has decreed I inherit. Nothing more. But meanwhile, you live in this castle—in my home, Alasdair—and you live on my terms for the year. It’s that or nothing.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’ He could feel her anger, vibrating in waves, like electric current, surging from her body to his and back again.

‘Take it or leave it,’ she said and she deliberately turned her back, deliberately broke the connection. She picked up her tray of unbaked scones and slid them into the trash. ‘I’m trying again,’ she told him, her back to him. ‘Third-time lucky? It might work for scones.’

He didn’t understand. ‘I can’t live here.’

‘That’s your decision,’ she told him. ‘But I have some very fine whisky I’m willing to share.’

‘I’m not interested in whisky!’ It was an explosion and Jeanie stilled again.

‘Not?’

‘This is business.’

‘The whole year will be business,’ she retorted, turning to the sink with her tray. ‘I’m thinking it’ll be shortbread for the guests tonight. What do you think?’

‘I don’t care what you give your guests.’

‘But, you see, they’ll be your guests, too, Lord Duncairn,’ she told him. ‘If you decide on marriage, then I’ll expect you to play host. If you could keep wearing your kilt—a real Scottish lord playing host in his castle—I’ll put you on the website. It’ll pull the punters in in droves.’

‘You’re out of your mind.’

‘And so was Eileen when she made that will,’ Jeanie told him, still with her back to him. ‘So all we can do is make the most of it. As I said, take it or leave it. We can be Lord and Lady of the castle together or we can be nothing at all. Your call, Lord Duncairn. I need to get on with my baking.’

CHAPTER THREE

FOUR WEEKS LATER Lord Alasdair Duncan Edward McBride, Sixteenth Earl of Duncairn, stood in the same kirk where his grandmother’s funeral had taken place, waiting for his bride.

He’d wanted a register office. They both had. Jeanie was deeply uncomfortable about taking her vows in a church, but Eileen’s will had been specific. Marriage in the kirk or nothing. Jeanie had felt ill when the lawyer had spelled it out, but then she’d looked again at the list of charities supported by the Duncairn foundation, she’d thought again of the old lady she’d loved, and she’d decided God would forgive her.

‘It’s not that I don’t support dogs’ homes,’ she told Maggie Campbell, her best friend and her rock today. ‘But I feel a bit of concern for AIDS and malaria and otters as well. I’m covering all bases. Though it does seem to the world like I’m buying myself a castle with marriage.’ She hadn’t told Maggie of the debt. She’d told no one. The whole island would think this deal would be her being a canny Scot.

‘Well, no one’s judging you if you are,’ Maggie said soundly, hugging her friend and then adjusting the spray of bell heather in Jeanie’s simple blue frock. ‘Except me. I would have so loved you to be a bride.’

‘I should have worn my suit. I’m not a bride. I’m half a contract,’ Jeanie retorted, glancing at her watch and thinking five minutes to go, five minutes left when she could walk out of here. Or run. Honestly, what was she doing? Marrying another McBride?

But Maggie’s sister was a lawyer, and Maggie’s sister had read the fine print and she’d got the partners in her firm to read the fine print and then she’d drawn up a prenuptial agreement for both Jeanie and Alasdair to sign and it still seemed...sensible.

‘This is business only,’ she said aloud now, and Maggie stood back and looked at her.

‘You look far too pretty to be a business deal. Jeanie, tomorrow you’ll be the Lady of Duncairn.’

‘I... He doesn’t use the title.’ She’d tried joking about that to Alasdair. She’d even proposed using it in castle advertising but the black look on his face had had her backing right off. You didn’t joke with Lord Alasdair.

Just Alasdair. Her soon-to-be husband.

Her...lord?

‘It doesn’t stop the title being there, My Ladyship.’ Maggie bobbed a mock curtsy as she echoed Jeanie’s thoughts. ‘It’s time to go to church now, m’lady. If m’lady’s ready.’

Jeanie managed a laugh but even to her ears it sounded hollow. She glanced at her watch again. Two minutes. One.

‘Ready, set, go,’ Maggie said and propelled her to the door.

To marry.

Third-time lucky?

* * *

He was standing at the altar, waiting for his bride. He’d never thought he’d be here. Marriage was not for him.

He hadn’t always believed that, he conceded. Once upon a time he’d been head over heels in love. He’d been twenty-two, just finishing a double degree in law and commerce, eager to take on the world. Celia had been a socialite, five years his senior. She was beautiful, intelligent, a woman who knew her way around Scottish society and who knew exactly what she wanted in a marriage.

He couldn’t believe she’d wanted him. He’d been lanky, geeky, unsure, a product of cold parents and too many books, knowing little of how relationships worked. He’d been ripe for the plucking.

And Celia had plucked. When she’d agreed to marry him, he’d thought he was the luckiest man alive. What he hadn’t realised was that when she was looking at him she was seeing only his title and his inheritance.

But she’d played her part superbly. She’d held him as he’d never been held. She’d listened as he’d told her of his childhood, things he’d never told anyone. He’d had fun with her. He’d felt light and free and totally in love. Totally trusting. He’d bared his soul, he’d left himself totally exposed—and in return he’d been gutted.

For a long time he’d blamed his cousin, Alan, with his charm and charisma. Alan had arrived in Edinburgh a week before he and Celia were due to marry, ostensibly to attend his cousin’s wedding but probably to hit his grandmother for more money. He hadn’t been involved with Jeanie then. He’d had some other bimbo on his arm, but that hadn’t cramped his style. Loyalty hadn’t been in Alan’s vocabulary.

And it seemed it wasn’t in Celia’s, either.

Two days before his wedding, Alasdair had realised he’d left his briefcase at Celia’s apartment. He’d had a key so he’d dropped by early, before work. He’d knocked, but of course no one had answered.

It was no wonder they hadn’t answered. He’d walked in, and Celia had been with Alan. With, in every sense of the word.

So now he was about to marry...another of Alan’s leavings?

Don’t think of Alan now. Don’t think of Celia. He said it savagely to himself but the memory was still sour and heavy. He’d never trusted since. His personal relationships were kept far apart from his business.

But here he was again—and he was doing what Celia had intended. Wedding for money?

This woman was different, he conceded. Very different. She was petite. Curvy. She wasn’t the slightest bit elegant.

She was Alan’s widow.

But right now she didn’t look like a woman who’d attract Alan. She was wearing a simple blue frock, neat, nice. Her shoes were kitten-heeled, silver. Her soft brown curls were just brushing her shoulders. She usually wore her hair tied back or up, so maybe this was a concession to being a bride—as must be the spray of bell heather on her lapel—but they were sparse concessions.

Celia would have been the perfect bride, he thought tangentially. That morning, when he’d walked in on them both, Celia’s bridal gown had been hanging for him to see. Even years later he still had a vision of how Celia would have looked in that dress.

She wouldn’t have looked like this. Where Celia would have floated down the aisle, an ethereal vision, Jeanie was looking straight ahead, her gaze on the worn kirk floorboards rather than on him. Her friend gave her a slight push. She nodded as if confirming something in her mind—and then she stumped forward. There was no other word for it. She stumped.

A romantic bride? Not so much.

Though she was...cute, he conceded as he watched her come, and then he saw the flush of colour on her cheeks and he thought suddenly she looked...mortified?

Mortified? As if she’d been pushed into this?

It was his grandmother who’d done the forcing, he told himself. If this woman had been expecting the castle to fall into her lap with no effort, it was Eileen who’d messed with those plans, not him. This forced marriage was merely the solution to the problem.

And mortified or not, Jeanie had got what she wanted. She’d inherit her castle.

He’d had to move mountains to arrange things so he could stay on the island. He’d created a new level of management and arranged audits to ensure he hadn’t missed anything; financial dealings would run smoothly without him. He’d arranged a satellite Internet connection so he could work here. He’d had a helipad built so he could organise the company chopper to get him here fast. So he could leave fast.

Not that he could leave for more than his designated number of nights, he thought grimly. He was stuck. With this woman.

She’d reached his side. She was still staring stolidly at the floor. Could he sense...fear? He must be mistaken.

But he couldn’t help himself reacting. He touched her chin and tilted her face so she had no choice but to meet his gaze.

‘I’m not an ogre.’

‘No, but—’

‘And I’m not Alan. Business only.’

She bit her lip and his suspicion of fear deepened.

Enough. There were few people to see this. Eileen’s lawyer was here to see things were done properly. The minister and the organist were essential. Jeanie’s friend Maggie completed the party. ‘I need Maggie for support,’ Jeanie had told him and it did look as if she needed the support right now. His bride was looking like a deer trapped in headlights.

He took her hands and they were shaking.

‘Jeanie...’

‘Let’s...let’s...’

‘Not if you’re not sure of me,’ he told her, gentling now, knowing this was the truth. ‘No money in the world is worth a forced marriage. If you’re afraid, if you don’t want it, then neither do I. If you don’t trust me, then walk away now.’

What was he saying? He was out of his mind. But he’d had to say it. She was shaking. Acting or not, he had to react to what he saw.

But now her chin was tilting in a gesture he was starting to recognise. She tugged her hands away and she managed a nod of decision.

‘Eileen trusted you,’ she managed. ‘And this is business. For castle, for keeps.’ She took a deep breath and turned to the minister. ‘Let’s get this over with,’ she told him. ‘Let’s get us married.’

* * *

The vows they spoke were the vows that were spoken the world over from time immemorial, between man and woman, between lovers becoming man and wife.

‘I, Alasdair Duncan Edward McBride, take thee, Jeanie Margaret McBride... To have and to hold. For richer or for poorer. In sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live.’

He wished—fiercely—that his grandmother hadn’t insisted on a kirk. The minister was old and faded, wearing Wellingtons under his well-worn cassock. He was watching them with kindly eyes, encouraging them, treating them as fresh-faced lovers.

For as long as we both shall live...

In his head he corrected himself.

For twelve months and I’m out of here.

* * *

For as long as we both shall live...

The words were hard to say. She had to fight to get her tongue around them.

It should be getting easier to say the words she knew were just words.

The past two times, she’d meant them. She really had.

They were nonsense.

Stupidly she felt tears pricking at the backs of her eyelids and she blinked them back with a fierceness born of an iron determination. She would not show this man weakness. She would not be weak. This was nothing more than a sensible proposition forced on her by a crazy will.

You understand why I’m doing it, she demanded silently of the absent Eileen. You thought you’d force us to become family. Instead we’re doing what we must. You can’t force people to love.

She’d tried, oh, she’d tried, but suddenly she was remembering that last appalling night with Alan.

‘Do you think I’d have married you if my grandmother hadn’t paid through the nose?’

Eileen was doing the same thing now, she thought bleakly. She was paying through the nose.

But I’m doing it for the right reasons. Surely? She looked firmly ahead. Alasdair’s body was brushing hers. In his full highland regalia he looked...imposing. Magnificent. Frightening.

She would not be frightened of this man, she told herself. She would not. She’d marry, she’d get on with her life and then she’d walk away.

For as long as we both shall live...

Somehow she made herself say the words. How easy they’d been when she’d meant them but then they’d turned out to be meaningless. Now, when they were meaningless to start with, it felt as if something were dying within.

‘You may kiss the bride,’ the minister was saying and she felt like shaking her head, turning and running. But the old man was beaming, and Alasdair was taking her hands again. The new ring lay stark against her work-worn fingers.

Alasdair’s strong, lean hands now sported a wedding band. Married.

‘You may kiss the bride...’

He smiled down at her—for the sake of the kindly old minister marrying them? Surely that was it, but, even so, her heart did a back flip. What if this was real? her treacherous heart said. What if this man really loved...?

Get over it. It’s business.

But people were watching. People were waiting. Alasdair was smiling, holding her hands, ready to do what was right.

Kiss the bride.

Right. She took a deep breath and raised her face to his.

‘Think of it like going to the dentist,’ Alasdair whispered, for her ears alone, and she stared up at him and his smile widened.

And she couldn’t help herself. This was ridiculous. The whole thing was ridiculous. Jeanie Lochlan marrying the Earl of Duncairn. For a castle.

She found herself chuckling. It was so ridiculous she could do it. She returned the grip on his hands and she even stood on tiptoe so he could reach her.

His mouth lowered onto hers—and he kissed her.

* * *

If only she hadn’t chuckled. Up until then it had been fine. Business only. He could do this. He could marry her, he could keep his distance, he could fulfil the letter of the deal and he could walk away at the end of twelve months feeling nothing. He intended to feel nothing.

But that meant he had to stay impervious to what she was; to who she was. He couldn’t think of her as his wife at all.

But then she chuckled and something happened.

The old kirk. The beaming minister. The sense of history in this place.

This woman standing beside him.

She was in this for profit, he told himself. She was sure of what she wanted and how she was going to get it. She was Alan’s ex-wife and he’d seen how much the pair of them had cost Eileen. He wanted nothing to do with her.

But she was standing before him and he’d felt her fear. He’d felt the effort it had cost her to turn to the minister and say those vows out loud.

And now she’d chuckled.

She was small and curvy and dressed in a simple yet very pretty frock, with white lace collar, tiny lace shoulder puffs and a wide, flouncy skirt cinched in at her tiny waist. She was wearing bell heather on her lapel.

She was chuckling.

And he thought, She’s enchanting. And then the thought flooded from nowhere.

She’s my wife.

It hit him just as his mouth touched hers. The knowledge was as if a floodgate had opened. This woman...

His wife...

He kissed her.

* * *

She’d been expecting...what? A cursory brushing of lips against lips? Or less. He could have done this without actually touching her. That would have been better, she thought. An air kiss. No one here expected any more.

She didn’t get an air kiss. He’d released her hands. He put his hands on her waist and he lifted her so her mouth was level with his.

He kissed her.

It was a true wedding kiss, a lordly kiss, the kiss of the Lord of Duncairn claiming his bride. It was a kiss with strength and heat and passion. It was a kiss that blew her fragile defences to smithereens.

She shouldn’t respond. She shouldn’t! They were in a kirk, for heaven’s sake. It wasn’t seemly. This was a business arrangement, a marriage of convenience, and he had no right...

And then her mind shut down, just like that.

She’d never been kissed like this. She’d never felt like this.

Fire...

His mouth was plundering hers. She was raised right off her feet. She was totally out of control and there was nothing she could do but submit.

And respond? Maybe she had no choice. Maybe that was the only option because that was what her body was doing. It was responding and responding and responding.

How could it not? This was like an electric charge, a high-voltage jolt that had her locked to him and there was no escape. Not that she wanted to escape. The fire coursing through her body had her feeling...

Here was her home? Here was her heart?

This was nonsense. Crazy. Their tiny audience was laughing and cheering and she fought to bring them into focus. She fought desperately to gather herself, regain some decorum, and maybe Alasdair felt it because finally, finally he set her on her feet. But his dark eyes gleamed at her, and behind that smile was a promise.

This man was her husband. The knowledge was terrifying but suddenly it was also exhilarating. Where were smelling salts when a girl needed them? she thought wildly, and she took a deep, steadying breath and turned resolutely back to the minister. Get this over with, she pleaded silently, and let me get out of here.

But the Reverend Angus McConachie was not finished. He was beaming at her as a father might beam at a favourite daughter. In fact, the Reverend Angus had baptised her, had buried her mother, had caught her and her friends stealing strawberries from his vegetable patch, had been there for all her life. She’d tried to explain to him what this wedding was about but she doubted he’d listened. He saw what he wanted to see, the Reverend Angus, and his next words confirmed it.

‘Before I let you go...’ he was beaming as if he’d personally played matchmaker, and happy families was just beginning ‘...I wish to say a few words. I’ve known our Jeanie since the time she turned from a twinkle in her father’s eye into a pretty wee bairn. I’ve watched her grow into the fine young woman she is today. I know the Lady Eileen felt the same pleasure and pride in her that I do, and I feel the Lady Eileen is looking down right now, giving these two her blessing.’

Okay, Jeanie thought. That’ll do. Stop now. But this was the Reverend Angus and she knew he wouldn’t.

‘But it’s been my sorrow to see the tragedies that have befallen our Jeanie,’ the minister continued, his beam dipping for a moment. ‘She was devoted to her Rory from the time she was a wee lass, she was a fine wife and when the marriage ended in tragedy we were all heartbroken for her. That she was brave enough to try again with her Alan was a testament to her courage—and, dare I say, it was also a testament to the Lady Eileen’s encouragement? I dare say there’s not an islander on Duncairn whose heart didn’t break with her when she came home after such trouble.’

‘Angus...’ Jeanie hissed, appalled, but Angus’s beam was back on high and there was no stopping him.

‘And now it’s three,’ he said happily. ‘Third-time lucky. I hear the Lady Eileen has her fingers in the pie this time, too, but she assured me before she died that this one would be a happy ever after.’

‘She told you?’ Alasdair asked, sounding incredulous.

‘She was a conniving lass, your grandmother.’ Angus beamed some more. ‘And here it is, the results of that conniving, and the islanders couldn’t be happier for you. Jeanie, lass, may third time be more than lucky. May your third time be forever.’

* * *

Somehow they made it outside, to the steps of the kirk. The church sat on the headland looking over Duncairn Bay. The sun was shining. The fishing fleet was out, but a few smaller boats were tied on swing moorings. Gulls were wheeling overhead, the church grounds were a mass of wild honeysuckle and roses, and the photographer for the island’s monthly newsletter was asking them to look their way.

‘Smile for the camera... You look so handsome, the pair of you.’

This would make the front cover of the Duncairn Chronicle, she knew—Local Lass Weds Heir to Duncairn.

Her father would be down in the pub now, she thought, already drinking in anticipation of profits he’d think he could wheedle from her.

‘This is the third time?’ Alasdair sounded incredulous.

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