and moaned. It was worse, much worse, than I thought.
Closing my eyes, I rested my forehead against the wooden divider and cursed. I was a fool, and my judgment was terrible. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was face Ian Douglas, but there was no helping it. I needed answers and only he had them.
Traffic was unusually heavy on the 703, and the drive to Peebles took over an hour. Located at the junction of Innerleithen and the 7062, Ian’s home was a comfortable, stately manor house with straight, lichen-covered walls and a gabled roof. I parked the car in the graveled lot and walked to the door. Taking a deep breath, I lifted the knocker and let it fall. He opened the door immediately, and his face lit up with delight.
“What a pleasant surprise,” he said, pulling me into his house and then into his arms. “I called this morning, but Kate said you were out. Did you forget we were to meet?”
For a moment I was tempted. The feel of his arms around me, the soapy smell of his skin, the rough comfort of his sweater against my cheek, almost broke my resolve. Would it hurt to forget everything I knew, to pretend that yesterday had never happened, that Ian and I were just another happy couple with ordinary differences and once they were solved we would go on just as before? He nuzzled my neck.
I stiffened in his arms.
Surprised, he lifted his head and looked at me. “Is anything wrong?” he asked softly.
I nodded, and he released me.
“Perhaps you’d better tell me what’s happened.”
Rubbing my arms, I followed him into a book-lined room. He closed the door and leaned against it. Folding his arms, he looked directly at me. “What’s troubling you, Christina?”
There was no point in dissembling. “I want you to tell me exactly what your relationship to Kate Douglas is.”
For a long time, he continued to look at me. At last he spoke, and his words condemned him. “How did you find out?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just tell me.”
He frowned and walked to the window. Pulling back the heavy drape, he stared out at the green-gold hills. “Kate is a distant relative. She’s a Douglas, descended on her mother’s side from the line that supposedly died out in the fourteenth century.”
“Go on.”
“Her father was James Maxwell, your grandfather.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He turned around and came toward me. Backing away, I held out my hand to prevent him from coming closer. He stopped several feet from where I stood.
“Believe it or not, I was going to tell you.”
I did believe it, but only because I’d eavesdropped the night before. “Why didn’t you tell me in the beginning?”
His face was pale. “Kate wanted a chance to know you, to convince you that she had earned a part of Maxwell’s legacy.” His face reddened, and he hesitated. “I’m not proud of this, Christina. I was supposed to entertain you, keep you contented while you stayed at Traquair. That’s all, I swear it. I didn’t plan on falling in love with you, and I had no idea Kate was planning anything else until she told me last night.”
“And then what?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What was supposed to happen after I was entertained?”
He looked bewildered. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you? Weren’t you planning to end our relationship, hoping I’d go home brokenhearted and more than willing to leave Kate her house?”
“Don’t be absurd. No one would give up an inheritance like Traquair, no matter how brokenhearted.”
“I suppose you think Kate should have received a portion of the estate.”
He nodded. “As a matter of fact, I do, and it isn’t all that outrageous. Your mother and Kate were both Maxwell’s illegitimate daughters. I can understand how Kate feels. Why should one daughter have inherited more than the other?”
“Neither of them inherited,” I reminded him. “I did.”
His hands clenched. “What do you want me to say, Christina? I had no part in Kate’s scheme other than a very innocent one. What can I do to convince you?”
“Why don’t you start with the truth?”
He looked startled. “What do you mean?”
“Isn’t there something else you should be telling me?”
His eyes moved over my face. Finally, he nodded as if he’d come to a decision. “Very well,” he said, his voice low. “I blame James Maxwell for my father’s death. Maxwell spoke at the trial. He was the chief witness. His testimony assured my father’s conviction. The following day, after the jury found