"As was I. I'm sure that once they become used to having me about, they will warm to me. As their stepmother, I'll try to-"

"No."

She frowned. "No, what?"

"I don't consider you their stepmother. I'm very sure they wouldn't want that, either."

"But-"

"Our marriage is unusual."

"So? What does that have to do with the children?"

"With my children."

Her heart sank. It felt as if she stood in front of a huge door, but had no key. How could she get inside?

Worse, another thought reared its ugly head. MacLean had had three children over a number of years, and all had the same mother. He must have cared for this woman. There was only one way to find out. "Did you love her?"

His brows snapped down. "Did I love-oh. Their mother. I once thought I did, but no more."

His answer was so quick and natural that Triona relaxed. "I see. Is she...is she still alive?"

"Yes." He spat the answer. "When I was a callow youth, I was captivated by her. But she is not a good woman. For years, the girls lived with Clarissa. As her life disintegrated, so did theirs. Until they came to live with me a year ago, they didn't know the meaning of the word *home.' They'd never had one."

How difficult that must have been for them! Triona tried to imagine how her life would be without the familiar comfort of the vicarage, and couldn't. "Perhaps I can help-"

"No."

She blinked at the harshness of his voice.

"Caitriona, you won't be staying more than a few months."

"Yes, but-"

"There are no *buts.' It would make more sense-and be easier on the girls-if you kept your distance. I don't wish them to be upset when you leave."

Every word he said shut her out even more. This morning, she'd thought their lovemaking had signified something, that they were beginning life together as a couple, even if only for a few months' duration. Now she realized that what happened in the bedchamber was not necessarily reflected out of it.

Still, she couldn't fault him for wanting to protect his children. Though a sense of loneliness settled about her, she managed to say, "The children come first, of course."

"Thank you." He leaned back in his chair, some of the determination leaving his face. "It shouldn't be too difficult. You will see the girls at meals, but they will be with their governess and tutor most of the morning, and with me most of each afternoon."

She looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. "Where is the girls' mother now?"

His gaze shuttered and white lines appeared down each side of his mouth. "You are determined to know it all, are you? I don't see how this will help, but her name is Clarissa Beaufort. She is the daughter of an obscure Irish baron. She is astonishingly beautiful; Devon will look just like her, I think. Clarissa was her father's only child and he raised her to think she was better than anyone, though the truth is far different. She uses her beauty to-" His lip curled, and it was with obvious difficulty that he continued, "No matter how horrid her behavior, or how inexcusable her actions, men flock to her in droves, and she welcomes them all."

"I see," Triona said softly.

"Years ago, Clarissa was launched into London society to great fanfare. She was courted by dukes, earls, even princes-at some time or another, every eligible man in London sat at her feet. That's when I met her. I thought we were..." He shook his head. "Needless to say, I was wrong."

"You cared and she didn't."

"I cared as much as a callow youth of eighteen can. Meanwhile, her father was ecstatic over her success and imagined her marriage would make the family's fortune. He didn't realize that Clarissa had no intention of marrying anyone; she was addicted to attention. As soon as she'd won one man's affections, she was off to the next. I was merely part of her court-a foolish boy whom she no doubt scoffed at, though I was too young to realize it. Fortunately, before I'd made too much of a fool of myself, I realized which way the wind blew and left town. A week later, she was caught with a footman in her carriage, and neither were clothed."

"Oh!"

"Worse, she was caught by the Duke of Richmond, who had come to propose. He told the world, and she was shunned. Her father was devastated and threw her out into the street. I don't believe he ever spoke to her again."

"What happened to her?"

"Oh, don't feel sorry for her; she always manages to land on her feet. She took up with a wealthy older man. When she'd used him up, she found another. And another."

"At least she was consistent," Triona said dryly.

MacLean managed a faint smile. "She was. But she chose a horrible, degrading way of life, and took the girls with her. They have been through-" His voice broke and he turned away, his eyes suspiciously bright. "They have been through enough."

Triona tucked away her own hurt. This situation was obviously deeper and far more complex than she'd realized. "You love your daughters, and they obviously love you. That's all I really need to know."

"Then you will do as I ask, and leave them be as much as possible?"

Triona thought of her parents' warm regard, of the teasing affection of her brothers and sisters, and her throat tightened. "I will do what I can."

The entire situation added to the swell of loneliness she'd been battling all morning. Suddenly, Gilmerton Manor seemed large and echoingly empty.

Some of her feelings must have shown, for Hugh leaned forward and took her hand in his large one. "You will have plenty to keep you occupied. Mrs. Wallis can instruct you in how things have been done, and I've no doubt you'll bring ma.s.sive improvements to the place."

Which was something a normal wife would do. But a normal wife would also be welcome in all areas of her new household, not just the linen closet. Still, it was a beginning, a foothold on the first slope of a very tall mountain.

Fortunately for all concerned, Triona was very, very good at accomplishing tasks, even mountainous ones. While she was glad to spend some time organizing the staff and making the house run as efficiently as possible, she had another goal as well. She wanted her time here at Gilmerton to have value. When the time came to leave, she wanted to have been important enough that Hugh, at least, would miss her.

She regarded him from beneath her lashes. Could she engage his interest enough? It seemed a fair challenge, and heaven knew she needed something to occupy her so she didn't grow dismally homesick. The only real connection she had with this intriguing man had been between the sheets this morning. That, and the moments immediately afterward, had left her feeling close to him.

She couldn't allow him to regulate her out of all of the important affairs of the household, and yet neither did she feel that she could demand that right. It was obvious he loved his daughters very much and she could hardly fault him for such praiseworthy emotion. She'd have to earn his trust, win him over through her efforts, prove herself. Father had always said one action was worth a thousand words.

She smoothed her skirt over her knees. "I will do as you ask and remain aloof from the girls as much as possible, but I want a promise from you in return."

He frowned. "What's that?"

"I want us to continue to..." Her cheeks heated and she finished in a hurried voice, "Do what we did this morning."

A gleam entered his eyes and a slow smile curled across his face. "Ah, this morning. Yes."

"Yes?"

He laughed. "I should have said *Of course!'" He stood and placed a finger under her chin, tilting her face to his, then bent close, his breath brushing sweetly over her lips. Triona closed her eyes for his kiss, eager to be swept away. Instead, he moved and whispered in her ear, "You will never lack for more of *this morning.'" He rubbed his cheek to hers. "I promise."

Heat flooded through her and she instinctively leaned toward him, but he was already straightening.

He winked. "I will return for dinner, and we will resume our conversation then. Who knows?" He flashed a wicked grin. "We might even have some *this morning' this very evening."

"You can do that?"

His laugh wrapped around her, and for a moment she forgot she was in a strange new house, filled with people from whom she was to maintain a distance, and servants she barely knew. Instead, for one warm, wonderful moment, it was the two of them, both smiling. It brought back instant memories of this morning, of the intimacy of lying in his arms, their bare legs entwined as their hearts slowed to a normal rhythm.

Oh, how she would like to savor that moment again! Her body tingled as a low thrum of excitement washed over her. She smiled back at him. "I shall look forward to it."

His eyes glinted, and for an instant, she thought he might pull her to him for a pa.s.sionate kiss, but he turned toward the door. "I need to see to the horses. If you need anything, ask the housekeeper; I've left instructions you are to be granted whatever you wish."

"Thank you, but...when will you be back?"

He tossed her a warm glance. "As soon as I can."

"It's very difficult to plan dinner when you give out times like that."

He laughed and opened the door. "Very well, wife. I'll be home by six."

He left, closing the door behind him. She heard him collect his coat from the footman, followed by the swing of the front door as it opened. His riding boots marked his stride down the marble steps.

She raced to the window, pushing back the curtains carefully so she wouldn't attract his attention. She watched him walk down the path toward the stables until she could see him no more. Then she collapsed in the nearest chair, tingling all over at her own audacity.

Smiling to herself, she said aloud, "Just you wait, Hugh MacLean!" He might say he wanted her to stay out of his life, but he was wrong. She would win her position as wife both in his bed and out. She was a Hurst, by G.o.d, and Hursts never quit.

Yet Triona knew she needed help. And she knew exactly where to find it. She hopped up and swept out into the hallway to ask for pen and paper.

Chapter 12.

"Och, 'tis kind o' yer father to send ye here each Michaelmas. It does me old heart good to bask in the light of such bonny la.s.sies!"

OLD WOMAN NORA TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ON A COLD WINTER'S NIGHT I thought Papa said she'd only be here a few days," Devon said disgustedly. Dressed in her chemise, she threw herself on her bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Christina pulled off her riding boots. "He said a couple of months, and it's only been one week."

Devon rolled over onto her stomach, her brow lowered. "He was very quiet this afternoon during our ride."

"He barely smiled," Aggie agreed. "Until she came into the barn."

She was what they'd taken to calling Caitriona. "My lady" stuck in Christina's throat and wouldn't be uttered.

"He has a lot on his mind," Devon said darkly. After a long moment, she added in a pugnacious voice, "I don't like her."

Christina shot Devon an annoyed glance. "Papa is the one who has to like her, not us."

Aggie sat on a stool, dressed in a round gown of blue that set off her eyes, her sapphire blue riding habit on a chair waiting for the maid to take it to be cleaned. She held a handful of hairpins and a brush as she waited for Christina to fix her hair. "She's been nice to us."

She had indeed been nice to them, but distant. Christina had expected that, of course. She was only interested in Papa, and couldn't care less about them.

Just like Mother.

Christina's stomach tightened.

Aggie, blissfully unaware, added, "Papa likes her more than he says. She is rather pretty."

Devon rolled to her side to stare at Aggie. "You can't mean that!"

"She has a nice smile," Aggie insisted.

"She wears spectacles," Devon said with disgust.

"Yes, but her hair is very long and smooth." Aggie touched her own curls and said in a wistful tone, "I wish my hair was smooth like that."

"Well, I think she's dreadfully plain," Christina said. "I didn't get a good feeling from her at all."

"Me neither," Devon said, planting her elbow on the bed and resting her chin in her palm. "I think she tricked Papa into marrying her."

"I thought that was rather fishy myself." Christina combed out Aggie's hair. "I think Papa was taken advantage of."

"So do I," Aggie added, though it was obvious she was just trying to be included.

Christina looked across Aggie's head to meet Devon's gaze. "I wish there was something we could do to help Papa. She seems to be making herself at home."

Devon's expression darkened. "She's won over Mrs. Wallis, Liam, and Angus, as well as Annie and Moira."

"Both maids?" Christina asked.

Devon nodded. "This morning, Cook said she thought the *new missus' was a right one."

This was much worse than Christina had thought.

"She has made the house nicer," Aggie said. "We've had better meals and the house is cleaner, and-"

"It was running fine when Devon and I were helping Mrs. Wallis," Christina said hotly. Although, Mrs. Wallis hadn't really allowed Christina and Devon to do more than select the menus. Still, it hurt a little that Mrs. Wallis and the servants seemed happy Caitriona was here. Christina was the oldest; shouldn't she have been running the house the way Caitriona was doing it now?

But even worse than the servants' defections, Papa was beginning to look at his new wife differently. The first few days, he'd been kind and pleasant. But lately there was a light in his eyes when he came home, which scared Christina very, very much. Mother used to get like that, too. She'd find a man and get that same look, and then she'd disappear. It would be days, sometimes weeks before she'd return. Christina had to breathe through her nose very slowly to keep the others from seeing how frightened she was.

Devon sat up, propped her elbow on her knee, and rested her chin in her hand. "That old witch tricked him."

Aggie's eyes widened. "She's a witch?"

"The worst kind," Devon said. "The kind who lures men away from their families-"