The Euston Rail Station in Camden was considered the gateway rail line from London to the north of the empire. The grand structure consisted of four platforms, a stately great hall, and a Doric propylaeum built after the style of the Acropolis at the entrance complete with resplendent statuary. The borough of Camden perched very close to Regent’s Park, almost equidistant to the Strand in the southeast, and Mayfair to the southwest.
Stiff from a horrible night’s sleep on the train, Mena stepped down onto the arrival platform and was instantly jostled by a press of humanity in the form of late-afternoon London travelers. A burst of loud steam engulfed her, startling her so much that she hopped backward, her heel stomping down on the foot of whoever was unfortunate enough to have disembarked behind her.
“Oh, Jani,” she exclaimed, turning to help him limp to a less crowded spot on the platform. “Forgive me. Are you very badly hurt?”
“No, no, Miss Mena,” he kindly assured her through clenched teeth and eyes pinched with pain. “I am only sorry to have been in your path.”
“Dear Jani, don’t you even think of apologizing, it is entirely my fault.” She patted the soft violet silk of his shoulder as he tested his weight on the offended foot. Mena was sorry for anyone in her path, nay, her vicinity. She was a bundle of emotion and fear and elation all at once. Her mind could barely process the filigree signs pointing toward the portico, let alone navigate the crowded station.
“I will be fine, Miss Mena,” he soothed, straightening. “I feel that I am not myself today.”
“Does London make you nervous?” Mena asked.
“Not as nervous as it seems to make you,” Jani observed.
Mena would have denied it, but a hand violently seized her arm and she whirled around with a startled gasp.
“Look at all the shops out on the portico!” Rhianna squealed, nearly shaking Mena in her exuberance. “And can ye believe how grand those hotels are? How close are we to Hyde Park? Should we find a paperboy so that we can see what events are happening and decide what we want to do before we get to Grandmama’s? I’ve heard they sell papers on every corner here. Why does it smell like food in the middle of the station, do they have vendors?”
Coming up behind her, Liam playfully clamped his gloved hand over his daughter’s mouth. “Breathe, nighean,” he commanded gently, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “We’ll have time to see what there is to see.”
“Can I take yer carpetbag, Miss Lockhart?” Andrew asked, nudging his sister who still vibrated with excitement, taking in the grandeur of the station as if frustrated that she couldn’t look everywhere at once.
“Yes, you may.” Mena gently hinted a correction of his grammar, handing it to him. “What a lovely offer.”
“I think Miss Lockhart is in danger of turning ye into a gentleman, my son.” Liam offered Andrew a proud smile, one that the youth returned.
“One of us has to be,” Andrew ribbed back.
Liam’s warm sound of amusement could almost be called a laugh, and drew the admiring gazes of the few women who weren’t already staring up at him with frank appreciation.
“You’re our only hope for a gentleman in the Mackenzie family, Andrew, dear.” Mena relaxed into the jovial moment, thoroughly enjoying the familial teasing. She appreciated it almost as much as she did the tranquil, heavy-lidded expression Ravencroft wore, and the secret pleasure it brought her to know that she was the one responsible for it.
“Aye, lad,” Liam concurred. “Miss Lockhart called me a ferocious barbarian.” His eyebrows lifted in ridiculous mockery of an innocent expression, something his sinister features could never hope to attain. “Can ye imagine?”
A blush crept above the high collar of her gown as she recalled the conversation they’d had before their frenzied interlude in the rail car. He not only reminded her of the uncontrolled passion they shared, but also of her admission.
She’d fallen for him. Fallen in love with him.
What does he feel for me? she wondered. Desire, of course, and perhaps a bit of protective tenderness. But could his emotions possibly resemble the depth of her own?
“Aye,” Andrew chuffed. “Only Miss Lockhart can speak to ye like that.” His eyes, a shade paler than his father’s, glimmered with mischievous meaning, and Mena knew her color only intensified.
“Well,” she said with an overabundance of cheer. “Let’s do go see what the footmen are doing about our luggage.” Threading her arm through Rhianna’s, she bustled toward the growing pile of baggage on the platform, purposely not making eye contact with the wicked marquess. Every time she looked at him, her belly quivered. She knew how tender that hard mouth could feel on almost every inch of her body now. How one would assume his large hands to be brutish and unwieldy, but they could coax such unimaginable pleasure with their surprisingly deft touch.
She’d tasted the barbarian beneath the fine suit, and that knowledge caused her most secret muscles to clench with delight. Though she’d learned to live a lie, she’d never quite mastered the art of deception, and the children were obviously picking up on the thread of heat between her and their father.
They’d have to be more careful until the future could be discussed.
“Where’s Uncle Thorne and Russell?” Andrew queried, trailing behind them.
“They had some … family business to attend.” Mena noted the slight change of Liam’s tone as it lost its cheer. “In fact, I must join them once ye’re on yer way to yer grandmother’s.”
“Are ye coming with us, Jani, or are ye going with Father?” Rhianna asked as they threaded their way through the dispersing crowd. Theirs was the last train from Scotland to arrive, and this close to supper, Mena couldn’t imagine many other departures.
“There is business I must attend with the marquess after I see to your things,” Jani said, a dark shadow of sadness settled over his dusky skin.
Mena reached for him covertly, and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.
“They do have vendors,” Andrew exclaimed, pointing toward a steaming cart of what appeared to be candied nuts and caramel-dipped autumn fruits.
“Oh, Papa, please say we can have some!” Rhianna begged.
Fishing coins from his jacket, Liam motioned to a footman. “All right,” he said indulgently. “Ross will take ye to the vendor and conduct ye to Lady Eloise whilst I see to a few things. I’ll be joining ye shortly.”
The press of bodies gave them an excellent excuse to stand close to each other, and Mena enjoyed Liam’s proximity while they watched after his children as they bounded through the crowd like frolicking deer.
“Do you remember being so young?” she asked, feeling a little wistful. “When the world held such excitement and curiosity, when everything seemed so possible and wondrous and the days were endlessly carefree.”
Liam’s hand covertly caressed the small of her back, and though he stood behind her, Mena didn’t have to see his face to understand the meaning in his touch. “I never experienced such things as a youth, didna understand what those words meant; though … I’m beginning to now.” His words brought tears to her eyes that had nothing to do with steam or coal smoke. There was such yearning in his touch, so much gentle reverence in his voice that her heart crested with hope. She wanted to be the reason the second half of his life was carefree. She wanted to give him the peace and comfort he so ardently deserved.
She wanted a future that was patently impossible.
The baggage car sat between the locomotive and the passenger cars. Rail workers unloaded trunks, bags, crates, and boxes of various sizes while passengers handed tickets to the baggage employees to retrieve their things. Jani had taken their tickets and the other accompanying footman to the baggage line.
Even though the crowd of people had begun to disperse, Mena found the bustle a bit oppressive. It surprised her how accustomed she’d become to the remote and bucolic paradise that was Wester Ross. Certainly it lacked the convenience and diversions of the city, but it also lacked the dangers, the cloying smells, the ceaseless noises, and the endless stretches of stone and steam and winter pall of coal smoke.
Mena loved some things about London, but all she could think of now was how unhappy her life had been here. She’d grown up in the country with wood fires instead of coal, with open spaces and sweet-smelling grasses, emerald fields, and stone fences. She felt at home amongst those things.
Here she was a visitor, and it had ever been thus.
“They’re waiting to offload Hamish until the authorities arrive.” Liam sighed as Mena turned toward him and caught the baleful look he cast toward the train. “I have to remain to see him off and may be yet a while. Go to the portico and take the carriage that awaits Rhianna and Andrew.”
Suddenly struck by uneasy anxiety, Mena also regarded the train with distaste. “I hate to leave you to deal with this all on your own,” she fretted. “What if something … goes amiss?”
Liam leaned down until his warm breath caressed her ear, and sent shivers of awareness skittering along her skin, heedless of anyone who might see his actions as untoward or inappropriate. “Ye are eternally sweet, Mena mine,” he murmured tenderly. “But between Russell, Gavin, and me, not to mention the officers they’re sending to retrieve him, Hamish willna have an opportunity to cause trouble. Besides, if something dangerous were to happen, I’d not like ye or my children anywhere near.”
Mena turned her head slightly toward him, pressing her cheek against his before pulling away. “Very well.” She smiled up into the features that had become more precious than any she’d known. It amazed her how much trust and tenderness she could feel for such a big and brutish Highlander. Millicent LeCour’s words filtered back to her from the last morning she’d spent in London.
Sometimes … the safest place to be is at the side of a violent man.
She hadn’t truly understood the actress at the time. In fact, she’d wondered if the woman had fooled herself into believing that, because her own fiancé was the very cold, very lethal Christopher Argent. The man who’d snapped Mr. Burns’s neck right in front of her as though he’d done so a million times.
Mena understood now. It didn’t get more violent than the Demon Highlander, and she’d never felt more secure in her life than when she was by his side. The power and prowess that used to frighten her had, indeed, become her sanctuary.
“Promise me you’ll be careful,” she admonished, putting a staying hand on his arm before she could stop herself. “I have this terrible feeling. We’ve only just … there’s so much to say … and I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”
Liam turned his head and looked away from her, his features tightening, his jaw working and flexing, and the vein at his temple pulsed like it did when he was trying to hide displeasure. When his gaze met hers again, Mena’s heart stopped. A suspicious and shocking gloss shimmered in his dark eyes before he blinked it away.
“Are you all right?” she asked alertly.
He didn’t speak for a long time, instead staring at the her hand, still clutching his suitcoat. “It is a new experience for me to part with someone knowing that they might … wish me to return.”
Her own eyes, already misted with emotion now welled with it. “I not only wish for your return, I do not wish us to be parted in the first place.”
His smile was uncharacteristically charming, and a new softness found its way into his hard eyes. “I will hurry as fast as I am able.” He reached for her hand and kissed it over the glove. “While still taking the utmost care.”
“See that you do,” she said primly, adopting a very governesslike expression. “I’ll not be disobeyed.”
Heat simmered away any vestiges of vulnerability and Mena feared he’d melt her into a puddle of lust right in the middle of the Euston Station platform. “Tonight, lass, I’ll be yers to command.”
Flustered, she turned from him with a lightness in her step and a glow in her heart she didn’t think anything could extinguish. The children were no longer at the vending cart, nor could she see them in the milling crowd, so she headed in the direction of the portico toward the carriages, hoping they hadn’t already left for Lady Eloise’s. Though, if they had, that might give her time to stop by Farah’s home and commiserate with her about—
A hand clamped down on Mena’s wrist and nearly jerked her off her feet. Her scream was lost in the tinny whistle of a locomotive.
