The Capture of the Earl of Glencrae by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online Page A

“That’s much later. I thought you wanted the beginning?”
    â€œYes, well.” She waved imperiously back at him. “Get on with it, or we’ll be here all night.”
    They’d likely be there all night anyway . . . “Do you know why your parents eloped?”
    â€œYes. Mama’s parents had organized a marriage to some nobleman—some old earl—but Mama had fallen in love with Papa. Her parents, however, preferred an earl over a duke’s fourth son and were pressing Mama to accept the earl, so she and Papa eloped and married over the anvil at Gretna Green.”
    â€œDo you know the name of the earl your mother refused to wed?”
    The line between her brows reappeared. She studied his face. “You’re going to tell me he was the Earl of Glencrae. Your father?”
    He nodded.
    â€œAnd . . . ?”
    Her impatience touched a nerve. “As I believe I mentioned, I hadn’t expected to kidnap you tonight, so I haven’t prepared any neat dissertation.” When she made no reply, just met his gaze steadily, he swallowed his temper and began. “Mortimer Guisachan, seventh Earl of Glencrae, was in his early forties when he met Celia Hammond, a young English beauty. Barely nineteen, she captivated him, almost certainly unwittingly. Mortimer doted on her. He wanted nothing more than to have Celia for his wife. He approached her parents, who were entirely agreeable, and all was progressing—or so Mortimer thought—toward the altar. Being a strictly conventional man, Mortimer hadn’t spoken to Celia directly, leaving it to her parents to inform her of her good fortune, as was common in those times. A week later, Mortimer received word from the Hammonds that Celia had eloped with Lord Martin Cynster and had married St. Ives’s fourth son at Gretna Green.”
    Angelica’s eyes had widened. He paused, but she waved for him to continue.
    â€œYou need to comprehend that Mortimer was not a passionate man. I didn’t say he loved Celia. His was an avuncular, even patriarchal regard. Consequently, understanding that she loved Martin Cynster, and seeing the couple together on their return to the capital, Mortimer accepted that Celia was truly happy and withdrew—not just from her life, but from the ton, and from London. He closed up his house”— this house —“and retired to his castle in Scotland.”
    â€œIn the highlands?”
    He nodded. “Courtesy of Mortimer’s father’s long reign, the estate was prosperous, the clan faring well. Mortimer went home and left Celia and Martin to their lives. However, his fixation with Celia didn’t wane. He discovered he couldn’t live without knowing how she was, what she was doing, and isolated in the Scottish highlands by his own choice, he turned to living vicariously through her. He inveigled old friends to write to him of her exploits, and within a few years he had paid observers among the ton who regularly—at least every week—sent letters north, telling Mortimer of every little detail of Celia’s life. Celia’s, and eventually her children’s, because Mortimer’s obsession extended to them.”
    This time when he paused, she simply waited, eyes glued to his face, for him to resume the tale. “But Mortimer was head of the clan and needed to marry and get himself an heir. His younger brother had never been groomed to be the laird, the earl, so Mortimer accepted the duty, took himself to Edinburgh one Season, and found a wife. Mirabelle Pevensey was from a lowland family, of excellent birth but limited fortune, spoiled beyond all reason, and widely lauded for her startling beauty. Although much older, Mortimer was yet a handsome man. His obsession with his lost love was common knowledge in Edinburgh at the time, but Mirabelle viewed that as a challenge, one that, once successfully overcome, would gain her a