Mac Galbraith stared at me stonily. That bland countenance disappeared as he swallowed hard. “Robyn?”

“Mac.” I held out my hand to shake his.

He stared at it for a second as if not quite sure what to do.

Manners compelled him to shake it finally. He squeezed my hand before seeming reluctant to release me. The action caused a complex response I hadn’t expected. Tears threatened, and I glanced away, as if casual, unaffected. Staring at the castle, I said, blasé, “This is some place you have here.”

“It’s not mine,” he replied. “It’s Lachlan’s. The Adairs.”

Yeah, like I didn’t already know that. There was that awful resentment again. I forced myself to look at my father. “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here.”

“Aye. Not that it isn’t a nice surprise.”

Was it?

I narrowed my gaze, trying to discern the truth in his statement. “It’s not something I can just blurt out on the driveway of a castle with a man I barely know hovering at my back.” I referred to Security Guy who was still with us.

“Sorry about that. Protocol.”

I nodded. I knew all about protocol.

“You’d know all about that,” Mac said, as if plucking the words from my head. “Last I heard, you were a police officer.”

He looked pleased about this. As if it connected us. I hated that it did. After all, he’d been a cop once too. But so was my stepfather, Seth Penhaligon. “Family business, I guess,” I replied. “Wanted to be like my old man, Seth.” When I was 16, I’d decided to change my name legally from Galbraith to Penhaligon. After two years of no contact with Mac, I’d wanted to sever our connection as well as have the same name as the family who were in my life daily.

While Mac was very good at hiding his reaction, there was a flicker of something in his eyes that suggested I’d hit a sore spot.

Hmm.

“I’m not a cop anymore.”

“Oh?”

“Like I said, I don’t want to chat on a driveway. I know this place doesn’t cater to riffraff, so can you get away?”

Mac frowned. “My daughter isn’t riffraff. Come inside. We’ll talk and then I’ll give you a tour.”

I thumbed over my shoulder. “Is this guy going to babysit us the whole time?”

Mac glanced at his colleague. “Jock, why don’t you take the vehicle back to the mews and return to your duties.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Shall we?” Mac said to me, gesturing to the castle entrance.

“Isn’t there a servants’ entrance that would be more suited to my position?”

“There’s a delivery entrance, but we’re usually prepared for those packages.” He shot me a sardonic look and walked toward the castle.

“What about my car?”

“It’s fine there. We’ll move it later if we need to.”

I studied the back of Mac’s head as he strode in front of me. My father had to be around six feet four and was physically fit. He made an intimidating figure. At forty-four, he had the physique of a man half his age. He looked great. Ruggedly handsome. Successful. He didn’t look old enough to be my father. But for a kid who got his older girlfriend pregnant when he was only sixteen, he’d done okay for himself.

But I guess a person could when they went out into the world to succeed by sacrificing their relationship with their child.

So lost in my thoughts, it took a second for my surroundings to hit me.

Holy shit.

I stopped just inside the door and gaped.

Yeah, I definitely felt like a fish out of water.

“Wakefield, this is my daughter Robyn.” Mac stopped next to the guy in uniform. “Robyn, this is Wakefield, the butler at Ardnoch.”

A butler. Of course. “Nice to meet you.”

The butler bowed his head, expression stoic. “Welcome to Ardnoch Estate, miss.”

I nodded vaguely, my attention returning to the space beyond us as we stepped inside.

“Impressive, aye?” Mac said, grinning at my expression.

It was mammoth.

Polished parquet flooring underfoot made it appear even more so. The décor was traditional and screamed Scottish opulence. The grandest staircase I’d ever seen descended before me, fitted with a red-and-gray tartan wool runner. It led to a landing where three floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows spilled light down it. Then it branched off at either side, twin staircases leading to the floor above, which I could partially see from the galleried balconies at either end of the reception hall. A fire burned in the huge hearth on the wall adjacent to the entrance and opposite the staircase. The smell of burning wood accentuated the coziness the interior designer had managed to pull off despite the dark, wood-paneled walls and ceiling. Tiffany lamps scattered throughout on end tables gave the space a warm glow.

Opposite the fire sat two matching suede-and-fabric buttoned sofas with a coffee table in between. More light spilled into the hall from large openings that led to other rooms on this floor. I could hear the rise and fall of conversation in the distance beyond.