Читать книгу The Highlander And The Governess - Michelle Willingham - Страница 12

Lachlan wasn’t at all certain he wanted any kind of lesson. He decided that if Miss Goodson grew too overbearing, he would return to the house. After all, she was departing in the morning. But as they walked, he saw her marvelling at Locharr. She appeared enchanted by the stone archway that led to the gardens, and he had to admit, it had been some time since he’d viewed the estate through the eyes of a stranger.

The gravel pathway meandered around the green lawn towards a stone fountain of Venus. Miss Goodson had insisted upon a chaperon during their walk, so he had asked Elspeth to follow at a close distance. He deliberately kept his pace slow, so as not to overexert the elderly maid. Even so, he couldn’t understand why his governess found it necessary to be shadowed at all times.

‘How lovely,’ Miss Goodson breathed when she saw the fountain. Water spilled from the hands of Venus into the small pool, and a small frog swam within the fountain. She walked alongside him, her hand pressed against his arm. The slight touch made him feel conscious of Miss Goodson’s every movement, and it was strange to realise that he was enjoying her company.

Her green eyes shone with fascination and she was delighted with the garden, even though naught was blooming. ‘It will be filled with roses, come the summertime.’

‘There are roses, aye.’ He didn’t know what else to say besides that. Miss Goodson waited a moment, as if she were expecting more. When he said nothing, she stopped beside a stone urn and offered an encouraging smile. It was almost a silent battle of wills, as if she expected him to say more and he didn’t want to. He had never been one for long conversations.

‘Is there anything you would like to converse about, Locharr?’

He shrugged. ‘Nay.’ He liked the calm feeling of quiet. But from his governess’s expression, she appeared concerned.

‘When you are in London, be careful about long moments of silence with Lady Regina,’ Miss Goodson said. ‘She is the shyest young woman I’ve ever met, and I fear that if the conversation stops, it could be very uncomfortable for her.’

He didn’t see a problem in that, but he supposed some women might feel that way. ‘What are you wanting me to do?’

‘If you do not know what to say, you can always ask a question. Why don’t you ask me anything?’ Miss Goodson waited, and when Lachlan realised she wasn’t going to relent until he said something, he fumbled for a question. But came up with nothing.

He finally shrugged again and answered, ‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Let’s try this. Pretend you are the lady.’ She lowered her voice and said in a growling tone, ‘Lady Regina, how long have you been in London?’

‘That’s a daft question. They come to London every Season.’

She bit back a laugh. ‘Yes, you and I know that, but won’t you play along for the sake of conversation? Just give it a try.’

He raised his voice to a falsetto and said, ‘You already know I come to London every Season.’

Miss Goodson held back her smile, though her eyes shone with mirth. In a low tone, she said, ‘The weather has been very rainy, as of late.’

Honestly, her idea of a conversation was not that interesting. ‘Why should I care about the weather?’ he asked. ‘Why should she?’

Miss Goodson reached out to touch his arm. ‘Patience, Locharr. Just give me a moment longer, won’t you?’

He couldn’t conceive of how this could have any merit at all. And she was making him feel foolish by playing the part of the lady. ‘Fine,’ he gritted out.

‘Let’s try it one more time. Now that we have talked about her travels and the weather, I might venture onto a new topic to get better acquainted.’ She cleared her throat and stared up at him. ‘You should try to make eye contact with the lady when you are speaking to her. So much is revealed in the eyes.’

Then she straightened and said in a deep voice, ‘It has been many years since we have seen one another, Lady Regina. I was wondering how you enjoy spending your time. Do you paint?’

Lachlan understood what she was trying to show him, but he couldn’t resist the urge to make the conversation more interesting. In a falsetto, he said, ‘No, I find painting dull. I prefer hunting.’

Miss Goodson bit her lip hard and shook her head. ‘A lady might not indulge in hunting.’

‘Now you’re wrong in that,’ he countered. ‘Many ladies enjoy hunting. And I thought you were wanting to play along?’

‘Fine,’ she sighed. In her deep voice, she uttered, ‘Fox hunting or deer?’

‘Boar,’ he said in the high-pitched voice. ‘I enjoy gutting pigs.’

At that, Miss Goodson no longer suppressed her laughter. Her eyes filled with mirth, and her hearty laugh brought about his own smile. ‘You are incorrigible, Locharr.’

He knew it, but he hadn’t been able to resist the urge. ‘And now you see that giving me lessons would be impossible.’

She shrugged at that. ‘Actually, I believe it would be very rewarding to help you. I should be glad of the opportunity.’

They walked out of the garden and into the inner bailey of the castle. Miss Goodson glanced up the staircase and asked, ‘Might we walk along the battlements so I can have a look at the sea?’

He saw no reason why not and guided her towards the stone stairs. The castle had been built so long ago, there was a walkway along the parapets where the archers used to keep guard. The wall along the edge was low enough that she could see the expanse of trees below and the sea in the distance. The morning sun was hazy, but it sparkled upon the surface of the water.

Miss Goodson’s face brightened at the sight of the water. ‘You truly have the most beautiful home, Locharr. I should love a view like this. It’s wonderful.’

‘It is verra fine,’ he agreed. ‘But it’s a costly view. And if I mean to keep this castle, I will need those twenty thousand pounds.’

‘Lady Regina is a most fortunate woman,’ Miss Goodson said. ‘I would marry you myself to live in a castle like this.’

Though her words were light-hearted, his imagination conjured the vivid image of Miss Goodson walking along these parapets as Lady of Locharr. Her blonde curls framed a lovely face, and her green eyes warmed at the sight of his home. He wondered how she would look after being thoroughly kissed. Would a soft moan escape that mouth while she surrendered to his touch? Was there more to Miss Goodson beneath those prim and proper ways? A darker side of him thought about unravelling her sensibilities, tempting her into sin.

It led him to wonder why she had not married after her father had left them. Her sisters had done so. What had caused her to seek employment on her own instead of seeking help from her family? He studied the young woman, wondering what secrets she was hiding. Though Miss Goodson was cheerful and seemed glad to be teaching him, he suspected that there was more beneath the surface. Her eyes gleamed with enthusiasm as he’d shown her Locharr. It was a sharp contrast to his own weary view of the world.

‘Would you like to walk a little further?’ he suggested. ‘There’s a glasshouse in the gardens on the opposite side of the grounds.’

She brightened and took his arm again. ‘I would love to continue our walk.’

He guided her through the gardens towards the structure that was inspired by a birdcage. The maid was falling further behind, but it seemed that Miss Goodson was either unaware or didn’t seem to mind. As long as there was a chaperon within a certain distance, that was all she cared about.

His grandfather had built the glasshouse for his wife, and it contained some of the more exotic plants and trees that were too fragile for Scottish weather.

Miss Goodson appeared in awe of the building, and for a moment, she was quiet as she explored the plants. When she reached one of the trees, she asked, ‘Is this a banana tree?’

‘Aye. My mother had it brought over from the Caribbean.’

She reached up to touch the tiny green bananas as if she could not believe they were real. ‘I’ve never seen a banana tree before. It’s smaller than I thought it would be.’

‘This one is,’ he agreed. ‘But they can grow much larger. We have to keep it inside the glasshouse.’

‘I wonder what else your mother will bring back from her travels?’ Miss Goodson mused. ‘It sounds fascinating.’

‘Ever since my father died, she has spent most of her time in different countries. She tries to bring me a gift from each country she visits.’ It was part of the truth. Catrina had been devastated at Tavin’s death. While Lachlan had shut himself away from the outside world, his mother had consoled herself by running away. The travel expenses were very dear, but Lachlan didn’t have the heart to cut her off. It was her way of managing her own grief.

‘How wonderful. She sounds like an adventurous lady.’

Adventurous was one way of describing his mother. But Catrina reminded him of a gust of wind, moving wherever she chose, heedless of whoever she knocked over along the way. It was more peaceful when she was gone. But when she returned, he intended to have words with her about her decision to hire a governess.

‘When I thought you had a daughter, I imagined teaching her about botany in an environment just like this,’ Miss Goodson said. ‘Only there are so many plants I’ve never seen; your mother would likely know more than I.’ She drew closer to a flower and leaned in to inhale the fragrance. ‘Any child who would grow up in a home like this would be very fortunate.’

‘Then you understand why I must do anything to protect it,’ he said quietly.

Miss Goodson nodded. ‘I do understand.’ With a smile, she added, ‘And I am positive that Lady Regina will be delighted to marry you.’ She softened her tone and said, ‘I know that you don’t want me here, Locharr. But please trust that I have your best intentions in mind. I want to help you.’

‘In other words, you want to tell me what to do.’

‘Only to guide you. And because of it, you will become the most desirable bachelor in London.’

‘You have only today,’ he reminded her. ‘What could you possibly teach me in that time?’

Her green eyes warmed with interest. ‘Wait and see.’

Frances knew she would have to use unconventional lessons to attract the interest of the laird. He had no faith in her, and she had to prove her usefulness. She sensed that Locharr was a man of a competitive nature. And she thought of a way to win a third day at the castle.

‘Do you play cards, Locharr?’ she asked.

‘Only when I’m planning to win money.’ His gaze narrowed, and his scar stood out on his face, reminding her of a pirate. Which made her imagine being stolen away by a handsome buccaneer. Her brain really needed to stop thinking of such things.

But she squared her shoulders and forced herself to concentrate. ‘I was thinking we could make a wager. What do you think?’

His expression grew interested, his pirate smile making her imagination conjure up more inappropriate visions of conquest. ‘For what stakes?’

‘If I win, you will complete a lesson and allow me to stay another day. If you win, I shall help you with anything you desire.’

‘Anything?’ he mused, and her face reddened at the sudden innuendo.

Not that. But she pretended as if there was nothing untoward about her words. ‘Within reason,’ she corrected.

He eyed her with interest and shrugged. ‘I suppose we could play whist.’

‘Where shall we have our game?’ she asked. ‘Elspeth can come and chaperon again.’

‘In the parlour,’ he said. ‘But Elspeth may be tired from her walk this afternoon. She may wish to rest in her room instead.’

No. Being unchaperoned and alone with a pirate was a Very Bad Idea. ‘Or Elspeth might also welcome the chance to sit for an hour,’ Frances countered.

‘I don’t ken why we need a chaperon. I’m no’ about to try and seduce you.’

She blinked at that. Well, then. He’d made his opinion quite clear. Frances cleared her throat and said, ‘It’s merely a habit you must acquire, Locharr. In London, you may not go anywhere without a chaperon. Whether your intention is seduction or not.’

He frowned at that. ‘It seems like a waste of time.’

It was clear that he didn’t understand what she meant. ‘It is always necessary to have a chaperon. It’s protection for you, or else you might find yourself the target of another young lady’s interest. And unless you wish to wed her, you’d best never be alone with her.’ Her tone came out sharper than she’d intended, but he needed to understand the gravity of the situation. For a moment, he stared at her in a silent war of wills. Frances crossed her arms, refusing to yield.

Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought she detected a faint note of approval from the laird. And he did call out to Alban, ordering Elspeth to join them in the parlour.

Frances tried not to gape as they walked through the halls. Although she had spent the night here, she could not resist smiling at the white columns that encircled the spiral staircase leading up. Truly, this was a magnificent castle fit for a princess.

The laird stopped in front of a smaller room and led her inside. She paused a moment to admire the parlour. ‘This is lovely.’

And it was. The crimson wallpaper was cheerful, and she liked the cosy hearth, even if there was no fire in the grate.

‘There are too many paintings,’ Lachlan countered. ‘Eight landscapes is too much for one wall.’

‘It gives one the opportunity to study a different painting each time,’ she said tactfully, though privately she agreed that it was indeed a lot of art for one room. A large portrait of an older nobleman hung over the fireplace, and Frances rather thought the man was leering at her.

MacKinloch led her to a smaller gaming table, and then he went to find a deck of playing cards. Frances shuffled the deck and remarked, ‘We really ought to have two more players for this game. Elspeth could join us. Or possibly Alban.’

‘She may not want to play,’ he pointed out. ‘And Alban has his duties to attend.’

‘Well, we can offer.’ She felt badly that the older woman had been required to traipse around the castle grounds and now had to sit in a chair.

‘She’s as deaf as a fence post. And I’m no’ in the mood to be shouting.’

‘You needn’t be rude or insensitive,’ Frances countered. ‘She cannot help her inability to hear.’

‘She’s lucky to be employed,’ he muttered, and Frances pretended not to notice.

When the elderly woman arrived in the parlour, Lachlan motioned for Elspeth to sit on the far side of the room. She sank gratefully into a chair, leaning back. ‘Thank you, Locharr!’ she shouted.

Frances was taken aback by the woman’s bellowing, but she approached Elspeth. In a loud voice, she asked the maid, ‘Would you care to play whist?’

The woman shook her head and put her hand to her ear. ‘What was that?’ she bellowed.

‘Cards!’ Frances shouted in return. ‘Do you wish to play?’

Elspeth shook her head and waved her hand. ‘Nay, lass! But thankee!’

She nodded and stepped back. To Lachlan, she said, ‘I suppose if Elspeth has no wish to play, we’ll just lay out the other hands after I deal them.’

Frances dealt out the cards and sorted her hand. She arranged her cards, trying not to think of how close his legs were to hers. He was staring at his cards as if he didn’t like what he saw. The frown made his scar more defined, but instead of frightening her, it made him appear wild and untamed. His blue eyes narrowed a moment before he fixed his attention on her again. Was he trying to distract her by flirting? There was a slight smile playing at his mouth.

Frances took a deep breath and focused on her cards again. ‘I will take the hand across from me, and you do the same. That way we will keep taking turns, and neither of us has an advantage.’

‘Or we could lay the opposite hand down,’ he suggested.

‘If we do that, there won’t be any element of surprise. I’ll know what card you’ll play next, and I’ll know where the trump cards are.’ She thought a moment. ‘We could stand up and change chairs. That could be amusing.’

He looked doubtful and then shook his head. ‘We’ll stay where we are and switch hands.’

‘Very well.’ Frances examined her hand and was pleased that there were several trump cards. ‘I shall lead.’

With that, she laid down the ace of hearts. The laird countered by throwing away his lowest heart, giving her the trick. She claimed a second trick, but on the third, he trumped her.

‘This one is mine.’ His hand brushed against hers as he collected the cards. His touch was bold, and she tried not to think of what those hands could do to a woman.

Concentrate, Frances, she warned herself. He was trying to distract her so he could win.

As the game progressed, it soon became clear that Lachlan MacKinloch was quite competitive. He delighted in winning and grimaced at the lost tricks. They each won a game. In the corner, Elspeth was quietly snoring, her mouth open as she dozed. So much for a chaperon, Frances thought. And then she wondered if Lachlan had deliberately chosen the old woman for that reason.

‘Do you think you can win?’ he asked, his voice rough and deep. His expression taunted her, as if he held a secret.

‘I know I can. But you can give up, if you wish.’ Her last card was an ace. There was no doubt in her mind that she would take the game and his forfeit. She smiled at him.

‘I never give up.’ He tapped the card against the back of his hand. ‘Ladies first.’

Frances responded by laying down the ace, smiling broadly. ‘The game is mine.’ Triumph spread across her face, and she was glad of the victory.

And yet, the laird had a gleam in his eyes. With that, he laid down a two, the lowliest of cards—but it was the trump suit.

‘No!’ Frances expelled a groan and shook her head with exasperation. ‘I thought it had already been played. I must have miscounted.’

MacKinloch took the trick and leaned back in his chair, quite satisfied by the outcome. It made her wonder exactly what he wanted from her now. Her wicked brain conjured up the idea of him kissing her, though she knew the very idea was ridiculous. But she forced herself to ask, ‘Well, what is my forfeit? Is there something you need help with?’

He stood from the table and drew closer until he towered over her. ‘Oh, aye. There are a great many things I need help with.’

His voice was low and resonant, causing her mind to think of even more scandalous thoughts. But she pretended as if his request was ordinary. ‘What do you need, Locharr?’

Oh, heavens, her voice sounded breathless, as if she was glad that their chaperon was fast asleep. When the truth was, her nerves had gathered, causing her heart to pound rapidly.

‘I need you to come with me,’ he said.

Into a darkened corner where he would press her back, his warm mouth against her cheek? Her imagination went wild, and she tried to push back the scandalous visions in her mind.

Her face flamed, but she asked, ‘Locharr, what is it?’

MacKinloch finally said, ‘It’s a task that I loathe and despise, but it must be done. My father left the estate ledgers in a terrible state. For your forfeit, I want you to help me sort through the papers.’ With a wry smile, he added, ‘Afterwards, you’ll be wanting to flee back to London. It’s horrifying.’

Relief soared through her, and her expression turned sympathetic. ‘Of course, I will be glad to help you.’ Without thinking, she touched his hand with her own. His eyes darkened, but not with anger. No, there was a flash of heat that rose up, tempting her towards more. Frances snatched back her hand, feeling like an idiot.

She had been burned by temptation once before, and she had sworn never to let it happen again. The mistakes of her past would remain there. And no matter how handsome and strong this man was, she would never let down her guard for a single moment.

Her future depended on it.

Lachlan opened the door to the study, steeling himself for what lay ahead. Even after the past few years, it had become a Herculean task to sort through his father’s ledgers. He and his clansmen had loved Tavin, though the man was impossibly disorganised. The loss of their laird had left a hole in everyone’s lives.

Lachlan had shut himself away from everyone after his father’s death. Not only to heal from his wounds, but to come to terms with his guilt. He hadn’t saved Tavin’s life, and he blamed himself. But there was no choice except to move on. He intended to take care of the people and the estate, but first, he had to unravel where all the money had gone.

‘We forgot about Elspeth,’ Miss Goodson reminded him. ‘She’s still asleep in the parlour.’

He wouldn’t say that ‘forgot’ was the right word. Deliberately left behind, perhaps. ‘We won’t need her for this. And I’ll leave the door open, if it makes you feel better.’

Lachlan led her into the study, and Miss Goodson could hardly conceal her horror at the sight. ‘Dear God.’

Although the room had once been Lachlan’s favourite, with polished wooden panelling and rows of bookcases, there were papers on every surface. Stacks of ledgers remained on the large desk, while papers were stuffed inside books, stacked on the floor—even crammed behind a brass sconce upon the wall. He’d done his best to organise it as best he could. His father had saved every last scrap of paper, and Lachlan didn’t know which ones were necessary and which could be burned.

‘Oh, my,’ she breathed. ‘How long has it been like this?’

‘Two years,’ Lachlan answered. ‘When I first took my father’s place, there were papers so deep in places, they were up to my knees. At least I can see the floor now.’

‘Did he…keep everything?’

It certainly seemed that way, though he hadn’t known it at the time. ‘My father stopped recording the information in the ledgers some time ago. He simply kept the bills and wrote down the amounts on scraps of paper.’

‘And your mother simply allowed him to keep his books in this way?’ She appeared aghast at the idea, and Lachlan privately agreed with her. Tavin had clearly been in over his head. ‘Why did no one intervene?’

‘He kept the room locked,’ Lachlan answered. ‘I believe he was ashamed and wanted no one to know about it.’ And that was no surprise, for the study was a disaster. He felt slightly guilty that he had asked for her help in this, but then again, if the intent was to drive her away, this would do it.

Miss Goodson, however, didn’t seem deterred at all. Instead, she rolled up her sleeves and let out a slow breath of air, turning over the problem in her mind. ‘Well, I suppose we should begin by sorting the papers by date.’

‘Not all of them are dated,’ he pointed out.

‘Then we shall make a stack of those papers with no date and see if we can’t make sense of them, in time.’ She paused a moment. ‘When was the last time he used a ledger to record anything at all?’

‘1802.’

Miss Goodson blinked at that. Unfortunately, they were looking through at least eight years of papers. There was no way around it, except to go piece by piece.

‘All right.’ She steadied herself a moment and said, ‘I suggest that we purchase eight ledgers. One for each year. We can sort the papers and put them inside the ledgers to be recorded later. What do you think?’

‘I’ve already begun sorting them by year. This is 1803.’ He pointed towards the stack of papers on the floor beside the desk. ‘And this is 1804.’ He gestured at the brass sconce. It was the best semblance of order he could achieve amid the chaos.

‘Where is the pile left to be sorted?’ she enquired. He didn’t miss the slight note of alarm in her tone.

‘In the bookcase. Behind portraits. Inside every possible hiding place you’d imagine.’

Her complexion turned sickly at his statement. ‘Oh, dear.’

‘Aye. I won’t be asking you to sort all of it. We’ll try it for an hour. That will be forfeit enough.’

Even so, he intended to speak with Alban about the extra ledgers. It was a good idea, and it would make it easier to organise the materials. The truth was, he’d been avoiding this task. A part of him thought it would be just as easy to lock the door and walk away. But he had to learn how Tavin had lost so much money over the years.

‘Shall I begin gathering the papers?’ Miss Goodson suggested. ‘I could go through the bookcase and find them. Since you already know where your stacks are, you could put them where they belong.’

Lachlan shrugged. ‘If you like.’ It was as good a place to start as any. He took three pages and placed one behind the sconce and a second on the pile for 1808.

Miss Goodson glanced outside. ‘What time is it, Locharr?’

He flipped open his pocket watch and answered, ‘It’s half past three.’ He didn’t know why she had asked, but he supposed it was growing later in the day.

‘Should I ring for tea to be served here?’

‘Aye. If you’re hungry.’ Now that she mentioned it, food did sound good right now.

She rang for Alban, and Lachlan ordered sandwiches and tea for her to drink, though he personally would have preferred whisky. Miss Goodson pulled out a slim volume from the bookshelf and found it stuffed with papers. Her eyes narrowed at his father’s handwriting, but she managed to find a date. ‘This one is 1805.’ She passed it to him, and he stacked it beside the window.

They found a rhythm of working together that was effective. Miss Goodson went through the papers, calling out each date before she passed it to him. One date was particularly difficult, and she squinted. ‘I’m terribly sorry, but I have no idea what these numbers are.’ She held it out and he studied it closely with no luck.

‘I’m thinking he was half-tippled when he wrote it.’ But he placed it in the 1806 pile nonetheless.

‘One might need to be deep in his cups to make sense of all this,’ she muttered beneath her breath.

Lachlan hid a smile at that. ‘In an hour, we can have a wee nip, if you’re wanting something.’

‘No, thank you.’ Her lips pursed together in the manner of a prim governess, and he rather wondered what she would be like with her hair loosened around her shoulders, her mouth softened.

When Alban arrived with the tea, Lachlan directed him to put the refreshments on the table by the window. Before the footman could leave, Miss Goodson cleared her throat.

‘Pardon me, Locharr, but do you think Alban could acquire the ledgers you need to sort through all of your father’s papers?’

The elderly footman turned back with a pained look. ‘How many would you be wanting, do you think?’ His gaze passed over the papers as if he wanted to set them on fire.

‘I should think that eight would be sufficient, don’t you?’ She looked back at him for confirmation.

Lachlan only shrugged. ‘It doesna matter to me. Bring eight, and if we’re needing more, I’ll send for them.’

Miss Goodson brightened at his support. ‘Good. That will help you put away what you’ve already sorted.’ Once the footman had departed, she tucked a wayward curl behind one ear.

‘Eat,’ he commanded. ‘You could stand to be fattened up a bit.’

She gaped and then said, ‘Please don’t speak to a lady about her figure, Locharr. If you mean to offer a sandwich, then do so, but say nothing about fattening her up. I am not a pig about to be roasted for supper.’

He knew that, but he hadn’t been able to resist teasing her. With a shrug, he said, ‘I meant no harm.’ He’d only wanted to watch her indignant reaction. Her cheeks flushed, and when she corrected him, she tended to straighten her shoulders, revealing the outline of her bosom.

Miss Goodson walked towards the window and picked up the plate. ‘Well, be that as it may, it is easy enough to simply offer a sandwich.’

He took one and devoured it with a single bite. Aye, he knew it was barbaric, but he was enjoying tweaking her. ‘It’s no’ bad. Ye should try one.’

She raised an eyebrow at him, and her expression turned into that of a prim schoolteacher. ‘Were you a difficult boy in school?’

‘Very. My friends and I were always avoiding our classes.’ He expected her to chastise him, but there was a gleam in her eyes as if she thought it an adventure instead.

‘I suppose your teachers grew frustrated,’ she teased. ‘You are quite a challenge. But I believe I can succeed in helping you, Locharr.’

‘Why?’ He set down the plate, deliberately wanting to challenge her. ‘Are you forgetting that you’re no’ my governess, Miss Goodson? And that you’re leaving tomorrow?’

Her expression dimmed at that. ‘I haven’t forgotten. But I want to help you as much as I am able, in whatever time I have remaining.’

‘Because you believe you can change my mind about keeping you here?’ He reached for another sandwich. ‘It willna happen. The last thing I need is someone telling me what to do and how to do it.’

Her face flushed, and she didn’t move. Those river-green eyes turned the colour of a storm cloud. ‘That wasn’t my intention.’

Oh, but it was. And he wanted to be quite clear that he would not allow her to give him commands.

‘You’re no’ going to stay,’ he responded. ‘No matter what you say or do.’

‘We’ll see about that.’ Her challenge brightened those cheeks, and she glared at him. It intrigued him further, and he wondered if she would keep her temper.

‘Are you wanting a sandwich, Miss Goodson?’ he asked. He deliberately spoke with exaggerated politeness as he pressed the bread to her mouth.

The colour deepened in her face, and she turned away. ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘I am.’ He took the sandwich and ate half in a single bite. Miss Goodson’s expression appeared pained, but she did not correct him.

‘Do you want the other half?’ He held it out, knowing that she wanted to say something. But she didn’t dare, knowing how that her place was tenuous.

Instead, she turned her attention to another distraction, and she poured a cup of tea for each of them. ‘Do you take milk or sugar in your tea?’

‘You’re ignoring my question, aren’t you?’

She gave no acknowledgment but held out the cup. ‘Take a small sip. If you don’t care for the taste, I will add milk or sugar, however you please.’

‘I take whisky,’ he answered. ‘Without the tea.’

She eyed him and then said, ‘Let me fix it for you.’ He handed the cup back, and she added milk and a few nips of sugar, stirring it. ‘Try it now.’

‘I’ve never liked tea,’ he told her. ‘It’s hardly more than boiled water.’ He took a small taste. It still reminded him of water, only it was sweeter now. ‘Is that how you take your tea?’

She nodded. Then, with a faint smile, she admitted, ‘I don’t really like tea, either. But I can tolerate it this way, if I must.’

He set it aside and suggested, ‘You should try whisky. At least if you dinna care for the taste, you won’t remember that after a few glasses.’

She bit her lip. ‘I will keep that in mind.’

He knew he was baiting her, but at least she wasn’t being so priggish now. He mimicked a proper voice again. ‘Are you certain you don’t want a sandwich, Miss Goodson?’

A mischievous gleam caught her eye. ‘I believe I’ve changed my mind. Thank you.’ He handed her the plate, and she stuffed the entire sandwich in her mouth, puffing out her cheeks as she did.

An unexpected burst of laughter caught him, but he suppressed it, coughing instead. His governess was shaking with her own mirth as she tried to chew. When she finally swallowed, she was still beaming. ‘That’s what you looked like, Locharr. Trust me when I say it would not be attractive to Lady Regina.’

When she stopped laughing, he offered her a napkin, and their fingers brushed together.

She froze instantly at his touch. The look on her face was of a woman caught in an illicit embrace, and she took the napkin before she jerked her hand back. Her cheeks flushed, and Lachlan wondered if she had ever had a suitor. Had a man ever kissed those full lips, tangling his hands in her curls?

For a moment, he found himself wanting to push back her boundaries and discover if there was any wildness beneath the propriety of his governess. He gritted his teeth to force back the flare of unexpected need.

‘Please don’t touch me,’ she whispered, her face flaming.

He shrugged and lied. ‘You had a few crumbs on your face. I didna think you’d want to be walking about with them.’

Her shoulders lowered in relief. ‘Oh. Well, if that happens again, simply tell me and I’ll get my own napkin.’

Miss Goodson dabbed at her mouth and cheeks. He noticed that she was staring at him, and he couldn’t think why.

‘Have I crumbs on my face, then?’ he asked.

She shook her head. Her gaze passed over his clothing, and she winced slightly. He saw naught wrong with his tartan, but it bothered her in some way. For a moment, he saw her pondering him, her eyes studying him as if she didn’t quite know how to broach the subject troubling her.

Then at last, Miss Goodson asked, ‘When was the last time you were in London, Locharr?’ She reached for another sheet of paper under her chair and read aloud, ‘1807.’

He took the paper and filed it with the others. ‘It’s been nearly four years since I’ve travelled there. I had no wish to go.’

‘Are you not required to take your seat in Parliament?’

‘My father was no’ one of the landowners who had a seat, by the grace of God.’ He was thankful for that, for he had no wish to be part of government.

Lachlan sat back for a moment, still aware that she was stealing glances at him while pretending to search for more papers. Was she concerned about his scar? After the fire, he rarely looked at himself any more. He knew it could frighten Lady Regina, but there was naught he could do about it. Or was there another reason Miss Goodson was staring?

She handed him two more papers. ‘These are 1804.’ Then she bit her lip and blurted out, ‘Whether or not you allow me to stay, there is one thing you ought to consider.’

He waited for her to finish, and she added, ‘Before you travel to London, we should have you fitted for new clothing. Do you have a tailor you prefer?’

Lachlan frowned at that. He had no need of new clothes. What he had suited him well enough. ‘Nay, I am fine as I am.’

‘You cannot wear such clothing in London.’

‘Why not?’ He needed to save his coins, not spend them on wasteful attire.

‘Because it will draw too much attention to you. It’s quite different from what the other gentlemen wear.’

He knew that, but he hardly cared about what anyone else thought. The last time he’d been in London, he had remained out of the public eye, as a guest in the Worthingstone household. They hadn’t cared what he wore, and it bothered him to think that he would be judged on his attire.

The truth was, he saw no reason to spend money on himself. He had no right to worry about clothes—not when his people could go hungry this winter because of his father’s debts. And it wasn’t as if he intended to hide his Scottish heritage. What did it matter if he wore a tartan to a gathering?

Miss Goodson’s expression turned soft with sympathy. ‘Some of the men will be unkind to you, because you are courting Lady Regina. They will look for any excuse to make you into a laughingstock. I don’t want that to happen.’

Lachlan shrugged. He squeezed his fists together and said, ‘Then I’ll be having words with them. What I wear is my business.’

‘You’re wrong.’ She stiffened and lifted her chin. ‘In Scotland, I suppose your tartan is common enough. But for a shy lady such as Regina, you must try to blend in among the other gentlemen.’

Why should he care about that? Lachlan crossed his arms and glared at her. ‘I’m no’ going to blend in. I am a Scot, and there’s nae need for me to pretend to be anything else.’ He was already taller and stronger than most men. Blending in was impossible, given his size—or even the vicious scar on his cheek.

Miss Goodson’s face softened with sympathy. ‘Forgive me. I was not implying that you should try to be someone you’re not. It’s only that, Lady Regina is very shy, and she may feel uncomfortable if everyone is…staring at you.’

He shielded his thoughts, for her opinion was clear. She did not like his clothing at all, and it irritated him to think that he would have to be fitted for attire he wouldn’t need. He had better ways of spending that money.

Miss Goodson offered, ‘I can send for a tailor to take your measurements. It shouldn’t take more than a week or two to have an appropriate wardrobe.’

‘I see no reason for spending good coins when I already own clothes.’ He set down another paper and leaned back. ‘It seems you’re wanting me to spend money I canna spare in order to wear what the other gentlemen do.’

‘As you’ve said, there are twenty thousand pounds at stake. Is that not worth a new jacket and breeches, if it means winning Lady Regina’s hand in marriage?’

He hesitated, pondering the matter. She did have a good point that there was a great deal to consider. It wasn’t worth the risk of displeasing Lady Regina over something as trivial as clothing.

‘Try it,’ she insisted. ‘I will hire a tailor, and you need only buy one set of clothes. Consider it an investment.’

He set down the papers and regarded Miss Goodson with all seriousness. ‘It may be an investment, but once I have wedded Lady Regina, she must accept my family’s traditions. I wear the tartan to show my clan that I will support them until the day I die. She must ken that and accept it.’

Miss Goodson smiled. ‘Of course. But know that when you go to London, you are also supporting your clan. You are winning a wealthy heiress as your wife and bringing back twenty thousand pounds to them.’ She took a step closer and pleaded, ‘Set aside your pride for a few weeks, and Lady Regina will not mind if you wear the tartan when you return home.’

The laird drew closer, and Frances tried to calm the stutter of her heartbeat. His masculine scent reminded her of pine trees and rain. Careful, she warned herself. She was on borrowed time as the laird’s governess, and she could not let her admiration lead her down the wrong path. Even so, her heartbeat only quickened at his nearness.

‘Was there something else you wanted, Locharr?’

‘Aye.’ He took another step closer, causing her to lean back to look at him. ‘There was indeed something I wanted.’

Her brain turned into cotton while her pulse pounded beneath her skin. ‘W-what was it?’ Her face was burning as her imagination conjured up the vision of him pressing her against the bookshelves, kissing her until she could no longer stand. And she had no doubt that his husky innuendo had been spoken on purpose, simply to ruffle her feathers.

A slow smile curved across his mouth. ‘I’m wanting more food.’

Oh, he was enjoying this, wasn’t he? She knew he had teased her to get under her skin. And yet, for a moment, his eyes had stared at her as if he desired her. The very thought unravelled her composure, and she struggled to shore up her weakening defences.

As a distraction, Frances chose a slice of bread, delicately smearing it with raspberry jam. ‘H-here you are.’ She held it out to him, well aware that for a man of his size, there wasn’t nearly enough food on the tray. He could have devoured everything by himself.

The laird broke off a piece and ate it. Frances tried not to stare, but as she watched him, she grew transfixed by the sight of his mouth.

Stop it, she warned herself. Right now, she ought to knock her head against the wall if that would bring back common sense. She already knew what would happen if she let a handsome man turn her head. It would only result in heartache.

Locharr reached for another slice of bread and this time broke off a small piece before he buttered it. ‘What would you have chosen as your forfeit, if you’d won the game?’

‘Dancing,’ she confessed. ‘It is a necessary skill that you must learn, whether you want to or not.’

He suppressed a grimace. ‘I ken how to dance. I’ve no need for instruction.’

She wondered if he felt clumsy or awkward. Or worse, if anyone had ever teased him. ‘If you are engaged to Lady Regina, dancing will be expected of you.’

‘I dinna care what they expect.’

‘No, but it will make it easier on her if you behave as other gentlemen do.’ Frances took a sip of the tea she didn’t want and studied him, her mood softening. ‘In time, she may even fall in love with you.’

‘Love isna necessary,’ he pointed out.

‘No, but it will convince her to marry you. If a woman loves a man, she is glad to follow him anywhere.’ Once, she had been willing to do just that. A bitter pain caught her heart, and she locked it away.

The expression on his face was knowing, but he didn’t ask. She had come to Scotland to forget the past, and there was no sense in talking over matters that were over and done with. The price had been paid ten times over for her folly, and she found it easier to bury the devastating memories.

‘Did you ever love someone?’ he asked quietly.

The air in the room seemed to grow stifling, and she felt a tightness expand in her chest. Yes, she had loved someone, more than life itself. Emotion gathered up inside her, threatening to spill into tears. But she held it back and answered, ‘A long time ago I did. But it’s over now.’ She had no desire to even think of the past, much less converse about it. Instead, she rang for Alban to take the tray away.

‘Locharr, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take a walk around the grounds. By myself, that is.’

‘Are you wanting an escort?’

‘No, I will remain in the gardens for a time, that’s all. I don’t think any of your servants will harm me, and I will be visible from the windows, should I need help.’ She had met his staff and thus far, she felt quite safe.

‘I must caution you about London, though. Do not ever be alone with a young lady at a gathering without a suitable chaperon,’ she warned. ‘You would be forced to wed her.’ He might know that already, but she felt compelled to warn him.

‘And what of Lady Regina?’ he suggested. ‘Is that no’ the point? Her father wishes us to marry.’

‘True, but she would be ruined in the sight of her friends and would resent you for it.’ Frances knew from personal experience, exactly what that was like. Even now, years later, it still stung to realise that her friends had turned their backs on her. Which meant they had never truly been her friends.

She stood as Alban entered the study. The footman cleared away the tray, and the laird waited until the man had gone before he spoke.

‘You may go, Miss Goodson.’ He escorted her from the study and closed the door behind them. Frances was quite happy to leave the papers behind. ‘Thank you for your help this afternoon.’

‘You’re welcome.’ She added, ‘And…if I am being overbearing, please forgive me. I mean only to help you win the heart of Lady Regina.’

The laird accompanied her as they walked down the hallway. ‘Good day, Miss Goodson. Be sure to pack your belongings. The coach will be here in the morning.’

Not likely, if Alban managed to delay it.

But she shrugged as if it were inevitable. ‘There are still some etiquette rules we can discuss tonight at supper.’

‘Because if I don’t use the right fork, Lady Regina willna marry me, is that it?’ His dry sarcasm and roguish expression made her knees turn liquid. It made her imagine his handsome face leaning in closer to steal a kiss.

Have you no shame? she warned herself. Your imagination has gone wanton.

‘Or the proper spoon,’ she shot back with her own insolence. ‘One never knows the importance of cutlery.’

She flushed at his nearness, realising that it was her loneliness that caused the idle dreams. She had trained at the agency for a year, surrounded only by women. She had lived alone, without so much as a cat for company. This was the reason why she was so sensitive to a casual touch. It would go away, she was certain.

‘Would you mind very much if I asked Alban for a basket and shears?’ she enquired. ‘Could I choose some flowers for the house?’ A good walk would clear her head and remind her of her purpose.

‘There’s naught blooming just now, but you can ask him, if you wish.’

‘Thank you, Locharr.’ She bobbed a slight curtsy and then hurried down the hall towards the retreating footman. It was only an excuse to leave, and they both knew it.

She needed to be careful when she was around Lachlan MacKinloch. He was a handsome man with a fierce smile that made her willpower crumble. Frances reminded herself that she needed to encase her heart in steel and lock it away, along with her wayward desires. He belonged to another woman, and even if he did keep her as his governess, it was only temporary. Eventually, she would never see him again.