Chapter 6
Two days later,Greyson paced the drawing room at Kettle House. Spotlessly clean, the austere room served as a private sanctum for Irwin Russell, his Samhain beauty’s uncle. The chamber reflected everything he’d heard about the man, offering little comforts. Bookshelves lined one wall, but the tomes displayed were either religious or appeared so dry Greyson doubted anyone ever reached for them. A cold draft leaked through the window seams, but the armchairs lacked knee blankets to ward off thechill.
The air smelled of beeswax and cherry pipe smoke, the latter bringing a twitch to Greyson’slips.
At least Mr. Russell allowed himself onepleasure.
Nae, that wasn’t quitetrue.
There was a low-burning fire, though the peats were not stacked generously enough to properly warm the room. He also noted whisky and tumblers on a nearby table. Without doubt, he’d soon be offered a dram, and the gods knew he neededone.
He was tempted to help himselfnow.
But he could hear footsteps approaching and even if his visit might have Mr. and Mrs. Russell viewing him as a barbarian, he did have somecivility.
He’dwait.
He’d been shown a great courtesy when his wish had been granted to speak with the couple in privacy, away from prying eyes and equally longears.
Kettle House was often crowded, the number of daily soup-takers said to sometimes reach such great numbers that extra tables were set up in the passage outside the kitchen. By fair weather, such additional seating was placed before the house and even, according to his sources, in the tiny backgarden.
If his visit did not go as planned, he did not want Miss Raines to suffer because some less than discreet soul overheard his discussion with herfamily.
His adventures had taught him not to press his luck. So he drew a deep a breath, turned to the half-open door, and braced himself to do what hemust…
Stand firm for the lass, interfering in matters that didn’t concernhim.
Or didthey?
Was this why he’d felt so compelled to search for her? Was it mere duty, spurred by his guilt for having kissed her? On the thought, he did feel a pang of remorse. Regrettably, not because he’d ravished her. Deep in his heart of hearts, he wasn’t sorry for the kiss. Indeed, he wanted more of her, doubted he could ever have enough of her. And not just for her delectable curves and rose of summer scent, but for herspirit.
Something told him that she could also make him laugh, given thechance.
That, too, was a potentappeal.
He could not even recall the last time he’d laughed. But that also wasn’t quite true. She’d delighted him on the beach at Stony Bay. Leastways she had until he’d learned the sad reason for her stick-throwing. The even greater sorrow of her personal loss, an outrage and tragedy that made him want to find whoever had hurt her and beat the manbloody.
In the days of his ancestors, he’d have done more. Under other circumstances, he couldnow.
Alas, he wasn’t here to claimher.
He’d come to set herfree.
An endeavor he couldn’t believe he meant to attempt, having kept to his own business for so long. Yet here he stood and so he’d address her need, truthfully and unvarnished. If he didn’t, he’d not have a good night’s sleep everagain.
Not that his slumber, or lack thereof, troubledhim.
There were times when honor mattered above allelse.
Nae, a man should always handle with honor. He’d simply forgotten his when he’d pulled her to him so fiercely, keeping her in his arms and kissing her deeply, even after the clutch of women had scurried away down the kirkyardpath.
Even then, he’d not let her go. How could he? He’d found himself smitten, there in the midst of cold and mossy tombs, chill night mist and ghost lovers that hadn’t beenthere.
He had been there, and so had she. A combination that stole his wits. Indeed, if he could turn back time and relive their encounter, he’d do thesame.
But now, this night, he’d makeamends.
“Mr. Merrick…” The Russells entered the room, the wife greeting him as her husband came forward to grasp his hand, a waft of cherry pipe smoke swirling aroundhim.
