“Ye want to be seen as grand, then.”
“Gabriel—my brother—saw to it that I received the best education an army officer could afford. I learned all the same things the daughters of marquises and earls did, and then I spent three years in the spare rooms of some fine gentry houses, and I joined some wellborn ladies on their shopping trips to Bond Street or when they took the waters in Bath. I ran their errands and fluffed their pillows, and listened to them complain about ungrateful relations and how much they used to love to dance, and they paid me for it. Until Gabriel called on me that day, I thought I’d seen what the entire rest of my life would look like. And I didn’t care for it.”
“I can understand that,” he said quietly. “Ye’ve spirit, lass. Ye werenae made to spoon-feed soup to old women.”
“Well, I don’t have to do that any longer. The—”
Small footsteps pounded up the hallway. With a curse, Graeme rolled Marjorie off the far side of the bed onto her gown and slid beneath his blanket just as Connell flew into the room.
“Brendan says he’s going to enter the archery competition at the fair,” his youngest brother announced, clambering onto the edge of the bed. “What competition should I enter?”
Graeme tried to angle his thoughts away from the lovely naked lass just out of sight on the floor. The lass who was turning out to be nothing like he’d expected. “There’s to be a pie-eating contest. Ye could enter that.”
“Nae. If Rob the blacksmith competes, I’m likely to get eaten along with all the pies.”
Laughing, Graeme tousled the lad’s red hair. “Ye make a fair point. How aboot a foot race?”
Connell cocked his head. “A foot race fer everyone? Because Dùghlas has longer legs than me.”
“So ye want a contest ye’re certain to win, do ye?”
“Well, that would be brilliant, I ken.”
“I reckon so. And I also reckon ye’ll be more pleased to earn what ye get. So two foot races. One fer lads under… ten years old, say, and one fer the older lads.”
His younger brother grimaced. “Ye should make it under thirteen years old, then. Because Jamie Howard’s wee, but he’s twelve, and he’d nae have a chance otherwise.”
Graeme smiled at him. Every once in a while he could believe that he’d done something… proper in raising his brothers. This felt like one of those times. “And that, duckling,” he said aloud, “is one of the many reasons I’m proud to be yerbràthair.Now, go away and pester Mrs. Woring in the kitchen. I’ll be doon shortly. And shut the door.”
With a backward wave Connell scampered off, doing as he’d been asked. As soon as the door clicked shut, Graeme rolled onto his stomach to peer over the edge of the bed. Marjorie, Lady Marjorie, lay there on her back with his kilt covering her most intimate bits, a grin on her soft lips.
“My sincere apologies aboot that,” he said, holding down an arm to help her up. “I generally lock my door when I dunnae want company, but ye surprised me a bit.”
“Mm-hm.”
As she stood, handing over his kilt as she did so, he noted that he liked seeing her in Maxwell plaid. The thought startled him to his bones, but after a stunned moment he realized it didn’t signify. He wouldn’t be marrying her. And what she most wanted was to be in London and have her damned pointy-nosed neighbors wish her good morning. And that was one thing he could never give her even in his wildest, maddest dreams—especially considering that he’d been the one to take away any chance she might have had at seeing it happen. And now he’d done it twice over.
“I still want Mrs. Giswell out of that shackle,” she stated, digging her shift out of the pile of clothes on the floor and pulling it on.
“Only if ye convince me that ye’ve convinced her to follow my rules,” he returned. “I’ll nae have her roaming aboot whispering that she’s been kidnapped and offering a huge reward to whoever sends fer Lattimer.”
“And what about me?”
He looked at her standing beside the bed, the light from the low fire outlining the edges of her shift in red, an ancient Celtic goddess come to life. That, despite the fact that she was English. Or perhaps he’d lost his mind; he hadn’t slept in better than a day, after all.
“Ye’re nae leaving. Nae with Hamish Paulk so close by here. Ye can interpret that however ye please.” Aside from the politics and the danger to his family, once she left he would never see her again. And so he wasn’t prepared to allow her to go. Not yet, and not after this morning.
For a moment she regarded him, her gaze thoughtful. “Just keep in mind, Graeme, Laird Maxton, that my location may not always be up to you.”
“I will. I’ll also keep in mind that ye said ye were surprising yer brother with this visit of yers. Lattimer’s nae expecting ye, and he doesnae know ye’re missing.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I said that when we—when I—”
“Was it a lie, then?”
“No.”
“Then dunnae expect me to disregard it.”
