“You told m—”
“Someone—I—had to look after those lads. And so I decided no lass in the world would make me ferget my duty or lose my damned heart. A bit of fun fer a night, aye, but nae more than that. I couldnae—wouldnae—risk getting twisted up with a female as long as one of those bairns still needed me. Now do ye ken?”
Her hands had lowered from her hips, and instead she reached for him, then apparently decided against it as she lowered her arms again. “No, I don’t. Because you keep suggesting I stay, when y—”
“I dunnae ken, either!” he exploded. “Because from the first second I set eyes on ye, all I’ve wanted to do is hold ye in my arms and keep ye there. Ye’ve blasted away all the oaths I swore to myself, and I dunnae even care. But it doesnae signify, because allyewant to do is go back to London and pretend those bloody blue bloods want anything to do with ye, when ye already know they couldnae care less if ye live or die.”
With that he strode for the door, stooped to pick up his boots, and left his bedchamber. He wouldn’t have to worry about his heart now, at least, because she’d likely never want to look at him again. And that would be a good thing. It would damned well make his life less complicated.
Now, though, he needed to figure a safe way for her to get past Hamish Paulk and up to Lattimer. She wouldn’t be safe anywhere on the road in between, especially if someone noted the crest on her coach as she drove away.
But it would have to be soon, because he wasn’t certain how long he could tolerate her being under his roof but not in his arms. He didn’t like irony. Not when the bastard did things like this—make him want to marry her when he didn’t much respect the life she’d chosen for herself, and make him want to send her away when he’d begun to adore her.
***
“Come in, Mrs. Giswell,” Marjorie called, as the knock sounded at her door.
Her companion walked in, made a clucking sound, and immediately shut the door behind her again. “You shouldn’t be standing half naked in here with the door unlocked, my lady,” she chastised. “Any of these madmen could stomp in, and then where would we be?”
“I have five buttons undone,” Marjorie countered, eyeing herself in the small, cracked dressing mirror. “Up my back. That’s hardly half naked.”
“Just because we’re in the company of heathens doesn’t mean we should fall into their heathen ways.”
Arguing with the woman would only earn her a tired tongue. And she’d done enough arguing already today, anyway. “Of course you’re correct, Mrs. Giswell. Will you please button me?”
“This is the gown you altered, isn’t it?” the older woman observed, moving up to fasten the gown. “That rose brings out your color. And the green pelisse is very fashionable, despite its age. It’s very lovely, Lady Marjorie. Well done.”
“Thank you.” She’d chosen the gown from one of the chests in the attic, and then intentionally kept the alterations and progress to herself so she could surprise Graeme with the final result today. Now it seemed rather silly, and he likely wouldn’t be sparing her a second glance, anyway.
If she was supposed to be flattered when a man pushed her awaybecausehe liked her, she’d missed that lesson. He took risks in his life all the time, but apparently he remained unwilling to take this one.
“Are you certain you shouldn’t be wearing something plainer today, however?” Mrs. Giswell went on. “I wouldn’t mind if we were to be recognized and rescued, of course, but it’s far more likely one of these burly fellows will be overcome with desire at the sight of you, sling you over his shoulder, and carry you off to his stone and moss hut to ravage you.”
That made Marjorie grin. “You’ve thought that scenario through very thoroughly,” she said, trying to hide her amusement behind her hand.
“Well, it could happen just as easily to me as to you, Lady Marjorie.”
“Ree, please. Remember, I’m your—”
“Niece. Yes. And you should be calling me Aunt Hortensia, then, at least in front of the cotters and villagers. Though I still think it would be wiser to remain inside.”
“I want to see the fair. I attended one on a school holiday in Derbyshire once, and I remember it being quite fun. I imagine this one will be even more so. I’ve never celebrated Samhain.”
“A heathen ceremony for heathens.” She sighed. “At least you’ll have Lord Maxton to keep watch over you. I have no idea how he manages to keep his attention on everyone at once, but he does.”
“My goodness. That sounded very nearly like a compliment.”
Her faux aunt grimaced. “Well, perhaps he’s part wolf, or wildcat.”
“Lion,” Marjorie countered absently. She didn’t like what he’d said this morning. He was a man with a clan—or a section of one, anyway—and so he needed stability. As far as she knew, the best way to achieve that was through marriage and children. He shouldn’t be denying himself that, whether it was with her or someone else. His brothers had his affection and love, clearly. It made no sense to deny that affection to someone else simply because it might hurt later, no matter what example his father had set.
He’d sworn some oath never to fall in love? In some ways she understood and sympathized with his reasoning, but then… Goodness. First to hear that he liked her, that he wanted her to remain here, and then to listen to all the horrid things he had to say about her return to London—it felt deliberate and mean-spirited. He’d made an oath, but so had she. And hers included being in London and being accepted by all those people who’d never deigned to look at her before three months ago. How dare he ridicule her for holding her course just because he’d… faltered in his?
“Lady Marjorie?”
She jumped. “Mrs.—Aunt Hortensia. I apologize. I forgot you were there.”
“Is something troubling you?”
