Christian eyed the young woman carefully. With her upper-crust English accent and haughty airs, there was little chance she was truly a servant, despite her clothing. She was telling the truth. At least part of it. The Earl of Highfielddidhave a hunting lodge near here. The two men had hunted together on more than one occasion through the years. And Highfield had a family he’d never brought with him to Scotland. Christian seemed to recall him mentioning a daughter who would be about this woman’s age. He couldn’t recall if her name was Sarah, but he’d met the countess in London a time or two, and while she was nowhere near as gorgeous as her daughter, there was certainly a resemblance. Yes, Christian had no doubt that Highfield’s daughter was standing in front of him right now. She was telling the truth about that. But he wasn’t through questioning her yet.
He narrowed his eyes on her. “Why didn’t you leave my house when you discovered your mistake?”
“We did,” she replied. “But we got lost in the forest and it was getting dark, so we came back to spend just one night. We met Mr. Fergus and he kindly offered to show us the way the next morning.”
“But?”
Color continued to ride high in her cheeks. “But on the way back into the house, Mrs. Goatsocks tripped over a branch hidden in the snow and twisted her ankle and—”
“Fergus took her to town while you remained here?” Christian finished for her.
She nodded. “He said the only doctor nearby was the one in town. I’m sorry for the trouble, Mr.… What is your surname?”
“Forester. Christian Forester at your service.” He bowed at the waist to her. He never went by his title in Scotland, and he’d already decided he wasn’t going to inform this chit that he was a viscount. She’d made it clear how impressed she was by such things, going on as she had about her own title. He didn’t want to impress her.
“Mr. Fergus wasn’t entirely certain when you’d be arriving,” she continued.
“You weren’t expecting me?” he drawled.
“No.” She shook her head this time. “I’m sorry about the sword.” She looked so contrite and innocent that Christian chuckled.
He didn’t, however, know what sort of trouble she was in, and given that she was a young lady who’d obviously recently made her debut, he could only guess that the trouble involved a man. Lady Sarah here just might be carrying some London blue blood’s by-blow. He eyed her up and down again. He certainly couldn’t fault the chap for not wanting to wait till the wedding night. The woman would tempt a saint, and Christian should know. He was practically a saint given the state of his own years-long self-induced celibacy. But there would be time to talk about her circumstances later. She was obviously frightened, and given her confession, she might well be in the family way. He felt a bit sorry for her, really. He might be tired and hungry and put out, but he hadn’t been raised to be churlish or unkind.
He took a deep breath. “What say we start again? Good evening, I’m Christian Forester. Welcome to my home.” He pushed himself off the door and bowed.
When she smiled, relief made her crystalline eyes sparkle. “Thank you, Mr. Forester. I’m Lady Sarah Highgate.” She lifted her drab skirts and executed a perfect courtroom curtsy.
“I take it you are responsible for the stew pot on the stove?” he asked.
She nodded hesitantly. “Yes.”
He quirked his lips again at that. “Does it taste any good? I am famished.”
“I don’t know,” she admitted with a grin that Christian could only categorize as sheepish.
“Do you care to find out?” he asked. “At the moment I’d be willing to eat my own glove if it were properly seasoned.”
“I’m game if you are.” She smiled at him sweetly.
“Good.” He stepped forward and offered her his arm. She threaded her arm through his and they turned and made their way into the corridor.
Christian kept his eyes trained ahead, but if she’d bothered to glance up, she would have seen the half smile still planted firmly on his lips. “While we eat, Lady Sarah, you can tell me all about why you ran away.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Once they made it to the kitchen, Sarah hurried over to the cabinets and pulled out two bowls and two spoons. Christian raised his brows at the speed with which she went about busily preparing the meal. She’d obviously made herself right at home. She seemed to know where everything was, including the peppercorn, which she shook from a small glass bottle that she produced from the back of a cabinet.
“I didn’t even realize Iownedpeppercorn,” he announced with a friendly smile.
“Apparently you do. Peppercorn and salt and sage, too. Mrs. Goatsocks refused to leave with Mr. Fergus until she’d inspected the cupboards and ensured I wouldn’t starve while she was gone.”
“And how does the daughter of an earl know how to cook?”
“Oh, uh, er, Mrs. Goatsocks… left me instructions.”
He eyed her carefully, wondering at her hesitation. “Well, if the smell is anything to go by, her instructions must have been perfect and your execution flawless.”
“Wait until you try it,” she said. “But I must make the biscuits before we eat.”
