Beguiled (11 page)

That suited to perfection her unconventional ways.

He read the entire page, which contained an odd mix of occupations, and his confusion grew. “What is this?”

“ 'Tis a partial listing of people you and the children see on a regular basis. I should like to speak with each of them privately. Except your banker.” She toyed with the edge of the sling. “I know that Robert Carrick is trustworthy.”

That explained the dancing master's name on the list, and it also reminded Edward of why he'd asked her to come to the study. Strange that he should forget her intrusive actions. “How do you know my banker?”

“From Cameron Cunningham. He patronizes the establishment on occasion.”

Edward had known Cameron Cunningham for over five years. Employing patience, logical arguments, and well-placed bribes, Cunningham had convinced the king to rescind the ban on bagpipes and tartans. He was a true Scottish hero, and every Scot, above the Highland line and below, owed him a debt of gratitude. Today he owned a fleet of merchantmen, most of which had been built here in Glasgow. With Michael Elliot as the third partner, Edward and Cameron had established the first dependable China silk run out of Glasgow. Edward had adapted the machines in his mill to spin and weave the silk, and the profits were substantial.

But Cunningham had never mentioned Agnes MacKenzie. They were close in age and better than a decade younger than Edward. Agnes had mentioned Cameron, but Edward had forgotten the gist of the conversation. “How well do you know Cameron?” Edward asked.

She reached under the sling and scratched the wound. “I have sailed the world with him.” Paper rattled.

“You have?”

“With whom else would I travel, save a family friend?”

“He hasn't mentioned it to me.”

“Cameron is the very soul of discretion. His father and mine are longtime friends. He is also very close to one of my sisters.”

The subject had not come up between Cameron and Edward. And what, other than paper, did she conceal in that sling? “Which of your sisters?”

Lifting her chin, she looked him in the eye. “Virginia.”

The lost sister. The daughter believed dead by the duke of Ross. The source of the rift between Agnes and her father. Feeling an outsider in the volatile issue, Edward thought it best to let the uncomfortable subject pass.

As he glanced at the list, he again remembered her father's assurance that Hannah and Christopher would be safe under her guard. The word
others
at the bottom of the page confused him more. “Who are these unnamed others?”

“The nanny, Mrs. Borrowfield.”

Her disappearance from the church had worried Edward, for he feared she had fallen prey to the assassin. “Did Christopher tell you about her?”

“Only her name and that she barged into his room overmuch.”

“My son values his privacy. A lad will at his age.”

“My brother used to set traps for any who ventured into his private domain.” The joy of happy memories shone in her eyes. “A pot of coal dust perched over the door frame was his favorite.”

“How old is your father's heir?”

“Kenneth is Christopher's age.” She grew distracted. “Where is Mrs. Borrowfield, and why did she leave the ceremony in Edinburgh?”

“I do not know. After caring for you in the church, I returned with the children to the inn, but she'd left without a trace.”

“She took her belongings and nothing else?”

“Only what was hers, and no one at the inn saw her leave.”

“What of her belongings?”

“She hadn't many. She'd only been with us since March.”

“May I examine her reference?”

Edward found it in an undisturbed drawer in his desk. Lady Agnes read the letter, then held it up to the light. But she did not comment.

Her gaze slid to the basket. “I'd also like to talk to your mistress.”

He drew the line of propriety. “Nay.”

“You needn't worry that I'll tell tales, my lord. I'm only thinking about your safety and the children's well-being. I'd simply like to speak to your mistress and learn if her motives are pure.”

Edward laughed.

Agnes frowned.

Seeing her so discomfited pleased him. “Purity,” he replied, “is hardly a quality one seeks in a mistress.”

This time her maidenly blush had a different and decidedly physical effect on him. But before he could savor the yearning she inspired, she recovered her composure. “Enlighten me, my lord, as to your
standards
for choosing a mistress.”

Realizing she wanted to play, Edward stifled his desire and obliged the tantalizing minx. “A proper mistress must be agreeable.”

“Like a well-trained horse, my lord?”

Edward couldn't remember the last time he'd had so stimulating a conversation, especially with a woman who stirred his interest to dangerous levels. “A mistress should cater to the tastes of her provider.”

“Like a talented cook?”

Taste in food was a far cry from the delights he had in mind, but he couldn't bring himself to broach the vulgar. Instead, he decided to test the limits of her generosity. “Aye, would you care for bread?”

“Certainly. How kind of you to share the bounty.” With a surprisingly agile left hand, she tore off a piece of the bread and tasted it. “Delicious.”

Why had he expected jealousy or prejudice? Why was he disappointed for the lack of it?

Giving him a hum of satisfaction, she said, “Now that we've exhausted the expectations of that position . . .”

Choking with laughter, he pretended to cough.

“Do you or do you not wish to find this villain?”

She looked so flustered, he was forced to relent “Yes, and the magistrate has set about to do that.”

“You don't want my help?”

“I'd sooner let a bull loose in my laboratory than argue with you.” He turned up his palms in surrender. “With one exception, my life is yours to explore.”

“Good. Will you indulge me in a wee bit of Highland tradition?”

He'd probably indulge her in his own demise, so captivated was he by her. “Of course.”

From within the bulging sling she withdrew a napkin-size square of the MacKenzie tartan plaid. Pinned to the cloth was a smaller golden version of the MacKenzie clan badge. She moved to the firescreen and draped the colors and the symbol of her family over the damaged image of his family crest.

Edward felt off balance watching her perform the simple show of clanship. He'd heard of such pledges, but never had he witnessed one. Peace reigned among his kinsmen, and he spent his time as chieftain attending weddings, christenings, and funerals.

“This assures you of the resources and the sanctuary of Clan MacKenzie, should the need arise.”

She spoke as if he were the pupil and she the teacher instructing him on Scottish custom. The insult stung his pride. “I know its meaning.”

“I did not think—” She turned her back on him and stared out the window.

“What didn't you think? That as a Lowlander I am ignorant of the way pledges are put forth? Were the Highlands a day's ride from England, I doubt your people would be so smug.”

Her features sharpened. “I thought—” She stopped on a sigh. “ 'Twas not my intention to insult you.”

Even cloaked in polite words, the message was clear: Agnes MacKenzie would keep her own counsel when it suited her. He balked at being closed out, and words of challenge begged to be spoken. In a sentence he could strike their disagreement anew. Or he could learn something about her. “Trust comes hard by you, does it not?”

“In these time, aye.” She waved her unbound hand. “We have children in this house to protect.” Making a fist, she pounded the windowsill. “We have an enemy—an assassin—to rout.” Almost at a march, she moved toward him, her eyes glittering with confidence. “We cannot make light of what has happened or wish it away.”

“We? Speak for yourself.”

“Very well, I will. Give me three days, and I'll make your home so secure, a hungry midge couldn't find its way inside.”

With expert subtlety, she had turned the disagreement into conversation and ebbed the flow of strong emotions between them. He'd have none of it.

The sound of workmen tromping down the hall added irony to the discussion and fueled his resolve. He folded his arms. “Midges I can tolerate. Tis the other comings and goings that I resent.”

“Such as?”

“In the east receiving room there's a human ladder who calls himself Gabriel. He carries a child on his shoulders. The boy is attaching hooks to the wall. I find that odd.”

“As well you should, my lord,” she chirped, as proud as could be. “Those workmen are following my orders. 'Tis an idea of my own invention. We'll thread sturdy string through the hooks, tie one end to the doors and the windows and the other end to a bell. Each bell will ring in a different tone and sound. If a door or window is opened . . .” The lift in her voice invited him to finish the thought.

Her mind worked in the strangest, most clever way. Granted they were speaking of dangerous matters, but she managed to make Edward feel as if he were playing a game. Bemused, he said, “If the door is opened the bell rings.”

“Alas! Every home should have such an alarm.”

Alarms were going off in Edward, and the warning had nothing to do with strings and windows and bells. “Another of your special talents?”

“His grace of Burgundy thought so.” She appeared positively coy, with her pretty mouth pursed and her attention focused on the smoothly buffed fingernails of her free hand.

He ached to touch her and discover if her excitement were tangible. “Mrs. Johnson believes you mean to occupy the tower.”

“Why not? Tis the safest place to be. There's only the one ground entrance, and the fishtail slits are too narrow for a bowshot from any angle, any place, save midair in the courtyard.”

So much for wooing and winning.

“Please, my lord, hear me out.” At his nod, she continued. “I still believe the children should be told about the danger, and I've a partial remedy—should you remain decided that they should not.”

His children were too young to deal with an assassin. “I remain so decided.”

“A move into the tower will take away the advantage of surprise when we are most vulnerable—at night. We'll only sleep there.” She touched his arm. “Hannah and Christopher will have a merry time of it. Auntie Loo will help. We'll even dress for a day in surcoats and tunics and have a plain meal at the hearth.”

She made it sound adventurous and practical at once. He liked the idea of seeing her in a tightly laced bliaut, her hair unbound in maidenly fashion. “Must I grow a beard?”

Startled, she blinked in surprise. “You'll join in? You'll play the medieval lord?”

“Of course. Why should you have all the fun?”

She grew serious. “You're wise to give yourself this peace of mind, my lord, unless you'll tell the children about the danger?”

“Nay. I'll not have them know.”

“In that event—” She fished into the sling once more. “Let's give them these.” She pulled out a pair of whistles, one strung on pink ribbon, the other on a strip of leather. “We cannot watch them every moment of every day, or they will grow suspicious, especially Christopher. He's very bright.”

Nearing total bafflement, Edward marched to the firescreen and touched the MacKenzie brooch. The metal retained her warmth. “Any other precautions we should take?”

“A pair of peacocks in the courtyard?”

Curse the Highlands that bred her, for Edward was beginning to understand the way her mind worked. “To serve as watchdogs?”

She fairly bubbled. “Pretty ones without fleas.”

Life in the old wing offered a closeness to her, and he liked the idea well. But he must first establish boundaries. “My laboratory stays as it is. I want no changes there. No alarms. No bells. No meddling. No snooping, and no cleverly worded excuses after the fact.”

She tucked the whistles back into the sling. “How can I change a place I have not seen?”

He gave her a big grin. “Precisely.”

Her expression grew wary. “Have you medical experiments down there?”

Laughter almost choked him. “I design new machines and try to better the ones we have. I am a scientist, not a practicing doctor.”

“I could argue that point.” She demurred beautifully. “You're a very good doctor.”

“In search of a very good patient.”

“And meeting with futility?”

“I couldn't have put it better.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but hesitated. At length she grew serious again. “What in your laboratory would interest the assassin?”

Edward missed the playful side of her, but it would return. She was too friendly to keep a distance for long. “My pursuit in the design and building of machines is a private one, apart from my university work.”

“Then your experiments involve your mill?”

“Yes, but 'tis better said that the whole of industry will benefit when I've perfected my work.”

“Who will not benefit?”

“No one. 'Tis simply progress.”

“Your mill will become more prosperous.”

“Of course. 'Tis not missionary work I do, or the dabblings of an eccentric nobleman.”

“I know that, my lord. Even my father, when his temper left him, praised your work. Will you take me to the mill?”

“If I do not, will you go on your own?”

“What do you think?”

“I
know
that concession is becoming my watchword.”

“ 'Twill not be for long, I promise. Then you can return to your peaceful life.” She extended her hand. “Now come and see what progress we've made in the tower.”

He thought she had a good point, but he wasn't about to admit it. He couldn't remember when she'd gained the advantage or how; yet the discussion was over, and he'd conceded to all of her plans but one. He would not, however, be led down his own hall.