To Tempt A Rogue (17 page)

“Ah, so she's not a good woman?”

“She is far more than a good woman,” Nathaniel declared.

“I knew it.” The Scotsman slapped his knee.

“How can you claim to know anything?” Nathaniel cried. “You just met her!”

“ 'Tis clear to anyone with a lick of sense in their skull that she's a lady. Possessing brains and spirit, not to mention handsome looks.”

And she is also standing right in front of you,
Harriet wanted to shout out, but she held her tongue and instead followed this exchange with mounting interest, noting the easy, familiar way the men bantered and teased each other. Clearly they were much more than landlord and tenant. They were obviously close friends of long standing. And the children addressed them both as uncle. What was the real connection that all of them shared?

McTate? McTate?
A tangle of confusion raced through Harriet's mind as she tried to remember where else she had heard that name.

“The vicar,” she blurted out. “You are the McTate who is a distant cousin of the vicar back home! It was through his recommendation that I came here as governess.”

At her interruption both men ceased their bickering and turned towards her. “Yes, the vicar is a cousin and I claim the relationship, even if it is on my mother's English side,” McTate said. “I'll have to remember to think of him more kindly in the future. He chose well, far better than I dared to hope.”

“He did not choose me, sir, “ Harriet insisted. “I went to him looking for assistance and he recommended me for the position. It was my decision to take the job.”

“Initially,” Nathaniel added. He took a step toward her and spoke in a tone only the two of them could hear. “Are you staying?”

Lifting her chin she declared stoically, “For the moment.”

“Splendid.”

Harriet allowed her eyes to meet Nathaniel's and they shared a brief moment of camaraderie. Then she turned her attention back to her duties.

“The children are starting to look very sleepy. Where is their nursemaid?” Harriet asked.

McTate frowned and shook his head. “There was a misunderstanding and she was unintentionally moved to the luggage coach during our last stop. When that vehicle broke down, she was mistakenly left behind.”

“No nightclothes and no nursemaid. Now I understand why you woke me in the middle of the night,” Harriet said with a small sigh. Disheartened but far from daunted, she took a deep breath and started doing what came naturally. Organizing and ordering.

“I will prepare the girls for bed and stay here with them for the remainder of the night, but first Gregory needs to be sorted out.”

“I would gladly offer one of my shirts for him to sleep in, but it is far too large,” Nathaniel said.

“Gregory can sleep in his small clothes,” Harriet decided. “Though he claims not to be a baby, he is still only four and I'd rather not leave him entirely on his own tonight. The castle produces some odd sounds that might frighten him. Can one of you sleep in his room?”

“If you prepare him for bed, we can handle the rest,” Nathaniel replied.

“Excellent.”

As Harriet moved to take Gregory to his room, the little boy suddenly complained of being too tired to walk that far. Without asking, Nathaniel patiently scooped the lad up in his arms and carried him. The sight of those tousled curls resting so serenely on Nathaniel's broad shoulder brought an odd rush of emotion to Harriet's throat.

She followed the pair into the next chamber. As Nathaniel carefully lowered Gregory to the mattress, the little boy stirred. He threw his arms around Nathaniel's neck and held him tight. “I missed you. And Phoebe worried that you had forgotten about us. It was fun staying with Uncle Duncan, but it is better here with you.”

Guilt flashed in Nathaniel's eyes before he recovered himself. “Thoughts of you and your sisters stayed in my heart each and every day. Uncle Duncan is a fine man and I trusted him with my greatest treasures—you, Jeanne Marie, and Phoebe.

“But you must always remember, Gregory, that we are of the same blood and share a bond that can never be broken or forgotten. No matter how far or how long we are away from each other. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

Gregory let out a loud yawn. Nathaniel stepped away from the bed, allowing Harriet to move toward it. His face was guarded and Harriet wondered if she had misheard the remarks he had made to the boy.
We are of the same blood? What in the world could that possibly mean?

The child was very tired and Harriet had no trouble preparing him for bed and tucking him beneath the covers. She bade Nathaniel and McTate, who had also come to the bedchamber to look at the boy, a good night.

Telling herself she must have imagined the guarded, shuttered expression that appeared suddenly on Nathaniel's face when he gazed at her, Harriet returned to the other chamber. She assisted the girls, who by this time were far too tired to offer any sort of protest. When they were snuggled beneath the covers, Harriet gratefully sank into an overstuffed chair near the fireplace.

She waited patiently for the steady, rhythmic breathing that would let her know the girls were sleeping. It began, but suddenly stopped. She glanced over and saw they were both looking toward the door, their faces flushed with delight.

Nathaniel was standing in the doorway. “I did not have a chance to say good night.”

He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. The girls moved close to him, their bent heads nearly touching as they scrambled to get nearer. Harriet heard whispered snippets of conversation, but could make no sense of the words.

After a hug and a gentle kiss on each brow, Nathaniel turned and left, sparing Harriet barely a glance. She set her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. Her thoughts and emotions were a jumble of confusion, yet one fact remained clear. She had no doubt that her decision to stay at the castle and care for these children was somehow going to have a deep and lasting effect on her life.

 

 

“What news from London?” Nathaniel asked in a soft voice.

“There's no need to whisper,” McTate replied, as he stretched his longs legs before the roaring fire. “Naturally we cannot shout, but conversation at a civilized level should be all right. The boy sleeps like a log.”

“Just like his father,” Nathaniel said with a slight smile. “I always teased Robert that it would take a cavalry charge in the middle of his bedchamber to rouse him from sleep.”

“At least you know the lad comes by it honestly.”

“He does.” Yet at the mention of his brother, a deep wave of emotion tore through Nathaniel. He could not help but wonder what Robert, a man of honor and principle, would think of this turn of events. Kidnapping the children, removing them from London, hiding them in the wilds of the Highlands in an ancient medieval castle.

Would his brother have approved of these extreme measures? Or would he think them rash and unnecessary? Even dangerous?

“Stop looking so infernally worried,” McTate said, breaking into Nathaniel's thoughts. “I think you, nay,
we,
have managed to pull it off.”

Nathaniel regarded his friend with cautious optimism. “You have heard no news of the children's disappearance? No rumors? No gossip?”

“Not a peep.” McTate grinned merrily. “While in Edinburgh I spent most evenings at home, but I made a point of attending several afternoon events expressly for the purpose of hearing the London gossip.”

“And?” Nathaniel prompted, leaning forward in his chair.

“And your assumptions about how your uncle would react to our intervention appear to be correct. As far as I can tell, Lord Bridwell has not set up a hue and cry about the missing children.”

Nathaniel felt the tension gradually drain from his body. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.” McTate cleared his throat. “Before I brought the children here, I had the distinct displeasure of meeting Lady Treadmont at an excruciatingly boring musical afternoon party. She had just returned from London the previous day because she felt it was her duty to be home for the birth of her first grandchild. She is precisely the sort of gossiping old biddy known for her wagging tongue who would relish the honor of spreading such a juicy tale.

“Three young, innocent, newly orphaned English aristocratic children, kidnapped. One of whom is a duke. Lady Treadmont would be the most sought-after guest of the year, as she told and retold this amazing tale. But all she could drone on about was the new fashions, the miserable weather, and some old news that was the sensation of last Season about a pitiful woman on the brink of spinsterhood who was scandalously jilted and abandoned by her roguish fiancé.

“I therefore conclude if Lady Treadmont has heard nothing about the children, Lord Bridwell is most assuredly keeping this matter to himself.”

“Did she perchance name this poor, unfortunate woman?” Nathaniel asked.

“What woman?”

“The jilted spinster.”

“I don't remember.” McTate frowned and draped his hands over the arms of his chair. “Why should you care about some pitiful female? Isn't Bridwell your main concern?”

“He is.” Nathaniel cupped one hand over his suddenly pounding head. “However, I have a fair suspicion that this abandoned bride so eagerly gossiped about is my new governess.”

“What!” McTate practically shot out of his chair.

“That idiot cousin of mine! He doesn't have the sense God gave a goose. I knew my English relations were good for nothing, and this proves it. How could he possibly recommend such a tainted creature for a respectable position?”

“Not an hour ago you were singing her praises,” Nathaniel said.

“I was only saying that to get a rise out of you,” McTate admitted. “Especially because you seemed so protective of her. Though my initial impression of her was very favorable and you know I have excellent instincts.”

“When it comes to making judgments on the character of men,” Nathaniel retorted. “With women, you tend to think with your cock.”

“Doesn't every man?”

“Much to their eventual regret.”

“A confession, Nathaniel?”

“You are crossing the line, old friend,” Nathaniel said softly. His feelings about Harriet were complex and complicated and he wasn't about to discuss them with anyone. “My relationship with Miss Sainthill is none of your business.”

“I choose to make it my business,” McTate replied heatedly. “Employing a woman who was embroiled in the most shocking scandal of the Season is not the best way to impress a magistrate.”

“Neither is kidnapping, yet I have also done that. Or rather,
we
have also done that.”

There was a tense moment of silence. Then McTate broke into a grin. “Aye, we snatched the bairns right out from under old Bridwell's nose.”

Nathaniel returned the grin. “So we did. Now tell me, how have the children been getting on these past few weeks?”

Lord Avery listened carefully as the Scotsman gave his account, ending with the tale of their journey north.

“Bloody hell, you should have seen us.” McTate let out a soft chuckle. “Stopped by the side of the road like a broken down gypsy caravan. The children racing around merrily, thinking it was all a great lark, me with the most foul-smelling puke running down the side of my favorite pair of boots, and the nursemaid weeping pitifully because she thought it was her fault the boy got sick and she was afraid I was going to give her the sack. If you were there, you'd have been laughing your arse off, that's for certain.”

Lord Avery's expression lightened. “It sounds vastly entertaining.”

“Entertaining! It reeked of melodrama, like a badly written play. I suppose the only thing more astonishing was realizing I was in the middle of it all.”

“You have been brought low, my friend,” Nathaniel said in mock sympathy. “Though I am sorry for having to put you through such a scrape, I am forever grateful for your assistance.”

McTate waved his hand dismissively. “Don't give it another thought. I was honored to be of service.”

“Nevertheless, I appreciate all your help. It seems as though I got the better end of the deal, coming to the castle to set it to rights. Though I'll admit I didn't feel that way the first few days.”

“God, it is a sight, isn't it?” McTate let out an exaggerated sigh. “Shows you what tricks the mind can play. I have fond memories of visiting this old keep as a boy. Exploring the ancient rooms, riding like a demon in the open fields, sneaking away on warm summer afternoons to swim in the lake. I ran wild, with little supervision or discipline. To me it was always the perfect spot to escape. I suppose I never noticed the crumbling stones, overgrown gardens, and mountains of dust and cobwebs.”

“Oh, I'm sure you noticed. You just didn't mind it.”

“Perhaps.” McTate got to his feet. “I'm for bed. Since you are staying in here with Gregory, I will take your chamber.”

“Wise decision.” Nathaniel grinned at his friend.

“The cobwebs and dust are gone from my room, but alas I cannot say the same is true in the other bedchambers.”

Once he was alone, Nathaniel reclined his head and took stock of the situation, telling himself he felt reassured that all was going according to plan. The children were safely away from his uncle, seemingly none the worse for wear. Hiding out here would give him additional time to formulate his next move as well as agitate his opponent.

Harriet had decided to stay. That brought an edge of doubt to Nathaniel's sense of confidence. He was unsure if it was the wisest decision to allow her to become part of his household. She was an intelligent and perceptive woman. It would not take her long to realize something was very wrong with Mr. Wainwright, the wool merchant, and his three wards.