To Tempt A Rogue (7 page)

“Are you all right, Kate?”

The maid nodded her head briefly and clutched the door for support.

Seeming to lose interest in them, the man stalked a few steps away, turned and shouted. “Mrs. Mullins! Mrs. Mullins! Get down here at once.”

The great black, furry beast who had remained quiet during this drama awakened at the sound. Its upper lip started to curl into a snarl.

“Brutus, stay.” This time it was the man who issued the command.

The animal sat back on its haunches. Harriet eyed it warily as she stepped farther into the entrance. She turned to question the stranger and request that Mr. Wainwright be informed of her arrival, but was unable to stop herself from glancing at his naked chest.

Her experience at viewing unclothed male flesh was extremely limited, yet Harriet knew she was seeing a fine specimen. He was curved with muscle, pulsing with life and heat. There was a curious constriction of her lungs at the sight of that hard plane that made it difficult to speak with the authority and propriety she felt was essential in this situation.

Having at last regained her senses, Kate stood in wide-eyed silence, shivering and dripping water on the stone floor. No one seemed to notice, or care, until the dog inched forward and began to lick at the puddle. Kate shrieked loudly, then pressed her hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her screams.

“Brutus, go.” The animal looked up at his master and then slowly slunk away. “I realize the animal can be a frightening presence, but your shrieks only increase his interest in you.”

“He's terrifying,” Kate squeaked.

“He is a watchdog and therefore protective of the members of the household. Brutus regards any stranger as a threat,” the man huffed with obvious impatience.

“We hardly pose a threat, sir,” Harriet insisted. The stranger did not reply, but instead gazed at them with deep suspicion as if he expected Harriet to pull a pistol out from beneath her sodden cloak and shoot him.

The hairs on her neck prickled with unease, but Harriet forced her voice to remain strong and steady. “I am Miss Harriet Sainthill. I've come to Hillsdale Castle to assume my position as governess to Mr. Wainwright's children. Would you kindly inform him that I have arrived?”

“You are the new governess?”

“I am,” Harriet bristled at his astonished tone and expression.

His dark eyes closed in on Kate. “And who is this?”

“Kate is my maid and traveling companion,” Harriet replied, as the older woman quivered under the scrutiny.

The stranger's mouth quirked into a grimace of amusement. “Your maid? You have brought your maid with you? Remarkable. Am I expected to pay her wages also?”

The indignity that was seething just below the surface ceased when Harriet heard the most important word he uttered:
“I.”

“Mr. Wainwright?”

There was a moment's hesitation. “Yes?”

“Och, ye've called me outa a warm bed fer this, laddie?” A slight, white haired woman ambled toward them, her lower lip jutting out in annoyance.

Mr. Wainwright turned toward the newcomer. “Mrs. Mullins, at last. We have unexpected guests. This is Miss Sainthill and her maid, Kate. I expect you will have no difficulty finding them a chamber for the night?”

Mrs. Mullins arched a skeptical brow and pulled the plaid wool shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I canna find a bit o' supper, 'cause my lasses are not 'ere to help.”

Harriet strained forward. The housekeeper had the thickest brogue she had ever heard, making it difficult to comprehend more than a few words, especially since she spoke so rapidly.

“They don't need to eat, Mrs. Mullins. A clean room and a warm fire will suffice.” Mr. Wainwright blew out a gust of breath and turned back to Harriet. “I assume your coach and driver have already found their way to my stable. I'll send a servant to assist them and show them where they may bed down. Mrs. Mullins will escort you to your chamber. Good-night.”

Kate peered at the darkness that loomed in front of them, then took a step closer to Harriet. “We're likely to break our necks if we go there,” the maid declared. “ 'Tis dark as a tomb.”

Harriet silently agreed, but a quick glance at the housekeeper and Mr. Wainwright confirmed this was not the time to show any trepidation. “I am sure Mrs. Mullins can supply us with candles to help illuminate the way,” Harriet said.

The housekeeper's face split into a disapproving glare. She muttered something low and unintelligible, but after a few more grunts of displeasure, she reached into the pocket of her voluminous apron and pulled out two candle stubs. Mr. Wainwright lit them.

“We can discuss your situation in the morning, Miss Sainthill,” he said. “I breakfast at eight. Sharp.”

More than anything Harriet wanted to tell Mr. Wainwright exactly where he and his eight o'clock sharp breakfast could go, but she successfully held her tongue and tussled with her temper. Her new employer was not at all what she expected and given this unpredictable reception by this rather peculiar household it seemed perfectly reasonable to assume she and her servants would be tossed out in the storm if she angered him.

Knowing she had no other choice, Harriet pasted a neutral expression on her face. “Good night, Mr. Wainwright. I shall see you at breakfast.”

He nodded and turned away. Shielding their candles from any stray drafts, Harriet and Kate sloshed cautiously along behind the housekeeper. Finally Mrs. Mullins halted before a formidable oak door.

Harriet entered the chamber, with Kate close on her heels. It was large, with mullioned windows on two walls. Yet even in the semi-darkness, Harriet could see that nearly everything was coated in a fine layer of dust.

Harriet walked past a small looking glass placed in a roughly constructed frame, ignoring her disheveled reflection. With a thoughtful eye she took note of the oddly arranged furniture, mismatched chairs and chests. The fire-blackened hearth was cold but it was not just a lack of fire that made the room barren of any warmth.

As if sensing Harriet's disapproval, the housekeeper spoke up. “D'ye expect somethin' grand? Aye, ye'll 'ave tae ask hisself fer better quarters. Fer yerself an' yer maid.”

Harriet sighed. It would do no good to ask the woman to repeat herself, for Harriet had
heard
every word.
“D'ye expect somethin' grand? Aye, ye'll 'ave tae ask hisself fer better quarters. Fer yerself an' yer maid.”

The problem was that Harriet could only comprehend a smattering of them. But the housekeeper's sullen expression and her pointed, distasteful gaze at Kate gave Harriet a fairly good idea of the gist of what she said.

“Kate will sleep in here with me, Mrs. Mullins. If you would kindly supply a pallet, clean sheets and some fuel for the fireplace, I'm certain we shall be very comfortable.”

Harriet kept her expression forceful as the housekeeper shuffled away, then grimaced as she recalled her remarks about being very comfortable. Harriet could not remember when she had ever before told such a deliberate and outrageous lie.

Nathaniel shut the door to his bedchamber and took a moment to enjoy the blissful quiet and solitude. Though obscenely early to be retiring for the night, even when residing in the country, Lord Avery nevertheless escaped to this chamber each evening directly after dinner. Except for the sound of the rain pelting the windows and roof and the comforting breathing of the dog who seemed to be constantly at his heels, there was no noise to distract or intrude upon his thoughts.

If he leaned back and closed his eyes, Nathaniel could almost imagine he was back in London, comfortably ensconced in his bachelor rooms on St. James's Street. Yet when he opened his lids and gazed vacantly at the meager fire in the vast stone hearth, he knew he was far, far away from the creature comforts he had always taken for granted.

Ever since he had set foot in Scotland it had rained. Hard, heavy, and frozen most days. There had been snow, too. And cold. Bitter, biting, relentless. He had never thought of himself as a weak or pampered man, but the reality of a harsh environment had humbled him.

Especially when McTate's servants had made it abundantly clear they felt that nothing good ever came from England. Including the Sassenach Laird whom McTate had insisted they make welcome.

Tonight marked the end of his second week in exile at the castle and Lord Avery intended to celebrate. By soaking in a bath filled to overflowing with hot, steamy water, set before a roaring fire big enough to roast a pair of oxen and emptying a bottle of fine Scotch whiskey to warm anything else that needed it.

He had stocked enough wood to burn a witch and he had every intention of burning it all, down to the last twig. At least for tonight, he would find some warmth in these cold, northern Scottish mountains.

As he started to remove his clothing, Nathaniel caught a glimpse of his reflection in the small mirror that rested on top of the dresser. He expelled a deep sigh, glad that common sense had prevailed and he had left his valet in London. The priggish servant would no doubt be moved to tears over the state of his master's clothes and appearance.

He needed a haircut and a good, close shave. His garments needed attention also. They were incorrectly pressed, haphazardly folded, and therefore hopelessly creased. Yesterday he had noticed a button missing from his favorite shirt. Clearly his clothes had not fared well in the household laundry.

But Nathaniel had other, more important thoughts to occupy his mind. The welfare of his two nieces and young nephew was the impetus that drove him each day and from which he drew his strength. Even though a month had passed, it was still amazing to think that all had gone according to McTate's outrageous plan.

Thanks to the willing assistance of the family housekeeper, Mrs. Hutchinson, the children had been spirited away with no fuss. Indeed, they had thought it all a grand adventure. Nathaniel could not recall ever seeing such smiles of delight and excitement on their young faces.

If the information McTate had managed to obtain was correct, there had been no outcry at their sudden disappearance. Nathaniel wondered wryly if his uncle even knew they no longer slept beneath his roof since they had been missing from London for nearly four weeks.

Though he cautioned himself continually that the day was far from won, Nathaniel had begun to believe that success was within his grasp. All he needed to do now was to keep the children safe and hidden until the time was right to approach his uncle with negotiations for their guardianship.

Anticipating the warm comfort of his bath, Lord Avery removed his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt. Bare-chested, he stoked the fire, watching the progress of the huge kettle of hot water hanging in the hearth with great interest. As it started to bubble and boil he carefully ladled out several pails and poured them into the copper tub that was placed in a corner of the room, presumably away from any drafts.

A sudden noise drew his attention. The castle watchdog, a fierce, almost other-worldly looking beast of undeterminable breed, lifted his large head in curiosity. He cocked it to one side and waited, but after a few moments remained silent.

Taking his cue from the animal, Nathaniel continued with his task and emptied another bucket of steaming water into the tub. Suddenly, the beast leapt to his feet and raced towards the bedchamber door. Nathaniel was nearly knocked to the ground, only managing to keep his balance by dropping the empty pail and clutching the wooden bedpost.

The dog's nails tapped a staccato rhythm on the stone floor as he built up a good head of steam, then struck the door with such velocity and force that it flung open. What had begun as a low growl rose to a series of sharp barks the moment the dog was free. Ears flapping, tongue lolling, the animal galloped down the hall.

“Bloody hell!” Nathaniel swore loudly, threw on his favorite red silk dressing gown, and followed after the beast. The stone hallway was dark and shadowed. Weeks of bumping into things and bruising his lower extremities forced Nathaniel to grab the first source of light he came upon.

It was a large, wooden handled torch, better suited for lighting a bonfire. Lord Avery felt ridiculous carrying such an oversized, crude light, certain he resembled a demented medieval warrior. Yet if he wished to reach the front door quickly, there was no time to find something more appropriate.

The dog was pacing impatiently when Nathaniel arrived, stopping every few seconds to scratch at the solid wood door, whimper, then lower his head to sniff suspiciously. Fortunately one sharp look had the hound quiet and cowering respectfully behind him in the shadows.

The door creaked and groaned as Nathaniel struggled to open it. He fully expected to find a relative of one of the servants waiting on the other side, for it seemed the staff employed at the castle possessed enough family members to inhabit a small country.

Instead, Nathaniel encountered two rain-soaked women, shivering and speechless. Their faces were pale and drawn and they looked frightened, as though they had run a good part of their journey pursued by a pack of wolves. He could tell by the cut and quality of their garments that they were not locals. So who were they?

Mutes, perhaps, for they didn't speak. They merely stared. The older woman was dressed as a servant and in her manner deferred to the younger, taller woman. Nathaniel's gaze honed in on the features of the younger woman and he felt a smile bubble beneath the surface of his surprise. The little minx was staring rather pointedly at his chest. His naked chest.

There was no time to ponder that interesting observation, because Brutus chose that moment to lunge forward. Nathaniel expected screams of horror, cries of outrage, tears of terror, but still the women kept silent.

Most likely they were speechless with fright. Quick reflexes enabled Nathaniel to grab the dog by the scruff of its neck just before he landed on one of the hapless woman. Using every ounce of his upper body strength, he struggled to keep the beast at bay while this mysterious duo stared at him like a pair of witless fools.

Shrugging off his irritation, Nathaniel spoke. “Get inside. Quickly. If he gets out there is no telling when he'll return or where he will run.”

“We can't go in there!” the older woman cried.

“We must,” the younger woman insisted.

“I can't.”

Nathaniel watched the ensuing battle of wills with a jaundiced eye, for some reason having little doubt the younger woman would prevail. Then suddenly, the servant mumbled a few words too low for him to hear, crossed herself piously and shivered. Her eyes rolled up, her lashes fluttered wildly and she crumpled to the ground.

Instinctively Nathaniel reached out, wanting to catch the poor woman, but he held the torch in one hand and a growling dog in the other. Miraculously the younger woman somehow managed to capture the servant in her arms and prevented her from hitting the stone floor and cracking her skull.

“What did she mutter?” Lord Avery asked. The younger woman's eyes narrowed, then blazed at him with fury. “How can that possibly matter? For pity's sake sir, I need your help or else I'm going to drop her on this hard, filthy floor.”

“In case you failed to notice, I only possess two arms.”

“And very little common sense. What is the dog's name?”

Nathaniel nearly burst out laughing. They were in the midst of a crisis and this daft woman wanted to know his dog's name. “Pardon?”

“The dog's name. What is it?”

“Brutus. Yet, I hardly see how that can have any—”

“Brutus! Sit!” The dog's ears perked at the sound of his name. “Brutus, sit.”

Nathaniel watched with no small measure of disgust as the traitorous dog sat obediently back on its haunches.

“Hurry, before your dog decides to bolt.” With one arm free, Nathaniel was able to relieve the woman of her limp burden. “She's not as light as she looks,” he grunted.

Demonstrating a practical nature he hardly expected, the younger woman reached out and pulled the torch from his hand. Nathaniel adjusted his grip, thankful he wouldn't disgrace himself by dropping the unconscious woman in his arms. Deciding this bitter icy rain should serve some useful purpose, he shifted the older woman's inert body, exposing her face to it. Within minutes she was stirring and sputtering.

When the women were finally inside the castle, Nathaniel burst into motion. He stalked past the suits of dull armor standing sentry in the old hall and summoned the housekeeper who also served as the castle's cook. “Mrs. Mullins! Mrs. Mullins! Get down here at once.”

The activity roused the sitting dog. He stood up and began to growl.

“Brutus, stay.” Nathaniel warned.

The dog obeyed, keeping a respectable distance from the women. But something must have drawn his attention, for the older woman let out an earth-shattering scream.

“Brutus, go.” Nathaniel ordered impatiently. “I realize the animal can be a frightening presence, but your shrieks only increase his interest in you.”

“He's terrifying,” the older woman squeaked.

“He is a watchdog and therefore protective of the members of the household. Brutus regards any stranger as a threat.”

“We hardly pose a threat, sir,” the younger woman insisted.

Nathaniel turned his full attention toward her. Though the light in the foyer was not overly bright, it did succeed in illuminating her face. Her wet bonnet sagged noticeably to one side, but her features were not obscured. She had lovely fair skin, high cheek bones, a pert nose with an upturn at the end and shrewd intelligent eyes, a pretty shade of hazel.

He stared at her for several moments, a nagging memory stabbing at his brain, then a choked gasp escaped his throat as Nathaniel felt a shock of recognition. He knew this woman.

She had been at the center of the scandal of the Season last spring. The jilted bride of a disreputable fiancé, who was somehow mixed up with a madman who stalked and murdered innocent women. The rumors that had circulated among the
ton
were too impossible to fathom, yet even if only half of what was repeated was true it was a shocking tale.

What in God's name could have brought her to this remote corner of Scotland at this precise moment in time? Suspicion and questions crowded his mind, but he waited, balling his hand into such a tight fist his fingers tingled.

“I am Miss Harriet Sainthill. I've come to Hillsdale Castle to assume my position as governess to Mr. Wainwright's children. Would you kindly inform him that I have arrived?”

For a second Nathaniel was unsure this was the same woman. He had only seen her from afar, they had never been formally introduced. He remembered a friend identifying her at the theater one evening, just before a riot broke out. She was a member of the nobility, the sister of a viscount, which made it rather unlikely that she was now forced to earn a living. Unless her family had disowned her?

“You are the new governess?” he asked.

“I am.”

“And who is this?”

“Kate is my maid and traveling companion.”

Nathaniel nearly groaned out loud. There could be no mistake. Only a noblewoman would travel to a post with a maid. Miss Harriet Sainthill was
the
woman.
Damn!
It seemed unbelievable that after doing such a competent job on this delicate mission McTate had managed to make such a colossal blunder by engaging the single most inappropriate person to care for the children.

“Your maid?” Nathaniel could barely contain a grimace. “You have brought your maid with you? Remarkable. Am I expected to pay her wages also?”

“Mr. Wainwright?”

He stared at her blankly for a moment, belatedly realizing she was addressing him. McTate's caution in keeping his whereabouts a secret included assuming a false identity that Lord Avery was unaccustomed answering to. “Yes.”

“Och, ye've called me outa a warm bed fer this, laddie?”

Nathaniel turned and smiled, never believing he could feel so relieved at seeing those white corkscrew curls peeking out from an oversized mobcap and the surly person beneath them.

“Mrs. Mullins, at last. We have unexpected guests. This is Miss Sainthill and her maid, Kate. I expect you will have no difficulty finding them a chamber for the night?”

The housekeeper's sour expression was precisely the reaction he had expected. He had deliberately neglected to mention Miss Sainthill was the new governess, since he had no intention of allowing her to take up that position. But that precaution was unnecessary—Mrs. Mullins was clearly not in the mood to make anyone feel welcome at this hour of the evening.

He almost felt sorry for Miss Sainthill as she strained forward, obviously struggling to comprehend the housekeeper's thick brogue. It was at its worst when she was in a temper, as was the case tonight. He surmised the governess could not comment since she most likely had not understood Mrs. Mullins. For a few long moments they were trapped in an awkward silence during which no one had anything to say.