“Och, she’s the runt, and nae, Frigg willna mind as long as she kens ye,” he said, lifting the pup hardly larger than a small rat. “This wee lass will have to fight to survive. I’ll watch her closely, and if she’s no’ growin’ stronger, I’ll have to supplement her milk.”
“Poor darling,” Berget crooned, kissing the puppy’s silky head. “Aren’t you the sweetest thing? I promise, we’ll not let you die.” She closed her eyes, bringing the tiny body to her neck.
“Uncle Graeme, can we hold a puppy, too?” Elena asked.
“No’ right now. Frigg will become upset if we take too many of her bairns from her at once. Besides, ye need to ken how to handle a wee pup first. Watch Miss Jonston and learn.” After patting her shoulder, he sank to the floor beside Berget.
Cora and Elena crowded close, eyes wide in wonderment as they whispered all the ways they could help with the pups. They suggested several names as well, including Laird Graybeard, Cendrillon—from the fairytale they insisted Berget tell them every night—and Sir Barkley which had their uncle’s forehead wrinkling in mirth.
That was how Lady Marjorie found them ten minutes later when she swept into the hall. “Miss Jonston?”
Her words and steps faltered upon spying a sleeping puppy in Berget’s arms, and Graeme’s head near hers as he ran a big finger over the puppy’s downy head.
Two neat lines furrowed Lady Marjorie’s forehead as she looked between them. Something akin to hurt shadowed her face when her attention rested on him.
“What is happening?” she asked as she approached.
Graeme collected the sleeping puppy from Berget and returned her to her mother. “Miss Jonston and I are givin’ the girls a lesson on responsibility.”
“Uh hum.” A wry auburn eyebrow arched as Lady Marjorie leveled him with what was clearly a disbelieving look. She then turned a speculative eye on Berget, as if seeing her clearly for the first time.
The keen assessment quickened Berget’s guilt over the kiss that first night. She owed this woman much. Lady Marjorie couldn’t believe anything untoward went on between Berget and Graeme. Still, she wasn’t certain what to say to dispel the tension or suspicion in the air.
Finally, she decided to pretend not to notice. From her many years in Edinburgh society, she’d learned protesting innocence only served to inflame unwarranted interest.
The lady doth protest too much, me thinks.
Precisely. Shakespeare had the right of it.
In one deft move, Graeme rose then offered Berget a hand. With Lady Marjorie staring on, she’d like to have refused, but she was also trying to teach her charges manners. Keeping her eyes lowered, she permitted him to assist her and then edged away murmuring, “Thank you.”
Diffidence and demureness. Diffidence and demureness.
The other refrain she repeated a hundred times a day in her head.
“A letter arrived for you, Miss Jonston.” Lady Marjorie extended the rectangle while bestowing a fond smile upon her daughters.
Alarm rendering her unable to move, Berget stared.
No one knew she was here.
Fear slithered up her spine, raising gooseflesh, and she swallowed.
Graeme stepped forward, taking the letter from Marjorie.
She narrowed her eyes the slightest, but didn’t object.
“Why dinna ye take it to yer chamber and read in private?” he suggested, sliding the rectangle into Berget’s icy hand and wrapping her fingers around its length.
“Yes. I shall do so later.” She marshaled her composure and summoned a tremulous smile, tucking the missive into her bosom. At once, she regretted doing so since the movement drew Graeme’s attention to the modest show of flesh above her bodice. “I promised the girls a painting lesson—”
“It can wait,” he said gently.
Was she so very transparent?
His consideration touched her, but also enhanced her guilt. She’d told him everything except about the journal and falsifying her letters of recommendation.
Again, Marjorie swept her astute glance between them and, this time, perception widened her eyes the merest bit. Pain and understanding flickered in their pretty brown depths. Nonetheless, the epitome of kindness, she offered a gentle smile. “Girls, Maive told me she tested a new black bun recipe. Would you like to sample a piece?”
At once, amid squeals of delight, the lasses launched to their feet and each clasped one of their mother’s hands.
“Only a small slice, darlings,” she said. “I don’t want you to ruin your appetites before dinner.”
The guilt prodding Berget sank its talons deeper.
Lady Marjorie was a most perceptive woman.
At the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder, a soft smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “Graeme, there’s also correspondences for you in your study. One is from Camden.”
Berget couldn’t dispel the feeling something significant had occurred, but what, she couldn’t fathom.
“If you will excuse me, please.” With a brief nod to Graeme, she hurried to her comfortably appointed chamber. In shades of blue and ivory, she found it refreshing and soothing at the same time.
She went to stand before the window.
No fire burned in the hearth, and she didn’t want to take the time to light a taper. The single, narrow window afforded the only light into her room. Forcing air into her lungs, she withdrew the letter from her bodice and pried her stiff fingers open to examine the missive.
It was from the agency that had hired her.
Anticipation and trepidation vied for supremacy as the air stalled in her lungs.
Her breath left her in a whoosh, and she broke the wax seal. Swiftly reading the short note, she scrunched her nose and wrinkled her forehead. Two men had visited the registry, asking several questions about her.
The agency expressed concern that Berget had mislead them to gain her position.
Two men?
For certain Camden was one. But who, in God’s holy name, was the other? Father?
She brought a shaky hand to her forehead, suddenly feeling sick and lightheaded. Had the employment registry also written to Lady Marjorie or Graeme with their suspicions?
Chapter Ten
Unable to sleep after reading Camden’s letter this afternoon, Graeme had spent the evening sequestered in the library. The mantel clock chimed one in the morning, and he brushed a hand over his bleary eyes.
The fire burned low in the grate as he fingered the whisky glass he held in his left hand. As he was wont to do when alone, he’d rolled his shirtsleeves up. His waistcoat, jacket, and neckcloth lay flung across another chair.
Thor, Vidar, and Freya lay sprawled before the fading fire, their soft snores and rhythmic breathing an accompaniment to the clock’s gently tick-tock.
Never before had he been so damned conflicted. Not even when he’d made the difficult decision to stay neutral during the Jacobite Rising. Sion had just died, and the last thing his clan had needed was more heartache.
Since her arrival, Berget had turned his well-ordered life upside down; arse over chin upside down.
Pleading a fierce headache, she’d asked to be excused from dining with the family tonight. Whatever her letter had contained, it had upset her enough to keep her in her chamber.
Always compassionate, Marjorie had agreed and, at once, sent an herbal tea concoction of some sort to Berget’s chamber along with a dinner tray and the order for bathwater scented with lavender oil.
Graeme hadn’t missed the pain whisking across Marjorie’s features today when she’d seen him and Berget together. He couldn’t explain, even to himself, why the young widow drew him the way she did or the complex emotions she kindled. Emotions he didn’t want to feel, much less examine closely.
It was an almost irresistible force he could neither name nor pretend to comprehend. His spirit was inexorably woven together with Berget’s.
It made no sense…was illogical, impracti
cal, and possibly risky.
But mayhap now, Marjorie would finally understand he would never return her regard. He loved her as a sister. Nothing more.
Drumming the pads of his fingers on his thigh, he stared unseeing into the glowing embers.
Camden’s letter verified most of what Berget had already disclosed.
While that relieved him and raised her in his estimation, for she’d been truthful with him in part, Camden’s investigation also revealed her letters of recommendation were likely forged. No such persons as the Honorable Hortensia Millikan or Ladies Charlotte McLendon and Patrice Ferguson were known to anyone Camden had questioned in Edinburgh.
That left Graeme with a difficult decision, one that left him wholly conflicted.
Berget performed her duties with exemplary skill and care. The lasses already adored her, and although it was probably too soon for her to forge a friendship with Marjorie, the women shared mutual respect for one another.
In the short time Berget had been part of the keep, he’d come to look for her throughout the day. He soundly cursed himself for a fool each time he did, however.
Permitting his eyelids to drift shut, Graeme pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose.
What would he have done had he been in her position?
Facing another unbearable marriage, and with despicable parents who had no care for her feelings or desires? As a single female, to venture out on her own the way Berget had proved she had fortitude and was resourceful. It also demonstrated she was capable of scheming, secrecy, and subterfuge.
Not exactly qualities prized in a governess.
She’d also lied to Marjorie and the registry office. But then again, who could she have asked for references? For surely anyone Berget had approached would’ve questioned her reasons and quite probably have alerted her parents.
A muffled oath passed his lips. Had she misled him about other things, too? Did the outcome she desired excuse the methods she’d used?
Had anyone truly been hurt by her deceit?
Didn’t that remain to be seen?
While he didn’t condone Berget’s deception—for he truly valued honesty—he did understand the decision she’d made. But…could he, should he, continue to employ a known dissembler?
He hadn’t missed the absolute terror flitting across her face when Marjorie presented her with the letter. That revealed how much she truly dreaded marrying Warrington. Perhaps, Camden ought to look into that blackguard’s background as well.
Opening his eyes, Graeme turned his mouth upward.
Aye, that’s exactly what he would have his brother do. In the meanwhile, he’d keep silent and continue to deliberate what to do about Berget Jonston. And, by Odin’s teeth, wrangle his burgeoning feelings and desire for the luscious widow under control.
He was damned curious to know what her letter contained, however.
Marjorie had mentioned it was from the registry office she’d used to hire Berget. Interesting. Also, a trifle disturbing. Had the agency warned her that Camden was snooping about?
Perhaps it was time to have another candid conversation with her. Before the girls became any more attached. Before he did.
He wouldn’t turn her onto the street, of course. He wasn’t that cold-hearted. Though he owed her nothing, if he did indeed decide to terminate her employment, he would provide her enough coin to sustain her for a few months.
His stomach turned at the notion, and he quaffed back the remaining whisky, welcoming the slow, sharp burn to his gut. The truth was, he didn’t want Berget to leave. Not yet anyway. She fascinated and intrigued him; he wanted to know her better.
To see her rare smiles and the sweet way she crooned over the puppies. To watch her interactions with the lasses, and hear her light, unfettered laughter.
How could a woman he’d met hardly more than a week ago have burrowed under his skin, invaded his every thought, and he feared, touched his heart so profoundly?
Graeme was no stranger to beautiful women, so why didn’t he find his normal self-discipline lapsing? His perpetual state of semi-arousal might be to blame in part, but he’d never before let his carnal urges interfere with duty.
He’d like to take her riding—to show her his lands, introduce her to the villagers and crofters. He wanted to dance with her at the celebration. Just the thought of touching her brought the expected swell to his nether regions.
No proper governess participated in such activities, and certainly no laird in his right mind would consider asking her to. But he’d found since meeting the captivating Mrs. Berget Jonston, his mind rather ignored common sense. His body too.
Sighing, he set the glass on the side table and shoved to his feet.
He was Laird of Killeaggian Tower.
It was in his sole discretion whether she stayed or left. At present, he was of the inkling to retain her for the indefinite future, despite her ruses. As long as his nieces were not at risk, that was.
Nevertheless, a conversation with Berget tomorrow wouldn’t be amiss.
Concern for the smallest pup in Frigg’s litter niggling, he made his way to the great hall.
As he’d done the past two nights, and as he instructed a serving girl to do several times during the day, he gently removed the seven larger, stronger puppies from their mother, and encouraged the frail one to nurse until her wee belly was full.
He’d always had a penchant for the underdog, for those down on their fortunes and in need. Likely, that explained his proclivity toward Berget, too.
Ballocks.
Frigg whined, straining to see her babies cradled between Graeme’s crossed legs. He soothed her with a few soft words. “Dinna fash yerself, lass. I’m tryin’ to save yer bairn’s life.”
If he must, he’d supplement the pup’s milk intake with goat milk.
If Berget stayed on, he’d like to make a gift of the pup to her.
Och, ye’ve already made up yer mind, ye clot head. Who are ye tryin’ to fool?
From the corner of his eye, he saw a movement at the hall’s entrance. Careful not to jostle the sleeping puppies, he turned his head.
Berget stood there, her uneasiness tangible.
In the flickering firelight, her russet hair appeared more chestnut-hued. It hung freely about her slender shoulders and back, and she fiddled with a thick strand near her collarbone. Belted at the waist, her chaste white night robe gave her an angelic appearance.
Though this woman had been married, there was an innocent air about her. A gentleness, too, that came from having suffered much, and rather than becoming bitter and hard, she’d endured adversity with enviable grace.
As it did whenever she was near, his pulse quickened, and he couldn’t prevent his appreciative smile at the innocent seductress.
“I was worried about the puppy,” she offered by way of an explanation. “Though, I don’t know what I intended to do.”
He motioned her inside. “She’s just finished nursin’.”
She glided across the stone floor, her feet scarcely making a sound. It was then he noticed her bare toes peeking from beneath her night rail.
A smile hitched his mouth.
Even Marjorie didn’t toddle about the keep barefoot, and that the prim and proper governess should, delighted him.
The soft angled planes of her face pearly in the muted light, she folded gracefully to her knees. She leaned over the enclosure and tentatively touched the smallest pup upon her back. “She’s tiny, but she seems strong. She has a determined spirit.”
Nodding, he permitted his gaze to feast upon the lush mounds straining against the vee of her bodice. It occurred to him, instantly making him hard as marble, that she was likely naked beneath her night shift.
Thumping her tail once, Frigg licked Berget’s hand. “She likes ye. All the dogs do as a matter of fact.”
Berget slid him a brief glance then lifted a delicate shoulder. “I like animals. Especially horses and dogs.” She brushed her forefinge
r over the puppy once more. “If she were mine, I’d name her Bia. She was the Greek goddess of power, might, and physical strength.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that the pup was hers if she liked, but he checked the impulse. It was too soon to make that kind of a promise. It suggested she’d be here for a long while. Instead, he gently returned the other puppies to their anxious mother who promptly set to grooming them.
A gentle smile framing her mouth, Berget watched, entranced. “She has eight babies, yet she takes such gentle care with each. I know human mothers who cannot be bothered to spend time with their one or two offspring.”
Her own mother?
Given the wistfulness of her tone, faintly tinged with regret and disappointed, he’d vow he’d hit the target dead center. Everything he’d witnessed thus far suggested she’d be a superb mother. A yearning, unlike anything he’d ever experienced prior to this moment, to see her cradling her bairn to her breast, buffeted him.
He was fast losing control of—everything—when it came to her.
Dangerous. Foolish. And not to be tolerated.
“I never asked ye before. Do ye have brothers or sisters?” He rested his hand atop the whelping bed, slicing her a brief side-eyed glance.
She gave a short shake of her head as she sank onto her heels before gathering her hair and twisting it into a thick rope across her left shoulder. “No. I had a sister, but she died two years before I was born.”
Perhaps if she’d had a brother or sister, her parents mightn’t have used her as a human pawn. Och, nae. People of their ilk likely would have exploited all of their children.
She touched the scar on the back of his hand. Then as if she realized her forwardness, promptly pulled her hand away, pink tinging her cheeks. “How did you come by that?”
Chuckling, he raised his hand so they both could see the jagged ridge more clearly. “’Tis no’ a tale of bravery or chivalry. I was helpin’ to dislodge a stuck wagon when the wheel suddenly shattered. A piece wedged into my hand.”
Her mouth softened and formed an O. Swiftly, her gaze darted between his hand and his face. “Did it hurt terribly?”
To Seduce a Highland Scoundrel Page 8
