by Cheryl Bolen
She must.
He’d kept his promise to bring Chris to her safely, surely that meant something.
Filling her lungs with air, she made her decision. “I’m Sarah Paine, and my brother is Christopher. My father was Captain Aaron Paine of the Mary Elizabeth. My mother Mary is—was she still alive? —was the only child of…aristocrats.”
Anger surged through her toward her callous grandmother and the fiend responsible for her father’s death. She squeezed her fists tight, her nails biting into her palms and forming crescents before forging onward.
“Santano and other miscreants commandeered my father’s ship, killing everyone aboard who refused to join in their mutiny. Chris and I fled Jamaica, but our mother was too ill to travel. We’ve been hiding in London since under assumed identities. I fear Santano pillaged our home as well.” Bitter tears burned her eyes as she wrestled to control her emotions.
Moments like these, when Sarah let her thoughts stray to Mama, and wondering if she yet lived, were almost unbearable. The not knowing gnawed at her peace of mind. And the guilt she carried. That was almost as awful.
Every day, she wished she’d insisted Mama leave too. Then her wiser self would argue; her mother wouldn’t have survived the ocean voyage, and she’d known that. Not ill and recovering from a fever as she had been.
Sarah shifted, the weight of the hidden pocket pressing into her thigh. McTavish didn’t need to know about the key or chest. Not yet, if ever. He’d already endangered his life by helping them. “As I said, Mr. McTavish, I don’t wish to impose, but you are correct. It’s far too late for that, I fear.”
“And ye’ve nae relatives or friends who might take ye in?” His chin between his thumb and pointer finger, his astute gaze probed her, looking into her very soul.
A droll smile twisted Sarah’s mouth. “My maternal grandmother refused to see Chris and me when we arrived in London. We were turned away at the door and ordered to never return.”
Eyebrows pulled tight at the inner corners, Gregor scratched his jaw, his expression thoughtful. “Is it possible she didna ken ye’d called?”
“I suppose it is, but don’t servants take orders from their employers? The butler vowed most emphatically that she wasn’t at home to us. I’m sure you know that often means the homeowner may very well be peeking at their unwanted visitors from behind the draperies.”
He acknowledged the truth of her words with a slight shifting of his eyes, more blue than gray at the moment. It must be his sky-blue double-breasted waistcoat that caused the color to change. “Who is yer grandmother?”
“The Viscountess Rolandson. Have you heard of her?”
Surprise well-seasoned with reservation flickered across Gregor’s face. His reaction reconfirmed Sarah’s own impression of her grandmother.
“Aye, though I’ve never met her personally.” He rubbed one finger alongside his nose. “She has a reputation for bein’…starchy.”
A nice way of saying she was a crotchety, unforgiving, demanding, grudge-holding old tabby. Not likely she’d be any more eager to meet her daughter’s children now than she had been three years ago.
Changing the subject to a more immediate need, she said, “I’m not sure how Santano’s men found us, but I’m positive our room has been searched.” Ransacked. Their few possessions destroyed.
“So ye’ve nae place to go then, Miss Paine?”
She chuckled and swiped her stiff hair off her shoulder. “Don’t you think it’s a little late for formalities, Highlander? Please call me Sarah, and no, at the moment, Chris and I are without accommodations.” Such a polite way of saying they were homeless.
“I’ll only call ye by yer given name if ye do the same with me,” he said.
She agreed with a brief inclination of her head
He gave a short, decisive nod as well. “Ye can stay with me for now. I ken it’s no’ at all proper, but I think it’s the safest course. I have an extra chamber.” Gregor angled a pickle-sized thumb to the doorway beside the kitchen. “As long as nae one kens ye are here, yer reputation shouldna suffer.”
She laughed again, this time genuinely amused. Nearly five and twenty, she’d long since given up on society’s strictures.
Not that she’d ever really followed them. Life in Jamaica was much different, much more relaxed and forgiving than stodgy England. Mama had seen that Sarah could conduct herself with poise and decorum in the stuffiest English drawing rooms, but given a choice, she’d prefer to be barefoot and bonnetless.
“I assure you, Gregor, I’ve stopped fretting about my reputation. In the past three years, Chris and I have lived in tenements where prostitutes entertained their patrons in the room next door. You know as well as I do, my repute is beyond salvaging.”
An inarticulate sound of denial reverberated in his throat, but the truth rested in his honest gaze.
She lifted her shoulders, and Cat shot her a why-are-you-disturbing-my-sleep-by-moving-look. “I’m not feeling sorry for myself, because I’ll manage somehow. But I do worry about Chris.”
“As I said, lass, ye can stay here for now. Yer brother can sleep on the couch, and ye can take the bedroom. It locks from within.” That almost seemed an afterthought to reassure her. He drummed his fingers, the nails square and clean, upon his broad knee. “I’m goin’ to send letters ’round to friends and relatives and recruit a wee bit of help on yer behalf.”
She crossed her ankles, very conscious of her holey socks and her breech’s soiled, ragged edges. A long soak in the tub would be heaven. And a cup of steaming tea, liberally laced with milk and sugar. Oh, my that sounds wonderful. She scrunched her nose. “I thought all of your relatives lived in Scotland.”
It was Gregor’s turn to chuckle, that contagious rumble that called to her, and she couldn’t help but smile in return. He scratched his temple, still grinning. “Och, only partially true. I’m either related by marriage or acquainted with a goodly number of peers who live in London or have residences within a day’s ride.”
Chris wandered in from the kitchen and made straight for the couch. Bluish shadows framed his eyes, a testament that he’d not been sleeping well either. Lying on his side, one hand nestled beneath his hollow cheek, his eyelids drifted closed.
She stood and crossed to her brother. After placing a throw pillow beneath his head, she brushed his hair off his brow. “Poor thing. He’s exhausted.”
“Na more than ye, I’d wager.” Gregor rubbed his nape before saying, “I also advise ye to write yer grandmother, and tell her what has transpired. Unless she’s completely without a heart, she’ll nae turn away her grandchildren.”
Sarah wasn’t so certain the viscountess had ever possessed a heart and any organ in the woman’s chest had long since turned to stone.
He considered Chris then rose and disappeared into one of the bed chambers for a moment. When he returned, he carried a blanket, which he tenderly laid across the already fast asleep child.
An unfamiliar sensation uncurled in Sarah’s chest. A very dangerous thing for a woman relying on her wits and independence to survive. She’d no room for emotional entanglements. But this burly, attractive Highlander was proving to be the most kind, considerate man she’d ever met. The type of decent, honorable man a woman could fall in love with.
A woman not afraid for her life and responsible for a crippled child. A woman so accustomed to leeriness and mistrust, to living in a constant state of fear, she’d forgotten the happy, carefree woman she’d once been.
He ran his practiced gaze over her shoddy garments. “We also need to see ye attired in clothin’ befittin’ a viscountess’s granddaughter. All the more reason I’ve decided to seek help from my female family and friends.”
“I haven’t the funds to spare to purchase clothing for myself or Chris.” She refused to be embarrassed by that fact. She’d done well by her brother, keeping them fed, not always full, but they hadn’t starved. She’d also kept a roof over their heads and managed to do s
o without compromising her virtue.
“Dinna worry about the funds. I’d offer to pay for them, but I can see by the independent spark in yer eye, ye’d refuse me and tell me to bugger myself, to boot.”
“Right you are, Highlander.” The small upward tick of her lips contradicted her rejoinder. She enjoyed bantering with him. Much more than she ought.
“Between Ewan’s sisters and our friends, I’ve nae doubt they can spare everythin’ ye need from the skin out,” he said.
She couldn’t prevent the blush scorching her cheeks at the mention of undergarments. Men simply didn’t discuss something so intimate, but he continued on as if he hadn’t crossed the mark or noticed her discomfiture.
“They’ll be happy to do it too.” He rolled his eyes. “Nothin’ those noble ladies delight in more than a waif or an orphan to take under their protection.”
“I hardly qualify as either,” she retorted, her tone drier than flour.
Did he truly expect her to accept charity from women she didn’t know? Her pride chafed mightily at the idea, but dash it to ribbons, he was right. Making a positive impression the first time she met her grandmother and entered Polite Society was imperative.
“By the way, Sarah, I saw ye peekin’ from the window when I returned.” He tempered his rebuke with a rakish smile. “Ye must be more careful.”
Damn. She’d thought she’d been so cautious.
“Remind Chris to stay away from the windows too,” he advised, turning to examine the long panels. “In fact, until we’re sure that Santano is convinced yer no’ here, let’s leave the curtains drawn.” He crossed to the windows and released the tiebacks on either side. With a whoosh and a rustle, the crimson velvet floated across the glass, obstructing the view.
Wouldn’t that alert Santano or his thugs if they still watched the building?
“If ye’re wonderin’ if that’ll make Santano’s bounders suspicious, it willnae. I generally leave the draperies closed. I’m unused to neighbors and like my privacy,” he said by way of an explanation. “My housekeeper opens them the days she cleans.”
He’d read her mind—unnerving and disquieting. Exciting too.
“I intend to order a couple of warehouse workers to be extra vigilant and patrol the premises, just in case Santano or his men return. In the meanwhile, pen a letter to yer grandmother, and I’ll make sure it’s delivered.”
He’d truly thought this through, hadn’t he? But how long could she and Chris realistically stay here?
“However, there is one small kink in my plan, lass.”
And here it came. The “but” she’d been anticipating.
“I’m sure ye noticed the other desk in the office,” he said.
Sarah nodded, absently rubbing her hands up and down her arms. She had but had been too distraught to puzzle over it. “Yes, I thought it a bit odd that no one else worked in the office of an establishment this large.”
“I do have a clerk, but he’s been ill the past three days. I dinna want Baker to ken ye’re here, so I’ll have to contrive an excuse to keep him away.” Gregor squatted before the fire and added more coal.
Convinced he did so on her account, another spark of gratitude fluttered in Sarah’s chest.
Hearth broom in hand, he glanced over his shoulder. “As I mentioned, I’ve a woman who cleans twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays.” He swept a smattering of coal dust into a small dust bin and dumped it into the fire. Once he’d replaced the tools, he began pacing the room, one hand on his nape and the other on his lean hip.
“I think I must decline your kind offer.” Though what she would do instead, she couldn’t fathom. It made her head hurt to contemplate. Made the knot in her stomach tangle impossibly tighter. Sarah pressed her fingers between her eyes. “At the very least, your clerk will be curious, and your housekeeper mustn’t see us here. It would be no small task to keep Chris quiet in any event.”
Gregor might have confidence in them, but Santano wasn’t above trickery, bribery, or other devilment to gain information. His man, Yeates, hadn’t believed the Highlander. She was sure of it.
“Nae so fast, lass. Mrs. Smith winna come for a couple of days, and I’m hopeful I shall either have ye settled with yer grandmother or one of my friends by then.”
Neither idea appealed overly much, truth to tell. They were strangers, after all.
“As for Baker, he’s a trustworthy sort. He’d nae betray ye. Still, I dinna want him here.” He snapped his fingers, and a grin lit his eyes. “I have it. I’ll send him to Scotland with the letter for my cousin. I’ll also have him deliver my other missives. It winna be the first time I’ve done so, and he’ll have nae reason to believe anythin’ out of the ordinary is goin’ on.”
“Gregor, you ought to be aware that you’re putting your life in danger by continuing to help us.” She slid a swift look to Chris, assuring herself he slept on. He’d never truly been able to grasp the peril they faced. “Santano killed my father, and he may have my mother as well. I don’t doubt that he wouldn’t hesitate to murder you too.”
He slipped a wicked-looking knife from his boot, holding it up for her to see. “Och, never fear, lass. I can defend myself and ye, if need be. I never go anywhere without this.” He pointed to the massive blade she’d spied earlier. “And trust me when I tell ye, I’ve some skill wieldin’ a sword.” He didn’t boast, merely stated a fact.
“I have a feeling, Gregor McTavish, you’re skilled in a great many things.” Of its own volition, her gaze strayed to his mouth. Lord help her and the naughty path her thoughts dared to trundle down.
At that moment, Cat stretched and opened his eyes, giving her such an astute look followed by a feline smile, and she swore the beast knew exactly what she was thinking. She hadn’t yet admitted to herself, but something far more than gratitude to the Highlander held her in thrall.
Chapter 6
Awareness of Sarah as a desirable woman assailed Gregor as she stared at his lips. When her small tongue darted out and moistened the corner of her mouth, he almost groaned aloud. He’d been without a woman since leaving Scotland.
The cold English misses held little appeal for him. Until this frail tropical flower had burst headlong into his life.
His mouth dried, his nostrils flared, and wild Highland ponies galloped through his middle. Not since Lily—nae, not even then—had a woman piqued his interest as acutely. Dressed in the first stare of fashion, her shimmering flaxen hair twisted into an elaborate coiffure, a little flesh softening the sharp angles of her bones, and Sarah Paine would turn many a man’s eye.
Who was he fooling? She’d snared his attention dressed like a beggar and scared senseless. Keen of wit, unselfish, valiant as any warrior, and lovely of face and figure, a man wouldn’t soon forget her.
His gut tightened sickeningly. Another reason to save her from Santano and the cretins working for him. Gregor had no doubt they’d ravish her before slitting her throat.
He scratched an eyebrow, noting Cat now lay splayed like an arrogant Egyptian Sphinx atop Chris as the lad slept. Traitorous beast.
Sarah’s safety wasn’t the only thing compelling him to ask her to stay. She intrigued him as no other ever had, and he hoped to know her better away from the constraints of society and family. When she trotted off to her grandmother’s—as he truly hoped she’d be able to—he wouldn’t likely have the opportunity.
He was no fool.
Granddaughters to viscountesses didn’t associate with those smelling of the shop, and though his cousin Ewan might hold dual titles, one an English viscountcy himself, more commonly than not, the ton’s denizens looked down their aristocratic noses at Scots.
Certainly, he was welcomed in the drawing rooms and gatherings of friends and family, but he seldom ventured into social circles beyond those. Neither highborn nor wealthy, he lacked two of the criteria that opened elitist ton doors.
If Lady Rolandson opted to recognize her grandchildren by inviting Sarah and
Chris into her home, chances were, his association with Sarah would end. And he didn’t want that to happen.
Not until he figured out why she fascinated him so, and he needed time to do that. With a silent sigh and single-minded purpose, he shoved his personal interest into a corner of his mind to be taken out and studied later at his leisure.
For now, although he’d known the lass mere hours, his foremost concern was keeping her hidden from Santano. He cleared his throat and scraped a hand through his hair. “I’ve a hip bath in the storage closet, if ye’d like to heat water. Ye’ll find linens and all else ye need there as well.”
Such thankfulness swept her face, one would think he might’ve offered her a palace. She clasped her hands and rocked back on her heels. “Oh, that sounds lovely.” She plucked at her shabby shirt, scrunching her nose in a winsome manner. “But I’m loath to put on my soiled clothes again.”
“Aye.” He allowed himself an extended perusal of her form. His scrutiny only intensified his attraction. “Mine are too big for ye. For the lad too.” Gregor skewed his mouth sideways. He couldn’t risk purchasing clothing for a child or a woman.
“It’s of no matter.” She combed her fingers through her long locks. “A bath will still be much appreciated.”
“Wait.” He snapped his fingers again. “Yvette collects clothin’ for the poor. There’s a barrel in the warehouse that’s meant for Craiglocky with the next load of supplies. I’m sure I can locate somethin’ for ye in there.”
Mayhap even a bar of perfumed soap in the supplies intended for home too.
He was positive Yvette wouldn’t object if he confiscated a few of her personal toiletries. She could always order more, and as generous as she was, she wouldn’t begrudge Sarah a cake of scented French soap.
“Prepare yer bathwater, and I’ll see what I can pillage for ye to wear. Ye’ll find a big pot in the storeroom to heat the water.”
Shoes and undergarments might be an issue, but surely there was a discarded gown that would suit. It might not be the first stare of fashion, but given Sarah wore loose-fitting rags, he didn’t think she’d complain.
