To Tempt A Rogue

by Adrienne Basso

  “No.” To emphasize the point, the little boy shook his head, his dark hair flopping into his eyes.

  “We really aren’t very tired,” the older girl said hesitantly, glancing at her sister.

  The younger girl seemed to get the unspoken message, for she straightened her shoulders and declared loudly, “I was sleeping for a very long time. And I don’t like squishy beds.”

  Ah, so that was the way of things. Harriet was glad they were showing a solidarity of spirit, though she would have preferred if they wait until a more reasonable hour to be defiant about going to bed.

  Mr. Wainwright let out a distressed sigh and ran his fingers through his already ruffled hair. “If they aren’t sleepy, we can’t send them to bed. Perhaps they—”

  “If the children do not wish to go to sleep, they may sit in the front parlor until morning,” Harriet interrupted, hardly believing what a push-over Nathaniel was with these three young scamps. “Though I doubt there is a fire lit, so the room will be very cold. Perhaps we can find a spare blanket to chase away the chill. You could all share it. Snuggling together might aid in keeping away the worst of the cold. And we will also need to search for a few candles, though they will most likely sputter and go out, leaving you in total darkness. It will be hours before dawn arrives.”

  “I don’t like the dark,” the younger girl whispered.

  “Neither do I.” Harriet reached out and smoothed her hand over the child’s shoulder. “If you go to bed, I shall make certain to leave a candle burning where you can see it all night. And we’ll check to make sure the mattress isn’t squishy. Would that be all right?”

  The child’s face relaxed. “Yes.”

  “I don’t need a candle. I’m not a baby.”

  “Of course you aren’t. You are a big strong boy. I have a nephew who is nearly the same age, so I know a great deal about boys.”

  The little boy’s brows knit together, as if he were trying to decide if this was a good or a bad thing.

  Nathaniel’s gaze swung in her direction. “Then it is agreed the children shall go to bed. However, there was some sort of mishap with the luggage coach. It broke a wheel early this evening and had to be left behind. In the confusion, the children’s bags were not transferred to their traveling coach. They have no nightclothes.”

  “A problem easily remedied,” Harriet replied. She threw back the covers and rose from the bed. “I need a minute to locate my robe and slippers. Then we can get the children settled for the night. Have you woken any of the other servants?”

  Harriet received no answer. Her back was towards Nathaniel and the children. If she hadn’t heard their breathing, she might have thought they had left. She shrugged into her robe and turned around to face them. The three children were observing her movements with innocent curiosity, but Nathaniel was looking at her with such frank sexual interest it sent a shiver down Harriet’s spine.

  He cleared his throat. “As far as I know, the household is asleep. I answered the front door myself when the children arrived.”

  Harriet steeled her shoulders, willing herself to composure. Having him in her bedchamber in the middle of the night was far too close to her disturbing, erotic dream. Thank goodness for the three young chaperons.

  “Mrs. Mullins will have to be roused so that rooms can be prepared. I’ll not have the children sleeping among dust and cobwebs,” Harriet said.

  “Their rooms have been ready for several days,” Nathaniel said.

  Harriet glanced at him in suspicion. “Is there clean linen? Freshly washed drapes? Properly cleaned rugs? No musty odors?”

  “The rooms are in excellent condition. I inspected them myself.”

  “Oh.” Harriet fidgeted with the belt of her robe.

  “How about food? Have the children eaten? Are they hungry?”

  “Apparently all they have been doing is eating,” Nathaniel replied wryly. “And not the type of food conducive to the swaying motion of coach travel.”

  The older girl nodded her head. “Gregory got sick. They stopped the coach and Uncle Duncan was trying to get him out when it happened. A lot of it went on Uncle Duncan’s shiny black boots.”

  “It smelled horrible,” the younger girl declared.

  “We played near a stream and threw rocks in the water while the servants cleaned it up.” She wrinkled her nose. “But they didn’t get rid of the smell, so at the next inn we got a new carriage.”

  “Goodness, that was quite an adventure.” Harriet smiled briefly at the trio, then turned to Nathaniel. “Is Duncan your brother?”

  Nathaniel looked blank for a moment, then his eyes strickened with alarm. “N-no. The children address us both as uncle out of affection and regard, not because of any familial relationship.”

  Harriet’s gaze narrowed. Though his answer seemed forthright, there was something about Nathaniel’s expression that rang false. It was as though he were trying to hide something from her.

  “It may seem silly given the circumstances, but I would very much like to be properly introduced to your wards,” Harriet said.

  “Of course.” Nathaniel moved to stand behind them. “Children, this is Miss Sainthill.”

  The girls both executed a polite curtsey and Gregory managed a quick bow. Harriet was charmed.

  “This is Phoebe,” Nathaniel continued, placing his hand gently on the older girl’s head. His hand touched the younger girl next and she snuggled close to his arm. “This is Jeanne Marie. And this, is Gregory.”

  The little boy jerked back, then darted his body side to side, making a game of avoiding his guardian’s touch. Nathaniel chuckled, pursuing the child until he captured him in a hug that had them both laughing.

  “I am very pleased to meet you all,” Harriet said.

  “Even if it is the middle of the night.” She gave them what she hoped was a friendly smile and then announced, “We had best go and find your new bedchamber so you can settle in for a nice rest.”

  Not surprisingly there were groans of protest from all three youngsters, but the adults were not swayed. Nathaniel led the way, gripping a candelabrum held high. The children followed and Harriet brought up the rear.

  As they headed along the dark passage to the opposite side of the castle the ghostly echo of a low moan filled the air. The sound sent goosebumps skittering up Harriet’s arms. She glanced ahead anxiously to see if the children had a similar reaction, but those three pair of feet never missed a step.

  They entered a room in a section of the castle that Harriet had not explored, knowing this was where Nathaniel’s bedchamber was located. The room was well lit, with several candelabra burning brightly. It was also occupied by a man who was unknown to her. He was crouched in front of the hearth obviously trying to light a fire. He appeared to be having very little success, for the room was cold.

  Harriet was surprised to see him, since Nathaniel had said no other servants were awake.

  “Devil take it, I had no idea the place was in such a disgraceful state,” the man muttered. “What a poor friend you must think me, Nathaniel, to send you off to such a crumbling old keep. We need to take the children back to Edinburgh as soon as possible. They must be kept safe. ’Tis too late to begin the journey tonight, but we—”

  The stranger ceased speaking abruptly when he noticed her. He rose slowly to his feet, seeming to half fill the room. “Oh, hello. And who do we have here?” he asked, with a charming, roguish smile on his face.

  The timbre of his voice was low and cultured, with just a faint trace of a Scottish burr. He spoke like a gentleman, yet his wolfish appraisal made Harriet feel the need to check the top button of her nightgown and tighten the closure of her robe.

  “Good evening, sir. I am Miss Sainthill,” Harriet replied in a frosty tone, inclining her head slightly.

  He stared at her for a moment before bowing. “Duncan McTate, at your service.”

  “McTate? I know that name.”

  He smiled again, revealing himsel
f to be an especially handsome specimen of a man. “I imagine you’ve met several McTates during your stay. This is my castle and my clan, and many of these good people cling to the tradition of taking the laird’s name as their own.”

  Harriet’s eyes locked with his and in that instant she felt a jolt of recognition. “The Scottish warrior in the portrait gallery,” she said in quiet amazement. “ ’Tis most remarkable. The resemblance between you and him is quite marked.”

  McTate’s eyes filled with an amusement that was almost tender. “I’ve always fancied myself a fighter, a valiant defender of home and hearth. I vaguely remember those portraits from my visits here when I was a lad, no bigger than young Gregory. You must stroll with me in the gallery tomorrow, Miss Sainthill, and show me which of those handsome lads shares my good looks.”

  Harriet nearly grinned, but caught herself. Living at Hillsdale Castle must have addled her brain, for she had never before succumbed to such blatant charm. It was a point of pride that she had always possessed a low tolerance for this type of drivel. Yet somehow Duncan McTate had charmed his way past her defenses.

  Frowning fiercely, Nathaniel stepped between them. “If you two are through, perhaps we can turn our attention to the children. Or have you forgotten about them already?”

  Harriet blinked at Nathaniel’s curt tone. McTate met his look with a steady gaze. “I hadn’t realized I was poaching on your territory. Forgive me. Yet I’m pleased that living in this fine Scottish environment, breathing the crisp Highland air, has opened your eyes to the value of a good woman.”

  Nathaniel’s brows crashed together in an ominous line. “As usual McTate, you have completely misread the situation, but what else can one expect from such a great Scottish lout.”

  “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 sho
uld 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.