“I’ve always considered your welfare, Kirsty.”
“Have ye?”
She did resent his abandonment of her. That should probably annoy him, but instead it brought him a sense of triumph. He was a shallower man than he’d ever dreamed.
“Her ladyship would no’ be pleased if I left her service and her not thinkin’ of relieving me o’ my duties yet.”
Max had anticipated this argument. “I shall speak to Grace myself. She will be understanding. She always wants the best for her people.”
“Miss Lamenter—”
“Miss Lamenter will have to become accustomed to executing her own duties.”
Kirsty popped to her feet again. “I’d as soon remain in my present position. But I thank ye for the fine offer.”
“You will accept my offer.”
“If ye’ll excuse me.”
“I won’t excuse you. I need you.”
“The children still need me.”
“You’re afraid of me.”
“I—” She pulled absently on her bonnet ribbons, pulled them undone, and the bonnet slipped sideways. “—I am no’ afraid o’ ye. I’m afraid o’ no man.”
Her agitation brought him far more satisfaction than it ought. “Then you’re afraid of yourself.”
She took the bonnet all the way off. “What can ye mean?
I’m no’ afraid o’ doin’ the work. I could do it well enough, better’n most, but it’d no’ be seemly.”
“Explain.”
Her hair was as fair as ever, and as shiny. He’d once promised himself the pleasure of running his fingers through that hair. That could never be, but he would not deprive himself of the pleasure of considering such an experience.
“Explain yourself, Kirsty,” he insisted. “I don’t recall seemly as a word you would have been likely to use.”
“I’m surprised ye remember aught about me, Mr. Rossmara. And I’ll not explain myself further, if ye don’t mind. It willna do. That’s that.”
“And I say it will do, and that it shall do. I have decided you are to become my assistant.”
“Ye dinna own me, sir!”
She had always had the power to silence him.
“Ye may have the reputation as the hardest man in the land, and the man wi’ the meanest temper, but I’ll no’ be frightened by ye.”
His throat turned dry. Blood pounded at his temples. “What do you know of my temper? Have I ever been less than civil to you?”
She shook her head.
Feeling his hands tremble, he made fists. “Tell me exactly what you’ve heard—what lies?”
“I should have held my tongue.”
“Tell me.”
“Verra well!” She blinked rapidly. “If ye insist. Ye’ve a roarin’ temper, Max Rossmara. It never used t’be so, but it only gets worse they say. They say ye’re violent wi’ it now. There, I’ve told ye.”
A slow, deep breath didn’t calm him. Sweat broke out on his brow. “I won’t argue the point. But I will tell you that you have no need to concern yourself with my humors. All you have to do is what I tell you to do, and we’ll manage remarkably well.”
Kirsty’s mouth fell open. She closed it, swallowed loudly, and said, “Och, there’s a great deal I could say t’ye, but I’ll no’ say more. The arrogance o’ men of certain stations fair takes a woman’s breath away.”
He smiled. He couldn’t help but smile. Her ire stiffened her back and straightened her shoulders. Her eyes flashed, and he didn’t have to look at her feet to know they were firmly planted.
“As you’ve said, I don’t own you, Kirsty Mercer.” More’s the pity. “But I admire you. I admire your spirit, and I admire your potential. If I lose my temper, it’s because I’m oppressed. Will you have mercy on a man in need and help me? Will you save me from the crushing responsibilities of a position grown so huge and so far-reaching in its implications? Many families depend upon this estate for their livelihoods. The Rossmaras have always been committed to serving their people in kind. That is, in giving back a measure of what their people give them. We owe safety and a good living to every man, woman, and child on our estates. Arran’s is the final responsibility. My task is to be his eyes and ears. But now I need eyes and ears to work on my behalf, and only the very best will do. Yours. What do you say?”
She said nothing. But she frowned mightily, and Max decided she was the only person alive in whom a frown could be considered charming.
“Mr. McWallop—”
“Mr. McWallop is steward to the marquess,” Max said quickly. “He has his own duties and no time—nor would it be seemly—for my demands.”
“Your assistant?”
“Yes. You’d be a woman ahead of your time. You’d learn a great deal about running an estate. Shouldn’t you enjoy that?”
The bonnet fell to the floor, and she retrieved it. “It sounds verra interestin’. Yes. Yes, I’d like the work, I think.”
Max’s mood soared. “Good. It’s done then. And you’ll start tomorrow.”
“Oh, I dinna—”
“What is there to stop you? The children are away. If it’s mending and the like that you think you have to do, well then, we’ll give the work to someone else.”
“I’ll have to ask my father,” she said quietly, but with no hint of apology or embarrassment.
He should have expected that. “Of course. Please talk to your parents and tell them I’ll ride over to see them this evening because I need you to start at once. I know Robert and Gael well enough to anticipate that they’ll be anxious to have you be of service to me.”
“No doubt,” she said, even more quietly. “No doubt at all.”
The Mercers were loyal tenants and Kirsty was right, they wouldn’t interfere with her working for him. But Robert was no man’s fool, and he’d suspect that Max had other than the stated reasons for seeking out Kirsty’s help. And Robert and Gael would worry about their daughter’s honor. “I’ll reassure your parents,” Max said. He went to Kirsty, took hold of her hands, and pulled her to her feet. “I know what worries you, but there is nothing to be concerned about, I assure you. You will be absolutely safe with me.”
“Will I?”
Max looked down into her clear, blue eyes. His skin on hers, their joined hands—how could something so trivial become so desperately important? The moment was too long, or was it too short? They faced each other, each with their own thoughts, each speculating on the thoughts of the other, each aware that their shared past could not help but shadow the future—any future they shared in any manner at all.
“I will never do you harm, Kirsty. Or allow any other to harm you.”
Very deliberately, she took her hands from his. “If my father agrees, then I shall accept your flatterin’ offer. Aye, I’ll gladly work for ye. And I’ll do my verra best to make your lot a lighter one.”
Work for him. “I’m glad.” He wished with all his heart that they could have quite a different relationship, and he cursed fate for making that impossible. “You’ll tell your parents I’ll visit, then?”
“Aye,” she said simply, and replaced her bonnet. “I’d best away.”
“Since you will no longer be part of the regular household staff, I’ll arrange for you to have quarters here in the Eve Tower.”
“Quarters? But—”
“You will have to maintain a certain distance from the servants. It’ll be necessary for you to be conscious of your position. That will require that you exact their respect. Naturally I will not expect you to abandon friendships, but these things do change somewhat.” He was talking too fast, and preparing for her protests as he did so. “I’m sure I don’t have to explain that I will be taking you into my confidence on many matters, and I’ll expect you to keep your own counsel on those matters.”
“I’ve never lived anywhere but wi’ my family. They rely on me.”
He slapped his brow. “Oh, how foolish of me. I did know that, didn’t I?” He had once con
sidered himself quite the thespian. His current performance suggested his talents had dimmed. “Don’t concern yourself with such small details, though. When I come to speak to your parents, I’ll explain the necessity for you to be close to your work—and me—at all times.”
“Y’mean I’d have t’live here?” Her brow puckered, and she looked around the study.
“Not exactly here,” he told her. “You shall help me decide on suitable rooms for you.”
“Rooms?”
Max felt a shaft of pure pleasure and smiled. “Your duties won’t be easy. It will be essential for you to have comfortable quarters when you are at leisure.” She had never had even a room of her own. The prospect of having not just one, but two or more had finally occurred to Kirsty, and, unless he was mistaken, the idea wasn’t without appeal—a great deal of appeal.
“Here in Eve?” she murmured. “Rooms.”
“They will be our first priority.” The lifting of his heart was something he hadn’t felt in too long. “In the morning. And then you shall get settled before we begin work. Perhaps we’ll put a second desk in this room. It’s certainly more than adequate in size.”
“I’ll live here.” Her gaze snapped into focus, focus that rested squarely upon Max. “Ye live here, too? In the Eve Tower?”
Best make exceeding light of that. “Oh, yes. Have for years. I’m particularly fond of the aspect of the countryside.” Until today he hadn’t as much as considered the countryside in years—other than as part of his responsibilities. “I hope you’ll be as comfortable as I am.”
Kirsty watched him with far too narrow a gaze. Surely she didn’t fear that he would be less than a gentleman!
Hmm. If she doesn’t at least consider the possibility, she is a foolish girl.
“Ye’re sure ye want this, sir?” Kirsty said.
“Absolutely sure. We’ve decided, remember?”
“Aye.” A softness, the old, remembered softness entered her voice. “We’ve decided. I’ll do my best for ye, sir.”
“Kirsty, you don’t have to call me . . .”
A small, sad smile tugged the corners of her mouth down. “Oh, but I certainly do, sir. Mr. Rossmara. Times have changed now.”
Slowly he smiled back at her. “You’re right, of course. Always the levelheaded one, weren’t you?”
“Not always,” she said.
“You used to tell me I was a dreamer,” he told her.
“Ye were.”
He looked away, and back. “Only with you. You and your imagination—and your—” Stillness had settled between them, and he scarce dared continue speaking for fear of shattering what he felt in that moment.
“You told such stories,” Kirsty said, her smile wider. “You were a bad one wi’ your tales. And ye’d make folks believe ye, too.”
“But you were the one with the gentle dreams,” he reminded her. “The wishes.” As soon as he’d said the words, he held his breath. Since the day of his departure from her parents’ house, since the years of avoiding the promise he’d made to her, there had never been mention of what had once been between them.
Kirsty nodded. “Childish things. I’ll tell my father and mother ye’ll be along then, shall I?”
He let his breath go. “Yes, do that. Thank you, Kirsty. I look forward to our association.”
“It’s I who should thank ye for the opportunity.”
The opportunity indeed. He offered her his hand, and she took it. “We ought to shake on the agreement. Here’s to a long and fruitful alliance.”
She took some time to respond. Finally she wetted her lips, and said, “A long and fruitful alliance.”
Max looked at her hand in his and lifted it. “I’m sure it will be,” he told her softly, and kissed the backs of her fingers.
He’d intended the lightest brushing of his mouth on her skin but with the touch, his eyes closed. He heard her sigh, felt heat gather in his own body—placed another kiss on her hand, and another kiss.
A clattering beyond the door startled him. Opening his eyes, he was in time to view the entrance of Lady Hermoine Rashly and her aunt, Countess Grabham, the latter of The Hallows, a large and somewhat flamboyant mansion on a modestly-sized estate that marched with Kirkcaldy to the east.
In the women’s wake came a man Max had not seen before. Of average height, and robust figure, flaxen curls frothed unfashionably about his collar. His pouting red lips—over which he repeatedly darted a pointed tongue— and protuberant blue eyes gave him a greedy, too-eager air.
“We are come,” Lady Hermoine announced, her beautiful face radiant. Jiggling on her toes, she set the skirts of her green-and-gold-striped gown swaying. Hermoine’s eyes were as gold as those stripes, and her luxuriant hair the color of honey dropped from a spoon. Everything about the lady was luxuriant . . . everything.
Max muttered, “I see you are come,” but felt removed from this woman whom he had met on only a few occasions.
“Oh, Max,” she continued, “I cannot believe such fortune. Now of all times, now when I so need family around me. Well, you will never credit it, but my cousin Horace has returned. The Honorable Horace Hubble. Isn’t that wonderful? Am I not the most fortunate of women? Dear Aunt Grabham never complains, of course, but I know I must be quite a burden on occasion. But dear Horace absolutely insists—he will not take no for an answer—he absolutely insists that he will take my dear, departed papa’s place in my life at a time when strong male influence—and guidance and wisdom, of course—are essential.”
“Good of him,” Max said. Kirsty remained where she was, standing before him with her eyes lowered.
“Horace Hubble at your service, sir,” the blond popinjay announced, flinging wide an arm and revealing an affected red-and-silver waistcoat tightly buttoned over a bulging stomach. “Hermoine speaks very highly of you, very highly. Aunt Grabham, too. Highly, very highly.”
The countess, who towered over both her niece and nephew, contrived to pinch her narrow nostrils even more tightly than usual. Dressed entirely in jet-studded black taffeta, as was her habit, her little black eyes skewered Max from the shadow of a black veil, which she also made a practice of wearing at all times.
Kirsty cleared her throat.
“Good of you all to come,” Max said, more heartily than he intended. “Can’t think what Shanks is thinking of, letting you show yourselves in.”
“Oh, the poor man is quite ancient, so we told him he need not put himself out, isn’t that so, dearest Horace?” Hermoine caroled, her charming smile showing off dimples in smooth cheeks.
“Quite so,” Horace agreed. “Oh, yes, quite so, quite so.”
Max’s back teeth began to ache. He flexed his jaw. The man was frightful.
“Good of you,” he said. “Allow me to introduce my new assistant, Miss Kirsty Mercer.”
She raised her face and looked at him with pure, agonized embarrassment in her eyes.
“Really?” Horace said. “A female assistant? Really?”
“Yes, really,” Max said. “And a very able one she’ll be.”
“I best be off, then,” Kirsty said.
Only then did she realize he still held her hand. “Do remember to tell your family that I shall visit them later this evening.”
“Aye,” she said, wrestling to resettle her bonnet and tie the ribbons. “I’ll do that.”
“Max is a very forward-thinking man,” Lady Hermoine remarked. “Who else but Max would retain a woman as his assistant.”
“As you say,” Horace agreed, “who else, who else, indeed?”
“Where were you last employed, Miss Mercer?” Hermoine asked.
Kirsty curtsied to Hermoine. “I’ve been employed here.”
“I’ve been employed here, my lady,” Hermoine said. “I am Lady Hermoine Rashly.”
“Aye, m’lady,” Kirsty said.
The countess spoke for the first time. “Here, child? Employed here? Surely you misunderstood the question. Mr. Rossmara said he�
��s just retained you.”
“Aye, but I’ve been employed wi’ the children. Helpin’ Miss Lamenter, the tutor.”
“A household servant?” Hermoine said, raising her perfectly arched golden brows. “What a very unusual choice, Max. But then, you are a very unusual man.” She came to his side and threaded her hands around his elbow. “You will always be innovative in everything you do. Fascinatingly so in some respects, I’m sure. In fact, I can hardly wait to find out just how innovative you really are.”
Max glanced from her perfect face, to the tops of her large white breasts, much on display at the low neckline of her gown. She all but swung on his arm.
Kirsty backed away.
“I’m pleased to have met you, Miss Mercer,” Hermoine said. “Mr. Rossmara works far too hard. Don’t I often tell you as much, Max?”
He couldn’t respond. He could, in fact, do nothing other than watch Kirsty. From tomorrow onward she would be with him every day. His heart lifted.
“Perhaps now you’ll feel you can leave these lovely, but dreary walls behind for a month of so. Leave matters in Miss Mercer’s capable hands, that is.”
“Leave?” Kirsty said. She had begun to open the door. “Why would he leave?”
Max looked at the ceiling.
“Why,” Hermoine said, “because we’re to be married, of course. And we must plan our wedding journey.”
Chapter Two
“Well?” Mairi, the marchioness’s plump maid, grabbed Kirsty as she hurried from the corridor that led to Max’s study. “Oh, don’t ye gi’ me that closed face o’ yours, Kirsty Mercer. I’m fair burstin’ t’know what Mr. Rossmara wanted o’ ye.”
Mairi had become the marchioness’s maid when that lady had arrived at Kirkcaldy shortly before her marriage to the marquess. Plagued by sickness and headaches wherever she traveled, rather than accompany the family on their journeys, Mairi remained at Kirkcaldy and busied herself with the care and mending of her mistress’s wardrobe—and with voracious gossiping.
“Our Niall will be waitin’,” Kirsty said. Her brother and the young viscount, heir to Kirkcaldy, had the same name. “I’m verra late.” And she was desperate to escape into the fresh air and to find a place where she could be alone with the unhappiness that weighed her down.
The Wish Club Page 3
