He stared at her for a moment longer and then shrugged. “Doesna matter what ye say, ye’ll no’ be here for long. I’ve already decided I dinna like ye.”
With those words, he strode across the schoolroom into his room and slammed the door shut behind him. For a moment, she could only stare in shock at the ill-mannered nature of this boy. Was this truly going to be her charge?
Anger mingled with fear. What would happen if she failed? What if Connor dismissed her for being unable to manage his son? Where would she go? Her carefully laid plans for building a reputation as a reliable governess would be ruined. Somehow, in the blink of a moment, her entire future seemed to rest on this one difficult child.
Sighing, she returned to her own room, exhaustion from her journey starting to overcome her. She would rest a bit, unpack and then prepare herself for supper. It seemed she would need more strength than expected to handle this young Scottish boy.
Genevieve had rested little more than an hour when a young servant named Lucinda unexpectedly awakened her.
“I’m sorry, miss,” the young woman said as Genevieve opened the door. “But the master has requested your presence in the library at once.”
She wasn’t anywhere near prepared to meet Connor, but the girl stood in the corridor, looking at her nervously enough that Genevieve got the distinct impression that one did not simply say no to Connor Douglas. What was it Malcom had said about Connor running the castle with an iron fist?
Genevieve smoothed down her skirts and ran a comb through her unruly brown hair. She might have taken a few moments to re-braid it, but Lucinda hovered by the door, her body language clearly indicating that Genevieve should not tarry long.
She swallowed her irritation. Had Connor not the decency to permit her a suitable period of respite from her journey? What could be so important that he could not wait to see her until supper?
The hand holding the brush faltered and then stopped mid-stroke. What if Ewan had already gone to his father to complain of her? A sense of dread crept over her. Would her position here be over before it had even started? Where would she go? Pressing her lips together, she yanked her hair back and pinned it loose at the nape of her neck. At this point in time, the condition of her hair and gown was the least of her worries.
She took a moment to compose herself. “I’m ready.”
“This way, miss.” The girl practically ran down the hallway.
Genevieve lifted her skirts and hastened after her. Her heart pounded hard. Whether it was from the anticipation of meeting Connor again or from the exertion of keeping up with the young girl, she did not know. She wondered what she would do if he decided her unsuitable on the spot, and then dismissed the thought, believing that even he would have to give her an opportunity to prove herself.
Lifting her chin, she strode forward, stopping as Lucinda lifted her hand and knocked on the wooden door.
A deep voice came from behind the door. “Enter.”
Lucinda pushed it open but did not cross the threshold. Instead she motioned Genevieve inside. She crossed the threshold, trying not to wince as Lucinda shut the door so fast it rapped her on the bum.
Connor sat behind a desk, examining what appeared to be a ledger. Ten years had changed him little. He appeared as breathtakingly handsome as she remembered, his presence somehow imposing even from a sitting position. When he glanced up, she noticed at once that his long, thick hair remained as black as the night and his eyes the same piercing blue. His face had matured into hard angles and lines, and yet was softened by what she could only call a careless, dangerous sensuality. He wore a dark brown waistcoat atop a crisp white linen shirt, but his neckcloth had been removed and his throat was bare. Tension hummed in the air as his cool, aloof gaze raked over her.
He rose from the chair, addressing her formally. “Miss Fitzsimmons.”
The intimacy of many summers past was clearly gone. Not that she had expected otherwise. Still, the politeness in his voice hurt.
He continued. “’Tis my great fortune to once again have the pleasure o’ your company. It has been some time since we last met, ten years if I recall correctly.”
If he recalled correctly. The cad.
She, on the other hand, remembered every detail of their last time together—the golden moon, the way the summer breeze blew through his hair as he leaned down to kiss her. The memory rushed at her now like a fire through her mind, sending a blazing heat through her veins.
“Miss Fitzsimmons?”
His voice was still rich as ever, tempered only by the peculiar and sensual roll of his Scottish burr. Even now her senses tingled.
“Yes? I…I am here.” She hated herself for sounding like a child stating the obvious.
He said nothing but walked toward her, as if he were a cat stretching his long limbs. He stood far taller than she remembered. It seemed unfair that age had not made him any less attractive, but instead had deepened his allure, casting his eyes with dark and knowing shadows and providing subtle and interesting lines around his mouth. For a moment she stared at him in disbelief, unable to accept the irony that God had created such a magnificent specimen in the form of a devilish Scotsman.
“Come in, please.” This time his voice softened. “No need to linger by the door. I willna bite. No’ much anyway.”
She saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Pride made her lift her chin. “I’m not lingering. You wished to see me?”
His mouth curved into a smile. “I did. It’s good to see ye again. Ye’re all…well, grown up.”
His gaze swept across her and Genevieve tried not to flinch, knowing he examined her only to remind himself of her glaring faults. She stiffened when his perusal lingered on her hastily combed hair, her wrinkled gown and plain, ordinary features. He most likely would know her grandfather had provided a lavish season for her in London and that she had turned down her one and only suitor. He would now remind himself of why no man, except for him during a summer amusement, had ever paid her more than a passing glance.
She kept her chin raised high, refusing to let him unnerve her further.
“I’m sorry to hear about your grandda.” He spoke with genuine sincerity. “He was an honorable man wi’ an even hand and a keen sense o’ business. He was a good friend to my family and I liked him.”
“Thank you.” Her voice wavered with emotion.
“I heard ye had to sell the estate to pay off his debts. I’m sorry to hear that. ’Twas a fine house ye had in Alnwick.”
An unnerving flush of guilt swept through her, knowing she could have saved the estate had she accepted old Herbert Young’s offer of marriage. A lump rose in her throat. “Yes, it was a beautiful home.”
“I regret your misfortune, but am grateful that ye’ve accepted our request to come here.” He straightened and pulled out a chair for her. “Please have a seat. I’d like to talk to ye about my son.”
Genevieve complied and as she swept past him, they brushed arms. She jerked back as heat streaked all the way up her arm and down to her toes. Horrified, she peeked and saw him staring at her. She perched on the chair and waited. After a moment, he walked around the desk and sat down, the leather of his chair creaking as he lowered himself into it.
“Have ye the opportunity to meet Ewan yet?” he asked.
Relieved that the boy hadn’t yet come running to his father complaining of her, she nodded. “I have.”
“And what did ye think o’ him?”
She chose her words carefully. “We had an informal introduction. He seems rather…strong-willed.”
“’Tis kind o’ ye to say it that way. The truth is the lad is in need o’ proper instruction in the ways o’ manners and learning. I’m oft away and need someone that I can trust to see to him.”
Trust? She thought that an odd choice of words, coming from a man who had so carelessly treated her feelings. “He seemed rather shocked that I am English.”
He seemed amused, but not surprised. “Well,
is he, now? The lad hasna ever met an Englishwoman. ’Twill be a good experience for him, then.”
“In what way?”
“I mean that the English seem to have a way with…well, subjugation.”
Genevieve bristled. “I find that remark quite improper.”
He laughed, revealing a row of gleaming white teeth. “Now that’s the lass I remember—all prickly and proper. Do ye remember how many times ye berated me for what ye called my ‘insolent’ humor?”
She did remember and even now could picture him needling her just to see her frown. After he’d manage to coax a rise out her, he’d kiss away that disapproval from her lips.
“You don’t need to remind me. And I’m not prickly.”
He laughed again, a deep, rich sound. “If I offended ye, I offer my sincere apology. I meant only to suggest that ye are quite capable of handling a firebrand such as Ewan. I’ll be the first to admit the lad is no’ easy to manage.”
“Ewan is just a child.”
“A very willful and disobedient child.”
“No doubt aggravated by the sudden loss of his mother.”
Connor sighed. “Aye, it has been difficult for him.”
“And for you?” She had no idea how that slipped out of her mouth. Mortified, she clamped her lips together and wished the floor would swallow her whole.
He took his time before he answered her. “A lad needs his mother.”
She noticed no trace of sorrow or regret in his voice. “I heard what happened. I’m sorry.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “’Tis a matter that is o’er. Ewan is the one who concerns me now.”
Genevieve understood that the matter was now closed. “Have you discipline in place for the boy?”
He shrugged. “Since I’m no’ around much, I’m no’ always able to provide a firm or consistent hand. He minds me well enough when I am here. But ’tis no’ enough. That’s why we hired ye. Consistency and firmness. Qualities I’ve seen for myself that ye possess.”
Not exactly the words every woman wanted to hear, but it indicated he had faith in her. Given her present circumstances that, above all, was important.
“Thank you. But discipline is only a small part of instruction. What about his letters and sums?”
“Aye, that, too, is most important. The other governesses reported that the boy is a bit dim-witted. As a result, I fear ’twill be most difficult to encourage him to attend to his studies in the first place.”
She considered this. “Will you then support my efforts to impose some sort of organized discipline with him?”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “Organized discipline?”
“Punishment. Withdrawal of privileges, confinement to his room and so on.”
“Does this include floggings?”
Genevieve gasped. “Certainly not.”
Again amusement flashed in his eyes. “Why no’?”
“Because it won’t be necessary.”
“Ye dinna know Ewan verra well.”
“It doesn’t matter how well I know him. I will not whip any child.”
“Ye seem certain about a great many things.”
“Well, I’m quite positive about that.”
His mouth curved into a smile so dazzling she felt warm from it. “Then ye have my full support, o’ course.”
“I’m grateful for that.” Perhaps this wouldn’t be as difficult as she had anticipated. Now the question that she wanted, no, needed to hear the answer to.
“May I be so bold as to inquire why you requested me? Given your position and status, certainly you had many more, let’s say…suitable choices.”
He seemed surprised by the question and leaned back, threading his long, tapered fingers together. “Only if I may first ask why ye chose to become a governess. ’Twas no’ your only choice. I heard ye turned down a suitor.”
So he had heard. Her cheeks flamed. “I…I thought it best at the time.” Of course, she hadn’t known then that the old man would be the one person to ever ask for her hand. “Nevertheless, I enjoy learning so given my present circumstances, the post of governess seemed a proper, even enjoyable choice for me. Your offer came at just the right time.” Of course, it had been her only offer under very dire circumstances, but he didn’t need to know that.
Again his gaze raked over her and she felt her face grow even warmer. But to her great relief, he pressed no further on the matter.
“Well, because ye asked, I’ll tell ye why I invited ye here to assume the post o’ governess. I remember ye as an able young lass with a discerning eye, quick wit and easy smile. Ye challenged me, and I liked that. Now, I hope ye’ll do the same for my son.”
An able young lass. So, that’s how he remembers me.
She didn’t know why his words should hurt, but they did. Of course just because that summer with him had been the most incredible, sensual, wonderful experience of her life, didn’t mean that it had been of the slightest importance to a man like Connor Douglas. He’d likely created dozens of similar memories for many more naïve women like her. It was time to accept the brutal truth. She had been nothing to him but a pleasant summer diversion. She’d been invited here to Scotland because Connor’s father had heard of her plight and took pity on her. Connor, desperate for any help to manage his unwieldy son, had agreed. As a result, she would do best to perform her duties adequately and move on as soon as possible.
A strange tight feeling constricted in her chest. “Well, I appreciate your frankness. I shall endeavor to fully meet your expectations.”
“I appreciate that. Ye were always a responsible lass.”
Responsible lass. Able lass. Prickly and proper.
God’s mercy, her pride could not take much more. Standing, she decided to end the conversation before she humiliated herself any further. “Well, if that will be all, Mr. Douglas…”
He rose as well and again the elegance of his movements reminded her of a sleek, predatory animal. “Before ye leave, I would request a favor o’ ye.”
Genevieve felt a flicker of apprehension. “And what might that be?”
He graced her with one of his bone-melting smiles. For a moment the years faded away and she saw the young man with whom she’d fallen in love. “I’d ask that ye address me by my Christian name when we are in private.” The request came easily and without embarrassment, as if he asked women to do this all the time. “And I would ask your permission to do the same. ’Twas how we were wi’ each other the last time we were together and somehow it feels unnatural to be so formal when it is just the two o’ us…alone.”
He paused as if remembering something. For a breathtaking moment, Genevieve thought he might say something about the last night they had been together, sitting under the big oak tree behind her grandfather’s stables, gazing up at a glittering array of stars. That night he had told her she was beautiful and she had believed him. He had kissed her tenderly, all the while murmuring sweet words of endearment in Gaelic in his soft Scottish burr. She had been so in love with him.
“Well, what say ye…Genevieve?”
Her heart stumbled…weakened. The way her name rolled off his tongue in his deep, sensual voice stirred up memories she had long ago buried. He’d always been able to do that, say her name in a way that made it seem as though she were the most cherished person in the world.
“I suppose there is no harm in that.” The words slipped from her lips. God’s mercy, what had happened to her resolve to keep a proper distance from him?
The corners of his slowly mouth turned up. “I’d hoped ye’d agree.”
She thought to leave but he came around the desk and unexpectedly took her hands in his. A quiver surged through her veins at his touch, an immediate, instinctive response.
His expression softened. “There is yet one more matter to discuss ’tween us. A matter of an apology.”
Emotion clutched at Genevieve’s throat and squeezed. “An apology for what?”
He shifted unea
sily on his feet. “For leaving Alnwick as I did ten years ago. For no’ saying goodbye. For no’ telling ye how much that summer meant to me.”
She stiffened. “That summer took place a long time ago and I’ve considered it completely forgotten.” It was the most boldfaced lie she had ever told and she amazed herself by the sheer audacity of it.
“I didna forget it, nor have I forgotten ye.”
She laughed, mostly in self-defense. “We were young and foolish. It was a pleasant enough time, I suppose, but a mistake, nonetheless.”
He frowned, his dark brows knitting together. “’Twas no’ a mistake. I didna regret it then, and I still dinna.”
All the hurt and anger arose afresh in her throat as raw and painful as if that summer had happened last night.
“Of course, you don’t regret it. After all, a man of your reputation must be quite well versed in stealing kisses from young ladies in the moonlight.”
She saw a flash of anger in his eyes and then it disappeared. “Were they truly stolen kisses, Genevieve?”
A well-aimed barb directed at her heart…and her pride. “Perhaps not,” she admitted. “Although now you likely expect me to say how impressed I was by your admirable restraint in taking it no further.”
“’Twas admirable restraint.” He spoke so softly that had not she been standing close to him she wouldn’t have heard it.
Her emotions asunder and feeling ridiculously close to tears, she pulled her hands from his and took a step back toward the door. Connor made no move to stop her.
“Well, if that will be all, I shall take my leave and return to my duties.” She gathered the vestiges of her dignity, devastated that after all these years he still had the power to hurt her.
“That will be all.”
She left him, deeply unsettled by the turn of their conversation. She deserved an apology from him, but now that she had it, it sat heavy on her heart.
When she reached her room, she immediately went to the small basin of water on the lowboy and dipped a linen cloth into it, applying it to her heated cheeks. Seeing Connor again had been more difficult than she had expected. Life here at Caisteal na Mara would be challenging.
Her Kilt-Clad Rogue Page 2
