Well, she had no time to dwell on it now. Lucinda would be coming momentarily to lead her to supper and she had yet to dress. She made her way back to the wardrobe, taking care to notice where she walked. Finding the snake and doing a quick look about the room for any other assorted “gifts” from Ewan would be a priority after supper.
She chose a dark green gown from the wardrobe and gingerly took it down, shaking it out just to be certain the folds of material held no further unexpected guests. She donned it and smoothed out the skirts. Leaning over, she carefully examined her shoes and put them on just as Lucinda knocked at the door, announcing that supper was ready.
Standing, Genevieve followed Lucinda downstairs. She was surprised when the girl led her to the Great Hall where Connor sat talking softly with his father in front of a blazing fire. One end of a long trundle table had been covered with a white tablecloth with four places set. Both men rose when they saw her and she summoned a confident smile she did not feel and walked toward them.
“You are prompt.” Connor offered her his elbow. Genevieve hesitated a moment before she took it, acutely aware of the strength in his forearm as her fingertips lightly touched the soft material of his coat. Although it was all very proper, Genevieve couldn’t stop the way her pulse jumped by just being in close proximity to him.
“O’ course, she’s prompt,” Malcom said with a twinkle in his eye. “She’s English, is she no’? ’Tis one thing ye can say about the English. They are ne’er late for a meal.”
She smiled and Connor chuckled as he helped her into her seat. As the small talk dwindled, the mood at the table soured. After the servants had filled their wine cups for a second time, Connor began drumming his fingers impatiently on the table.
“Where in the devil is Ewan? I’ll no’ have that lad delaying our supper again.”
Clearly annoyed, Malcom summoned a young servant and ordered him to find the boy. The servant appeared visibly upset at the request, but scurried off to try. Genevieve got the distinct impression that this kind of thing happened often.
Again the conversation lulled and Genevieve sipped her wine wondering how much longer they would wait before starting dinner. After a few minutes, Malcom pulled out his pocket watch and looked at it, grumbling softy under his breath. The scowl deepened on Connor’s face before he threw back the rest of his wine and stood up.
“I’ll go find the lad myself.”
Genevieve held up a hand. “Wait. I know it’s rather presumptuous to make a suggestion on my first day, but if you would indulge me, I have an idea that might help in this matter.”
Connor leaned forward, placing both hands on the table. “Please do grace us wi’ your suggestion, Miss Fitzsimmons.” His blue eyes studied her intently.
Malcom leaned forward on the table, his elbows on the table. “Aye, please do.”
Even the servant who stood motionless by the door that separated the Great Hall from the cooking area, seemed interested in what she had to say.
Genevieve swallowed hard, the taste of wine suddenly bitter in her mouth. “I would suggest removing Ewan’s plate from the table. If he cannot bring it upon himself to arrive at supper in a timely fashion, then he should go without.”
“Go without supper?” Malcom appeared slightly shocked.
“Yes. And the servants and those in the kitchen should be warned not to provide him any food—not even a scrap of bread.”
“Surely ye canna mean to starve the lad?” Connor had a trace of exasperation in his voice.
“I assure you, he’ll not starve. But I do think it will cause him to reconsider his decision to make us wait for our supper. The rule should be consistent. If he is not at the table, washed and ready to eat by five o’clock, then his plate will be removed and there will be no food until morning.”
Malcom gazed at her. “’Tis a bit harsh, is it no’?”
“If we do not set limits with him, then he will not know how to behave properly.”
Malcom stroked his beard, looking at her thoughtfully. “Ye understand that by doing this, ye declare war wi’ the boy, then? ’Tis a risky strategy wi’ him, ye know.”
“I know.” Seeing how she stood on shaky ground with Ewan as it was, this directive would certainly not endear her to him, and she had no doubt he would figure out who had issued it. It would have been much safer to let Connor deal with this particular behavior problem and hold her tongue. She was certain she’d have enough matters to deal with as soon as they started their lessons tomorrow. But she had followed her instincts with the boy and now simply prayed for the best.
She continued with a firmness she didn’t feel. “He cannot be allowed to direct the course of the activities in this castle. This should hold true whether or not you are in the castle, Mr. Douglas. But it will not work without your support and authority.”
Connor stared at her for a moment longer with his penetrating blue eyes and then raised his hand. The servant was instantly at his side.
“Remove Ewan’s plate from the table and inform the staff that they are not to provide even a morsel o’ food for him tonight. If I find out that anyone has disobeyed my orders, they will lose a week’s pay. Do ye understand?”
The servant swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously in his throat. “Aye, sir.”
“Excellent. Then bring us our supper.”
The mood of the evening ruined, Genevieve ate her soup quietly, nearly finishing before Ewan deigned to appear. To his credit he had washed and changed his shirt, but his breeches and boots were still filthy. He ignored her as he slid into his seat.
“Da, ye should o’ seen what happened in the chicken coop today. The rooster went mad, chasing the hens about and sending feathers flying in the air. Old Mr. McKay chased him about, falling twice on his arse. Me and Jamie jumped in and chased the rooster until it simply wore out. Mr. McKay took the bird and said he intended to wring its neck, but Mrs. McKay said ’twas no one else loud enough to wake him from sleep, so the rooster would have to stay.”
He reached for a cup and then frowned when he realized it was missing. “Where is my cup? And my plate?”
Connor took a sip of his wine and regarded the boy over his cup. “If ye canna make it to supper on time, then ye willna eat.”
A look of disbelief crossed Ewan’s face. “What? But Da, I…”
“Ye heard what I said, Ewan. I’ve had enough o’ your excuses these past few months since your mum died.”
Ewan appealed to his grandfather. “Grandda, surely ye canna mean to let me go hungry?”
Malcom shrugged, focusing his attention on his dinner. Genevieve watched as the boy’s gaze finally landed on her and his blue eyes grew hard.
“This is your doing.” He pushed away from the table angrily and came to his feet. “Ye told them to starve me, didna ye, English? Ye probably told him about the snake too. Well, I shouldna be surprised. Ye think ye’re in charge here, but ye’re no’.”
Connor stood, his knife clattering to the table. A deathly silence fell over the room. Genevieve realized she was holding her breath.
“That is quite enough, Ewan. First, ye will apologize to Miss Fitzsimmons, and then ye will go to your room. I believe ye now understand what ye must do in order to receive your meals. I suggest ye think hard and well before ye decide to disobey again.”
Ewan stood, still glaring at her, his fists at his side and bristling with hostility. “Sorry.” He stalked away from the table without another glance backward.
After a moment Connor sat back down and calmly resumed eating. Genevieve’s appetite had fled and she could only push the food around on her plate. Malcom, trying valiantly to revive the dinner conversation, began speaking about the lovely spring weather. She appreciated the effort and did her best to seem interested, but was thankful when Connor inquired if everyone had finished the meal. She practically leaped from her chair, wishing for nothing more than to retire to her chamber and end this horrid day.
Both me
n stood and Connor came around the table and offered her his arm, saying that he intended to escort her back to her room. She protested, but he insisted. Hesitantly she took his arm, her elbow linking with his, her fingers resting lightly atop his forearm. She marveled at how tall he stood and yet how he carried his height with a graceful elegance. The warmth of him beckoning her nearer.
She bid Malcom good night. They walked down the hall and climbed the stairs until arriving at her door. Connor released her arm and she reached for the latch until he grabbed her hand. Still holding it, he turned her around, deftly backing her up against the door.
“’Twas a bold move ye made wi’ Ewan tonight. I like that ye took a stand wi’ him.”
Oh, God, how her heart jolted and her pulse pounded every time he touched her. He disturbed her senses in every way. “I…um, do think it is the right course of action, Mr. Douglas.”
“Connor.”
He stood much too close. She swallowed hard. “Connor.”
“I agree wi’ ye. But it willna make your task any easier.”
“I never expected this position to be easy.” She pressed back against the door wondering how she could politely extract her hand. He seemed in no hurry to release it and a traitorous part of her openly enjoyed the physical contact. “But I do believe I shall manage somehow.”
“O’ that I have no doubt.” He smiled and Genevieve could not help but respond. His good nature had always enchanted her.
God’s mercy, better not to think of those things.
His mouth quirked. “Now, Genevieve, why didna ye tell me o’ the snake?”
“Snake?” She squeaked the word. “Oh, that.”
“Aye, that.”
She straightened her shoulders and firmly extracted her hand, once again a governess in charge. Except he still had her trapped between him and the door. “Nothing really. I happened to come across one in my room, that’s all.”
“Courtesy o’ Ewan. Why didna ye tell me?”
“There are some matters I am quite capable of handling for myself.”
He leaned forward, causing her to press back tighter against the door to avoid touching his body. “So, I presume that means ye dinna want to me make certain it is gone from your chamber.”
“Oh, would you?” The words came out in a relieved rush.
He smiled and bent his dark head toward her. For a paralyzing, breathtaking moment she was certain he would kiss her, but instead he reached around her waist and unfastened the latch to the door. She would have fallen backwards across the threshold if not for his hand firmly at the small of her back. For a brief moment, they stood there, gazing into each other’s eyes.
Then he politely released her and stepped back, permitting her to regain her balance and go into the room. After a moment he followed. It seemed far too intimate a place to be with him, but he did not seem the slightest ill at ease. Instead, he seemed to fill the room with his mere presence, his scent and his gaze. She tried not to think about the other circumstances that might make him so comfortable in a woman’s chamber.
“Where did ye last see it?” he asked.
“It?”
“The snake.”
Her cheeks grew hot as she pointed to the bed. “Under there. It was in the wardrobe. When I opened it, the snake fell out to the floor and proceeded to slither under the bed. I looked, but couldn’t see it.”
“Did ye get a look at it?”
She shuddered. “It was green and grey. Rather small, actually.”
“Naught more than a garden snake likely. Completely harmless.”
“I didn’t think otherwise. I’d just rather not have it under my bed, harmless or not.”
He bent down to his knees by the bed and glanced up at her, a glint of humor in his eyes. “There are a lot more dangerous things a lady could have in her bed, ye know.”
She pursed her lips at him. She had accused him of insolent humor and he had obliged. Odd how that was one of the few aspects of their relationship he seemed to remember. Although when she thought about it now, she, too, had greatly enjoyed matching wits.
He lifted the bedcovers and searched beneath the bed, giving her a most spectacular view of his bum. It strained against his breeches, tight and well-formed, tapering off into a remarkable pair of muscular thighs and calves. Unbidden, heat rushed through her. Appalled at her thinking, Genevieve tore her gaze away and settled it on the window.
“I canna see a thing under here.” His voice was muffled as he swept his arm back and forth beneath the bed. “I didna feel anything either.”
“I sincerely hope the creature departed.”
“Perhaps.” He rose and dusted off his breeches. “If ye’d like, I’ll check the bedsheets and blankets.”
For a fleeting moment, Genevieve pictured herself tangled with him in those very sheets and blankets and flushed even hotter. “Please, I’d appreciate it.”
He lifted the covers one by one, shaking them out. Erotic images leapt to mind as she watched his hands. He had the most beautiful fingers she had ever seen—long, tapered and capable of great gentleness. For a moment, she remembered how it felt to have those wondrous hands pressing into her back, tangling in her hair and stroking her cheek.
Cease this at once, she commanded herself. Her face burned so hot, she was certain he would need only one look to know exactly what she’d been thinking.
“Clean.” He turned to face her. “Ye should be able to sleep safely.”
She turned away and walked to the window, staring out. After those improper reminiscences, she doubted she’d sleep a wink. “Thank you. You make me feel safe.” As soon as she said it, she snapped her mouth shut in mortification. What in the world had come over her?
“That is good to know. Well, I should bid ye a good evening, then.”
“Yes. Good night.” She hoped to hurry him along and end this torture.
But instead of walking to the door, he approached her at the window. What in God’s name is he doing now?
Gathering her composure, she turned to him. “Is there something else…sir?” Better to remind them both of her position here.
He reached out, cupping her chin in his warm hand. “I asked ye to call me Connor. Didna forget again, aye, Genevieve?”
She wanted more than anything to resist his charm and ignore the way he made her feel. But at that particular moment, standing in the intimacy of her bedroom with the only man she’d ever loved, she couldn’t.
“Connor.” The word came out as a whisper.
His fingers tightened on her chin. She knew that their closeness was not proper, but she couldn’t move. The faint stub of whiskers on his cheeks and the muscles that twitched in his jaw captivated her. His powerful chest and muscular shoulders were both within reach of her hands if she dared to reach out and touch him like she once had. A hot rush of warmth swept through her, his nearness kindling long forgotten feelings of desire.
He smiled slowly, a look of both knowing and understanding in his eyes. So he was aware of his effect on her—the scoundrel!
“’Tis good to see ye again, Genevieve. Being here wi’ ye, it seems as though no’ much time has passed.”
The emotion and longing in his voice tugged at her heart and she struggled to set her resolve against him. She had no idea why he said such things or why he toyed with her emotions, but never again would she open her heart to such pain and grief.
The spell broken, she pulled her chin from his hand, tears pricking her eyes. “I beg to differ. Times have changed and so have I.”
He shook his head. “No’ in the ways that matter most,” he murmured.
Rain started to fall outside the open window, the pattering sound soft and familiar. She closed her eyes when he reached out and twined a strand of her hair around his finger.
“With your permission, I’ll go have a talk wi’ Ewan about the snake.”
Shaken by the tenderness of his gesture and dismayed at how vulnerable it made her feel, she stepp
ed away from him. “I wish you wouldn’t. It will only make matters worse. I can manage this alone.”
“Are ye certain?”
Her body longed to return to him, but she stood her ground, wrapping her arms around her waist. “I am.”
“As ye wish, then.”
“Thank you.”
He turned and walked to the door, pausing on the threshold. “Good night, lass. I wish for ye the sweetest o’ dreams. We have a custom here in Scotland that whatever ye dream on the first night in your new home will come true.”
Without another word, he left, leaving her standing there with her heart hammering foolishly and her body tingling from the encounter with him.
The sweetest of dreams, indeed. If only he knew what she dreamed about him.
Genevieve sank into a chair, her knees weak. She had never felt so unnerved, so completely unable to control her emotions. Horrified, she realized it was as if she were sixteen years old again, without either the willpower or sensibility to conduct herself in a proper manner around him. How could he still manage to have such a disturbing effect on her after all these years?
She pressed her hand to her breast, willing her pulse to slow. This was a most unfortunate turn of events. She had no intention of engaging in any sort of misconduct with him. But she couldn’t seem to stop her heart from beating quicker when she saw him, nor could she manage a cold indifference. Yet for the sake of her future, she had very well try harder.
She glanced at the mussed bed sheets and remembered the way he touched them, like an intimate caress. She drew in her breath sharply. His actions had been innocent, not to mention done upon her request. Men like Connor were so practiced in the art of seduction that it clung to them as second nature.
Sighing, she changed into her bed gown and sat in front of the fire. As the heat from the fire warmed her body and the sound of the rain comforted her, she began to relax. She’d manage this. She’d handle Connor Douglas despite his reputation as a rogue extraordinaire.
She was strong, she was English, she was a Fitzsimmons. She would persevere.
Her Kilt-Clad Rogue Page 4
