by Meara Platt
She did not bother to hide her surprise. “Then why did you marry her?”
“For the good of the clan, of course. This is why we both entered into the marriage without complaint. Aye, it helped that she was a beautiful woman. But she was not the sort of woman I ever could love.”
“Why not, my lord?”
“Are ye asking out of curiosity or does it have direct bearing on this matter?” His arms were still crossed over his big, broad chest, and his expression remained cynical. Perhaps a little intimidating.
She sighed. “Curiosity. You needn’t answer it.”
“Why are ye curious about the sort of woman I might love?”
“I’m not sure. I’m always diligent in my assigned tasks and put everything I am into protecting my charges or investigating whatever crime. But I’ve never had to protect a child before. Nor have I ever seen a father and his little boy interact in the loving way you and your son do. To watch the two of you together is the most beautiful sight in the world to me.”
She felt tears well in her eyes and was quite horrified by it. “Having never known my blood kin, it has affected me more than I realized. Perhaps I am now being silly, but how can any woman not love you after seeing the way you are with Rafe?”
Had she just said she loved him?
Oh, dear heaven. She had to fix this. “I don’t mean fall in love with you. I merely meant that it is an admirable quality in a man, and something that would raise him in the estimation of any woman. And this made me curious to know what qualities you sought in a woman you could love. Theoretically speaking, of course. I am not…nor would you ever…being completely out of your class…out of the question. Obviously.”
She was rambling now and had to end this conversation. “I was curious to know.”
“Taffy, I ken ye are a romantic.” He was smiling at her now, a full blown, gorgeous smile that stole her breath away. This man was kind, loyal, and devastatingly handsome. What was wrong with Vera that she could not see into his heart and love him eternally?
“I don’t think I am a romantic at all, my lord. You see, I have no illusions about who I am. No man of your stature would ever take me as his wife or consider me for anything other than his mistress. And this I will not be for any man.”
His smile faded. “I’m sorry, lass. I dinna wish to sound glib. Of course, ye wouldn’t. I would never insult ye by asking such a thing even if I were attracted to ye. Ye want to know the sort of woman I could love? One who is as honest and brave as ye are. One who is as kind and gentle as ye have been to my son. One who has yer cleverness and yer moral character. It is genuine, not the priggish, upright feigned morals put on by women of supposedly exalted rank who like to put down others in order to feel superior.”
He uncrossed his arms and leaned back against the writing desk, casually gripping the edges of it with both hands. “Vera was beautiful and clever, but she was also very spoiled and demanding. She required a lot of attention. She was used to having her way in all things and could be quite manipulative whenever she felt denied.”
He was being brutally honest with her, but mostly with himself and she was now sorry she’d asked the question. “Oh.”
“We did not enjoy the same things. She liked parties. She enjoyed holding court, having lots of people around her to admire her. Her time was spent pampering herself. New clothes, long baths, making certain her jewelry was finer than anyone else’s. Trivial things.”
Taffy had her hands clasped, now irritated that a woman in her position would be indulgent of her petty desires instead of caring for her people. She was married to the next Duke of Inverness and ought to have been doing good works. Then again, perhaps she was and her husband simply did not appreciate her efforts.
It was hard to know who was in the right and who was in the wrong. If she had cried over the beau from the MacPherson clan, perhaps losing him had hurt her so deeply, she could no longer bear this life she’d been forced to take on for the benefit of her clan. So she’d lost herself in her material possessions instead of trying to be a better wife to the man she might have blamed for keeping her apart from her true love.
It was all so complicated.
Taffy had neither fortune nor a family of consequence. Perhaps it was a blessing. If someone wanted her, then she would know it was only for herself because that is all she had to offer.
“I was the opposite in temperament, preferring to hide away in my library and read quietly beside the fire with a good whisky in my glass.” He glanced over at his bed and Taffy immediately followed the direction of his gaze. “I think Rafe is waking up. Have I given ye enough fodder?”
She nodded. “Yes, I shall report to Mr. Barrow now, if I may. I think this Bruce Gordon is worth a closer look. You may have encountered him at Coldstream Castle and not realized it. Or anywhere else along the way. One of the coaching inns, perhaps. Seeing you and then learning your wife was dead might have set him off, ignited his rage.”
Rafe was now sitting up and rubbing his eyes. In another moment he’d be crying out for his father or scampering over to him, for the alcove was visible from the bed.
“One last thing we did not discuss, my lord. How did your wife die?”
He did not have time to respond before Rafe scurried out of bed and ran to his father. “Did ye sleep well, lad?” he asked, picking up his son to hug him and give him a kiss on the cheek.
The groggy boy kissed him back and nodded. “Is it snowing?”
“Aye, lad. Look out the window. Ye can see the snowflakes falling hard. We won’t be going outside today. So I’ll help ye to wash and dress. Then I’ll take ye down to breakfast. After ye eat, maybe Taffy will be finished with her chores and can read ye another story.”
He set his son down, but what neither of them expected was for the boy to run over to Taffy and give her an enormous hug and a kiss on the cheek. She hugged him back, closing her eyes a moment for the gesture was so sweet, it shot straight to her heart. “Good morning, Master Rafe.”
He climbed onto her lap, nestling quite comfortably in her arms. “After you read to me, can we play a game?”
She nodded. “Yes. But as your papa said, I have a little bit of work to do first. So you be a good boy and show your papa how well you wash your hands and face. And don’t forget to wash behind your ears.” She playfully tweaked his earlobe. “I’ll be back by the time you’ve finished your breakfast. Are you hungry?”
“Yes.” His eyes were so big and innocent.
“And think about what games you would like to play. We’ll have all afternoon together. I can also teach you to write your letters. Do you know the letters in your name?”
He looked stricken.
The marquis explained it to her. “His name is Raphael Marcus Alexander Mortimer Carstairs. A bit much for a boy of his age to manage.”
Taffy playfully tugged on the boy’s earlobe again. “What if we just write Rafe?”
He nodded and cast her a big smile.
“Perfect.” She eased him off her lap and rose, then bobbed a curtsy to each of them. “I shall return as soon as I can, Master Rafe.”
He threw his arms around her waist and hugged her again. “Don’t forget.”
“I never shall.” She stroked the boy’s hair, making no effort to draw him away as she looked up at his father in consternation. What did he think of this display?
He’d folded his arms across his chest again and was staring back at her, but his expression was unreadable. Finally, after a long moment, he said, “Rafe, let go of Taffy now.”
“All right.” The boy was adorably pouting.
Taffy smothered a smile, knowing she should not encourage his behavior. She bobbed another curtsy and fled the room, heading straight downstairs to grab her cape. She needed to convey all she’d learned to Mr. Barrow. With the weather so bad, she hoped to catch a ride into town from one of the local farmers who routinely delivered their produce. But the day was miserable and the family was no longer in residence, so
she was not surprised when none of their local providers had shown up yet.
Perhaps she could prevail on a stable groom to saddle one of the horses for her. It was an hour’s walk into town and would take another hour coming back. Riding would be so much easier, especially in this bad weather.
To her relief, as she was about to head to the stable she noticed a wagon being driven up the back road. As it drew closer to the kitchen entrance, she realized the man at the reins was Mr. Barrow himself.
She ran out to greet him as he approached.
“Miss Ralston, just the person I hoped to see.” He was a portly man with a bulbous nose that remained red no matter the temperature. That he was often jovial belied the fact that he was quite serious about his assignments. He was quick and clever, and his sharp eyes missed nothing.
As the kitchen help scurried out to unload the provisions, Taffy led him inside and the Hartland cook offered him a cup of tea. “Where did you get that wagon and supplies, Mr. Barrow?”
“Borrowed from a local farmer. I wanted to ride over here unobtrusively and see if there was any unusual activity going on between here and town.”
“Was there any?” They settled at a small table in an out of the way corner of the kitchen, both of them grateful when the Hartland cook brought over the tea and freshly baked scones.
“I’m not certain yet. What about you?”
“I had a chat with the marquis this morning. It was most enlightening,” she said in a whisper. “I was just going into town to inform you.”
He placed his cold hands around the warm cup. “Glad I could save you the trip. Mick noticed someone in a woody outcropping not far from here. The man had a spyglass and it was trained on this house. He didn’t see Mick. But neither could Mick get a good look at him. Best he could tell me was that he appeared to be a man of average height. Average weight. Couldn’t be sure of the color of his hair, but he thought it might be brown.”
Taffy grew excited. “I have a name for you. Bruce Gordon. He is a cousin of the powerful Earl of Moray and was a beau of the marquis’s wife before they were married.”
She quickly told him everything the marquis had told her. “He asks that we keep this information in confidence. Your runners only need to know who to be on the lookout for. They don’t need to be told the intimate details. I promised we would not discuss this beyond the two of us.”
“I’ll have Mick ask around at the local inns. He’ll know how to do it discreetly. A man like that will take fancy lodgings. Can’t be more than two or three inns that would be fine enough for him. We’ll find out right quick which inn and what name he has signed under. That’s good work, Miss Ralston.”
She smiled. “I’m glad I could be of help.”
Since she had also discussed Rafe while giving her report, she wanted her employer to give her the authority to keep close to the boy, even if it meant that another runner would be assigned responsibility for the marquis.
In truth, she was worried about her attraction to the marquis and how it might affect her duties. Putting them in harm’s way was the last thing she ever wanted to do.
“I think I must keep primary responsibility for the boy,” she said, trying to sound as businesslike as possible. “Assign someone else to guard the father.”
Mr. Barrow regarded her with his keen, eagle stare. “You seem awfully eager to be removed from contact with Lord Falkirk.”
“No, it isn’t that at all. I do not mind him. He is quite pleasant and has not behaved in any untoward manner, if that is what you are thinking. He is a gentleman.” Still, the less she had to do with him, the better. “Perhaps it is a woman’s sentiment. The boy is small and helpless. He needs my protection and he trusts me. The marquis is no soft London dandy. He can take care of himself. He ought to be protected as well, I do not mean to imply he should be left on his own. It’s just that anyone can do it. Whereas with the boy, it must be me.”
“I’ll think about it, Miss Ralston. Now that you have given me a name to work with, I’d rather put my other runners to tracking the man down. I’m leaving you in charge of both the marquis and his son for now. They are together most of the time, are they not?”
She nodded. “But not always.”
“Well, try to keep them together as much as you can. If he must go somewhere within the house, have Watkins follow him. But you are to remain in charge and I will let Watkins know to follow your instructions without question.”
“Very well.” However, she was not pleased with the arrangement for many reasons. First, Watkins was an older and more experienced Bow Street man. He would not take kindly to being told what to do by a woman half his age and with only a few years of experience.
Second, she would be forced to remain in the constant company of the marquis and she truly did not know if her feelings might get in the way of her duties. Third, and most worrisome of all was what would she do if he tried to kiss her?
Not that he would.
Why did she even consider it a possibility? The man was noble in every way. It would never happen.
But in theory, if it did happen…would she insist on maintaining a professional distance?
Or would she kiss him back with all her heart and soul?
CHAPTER FIVE
GAVIN WAS SURPRISED when Taffy returned to his bedchamber within the hour. He had just finished helping Rafe to wash and was now helping him dress when he heard a soft knock at the panel leading to the servants stairs. In the next moment, the panel opened and she stuck her pretty head into the room. “May I come in, my lord?”
“Aye, lass. Do.” He had been kneeling while helping his son put on his breeches, but rose as she entered and quietly shut the panel behind her. “I dinna expect ye back so soon.”
Rafe’s eyes lit up and he began to hop up and down. “Now can we play?”
The lass tossed his son an affectionate smile. “Indeed, Master Rafe. Why don’t you fetch your shoes while I talk to your father for just a moment.”
The boy obediently scampered to the large wardrobe. “I can put them on myself.”
She laughed softly as Rafe got busy attempting to buckle his shoes. She watched the boy another moment finding him truly adorable, then turned to the marquis and spoke in a low voice. “I was not looking forward to making the trek into town in the blinding snow. Fortunately, Mr. Barrow drove up in a farmer’s wagon to deliver produce to Hartland.”
He arched an eyebrow. “A man of many talents.”
“He is that, and now that he is here, he’ll chat up the staff and have a quick look around to see if anything or anyone seems out of place. You see, he came here to let me know that one of his runners spotted a man watching this house. He described this man as being of average height and average weight, possibly with brown hair. I gave him the name of Bruce Gordon.”
He tensed immediately. “I see. The villain is here already.”
She nodded. “We suspect so. You needn’t worry about your son. I will stick to him like a barnacle to the hull of a ship.” She patted her hip. “And I have my pistol at the ready.”
“Lass, ye have no idea how much I am comforted in the knowledge ye’ll be with my son. Where is Mr. Barrow now? I’d like to meet him.”
“Oh, I expect you will when he’s ready to introduce himself to you. You will know him immediately. He’s a big, portly man. Jovial, much like one’s own grandfather…well, what I expect a grandfather should be. He has a bulbous nose and jowly cheeks. Do not mistake his good nature for lack of determination. He is the cleverest man I’ve ever met. You are in excellent hands.”
He glanced down at her hands and took them into his own. “I think I am in excellent hands with ye, lass.”
Her cheeks turned a bright pink. “I merely work for Mr. Barrow.”
He did not release her, although he did not quite understand why he could not. Surprisingly, her hands were soft. Not genteel soft, for Taffy truly had taken on the role of a Hartland Abbey maid. Perhaps elegant w
as a better description, for her fingers were long and slender. “What do ye need me to do?”
“Do, my lord? For now, you only need to stay close to me.”
“Like a barnacle to the hull of a ship?” he teased, repeating her earlier words.
Her blush deepened and her lips parted. “Um…”
“I’m teasing ye, lass.” In that moment, he wanted to kiss her. He also wanted to take off that irritating mobcap she always wore and see the lush color of her hair. The curls peeking out from under the white cap were a lustrous reddish brown. How deep a red was her hair? “The thing is, I dinna wish to stand around and do nothing while this villain approaches.”
“Oh.” She licked her lips.
An ache tore through him.
Why did he sorely wish to kiss this lass?
It would do neither of them any good. He was a Scot and a marquis. She was a Sassenach Bow Street runner, a foundling left on an orphanage doorstep. He could never marry such a lass and she’d already made it clear she would be no man’s mistress. In truth, he could not stomach to take her on as that.
She was good and proud.
Clever and loving.
He valued her judgment and trusted her with Rafe, for she’d shown more kindness to the boy in a day than Vera ever had in the lad’s five years. Not that Vera had ever been cruel, for she had not been. But Rafe was his son, bred off her. She could not give his son a mother’s uncompromising love when her heart belonged to another.
A man who’d died at Waterloo.
Gavin could not compete with MacPherson’s ghost.
Rafe had finally buckled one shoe and was now diligently working on the other, so Gavin knew he would not have much longer to speak frankly with the lass. “Do ye wish to know where I’ve hidden my weapons?”
She released the breath she had been holding. “Yes, an excellent idea.”
“I’ve placed a knife behind the firewood bin.” He pointed it out to her before leading her over to the bed. “A second knife under my pillow. Pistol in the drawer of my night stand. Another pistol tucked in that bowl of fruit on the bureau.”
