One Night with Her Brooding Bodyguard

by Cara Colter

  “Still, even with that, they’re like the poster children for romance. They’ve been married forever. You’d think they’d be beyond the starry-eyed stage.”

  She stopped herself—barely—from saying how the couple’s love for each other made her feel lonelier than ever, and a sharp sense of longing that didn’t feel as if it could ever be filled.

  The thunderous look was softening a bit on Lancaster’s face, so she took that as encouragement and went on.

  “I like to go to town for my supper—you call it tea, I know, but that’s very confusing. Besides, Edward takes his meals with Maddie, feeding her off his spoon and wiping her brow, and it’s all quite romantic and very intimate. Well, until she loses it again.” Sophie sighed. “I can tell they cherish their time, even with the vomitus interruptus. There’s nothing worse than being the third wheel at a party for two.”

  “You’ll make some friends,” Lancaster said, but she could hear the uncertainty in his voice. Whether that uncertainty was caused because he didn’t think she would make friends, or because he was out of his element trying to be sensitive, she wasn’t quite sure.

  “Friends,” Sophie said with a snort. “I’ve been invited to eat with the family, if you can call it that. The dining table is a veritable football field. His mother and father are completely stuffy, and it’s excruciating trying to think of things to say and remember all the rules I’m supposed to remember to dine with the king and queen. It’s quite remarkable that Edward is as lovely as he is, don’t you think?”

  Apparently Lancaster’s job description did not allow him to comment on the loveliness of his employer, because he said nothing. Which encouraged her to keep talking!

  “Don’t even get me started on blarneycockles! I know they’re your national food or treasure or something, but do they have to be on every table? Honestly, I think that’s why Maddie has taken to her bed. Perpetually nauseated by blarneycockles.”

  She paused for breath. “I thought I should probably go back to the US but Edward begged me not to. He said that I’m helping immensely. That both Maddie and Ryan seem so much better since I got here.”

  “I believe that’s true,” Lancaster said, nodding emphatically.

  She cast him a faintly suspicious look. Why did he sound eager to have her stay? He couldn’t possibly know if it was true or not, since he hadn’t even been around for the past week.

  “I’ve committed to staying until the baby comes, and maybe a little beyond that, but honestly, Lancaster, this is a lovely place, quite quaint and charming, but extraordinarily dull. It’s what I left behind in Mountain Bend, only worse because aside from Maddie, I don’t have any friends or family here. And because I’m friends with her, the princess, none of the other staff wants to get chatty with me, as if I’m upper crust—there’s a laugh—and they aren’t. I mean, even though Ricky was super polite and answered all my questions—his girlfriend’s name is Becky and he has a dog named Buck—I couldn’t exactly have a conversation with him, because he wouldn’t ask anything about me. I have to do something or I’m going to become a raving lunatic.”

  He was silent.

  “Quit looking at me like that, as if you think I already am a raving lunatic.” It occurred to her she had been raving, a week’s worth of pent-up frustrations boiling over on her.

  “I’ll walk you down to the village and have tea with you,” Lancaster said.

  She looked at him. She wanted to weep she was so grateful for his company and understanding. Was it possible she and Lancaster could be friends?

  I doubt it, a voice inside her whispered.

  She glanced at him again. As always, his face was unreadable.

  “Are you escorting me? Your duty? Ricky’s replacement?”

  “Please stop calling him Ricky,” Lancaster said with a groan. He did not answer the question.

  “It’s a mark of my desperation that I’ll say yes to your suggestion, even though it’s prompted by either a sense of duty or pity,” she told him.

  He looked at her long and hard. “You make me feel many things, Sophie, pity not being one of them.”

  Which left duty. Still...

  “What kind of things?” she whispered.

  “Oh, no you don’t, lass. It’s bad enough I’ve admitted to having a feeling.”

  She laughed at that, and it felt good to laugh with someone—anyone—though somehow laughing with Lancaster was special. Well, not exactly with him. She was laughing. He had what might have been a reluctant smile tickling across the full, sensuous swell of his lips.

  “Those boots don’t seem like the most practical,” he said, finally noticing her lovely outfit, but not with approval. “And that bag must be heavy. What on earth do you put in a bag that size?”

  “I have a collapsible donkey in here,” she told him. “For the trip back up. It’s not nearly as easy as the one going down.”

  He did smile at that.

  A group of schoolgirls in sports uniforms were coming up the pathway toward them. Lancaster pulled back to let them by, asking them something in Gaelic.

  The giggles intensified. One girl blushed. Another, beautiful with a head of flaming-red curls, stopped and said something to him. She had her hand on her hip and rocked forward slightly on one leg as she said it. Her voice was a purr and her air was definitely flirtatious.

  It reminded Sophie, uncomfortably, of exactly the kind of attention her fiancé had attracted from fans at rock concerts.

  But Lancaster had a different attitude. He looked at the girl sternly, then leaned very close to her, and said something for her ears only. She rocked back from him, and went very pale before hurrying off to catch up to her friends.

  “What was that about?” Sophie asked.

  “They’re going to the pitch on the castle grounds. I told them to score one for me. That’s all.”

  “It’s not all! That’s part of why I feel so lonely here. English is the official language, but the accents are so thick, or people mix Gaelic and English to the point I can’t understand half of what anyone is saying.”

  “The girl who stopped said something quite naughty about scoring,” he admitted reluctantly.

  “I figured as much. And what did you say that dispatched her as if she’d been confronted with a banshee?”

  “I said I knew her father.”

  Sophie studied his face. “Do you?”

  “Good grief, no. I had no idea who she was, let alone who her father is.”

  “What a perfect response.” Sophie laughed, partly in relief because Lancaster was so unlike her fiancé, Troy.

  But then she stopped laughing. That girl, really, had been just like she had been when she first met Lancaster. Young. Intrigued. Testing a newfound feminine power. And yet, testing it on a man she knew, intuitively, was completely safe. Honorable.

  Biology, she reminded herself, the power of which was not to be underestimated.

  “It must be very tough on you fighting off the attentions of females, young and old,” she said drily. Troy would have seen that as a compliment.

  “A full-time occupation,” he agreed, just as drily.

  Sophie felt a reluctant trust in him. And then they shared a tentative smile. It made her aware what a rare thing Lancaster’s smile was.

  If she wasn’t aware he was already fully occupied fighting off female attention, she might be tempted to try to make that smile happen more often.

  Instead, she turned quickly to the path. He fell into step beside her, and Sophie was aware that though there was no reason to be frightened on Havenhurst—the very thought seemed ludicrous—there was something immensely solid about having Lancaster at her side. There was something about the way he moved—with an innate sense of his own power—that made her feel protected. It was a lovely feeling, even though she did not need protection!

 
The streetlights, charmingly old, were coming on as they entered the village. Sophie turned to go the way she always went, down a street of the most delightful thatched roof cottages, but Lancaster nodded to a different street.

  “I usually go this way,” he said. She could not help but notice that everyone they passed seemed to know who he was. He was admired, but it seemed people trusted him, completely, not to ever take any kind of advantage of that admiration, unlike someone else she could think of! Lancaster had earned a deep-seated respect from his fellow countrymen and women.

  The way he had chosen didn’t seem like the most direct route, but all the streets of Havenhurst were equally enchanting, and she readily gave herself over to exploring a new route.

  “It’s so old,” she said.

  “It is, indeed. Some of these buildings date back to the thirteenth century.”

  “The oldest building in Mountain Bend was from the eighteen hundreds. Look, the shops are still open.”

  “Traditionally, they stay open later on Friday.”

  It marked how her days had begun to melt together that she hadn’t even realized it was Friday.

  “What’s this building?” she asked, pausing to look at a sign above a doorway that said Top Secret. While most of the buildings on the street were quaint—brick or stone, with steep-pitched roofs, dormer windows and soaring chimneys—this one was squat, square and formidable.

  “It’s kind of creepy-looking. The Havenhurst spy agency?”

  He actually threw back his head and laughed. “It used to be a jail, but it’s enjoying a rather heady second life. One of Havenhurst’s proudest success stories.”

  Sophie looked up at his face, illuminated by both the streetlights and his laughter. His laughter was rich and real. She tried to think if she had heard him laugh before. She didn’t think you could possibly forget if you had. He carried himself with a certain grimness, a man not to be messed with, who rarely let his guard down.

  She felt just like that schoolgirl who had just tried out her feminine wiles on him. Just like the girl she had once been, she wanted to be the one whom he let down his guard for.

  “What kind of success story?” she forced herself to ask.

  The laughter died. He suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Let’s go for that scone,” he said.

  She frowned at him. “There’s an open sign. I’ll go see.”

  “Wait.”

  Sophie ignored him, and pushed open the heavy, black iron-clad door. It had huge nail heads in it, as if she was entering a medieval torture chamber. And so nothing about the imposing exterior prepared her for what was inside. The space was beautifully lit, lights shining on gorgeous creations in silk and lace.

  Top Secret. Lingerie.

  She turned back to see Lancaster scowling at her from the street. It was hilarious that such a self-composed man was embarrassed about a little lingerie.

  Hilarious and endearing.

  Even though she was almost pathetically lonely, the last thing she wanted was to be endeared by Lancaster. She shut the door behind herself, leaving him on the street.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LANCASTER WATCHED THE heavy door swing shut behind Sophie.

  Could nothing with her go according to design? His protection plan for her had involved keeping a professional distance, doing absolutely nothing that could build on that undeniable electricity between them.

  One week in, and Sophie had managed to totally thwart his plan, not just by giving her detail the slip, but by taking dark, isolated paths by herself and cavorting, alone and unclothed, in a hot spring.

  Even though she was afraid.

  That shriek, when he had startled her, and the look in her eyes, had given her away. She carried fear inside her. Was it defiance of that fear that made her take chances?

  He felt a shiver go up and down his spine at the thought of someone with ill intent coming across her in either of those vulnerable states. The fact that he sensed some fear in her made his need to protect her intensify.

  And so a week in, he had to admit his original plan seemed to be sadly, and totally, in tatters.

  Now, a simple walk to town for a scone had become this.

  He realized, though, as much as he wanted to, he could not blame Sophie for this latest unexpected turn in events. He had chosen the route. Because he could not walk down Honeysuckle Lane, with its row of thatch-roofed cottages.

  Sophie could not know that one—the one that had been razed by fire—was missing. In its place, he understood, was a tiny, but beautiful garden spot, tended lovingly by an entire community that still grieved his loss with him.

  Even though nearly half a dozen years had passed, he could still see it in the faces of the people who looked at him, how they shared his pain and his sorrow.

  Still, avoiding Honeysuckle Lane tonight had been one of those rare decisions that he made based solely on emotion.

  And look where that had gotten him! It was a warning about the reliability of emotion. He was losing control of his charge as easily as Henderson had. Make that Ricky. With his girlfriend, Becky, and his dog, Buck.

  Lancaster had not—until the moment of Sophie’s reveal—known Henderson’s first name. Certainly not that he had a girlfriend or a dog.

  But that was the thing to remember about Sophie. She could weave a spell around a man in minutes, getting him to reveal all his secrets.

  He remembered, with a sudden ache, a long, long time ago, when he and Edward had arrived in Mountain Bend, incognito. He had hurt her, and he had gone to Sophie deep in the night to tell her why. To tell her there was a stone where his heart used to be. He had told her that for her, so that she could understand his rejection of her was nothing personal.

  And yet, after he had confided his deepest loss to her, there had been a feeling of some weight in him lifted.

  There it was again. That word. Feeling. It had no place in his life, and it was probably preventing him from doing his job properly right now. Because he was standing out here on the street, like a gauche teenage boy trying to deal with his feelings, and she was probably in there trying to find the back door, giggling about giving him the slip just as easily as she had Henderson.

  Feeling as though he was striding toward battle, Lancaster took a deep breath, crossed the walkway and shoved open the door.

  The light was soft and the atmosphere in the store was frighteningly feminine. Sensual might not have been too strong a word. The brick walls were painted a pale pink. Tufted chairs were dotted about. There were lit glass columns displaying all manner of skimpy, lacy things.

  Lancaster almost thought an alarm bell might start ringing, a robot voice shouting warning the enclave had been breached, Man, man, man.

  He was almost sorry that Sophie was not trying to make her escape at all. She was standing, with a very elegant-looking woman, both of them focused on something the woman was holding.

  They looked up when he came in, revealing what the woman had in her hands. It appeared to be a brassiere.

  Which really shouldn’t have surprised him. Top Secret, particularly after its endorsement from Princess Madeline, was making a name for itself around the world, exporting these highly personal feminine items.

  “Oh, Lancaster,” Sophie said, “you’re just in time.”

  In time? For what? He contemplated what he was feeling. Panic. Flight or fight. He realized his hand was still on the door handle.

  That thing Prince Edward had said he’d never seen him feel? Fear? Lancaster was feeling it now. It took every ounce of his soldier’s nature to keep himself from bolting back out the door.

  “I can’t understand a word she’s saying. I need a translator.” Unless he was mistaken, there was an impish little smile tickling around the edges of Sophie’s full lips.

  Lips he had tasted.

  Now there was
a dangerous thought to be having in a lingerie shop! He could not let Sophie know she was having this effect on him. She would use it mercilessly.

  The woman turned her attention to him, and recognized him. For just a moment, he saw that deep sympathy in her eyes. And then her gaze flitted to Sophie and back to him. Filled with hope.

  Hope from a stranger. It felt as if it could weaken something in him in a moment when he felt he desperately needed to be strong.

  “She’s my job,” he told her, sternly, in their own tongue. “She can’t understand you. She’s asked me to translate what you’re saying.”

  The woman nodded, clearly not convinced about the job part. “This is our most popular design,” she said, holding up the item so he could see it better.

  He was translating, not drawing a picture! Schooling his features to complete boredom, he relayed that information to Sophie.

  Sophie actually took the item and studied it. Against his will, his eyes went back to the item in her hands. It was a confection of ivory-colored lace and soft gray mist.

  “It looks so insubstantial,” Sophie said doubtfully.

  What did she need substantial for? he thought, making himself not look at the area in question. He had just assured her no guardsman would ever sneak a peek!

  Not that he had to be sneaking peeks. He knew darn well precisely what she was built like. Her first day here she had reminded him of that exactly by falling into him. It was burned into his brain like a brand.

  Do not go any further down that road, he ordered himself, and do not blush.

  The saleslady looked askance at him.

  “She says it doesn’t look like it’s up to the job,” he said. His voice had a bit of a croak in it. Job, he reminded himself. What you’re here to do. Job? Earth calling Lancaster.

  “Yes,” the woman said, pleased. “That’s the magic of this design. The support hasn’t been sacrificed for the sexiness.”

  He did not want to be part of a conversation about support and sexiness in women’s underwear!