Edwina (34 page)

“I would read it.”

Oh boy, the stubborn Scot came out. Why had
she opened her big mouth? Then she thought of something. And it was
true. “I threw it away.” She smiled.

“Ah, then I shall have to hear you tell me
the story.” He didn’t sound too angry.

“Oh, it was nothing. Did you and Paige have a
good reunion? Everything is okay, then?”

She was talking too fast and too much. “Ye
changed the topic... again.” She tossed him a gaze, but couldn’t
think of a single retort. He was much too comfortable standing
there, shoulder against her door jamb, strong arms crossed over his
chest, seeming to enjoy her discomfort.

“The lass sleeps. She is glad to see her
father. I’ll be in my office.”

Oh no... the trash. Her
novel was in the trash. She had to think of a way to get it before
he set eyes on it. Edwina’s mind raced.
How embarrassing would that be? If he found it, it would be
easy to see that he had been the hero and Cecelia his beloved. It
shouldn’t matter now after his declaration of intent to marry
Cecelia... but it did.

“Sir... I... would like to go in and clean up
before you try to work on the desk. The books are piled so high,
and Paige’s chair needs to be disassembled.”

“It’s late. Go to your bed,” he ordered.

What now? Her mind screamed for a reasonable
answer, but none came. She would have to cause a diversion. “I
think my shoes are in there, under the desk. May I?”

“Of course.” He set out on her tail. This was
not going to be easy. Barefooted she walked in nonchalantly but set
her eyes upon the yellow pads in the trash can. Her goal was to
grab all five of them and get out quick. She busied herself putting
away the books and eyed him to see which way he was going to take.
If he went behind the desk, she could scoot the trash can her way
while she pretended to look for her shoes on the floor. If he took
the notion to go to the chairs near the windows, that would give
her the chance to slip down to her knees, pull the trash can to
her, and run with the goods.

She put a few more books away, waiting for
him to take his position in the room. She watched hawkeyed and saw
her cue. He seemed knee-deep in thought, standing near the windows,
reading the papers he’d gathered. She slipped to the floor, grabbed
the trash can, and pulled it to her slowly. Not even a squeak. She
was almost home. Carefully reaching for the pads, she started to
pull them out and noticed some- thing move.

Shoes. His shoes were off to the left. Surely
he wasn’t... drat. Red-faced and feeling foolish, she slowly looked
up. She felt hog-tied for sure.

“Ah, the story.” He leaned over and took the
pads from her hands. She held on for as long as she could, but he
pried them from her.

“Look, you’re not going to read that are
you?” She stood up and dusted off her pants to keep from looking at
him. He could surely read the humiliation in her eyes.

When he didn’t answer, she snuck a peek at
him. He was staring at her blouse. What was up? He continued to
look, so what else was there to do but look down? Had she forgotten
to button up her blouse?

Her eyes followed to where his looked. Her
blouse was buttoned all wrong—one tail was longer than the other
one. She shook her head. This was so painful; it felt like she
might die of something akin to mental appendicitis.

“Ye dressed quickly?” He stated the
obvious.

She wanted to say, “Duhhhh.” What else could
possibly go wrong? And this on top of everything that had happened
to Paige. It was a wonder he had any patience at all with her.

The hilarity of it all struck her like a
Chinese gong. She started to giggle like the day Reardon brought
the truck bumping and backfiring all the way home with those bikes
in the back. She’d started, and now there would be no stop- ping .
. .

“Did you know,” she broke into hysteria
again, “that your man Reardon drove me home in... your truck... the
rusty red one out back... with the bikes in the back?” She fell
over at the waist, tears coming from her eyes.

The Scot had a huge smile on his face, almost
in relief it seemed, but she could barely look into his face
without cracking up again.

“We... we... he... there
was hay sticking out from all over... and his gloves . . .” She
broke up again. “His gloves... he threw them in the trash can...
they were
that
dirty.”

Now the Scot had taken a step back and stood,
feet apart, with his arms crossed over his chest. He smiled and was
almost laughing with her.

“I’ve never heard ye laugh like that,” he
stated.

“I only have once... when Reardon . . .” She
couldn’t finish.

“He drove the auld truck, eh? Into
Edinburgh?”

“Yes... and... back.” She tried to cool her
raging red face by fanning it. She’d totally lost control.

“You have been through too much, lass. You’re
losing your mind.”

“Wouldn’t you if you’d been through all this
and then—” She stopped.

What now? She was going to
cry? She
was
out
of control.

“The lass was chasing her mother’s hat. It
had blown off, and she was chasing it,” he said quietly.

Edwina looked up into the tall Scot’s
eyes.

“
That still
doesn’t—”

“Shush, Edwina,” he ordered. She clamped her
mouth shut and clasped her fluttering hands together in front of
her waist. When the Scot took a step closer, she just about
died.

This was too much. She turned and stalked
away, her bare heels banging on the floor. She had to get away.

Chapter 52

H
ad Edwina run from him because she feared him, or had she run
because she had feelings for him? The question burned in his mind
for a long time. But then everything happened with Paige’s
grandfather and all else had taken second place in his life. His
first priority: to save his daughter from being swept out of his
arms just like his wife had.

He hated God for letting his beloved wife
die, and finally realized he’d forgotten that he had a daughter.
When she was almost taken away, he confessed his wrong and made
peace with the One who had brought Elizabeth to him in the first
place. And to have given them a daughter... he’d been twice
blessed. Sure, her dying wasn’t planned, but neither had their
meeting been a mistake. He knew that now.

He’d come to terms with himself and rested in
the fact that God did know what He was doing and that He’d given
him his daughter back. And He’d sent Edwina.

Twice this very evening he’d hinted to her,
but she seemed not to have noticed. First the “We’re getting
married, Edwina” statement. She hadn’t even blinked at that.
Evidently she hadn’t read his face. Hadn’t she seen the desire in
his eyes to hold her in his arms... to kiss her?

Apparently not because she had missed the
point both times. He smiled, now at his desk, the yellow pads
forgotten... at least by her. He’d had to pull hard to get her to
release them, and he knew she’d remember he still had possession of
them, just about the time she was crawling into bed. He chuckled
and settled into the chair by the window, snapped on the lamp, and
read. He’d best get started because once the lass realized she’d
left without her manuscript, she would be back making trouble soon
enough.

He read for an hour, turning page after page.
She must have fallen asleep because there was no noise about the
manor.

Eyes tired, he put the papers down and went
to check on Paige. He looked down at his child, dark hair and eyes
like her mother’s. He wanted to weep. For the loss of Elizabeth.
For the fact he still had his daughter. For Edwina who kept his
spirits dancing while his heart was breaking.

Paige’s grandfather had made too many
enemies, and for that reason many of them testified against
him—employees, former business partners, neighbors, even family
members. Thankfully the judge had been sympathetic and understood.
The billionaire’s shenanigans and reputation for treating people
unkindly had preceded him. Even his money couldn’t buy him honor.
Not this time.

He heard a noise. She was about. He turned to
head back to his office to intercept the woman.

“Oh, by the way Mr. Dunnegin, Ilana came to
the hospital.”

He stopped smiling. “When?”

“The day you left. She came looking for you.
She told me you’d sent her to take care of Paige.”

“What?” His temper flared.

“But I sent her away.”

“
What did you say to her,
lass?”

“I, well, I don’t exactly remember.” Her
finger was at her chin. “I think I asked her to leave and to call
you. I knew you could handle her.”

“She is not handle able, as you say,” he
growled. “She is a vicious woman. I told you she was not the woman
I thought her to be.”

“I remembered that.” Edwina raised her voice.
“That’s why I told her to leave. I knew you didn’t want her
there.”

“Well done, lass. Now what’re ye up to?”

Oh boy, his hands were on his hips and a
strange smile rested on his face.

“Needed a drink of water.” She yawned. She
held it up for him to see.

The Scot eyed her.

She had gone to bed, then remembered the
manuscript. She had to get out of bed, dress again, and think of a
way to get it back. She’d done it all right, when he went in to
check on Paige, and it lay safely underneath her bed. He’d not
heard a thing.

“Well, good night, then. You should be
getting to bed. It’s the middle of the night,” she said sleepily,
sure the man would go to bed and forget.

She sidestepped him and padded down the hall,
locked her door, slipped on her pajamas, and crawled into bed. This
had been one long day.

Five minutes had passed before she nearly
jumped out of her skin at the banging. “Shh... you’ll wake Paige,”
she called.

“
Open this door, lass.” His
teeth were clenched, she could tell. “I have the key, woman.” Oh
brother, what use was it? He had the key. She grabbed her robe,
wrapped it around her, unlocked the door, and opened it a
crack.

“Get it.”

“What?” She feigned sleepiness.

“You know what.”

“Please, I’m very tired . .. . and you’ve
just been on the plane for what? Twelve hours?”

“Don’t change the topic, lass. Ye’re aboot to
get a Scot mad.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
She thought to make light of it and tried to shut the door. She
found herself sitting on her behind. He had pushed the door hard
enough to toss her backward. “Well, of all the—”

“Where is it?” She sat there dumbfounded. Why
would he care about her little story? She verbalized her
thoughts.

“Because, lass, I want to know how it
ends.”

She started to laugh now. “Is that all? I can
tell you how it ends,” she offered.

“I want to read it for myself.” His eyes
darted around the room looking for it.

“This is the silliest conversation I’ve ever
had. And it’s late.”

“Ye can go back to bed, but I’ll be aboot
reading tonight.”

“Okay. Okay. Will you leave me alone then?”
Mr. Dunnegin had the decency to look embarrassed.

Surely he had not thrown a childish fit like
this before. She’d never thought he’d do such a thing, but then
again she’d known him only when he was under great duress.

So this was what he was really like? Well,
let him have it. She would deny it all and say he was reading too
much into the story to think it was him. She’d laugh and play it
off as foolishness.

Still sitting, she got to her knees, crawled
over to the bed, and pulled the yellow pads from underneath.

“Should have known.” He grabbed them. “I’m
still ye’re employer, and ye’ll do well to remember it, lass.”

“Well, whoop-de-do,” she said to his back,
getting up off the floor. She had never said such a thing in her
entire life.

Hope you enjoy it, you
stubborn Scot
.

She has a bit of a temper,
the lass does
.

He straightened the pads and put them in
order, pushed off his shoes with his toes, found where he’d left
off, and read. It had taken two more hours, but he was satisfied
the lass had written the story about him. His ego flared just a
little. So she thought of him as her handsome hero.

It had ended happily. He intended to make her
dreams come true.

Now more than ever, he knew
he’d been looking in all the wrong places. He’d entered business
partnerships making money, traveled, met beautiful women—many who
would have taken the position as his wife. But not a one had told
him
whoop-de-do
when he reminded them of his station.

And not a one had gone barefoot everywhere
either, losing their shoes at a moment’s notice. Not to mention the
lass didn’t know how to button her own blouse.

But she could write. He’d not been able to
put the manuscript down, so entangled was he in the telling of the
story she wrote.

Cecelia and Spencer were coming tomorrow.
Cecelia had forbidden him to tell the lass. She should have minded
her business and gone to bed early. He shrugged. Right now he was
so elated that the legal problems with Paige’s grand- father were
settled, he could not think of sleeping.

He slipped into his daughter’s room and
looked down at her for a long time. Soon they would be a family
again. That was sure—if the stubborn one would take the cues he was
giving her. He smiled. There would be trouble aboot the castle if
she was afoot, that was sure.

Chapter 53