Smitten by the Spinster (6 page)

“That urchin stole from me,” he yelled, tossing his cane at the lad. It bounced off his head, causing a yelp of pain but not slowing his steps.

Seeing Catie and Miss Burnet looking wide eyed at the scene, he decided to show his heroic nature and took four long strides, grabbing the wee thief by the scruff of his neck and dragging him back to the old man.

The man hurried to retrieve his cane, then took the boy roughly by the arm, wrenching him from Quinn’s grasp and hauling him away with barely a backward glance, let alone any thanks. As he was dragged past, the lad kicked him hard in the shin, splattering mud all over his newly polished boots.

“Well, bugger,” he said, staring at the ungrateful man and the struggling criminal. The lad tossed him a rude hand gesture before he was jerked around the corner, hopefully to be beaten.

Catie giggled and Miss Burnet looked like she was trying not to. “We feel verra much safer out here with ye, Quinn,” his sister said. “That lad looked to be about ten years old, aye? And dead accurate with his kicks.”

A string of swear words slipped out before he could stop himself. It irritated him so badly he swore once more for good measure.

Catie whipped around, a look of triumph on her face. “Did ye hear him, Miss Burnet? That was three at least. He must buy me three things, whatever I choose.”

“Catie, lass, that isna how we’re counting it. It was one instance, so therefore ye get one thing.”

“Aha, did ye hear him call me Catie?” She turned to Miss Burnet, who still looked like she was holding back laughter, and doing a poor job of it.

He glowered at her, hoping she’d be easy to intimidate, and surprisingly pleased when she very clearly was not intimidated by him. At all.

The cheeky spinster turned to his sister and nodded. “Very well, Catie, if that’s what you prefer to be called.”

“And you heard three foul curses, aye? The one instance nonsense wasna agreed upon beforehand, so I believe he owes me three things.”

Lizzie looked him up and down, but he turned his dark glower on Catie this time.

“Actually, Catie, I heard four foul curses. It was quite distressing. And Mr. Ferguson, you did say I was in charge as long as you were in London, did you not?” She turned and smiled at him, a smile that could only be described as sensuous.

A shudder of desire coursed through him as she continued to stare him down. He licked his bottom lip and she quickly looked away. That was better. It helped him get his equilibrium back when she wasn’t looking directly at him, especially when she had such a playful look in her eyes. What possible games could Miss Burnet want to play with him, he wondered.

“Verra well, Catie, go ahead and empty my coffers.” He glanced back at Lizzie. “She’ll run roughshod over ye,” he warned. He knew Catie was just bedevilling him and would choose four wee biscuits or some other silly things that only cost a few pence.

“I’ll take my chances,” she said, her voice husky and far too close to him.

How had she moved so close to him? He could reach out and touch her. No, he couldn’t. He’d already cursed, he couldn’t flirt with Catie’s chaperone only seconds later. He shook his head and stepped back.

“Let’s be on our way before we’re the next victims in this crime ridden city,” he said gruffly, making shooing motions at them.

“I feel confident that will never be the case with you around, Mr. Ferguson,” she said.

“Aye, he’d snap the necks of anyone who tried anything with us,” Catie agreed wholeheartedly, and he was gratified she was back to liking him again, but he wished she wouldn’t paint him in such a savage light. Miss Burnet turned around and raised a brow at him.

He rolled his eyes. “I’d only crack their heads a bit.”

She quickly faced forward and he could swear she was trying to hide her laughter. Quinn didn’t know what to make of that at all. She should have been horrified, even though he was clearly joking. Most ladies didn’t find threats of cracked heads amusing. There was something about her he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but she seemed familiar to him somehow.

They arrived at the dressmaker’s shop and he crammed himself into a corner while the proprietress fawned all over Catie. He was glad to see she took it in stride and gracefully accepted all the outrageous compliments. To him, his sister was one of the loveliest lasses he’d ever seen. Her usually sweet personality and lighthearted ways transformed her into a true beauty.

Miss Burnet barked orders and called out colors and names of fabrics with as much zeal as any leader he’d ever seen in battle. He folded himself into a dainty velvet upholstered chair, praying it wouldn’t snap under his weight, and settled in to enjoy the show. She pulled out a long swathe of some sort of airy, see-through fabric, and as it flew around her in the air, she caught his eye and winked at him before turning to drape it across Catie’s shoulders. It happened so quickly, he wasn’t quite sure he hadn’t imagined it. What was it about the lass that made him think he knew her?

The bell on the door clanged as a harried footmen burst through, ducking into a bow before apologizing in every direction.

“I do beg you ladies’ pardon, but Miss Burnet, please will you come with me?”

Miss Burnet looked upset by the summons and cleared her throat, looking first at Catie, then nervously at him.

Quinn stood up. “What’s this about?” he asked.

“It’s all right,” she said. “What is it, William?” She turned back to Quinn. “He works with my uncle.”

“That’s right, miss, it’s about your uncle. He needs you straight away.”

All the color drained from her face and Quinn stepped forward to steady her if need be. She turned to him and frowned.

“I really must go,” she said. “He’s been ill. I’m terribly sorry.”

“No need, lass. Family first. Do ye need me to accompany ye?” Quinn glanced at the shopkeeper, sure she’d be glad to keep an eye on his sister for a bit while he walked her wherever she needed to go.

“No, that’s quite all right, I thank you, sir. William can walk with me. It’s just around the corner. Belmary House.” She glanced around. “Catie, Miss Juliet will help you choose. Her taste is impeccable. I’d only agree with anything she said if I stayed. Will you be all right? I’ll return as soon as I may.”

“Go, Miss Burnet,” Catie cried. “Dinna tarry another moment. Quinn is with me. I shall be fine. If we finish before ye return, shall we fetch ye?”

Quinn looked over at Catie, surprised at how capable she sounded, how grown up. He hadn’t even considered meeting Lizzie at Belmary House, whatever that was. He supposed any house that had a name would be known by any carriage driver in the city, though.

“Aye, that is what we shall do,” Quinn said.

With a worried smile, Lizzie left with the footman. The dressmaker tutted, but got back to business as soon as the door closed behind them. She laid out an assortment of buttons, then told Catie she’d be back with a book of designs and fabric swatches.

He watched her turn over the buttons, trying not to dwell on how well she was already fitting in with this new life. He didn’t want to admit to himself that he’d hoped she would throw the world’s worst tantrum, be shunned by her English relations and be forced back to Scotland a disgrace. They could say they tried, she could marry a Scot, and still hopefully get her fortune. Actually, the fortune could bugger itself. They’d lived long enough without it. He didn’t care. With a start he thought maybe Catie cared, though. He didn’t want to ruin things for her. Had he been trying to ruin things for her when he let loose with his evil tongue? No, he’d just been riled by that street urchin kicking him.

“Sorry I’ve already lost the bet,” he said, stepping beside her and nudging a pearl button with his fingertip.

She glance up at him. “Ye are who ye are,” she said with a shrug. “And I dinna think Miss Burnet was too scandalized. Quinn, she’s nothing like what I imagined.”

“Ye like her well enough, then?”

“I like her verra much,” Catie said.

“Of course, as she agrees with ye,” he said.

She sorted the buttons by order of size, placing a large silver one in front of a smaller, but equally shiny copper one. “Maybe so, but it’s more than that. She isna like anyone I’ve ever known, and I dinna think it is just her being English.”

“How’s that?” he asked, shocked because he’d also thought Miss Burnet was different.

“Well, she’s so straightforward.” Catie shrugged. “It’s difficult to say for sure. Confident, I suppose. I’d like to be more like her.”

“Be yourself, lass. Ye’re perfect the way ye are,” he said, almost by rote.

He was lost in thoughts of Lizzie as he realized who she reminded him of, and his stomach plummeted. She made him think of Piper Sinclair, the witch who’d stolen their brother Lachlan away to another century.

It wasn’t her looks, the two couldn’t have looked any more different. Piper was wee like a wood sprite, dark-haired and pale, and Miss Burnet— Lizzie, was golden haired and rosy cheeked, medium height and ample in the places he liked a woman to be ample. If he had to compare her to an otherworldly creature, Lizzie would be an angel.

He shook his head, embarrassed at the addlepated direction his mind had wandered. He had to uncurl his fingers from wanting to wrap them in her luxurious hair while he kissed her cherubic, glossy lips.

No, it wasn’t their looks that made him compare the two women. It was more their demeanor, and the way they carried themselves. It was their bold, direct looks. Their straightforward way of speaking. Confident to the point of fearless. Hadn’t she just winked at him? No lass he knew short of a brazen barmaid who wanted to share his bed would do such a thing. This new line of thinking threw him off course of his budding theory even more than her beautiful face did. Could his sister’s chaperone want to sleep with him? His whole body tensed up at the thought. He certainly would not mind obliging her if that was the case. Preposterous. The wink hadn’t meant that. It was just part of her very open personality. She acted like someone from a freer, more unconventional time, just as Piper did.

Catie shook his arm and he saw that the dressmaker had come back with the patterns. He returned to his spot in the corner to mull over his idea. It was daft. There was no possible way. He could never be so accursed as to run afoul of two women from the future.

Still, the idea had taken root and he was going to keep an eye on her. Even if it just turned out she was interested in a dalliance with him. He smiled. Especially that.

Lizzie kept pace with William as they hurried back to the manor house.

“Is Mr. Hallifax all right?” she asked.

She’d used Lew’s supposed ill health as an excuse to get away so many times, she couldn’t help but fear that one day it would be the truth. He was in fine shape right now, but he wasn’t young by any stretch and she’d seen what passed as medical care in this time. If he ever really did fall ill, she’d take care of him herself rather than risk some quack butcher bleeding him to death over a fever.

“Yes, miss. Just had a letter for you and said it was of great importance.”

A letter, that was new. Her heart raced as she wondered if it had been left by Lord Ashford. Could she possibly be going home soon? Quinn Ferguson flashed into her mind, the only thing that could distract her from her anxiety. Him and his damn muscular thighs. And chest, and arms. And that face. He was like an archangel or something. More like a demon, she thought bitterly. Sent from Scotland to torment her.

Oh goodness, she had teased him earlier, outside the dress shop. Had she been flirting? No, certainly not, but would he construe it as flirting? Someone so handsome had to have women falling at his feet all the time. No wonder he just stood there and took it all in stride. She was disgusted with herself for adding to his massive ego. But his smile seemed so genuine, and not conceited at all. Hmmph, that was probably how he reeled them in, pretending he wasn’t aware of his effect.

She tumbled into William’s back and nearly knocked him over when they reached the back entrance to the house. She didn’t bother to apologize, he already thought she was addled, and raced past him to find Lew.

She didn’t have to look far. He waited for her, pacing back and forth in the kitchen, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. Lew never sweated, or paced. What was going on?

“You have a letter?” she asked, taking his arm and leading him to a bench furthest from the roaring kitchen fire. Lew handed her a sealed envelope. “You didn’t read it yet?”

He shook his head. “It’s addressed to you. I don’t know how he got the message through, if he was here or not. As you know, I check that room regularly, and found the letter partially obscured by the rug.”

She turned it over in her hand, and seeing her name scrawled across it, felt oddly elated that Lord Ashford remembered it. Maybe she was a priority after all. Her heart thudded as she slid her finger under the edge, realizing with shock that it wasn’t sealed with wax, but the slightly gummy adhesive of a modern envelope. Inside was a piece of notebook paper, with a raggedly torn side edge. The handwriting looked old-fashioned to her but it was clearly done with a ballpoint pen. She held it up to her face and smelled the blue lined paper and ink. A brief wave of nausea hit her, but she recovered.