To Tempt A Rogue (19 page)

Nathaniel, on the other hand, was a whirlwind of motion and strength. His snug breeches hugged the athletic lines of his upper thighs and she could see the strength in those limbs as they moved with graceful precision and dazzling speed.

McTate had changed out of his kilt in favor of more standard dress. His black boots clicked on the stone floor as he moved quickly to avoid defeat. Harriet knew the contest was a friendly competition but there was also male pride riding on the outcome. Neither man was going to go down without an earnest effort to win.

As the dueling pair came closer, Harriet caught a glimpse of Nathaniel's face and she marveled anew at the many different guises he seemed to assume so naturally. Though clearly fixed in concentration, there was also a relaxed, almost boyish enthusiasm on his flushed face. Yet it was the sight of Nathaniel's white shirt clinging to his dampened skin that vividly reminded her there was nothing boyish about him.

Realizing she was openly staring, Harriet tore her gaze away and turned her attention to the children. They smiled and waved excitedly when they spied her. She anxiously motioned for them to stay seated, worried that her unexpected arrival would break the swordsmen's concentration. Though she soon learned her presence was already noted.

“We've got company, children,” McTate called out.

“We aren't children,” Jeanne Marie protested. “We are princesses.”

“And I'm a prince,” Gregory added.

“That you are, laddie,” McTate answered with a laugh.

Flushed, animated and magnificent, Nathaniel circled around McTate and turned his head in Harriet's direction. “I am the brave knight sent to protect my noble charges from the evil dragon.”

“Evil dragon? Are you perchance referring to me, Mr. Wainwright?” Harriet asked.

“I could be.” He laughed. “Even you must admit you often look as though you can hardly wait to box my ears.”

“That is what a governess does with an unruly charge,” Harriet said. “But what does a dragon do?”

“Uncle Duncan is the dragon,” Jeanne Marie said. “He's going to cook us and eat us if he wins.”

“Aye, that I will, and such a tasty morsel you will be.” The Scotsman bared his teeth and growled. “First I shall nibble on Gregory and for the main course it will be Jeanne Marie. I shall save lovely Phoebe for dessert, for she is the sweetest of the three.”

The ridiculous rhyme had the children shrieking with laughter. Even Nathaniel could not hold back his chuckles.

“Have no fear, fair princess, the dragon is about to be disarmed,” Nathaniel declared.

He charged forward, caught the center of McTate's blade and flipped the sword out of the Scotsman's hand. It arched high into the air, spinning as it fell, hitting the stone floor with a deafening clang.

“Victory!” Nathaniel said with a smirk.

“We are saved!” Jeanne Marie shouted. Then she draped her arm dramatically across her forehead.

Harriet lifted her hand to her mouth to hide her smile, wondering where in the world the little girl had learned such behavior.

Jeanne Marie eventually recovered from her near-swoon and joined her siblings, who had rushed the victor. Nathaniel stood, hands on hips, his sword dangling, calmly accepting their exuberant praise.

“I let him win, you know,” McTate insisted. He came to stand beside Harriet and they both observed Nathaniel. His strong affection for the children was obvious, as was their regard of him. “It would be far too embarrassing to show him up in front of the children. And you.”

“That was most generous of you, Mr. McTate,” Harriet drawled. “And you made it look so authentic. Your skills would most certainly do a Drury Lane actor proud.”

“Making excuses for your defeat?” Nathaniel asked. “Or trying to explain how you let yourself get soft and fat while living the life of a lazy town gentleman?”

McTate laughed and massaged the stiff muscles on the back of his neck. “Next you'll accuse me of becoming a dandy and then I'll have to challenge you to another contest.”

“Which you will also lose.” Nathaniel stepped forward, brushing the sweat off his brow with his forearm. With a smile, he accepted a flask from McTate. Tilting his head back, he took a long swallow, then licked his wet lips in satisfaction.

Harriet watched him with almost mesmerizing interest, wondering why such a simple, normal gesture made her feel like falling weak-kneed into his arms.

“Did you see the duel, Miss Sainthill? Wasn't it marvelous?” Phoebe asked enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling with delight.

“It was a most invigorating contest,” Harriet agreed, turning her attention away from the disturbingly fascinating Mr. Wainwright. “We must read through the history books in the library and see what we can learn about rules of combat during medieval times. There were jousts and tournaments and many opportunities for errant knights to earn their fortunes and perhaps even a small parcel of land.”

Mr. Wainwright looked sharply at her. “That doesn't sound like a very appropriate lesson for a young girl. Aren't you supposed to be teaching them things like embroidery stitches and how to speak French?”

“I don't want to learn how to sew,” Gregory wailed out in protest.

“I did not mean you,” Mr. Wainwright clarified. He cocked his eyebrow at Harriet inquiringly. She stared back at him. She was not about to launch into a defense of her methods of education in front of her charges and the far-too-interested Duncan McTate. Besides, Mr. Wainwright at the very least owed her the courtesy of allowing her to begin teaching his wards before he started criticizing her methods.

They continued to stare at each other, neither giving any ground. It might have lasted for hours had not Jeanne Marie interrupted with a basic call of nature.

“I need to use the privy, Uncle Duncan,” Jeanne Marie announced in a loud whisper. “Where is it?”

“Did the knights have a privy? What did they call it?” Gregory asked.

“A garderobe,” all three adults answered in unison.

“I daresay, there is probably a garderobe here somewhere,” McTate remarked. “It might even still be in use.”

“Can we see it?” Gregory asked.

“Do I have to use it?” Jeanne Marie inquired with a worried frown.

“Of course not,” Mr. Wainwright answered. He leaned close enough towards Harriet so she could feel the heat of his displeasure. “Miss Sainthill will accompany you to the privy, Jeanne Marie.”

Harriet reached out and took the little girl's hand. “And if any of you wish to see it, we will arrange a tour of the garderobe when your Uncle Duncan is available,” Harriet countered.

Mr. Wainwright stared at her so hard it made her want to squirm, but Harriet refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her move a single muscle.

“Reduced to garderobe tour guide,” McTate said with an exaggerated sigh. “The laird truly has fallen on hard times.”

Phoebe started to giggle. Her infectious laugh soon had her younger brother and sister joining in the frivolity. Even the adults succumbed to the merriment, easing the tension in the room.

“Stop making me laugh!” Jeanne Marie hiccupped, then crossed her legs. Recognizing that the little girl was close to having an embarrassing accident, Harriet whisked her away. Not wanting to be left behind, Phoebe and Gregory quickly fell into step behind them.

“Miss Sainthill appears to be off to a good start,” McTate commented the moment the two men were alone. “The children certainly seem to be taking to her.”

“It's early going,” Nathaniel replied with a wry grin.

“I think she will prove to be a most competent governess. Don't you?”

Nathaniel shoved a hand through his hair. “She is very opinionated. And stubborn.”

“Qualities that will stand her in good stead when dealing with three lively youngsters.” McTate's jaw began to twitch. “And one surly uncle. You'd best watch your step around her, my friend, or you'll soon find yourself dancing to
her
tune.”

Nathaniel flicked a careful glance at the Scotsman. “I can assure you that I will not for one minute make the mistake of underestimating my adversary.”

“I have a great deal of difficulty believing you view her as the enemy. Quite the opposite, in truth.” McTate gave him a questioning stare. “I find myself wondering what might happen between the two of you after I leave the castle and return to Edinburgh.”

Nathaniel hesitated. Harriet was the last thing he wanted to discuss, but he recognized the set of McTate's jaw and knew he had no choice.

“If I were a prickly sort, I'd be taking great offense at your tone, for it seems to imply that you expect me to fall on her like a ravening beast the moment you are gone.” Nathaniel pulled a clean rag from the pile they had brought and calmly began to clean his sword blade. “Need I remind you that Miss Sainthill and I have been alone in this castle for nearly a fortnight? When you go, you will be leaving behind three rather keen-eyed chaperons.”

“All of whom go to bed at a very early hour.” McTate caught the cloth Nathaniel tossed at him and wiped his own blade. “Not that nightfall, or darkness for that matter, are a requirement for lovemaking.”

“McTate!”

“Calm down,” McTate said, casting a sidelong glance at Nathaniel. “I am merely testing my theory. It seems that whenever the enchanting Miss Sainthill is the subject of our conversation you start to boil with jealousy.”

Lord Avery shoved his sword into its scabbard. Jealous? It was an unpalatable and unwelcome thought.

“I cannot have any feelings for her,” he said quietly. “She's been hurt most cruelly by her former fiancé, a man who deceived her. If I engage her affections without being honest about my situation, I am no better than he. And she deserves better. Far better.”

“Why not tell her the truth?” McTate asked mildly.

It was an intriguing proposition and one Nathaniel had considered, reconsidered, then considered again. Yet something inside him urged caution. “Miss Sainthill can be a damn prickly sort when it comes to observing the proprieties. I certainly admire the fact that she is no milk-and-water miss. She has strong opinions and holds them dearly.

“If I told her that we had kidnapped the children away from their temporary guardian, I'm honestly not sure how she would react. Nor would she be pleased to know I have been lying to her about my identity. We both know I cannot risk her disapproving of my actions. With my luck, she might decide it was her solemn duty to run off to London, and tell my uncle the whole sordid tale.”

“Lord! We certainly can't allow that to happen.” “Precisely.”

McTate rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose it is best for you to keep up the charade until things are settled.”

Nathaniel shook his head a little sadly. In so many ways it would be a relief to reveal the truth to Harriet. He had come to hate this deception, had begun to worry that Harriet's reaction when she learned the truth would be extreme.

Yet McTate clearly agreed it was the best course, nay the only course, he could follow. Still, knowing he was justified did not help ease Nathaniel's conscience.

In the distance, the bells from the country parish chimed merrily. Startled, Harriet looked up from her breakfast plate and realized with a flush of guilt that it was Sunday. The Lord's day.

Gracious, how could that have possibly slipped her mind?
She normally found the spiritual rejuvenation of a weekly sermon a pleasant duty. The time spent on reflection and retrospection was a cleansing, invigorating effort, especially if the pastor was an inspiring orator.

Given the less than wholesome thoughts she had been experiencing while living under Mr. Wainwright's roof, it might serve her well to spend a morning in church. But it was not only her own salvation that she needed to think of these days. She had the children to consider. A good governess saw not only to the academic but spiritual needs of her charges.

How embarrassing to be such a blatant failure in this regard so early in her tenure as governess! The house had been at sixes and sevens ever since Duncan McTate had arrived three days ago, but she knew she could not blame the Scotsman for her own failings.

At least Mr. Wainwright would not be able to find fault with her neglect. He obviously had no intention of attending church himself, for he had sat at the table with her not a quarter of an hour ago, dressed for riding.

Mr. McTate had also joined them for breakfast, mentioning that he would be leaving shortly to return to Edinburgh. Harriet had mixed emotions about McTate going away. He was an outrageous flirt and a rakish gentleman, but she had come to enjoy his witty remarks and naughty sense of humor.

The Scotsman's absence from the castle would also afford opportunities for her to once again be alone with Mr. Wainwright. A situation that Harriet knew from experience could prove dangerous to her emotions.

It was almost a relief to have these disturbing thoughts interrupted by the sudden appearance of Mrs. Mullins. The stout housekeeper was flushed and out of breath and Harriet wondered what could have possibly put her in such a state.

“Ye 'ad best come quick, Miss.” Mrs. Mullins's voice was gruff, but her eyes held genuine concern. “ 'Tis the wee one, cryin' and frettin' and carryin' on so much we dunna na' what tae do.”

Harriet gave the housekeeper a puzzled frown, understanding just enough of Mrs. Mullins's thick brogue to know that one of the children needed her.

“Who is it? Who needs my help?”

“The littlest lass. Cryin' like her heart was broke, puir mite.”

Harriet's own heart gave a sudden lurch as she sprang to her feet and hurried from the room. Sounds of sobbing greeted her as she opened the girls' bedchamber door.

Both girls were in the room, huddled close together. Jeanne Marie was wedged into a corner, curled into a tight ball, sobbing pitifully. Phoebe knelt beside her sister, trying unsuccessfully to offer the younger child some comfort. Yet it seemed that the more Phoebe patted her sister's shoulder, the louder Jeanne Marie wailed.

The sounds were so loud and so dramatic Harriet at first suspected the child was exaggerating the extent of her distress. She had learned over the past few days that Jeanne Marie had a flare for dramatics. The noises she was currently making, which in some ways resembled a wounded animal, were extreme.

“Whatever is the matter?” Harriet inquired in a gentle voice as she entered the room. “Are you hurt? Or in pain?”

Phoebe turned at the sound of her voice. Harriet could see silent tears leaking from the older girl's eyes and running unchecked down her cheeks. “I tried and tried, but I can't make her stop.”

Her protective attitude and sense of responsibility cut straight to Harriet's heart. The older sister struggling to bear the burdens of her younger siblings. It so resembled Harriet's own childhood that a flash of pain shot through her. Determined that no youngster should suffer as she had, Harriet hugged Phoebe tightly, offering comfort, hoping to convey her support.

She removed a clean handkerchief from the pocket of her gown and tenderly wiped Phoebe's face. The little girl gave a shuddering sigh and moved closer, clearly relieved to have an adult take charge of the situation.

Harriet next tried to get closer to Jeanne Marie, but the child flinched and let out a sniffling wail of desperation the moment she moved toward her. Harriet backed away, deciding it might be better to let the girl tire herself out before approaching her again.

“Did you do something to upset Jeanne Marie?” Harriet asked the now quiet Phoebe. “Or perhaps Gregory is responsible for making her cry?”

Phoebe's eyes widened. “Oh, no. Jeanne Marie is crying because of Lady Julienne.”

Harriet's brows rose in puzzlement. Who in the world was Lady Julienne? Someone from the children's past? Yet what could this lady have possibly done to bring on such an outpouring of emotion this morning?

The questions crowded her mind, but Harriet knew they would have to wait until the child regained control of herself before she would discover any answers.

Gradually Jeanne Marie's sobs began to lessen. Harriet approached her cautiously, ever alert to the possibility of a fresh frenzy of tears. But the crying jag had clearly exhausted the little girl and she made no protest when Harriet smoothed the hair out of her face, then sat on the floor and gathered her in her lap.

Harriet insisted that Phoebe sit next to them and the child clambered to get close. For a few moments all three snuggled together, too emotionally spent to even speak.

Finally, Harriet cleared her throat. “Phoebe has told me that Lady Julienne upset you, Jeanne Marie. Can you tell me what happened?”

Jeanne Marie pulled away from Harriet's shoulder and gave her a brooding stare.

“I miss her. I love her and I want her to be with me and it makes me very, very sad because she is not.” Jeanne Marie's face contorted, but she was able to hold back her sobs. Either that, or else there were no tears left for the little girl to release.

Harriet nodded her head. Though it was an extreme reaction, it was understandable that Jeanne Marie would be upset over being separated from someone who obviously meant a great deal to her.

“Well, I'll bet that Lady Julienne is missing you just as much as you are missing her,” Harriet remarked. “If you like, I will help you write a letter. You can tell her all about Hillsdale Castle and I'm sure when she replies, she will tell you everything that she has been doing. Would that make you feel better?”

Harriet thought it seemed like a reasonable offer. Yet both children were gazing at her with equally astonished expressions prompting Harriet to ask, “Who exactly is Lady Julienne? Is she a relative? A friend of the family?”

“Lady Julienne is Jeanne Marie's favorite doll,” Phoebe answered.

“My very favorite!” Jeanne Marie insisted, rubbing her tear-damp eyes. “And I want her with me!”

Harriet bit her lip hard to keep from laughing—at herself. She had assumed Lady Julienne was a person. Whoever would have thought a missing toy could bring on such a reaction?

“A doll?” Harriet's mouth firmed. It would be a devastating blow to the child if she treated her very real distress with anything less than a serious attitude. “What happened to Lady Julienne? Why was she not brought on the journey to Hillsdale Castle with you?”

The room became almost uncomfortably silent. Jeanne Marie dug her head in Harriet's shoulder.

Phoebe bit her lip in agitation, then turned her head away, refusing to meet Harriet's eyes.

“Where is she?” Harriet asked.

“She got left behind,” Phoebe finally admitted.

“At your Uncle Duncan's house in Edinburgh?”

“No at our other—”

“Jeanne Marie!” Phoebe's nervous interruption startled her younger sister.

Jeanne Marie's breath caught and she looked stricken. “We aren't supposed to talk about our other house. Ever.”

“Then we shall not,” Harriet replied cheerfully. She hated seeing the fear in the children's eyes, hated knowing they were bound to keep secrets about their past. But why?

“We didn't notice that Lady Julienne wasn't with us until it was too late to go back for her,” Phoebe said.

“I didn't cry then, cause I was being a very brave girl,” Jeanne Marie said. “But I'm tired of being brave. I want my doll.”

“I know.” Harriet hugged the child tighter and kissed the top of her head. “I am sure you were a very brave girl, indeed. And I know you feel very sad and are missing Lady Julienne. But perhaps we can find another doll to take her place.” Harriet felt Jeanne Marie stiffen in her arms and hastily added, “For the time being. Eventually we will figure out a way to bring Lady Julienne to Scotland.”

Phoebe gave her a doubtful look. “Uncle Duncan has already tried giving Jeanne Marie a new doll.” She stood and walked to the trunk that had been placed near the window.

The luggage coach containing the children's belongings had arrived a day after they had come to the castle. Harriet had supervised the nursemaid's unpacking of her new charges' clothing, but had not gone through all of their things, so the contents of this particular trunk were unknown to her.

She rose with curiosity to see what Phoebe was so anxious to show her. It was a struggle, but with Harriet's assistance the trunk lid was lifted. Harriet tried, but could not contain her gasp of surprise as she looked inside. The trunk was of a good size, designed to hold a substantial number of garments. But there were no clothes packed away. Instead, it was filled to the brim with dolls.

Small, medium, large, and even larger. With hair of gold, of brown, of black, of red. Dressed as ladies, dressed as servants, dressed as queens, dressed as characters from fairy tales. A Scottish lass with a smart red plaid, an English miss with a beautiful silk ball gown, a pretty country shepherdess with a straw bonnet. Harriet had never before seen so many exquisitely crafted dolls in one place.

“Gracious!” She blew out her breath and turned toward Jeanne Marie who was still sulking in the corner. “Many girls do not even own a single doll, while others feel privileged to have one. I have never known a child who possessed an entire trunk-full.”

“Uncle Duncan's housekeeper said he had bought every doll in the city,” Phoebe reported solemnly.

“I believe he must have,” Harriet concurred. “Is there not one doll among all of these that pleases you, Jeanne Marie?”

The younger girl shook her head belligerently and turned her face to the wall.

Phoebe leaned close and whispered in Harriet's ear. “Lady Julienne was a gift from Mama. She said the doll looked like Jeanne Marie and it has been her very favorite ever since.”

Harriet's lips pursed in understanding. This put a whole new wrinkle on the problem. Not only was the toy a familiar comfort, it was a tangible link to the child's mother. Suddenly, Jeanne Marie's emotional outburst did not seem so unreasonable.

“It does seem a waste for all these beautiful dolls to go unloved,” Harriet remarked, hoping that Jeanne Marie would at least show an interest. She knew Lady Julienne could never be replaced, but perhaps there was a substitute that could afford the child some comfort.

“It is sad to think of them locked up in this old trunk. Maybe there are other girls who would like to have a doll,” Phoebe suggested. “Do you know any, Miss Sainthill?”

“I don't. But Mrs. Mullins might. We could ask her. I'm sure she is acquainted with most of the families in the village.”

“You can give the dolls away,” Jeanne Marie offered, finally becoming interested in the conversation. She abandoned her position against the wall and peered into the trunk. “I don't mind if other girls play with my dolls. They can even keep them. I just want Lady Julienne.”

“Then let's sort through the trunk and arrange the dolls by size,” Harriet suggested. Though she knew it was a long shot, Harriet reasoned if Jeanne Marie spent time examining each of the toys she might yet find one that appealed to her.

The females were so intent on their task they did not hear the heavy footsteps approaching. Without warning the half open heavy oak door was pushed so hard it swung around and struck the wall behind it.

Harriet gasped and placed herself protectively in front of the girls, then lifted startled eyes to the intruder. To her relief, she beheld Mr. Wainwright, his expression grim, his garments slightly disheveled, stalking back and forth in the doorway.

“Is everything all right?” His breath came out in great gasping gulps. “Mrs. Mullins sent one of the lads to fetch me. I was riding in the south woods. She said one of the girls was very upset. Who is it? Is she ill? Or injured?”

“Everything is fine, Mr. Wainwright.” The corners of Harriet's mouth strained to form a comforting smile, but her heart was still racing from the shock of his sudden, abrupt appearance. “Jeanne Marie was rather distressed, but I believe I have managed to sort out the problem.”

“Thank God.” Closing his eyes, he rested one hand on the door frame. “Mrs. Mullins was so distraught. I've never seem her like that, babbling on and on, making no sense. I thought . . .” his voice trailed off in unspoken fear.

He took a long breath, then ran his hand through his already ruffled hair. It stuck out at odd angles and should have made him look ridiculous, yet Harriet thought she had never seen him look more handsome.

The girls had turned their attention back to the trunk filled with dolls, but Harriet feared their uncle's obvious distress might upset them.

“Come, take a minute to catch your breath,” Harriet said. She grasped Mr. Wainwright's arm and propelled him to the opposite side of the chamber, out of the girls' range of hearing.

“I suppose I overreacted a bit,” he said with a sheepish grin.

“Nonsense. It is never wrong to show care and concern for those you love.”

Nathaniel shrugged. He seemed embarrassed by his reaction, but Harriet thought his concern endearing. Encouraged by his attitude, Harriet decided this would be the perfect time to bring up the matter of Jeanne Marie's missing doll.