Seduced by a Scot Page 13

  “Verra considerate of you,” he said with a touch to the brim of his hat. “However, I should warn you that while Mr. Cockburn may be mildly mannered, he is no’ a fool.”

  “I’m certain he would have said the same of you. And yet...” She shrugged cheekily.

  He laughed. “And yet. Touché, Miss Darby. Are you hungry, then?”

  “Hungry? What has that to do with mild-mannered fools?”

  “It has to do with the fact that this fool is famished, aye? I took the liberty of asking the kitchen for a bundle of food. We’ll stop and water the horses.”

  “You do think of everything, Mr. Bain.”

  “Aye, lass, it’s my job to think of everything.”

  In a quarter of a mile, he turned off the road and onto a smaller path. It led them through a thick copse of Scotch pine, alder and ash trees, crowded around the banks of a small loch that lay placidly between rolling hills. There was not a soul about, not even a crofter or fishing house anywhere to be seen.

  Mr. Bain laid his plaid on a bed of pine needles, and Maura settled onto her knees. He unbundled a cheesecloth and spread it between them. The Garbett kitchen had provided cheese, the heel of a loaf of bread, and some ham. Mr. Bain went to the edge of the loch and pushed between the horses, who had ambled into the loch ankle deep, their tails swishing about them as they dipped their heads to drink. Mr. Bain dipped a flagon beneath its surface, filling it with water.

  He could not have found a bonnier place to suit Maura. This vista was the very image of the Scotland that lived in her heart. The sun broke through the clouds on occasion, casting bands of light to skate across the water’s surface. Overhead, the crossbills chattered at each other, and the only other sound was water lapping onto the shore as the horses moved about.

  It was so peaceful, so serene, and Maura realized she hadn’t been this at ease in weeks. Perhaps even years.

  They took their meal in mostly silence, each of them lost in their thoughts. When they’d had their fill, Mr. Bain got up to feed the horses. Some ducks appeared above the loch, gliding down onto the surface, then paddling toward them. He took the bread they hadn’t eaten and threw bits of it to the ducks, and Maura laughed as they frantically chased each bit around, their heads disappearing beneath the surface then up again.

  When Mr. Bain had tended the horses, he returned to the blanket and eased himself down beside her. “You have the look of a woman who’s no’ slept, Miss Darby.”

  “Mmm,” she agreed. “I didna sleep well at all, with the exception of the moment when a mysterious visitor entered my room, aye? For that, it would seem I was quite sound asleep.”

  He smiled. “I can be quiet as a mouse when necessary. Lie down and rest, then.”

  “What of you?” she asked. “Are you no’ tired, then?”

  He shook his head.

  Maura lay down on her side and gazed out over the loch. She tried to imagine what it would be like to arrive on the doorstep of his family’s home, uninvited, unexpected. “What is your home like?” she asked curiously.

  Mr. Bain shifted beside her. He drew his legs up and wrapped his arms loosely about his knees. “’Tis a grand home. Or rather, it was the last I laid eyes on it. That’s been many years.”

  “How many?”

  “Many,” he said vaguely.

  “Och, but what of your mother, Mr. Bain? Surely she’d no’ let you go so long without calling.”

  “My mother is long since gone from this earth.”

  Perhaps that explained it. Perhaps, like her, his parents were dead, and there was no reason to return to his childhood home. No one was there waiting for him. “Your father is gone as well, then, aye?”

  He didn’t respond immediately, then said, “No’ that I’m aware.” He said it as if he were talking about a distant relative or a public figure. There was a disconcerting lack of esteem or regard for his family and home that she didn’t understand. “You truly donna know how he fares?” she asked, glancing up at him.

  Mr. Bain’s gaze was fixed on the loch, but Maura had the sense he was seeing far beyond it. “I truly donna know.”

  “Have you any siblings, then?”

  He turned his head and smiled with a bit of impatience. “You are a verra curious lass, are you no’? Do they teach young lassies in the course of their studies to interrogate gentlemen?”

  “And you are verra peculiar man, Mr. Bain. Of course I am curious. You mean to take me to your home without invitation, a home you have no’ seen in many years, and donna know who lives, and I am well within my right to know who I will meet and what I might expect, then.”

  “Aye, all right,” he said, conceding. “A reasonable request. I’ve a brother, two years younger than me, at Cheverock. Ivan is his name.”

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling. “Do you know how he fares?”

  “I’ve no’ received a letter from him in a few years. I assume he is well.”

  “Aye, I hope he is, for our sake,” she said, and rolled onto her back. She stared up at the tops of the pines, admiring the way the gray light filtered through the needles, and waited for Mr. Bain to expound. Naturally, he did not. “Must I ask, then?” she playfully chided him.

  “Ask what?”

  She clucked her tongue. “Mr. Bain, I am desperate to know why you’ve no’ been home all this time. You must oblige me or I will perish, here and now.”

  “I donna think you will,” he said lightly, and leaned back, stretching his legs long before him, and propping himself on an elbow. “Must you know everything?”

  “Aye, I must!” she said with a flick of her wrist. “I think you donna appreciate that I’ve been bargained away with no thought to my feelings about it, though I spent my life behaving as I’d been taught to behave. It hardly mattered. So now I am determined to understand the world around me so that I may make my own decisions. I donna care what anyone thinks of it.” She flicked a leaf from her belly. “So why, then, have you no’ been home for so long?”

  He smiled at her impertinent question, which in and of itself was a revelation to Maura—there was no Mrs. Garbett to chastise her for saying the wrong thing. No Sorcha to roll her eyes. There was only Mr. Bain to smile at her.

  “I canna answer all your questions, you wee upstart. My life has been rather complicated, it has.”

  Maura couldn’t help but laugh at that. “It canna possibly be more complicated than my situation, Mr. Bain! You need no’ choose your words with me. I’m in no position to pass judgment on you, aye?”

  “Well, that’s true enough,” he agreed. “All right then, where shall I begin? I’ve no’ been home in many years because I’ve had a difficult relationship with my father. When I was in my tenth year he sent me from home to apprentice with the Duke of Hamilton.”

  “Really,” she said with delight, fascinated with this bit of information, and rolled onto her side to face him. She knew that it had once been very vogue for the Quality to send their sons off to learn how to be dukes and kings and earls, but it was not the habit of so many now. Nevertheless, she was under the impression that it was a practice of wealthy, important people, and therefore, she supposed his family must be important, too. “What was it like?”

  Mr. Bain thought a moment. “Lonely,” he said. “I learned quite a lot from the old duke, that I did. But I was lonely without my brother. There was no one about but a few servants.”

  Maura understood how it felt to be deposited in a strange house. When she’d first arrived at Mr. Garbett’s home, Sorcha had been thrilled to have a playmate, and one that would do her bidding at that. But even then, Maura had felt like an outsider, a plaything for the favored child in the house. There were years that were easier than others—when she was younger, before they were women—but she’d never felt as if she belonged, precisely. Diah, how she would cry herself to sleep at night, missing her
father so achingly, and missing her governess, the cook, the entire staff. It had been a lot for a child to endure, really.

  “From there, I was sent to St. Andrews.”

  “Ah, that’s where you learned French and German, then.”

  “No. I spent quite a lot of time on the Continent when I finished my education, and learned the languages then. And you? How did you learn to speak two languages?”

  “Oh, my father insisted,” she said. “It was only the two of us from the time I was a bairn. He said he’d never have a son, and therefore, I would have to be both son and daughter to him. He taught me science, too.” She smiled sheepishly as she recalled the child she’d been. “I fancied myself an astronomer.”

  “An astronomer!”

  “Aye, why no’? I like the stars. Donna you like the stars, Mr. Bain?”

  “Well enough,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve no’ given them much thought.”

  “What did you want to be?”

  “A barrister,” he said. “I was quite taken with my father’s barrister, I was. He was handsome and fit, an excellent rider...” He glanced away. “And he was verra kind to me at a time when few were. I admired him.”

  Why hadn’t people been kind to him? “You might still be a barrister, Mr. Bain. Perhaps you might even apprentice with him, aye?” she asked. “Is he near to you now? Where do you live?”

  “I donna live anywhere in particular,” he said. “And I should no’ like to be a barrister. I like my occupation, such that it is.”

  “What do you mean, you donna live anywhere? Everyone has a home.”

  “No’ everyone,” he said, and touched her hand. “You donna have one.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I had thankfully forgotten that for a wee time.” Moreover, in that moment she hardly cared. She would be perfectly content for the rest of her life to lie on that blanket, on the bank of that loch, with the crossbills chattering above while Mr. Bain stared off into the distance. “You’re a wanderer, then, are you?” she asked on a yawn.

  “Aye, I suppose I am,” he said, as if the thought had just occurred to him. “I take residence in the homes of the people who engage my service.”

  “Like Mr. Garbett?”

  “No’ him. More like the Duke of Montrose, who I have served. Most recently, the Earl of Norwood.”

  “And now? Where will you go once you’ve tossed me off at Luncarty?”

  He chuckled. “I’ll no’ toss you off, lass. I will hand you carefully. As for me, I’ve been summoned by a wealthy sea trader in Wales. He’s lost a ship at sea and owes quite a lot of money. He has engaged me to go to France on his behalf and work out the terms of the debt.”

  That sounded intriguing to Maura. Exciting, too. She would like to flit about, living in one grand house after another, consorting with the Quality and solving their problems. “You have an exciting life,” she said with a twinge of envy.

  “It has been at times.”

  But he spoke without conviction. As if he wasn’t entirely convinced of it. There was something about his demeanor that brought to mind a lad, sent to apprentice with an old duke. Was it possible he was still a wee bit lonely? It must be impossible to form friendships when one was constantly moving from one house to the next. “You’ve never married?”

  “Och, you ask too many questions,” he said, and playfully squeezed her arm.

  “Aha, you’ve no’ married, then,” she teased him.

  “Aye, you’ve discovered my darkest secret, Miss Darby. I have no’ married.” He grinned at her and brushed another leaf from her shoulder.

  “Hmm,” she said.

  “What do you mean by hmm?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar.”

  “I mean, Mr. Bain, that it seems impossible you’ve no’ married. An educated man who has served dukes and earls would be considered quite a matrimonial catch, I should think. Oh all right, I will confess it—I’m surprised you’ve managed to escape the clutches of mammas in search of matches for their daughters, I am. Mrs. Garbett would have fainted dead away had you been unmarried and so gallant anywhere near her, aye? But she would have rallied herself just in time to sink her clutches into you for the sake of her daughter.”

  “Diah,” he said, one brow arching over the other. “I hadna realize how narrowly I’ve avoided the worst possible fate a man might endure.”

  Maura laughed gaily. “I wish I could have wandered and avoided the worst possible fate,” she said. “Why is it that bachelors may do as they please, but unmarried women must be kept under lock and key?”

  “’Tis the way of the world, lass. What of your suitors? I should imagine a line of them at the door of the Garbett house.”

  “Oh no,” she said, with an adamant shake of her head. “Mrs. Garbett wouldna hear of it. She was determined that Sorcha would have her pick of any eligible bachelors in and around Stirling. But I didna complain, for the gentlemen she invited to dine would no’ have suited me, I think. They were all for Sorcha. Alas, inevitably, her caller would inquire after my suitability for marriage and Sorcha’s feelings would be hurt.”

  “It’s quite understandable.”

  “But it’s no’!” Maura insisted with a nudge to his shoulder. “I never encouraged any gentleman who came to call on Sorcha. I did my best to be absent as much as I possibly could and if I could no’, as quiet as a ghost.”

  “Nevertheless, from a man’s perspective, you are far more desirable, Miss Darby. I should think that obvious even to you.”

  She laughed with disbelief. “I donna see how any gentleman could have thought so! I scarcely said a word at all.”

  “Perhaps that was how?” he suggested, and laughed when she gasped with pretend outrage.

  “You’re bonny, you are. A gentleman’s attention is no’ at first drawn to words as it is to beauty. The attraction was undoubtedly immediate to anyone who had the chance to meet you. Your compatibility became obvious in the dim light of Miss Sorcha’s company.”

  Maura blushed self-consciously at his praise. She’d been told before she was bonny—certainly Adam Cadell had said it more than once with a desperation that made her want to run. But when Mr. Bain said it, it felt more impactful. She did not want to run, she wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe he found her bonny, not just in looks, but in character. That he found her compatible in every way.

  Och, but such wishful thinking was not her right, and she glanced away, wishing she could stop imagining the impossible when it came to him. “On my word, I tried to give Sorcha her due, I swear it. But she can be unpleasant when things donna go as she likes. She’s her own worst enemy, really.”

  “I’d offer that her mother is the bigger enemy.”

  Maura giggled. “Oh aye, she is wretched, that one. But then a match was made with Mr. Cadell and I thought that would be the end of it, I certainly did.”

  “It was only the beginning for you, was it?”

  She nodded, then sighed wearily.

  “He was besotted with you, you know,” Mr. Bain said with a gaze so soft that it sent a fluttery little burst of feathers down her spine.

  “He’s a fool.”

  Mr. Bain’s smile deepened. “Another fool.”

  She smiled. She’d not forgotten she’d called him a fool today. “All of you, really, donna you know?” She rolled onto her back again and tossed her arm over her eyes with a sigh. “How long until we reach Cheverock?”

  “About five hours. Rest, then. We’ve an hour or so before we must depart.”

  She was feeling the ribbons of sleep spinning a web over her eyes. “What will you do, then?”

  “I’ll keep watch over you.”

  Those words, softly spoken, spiraled through her, and Maura moved her arm to look at him, uncertain of his meaning. Uncertain of her feelings.

 
His gaze was on her mouth, and the fluttering feathers began again. “I canna have you escape again, can I?” he asked. “It would ruin my excellent reputation.”

  “No, we canna have that,” she murmured. “I promise I’ll no’ escape until I’ve napped, then.” She closed her eyes and pillowed her head on one arm. Mr. Bain touched her face lightly, then brushed a bit of her hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. She felt warm. She felt safe.

  Donna be tender with me, please donna be tender.

  It would only make her want harder.

  It would only make it impossible to say farewell when the time came.

  She wished he would not cause her to imagine any more impossible things this day.

  Nonetheless, she groped for his hand, and when she found it, she wrapped her fingers around his all the same.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  IT FELT AS if the sky was below him, the earth above him. It was neither winter nor summer, but somewhere between stillness and movement.

  Nichol had never been here before. He didn’t know what to do in this odd space or how to understand what was happening to him. He was not excessively prone to feelings of any sort. He’d kissed a dozen women in his life, and he’d kissed them in every conceivable way. But he’d never experienced a kiss quite like the one she’d bestowed on him today.

  He’d never experienced a day quite like today.

  He was surprised to realize that he’d been so invigorated by their little caper. Made to feel again, as it were, with a vague anticipation of something new and different around every corner. Had his life grown stale? Had he become so accustomed to the mundane familial and business problems gentlemen trapped themselves in that he’d forgotten what a wee bit of excitement felt like? How many times had his heart pumped in the last twenty-four hours? How many times had he felt the exhilaration of a risk he knew he ought not to take? How many times had he bloody well smiled?

  And now here he sat, far longer than he ought to have done, watching Miss Darby sleep.

  It was cold; the clouds were beginning to thicken and he could sense snow was coming. The horses could sense it, too. They were restless, moving about, bumping into each other as they waited. And yet, Nichol didn’t move from that odd space.