Seduced by a Scot Page 3

  Silence.

  Nichol was feeling his patience leak from him, and he never lost his patience. He tried the door, but as he suspected, it was bolted shut. He slammed his hand against it in an uncharacteristic display of frustration. “Miss Darby, I must insist you come out at once!” he said sternly.

  He heard something and pressed his ear to the door. Was he imagining it, or did he hear a low laugh from the other side of that door?

  He definitely heard another chuckle behind him.

  Patience deserted Nichol altogether. He prided himself on his ability to stay completely calm when others were at sixes and sevens—it was necessary to the sort of work that he did. But this annoyed him. He could feel the uptick of his heartbeat, the surge of heat to his neck. He would not be treated in this way by a young woman with nothing to recommend her, with no one to help her but him. He would not accept her bad manners in light of what he meant to do for her. He whirled away from the door.

  Mr. Rumpkin was still standing there, still drinking. He dragged his sleeve across his mouth and said, “Told you.”

  Nichol squeezed around him, then strode down the stairs.

  He had also learned in his many years of solving problems that if one avenue for resolution closed, there was always another. The trick was to find it.

  And oh, he would find it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MAURA BRACED HER hands against the door and leaned in, pressing her ear against the rough wood, listening to footsteps receding.

  When she couldn’t hear them any longer, she pushed away from the door and smiled wryly to herself. How dare Mr. Garbett send someone for her? How dare he not come himself to deliver his apology? Did he truly believe she would simply walk out of this spot of hell with a stranger? Go meekly along after all that had happened? Not without an apology, she would not, and she felt quite determined to never leave this room until she had it.

  Except that she was even more determined to leave this wretched place, just as soon as she figured out how. She would not remain one night longer under Mr. David Rumpkin’s roof than was absolutely necessary.

  Oh, how she despised that man! At first, she’d tried to make the best of it, and though she could hardly stomach her surroundings, she’d tried to be pleasing and accommodating. Just as she’d tried when she’d been taken in by the Garbetts.

  On his deathbed, her father had told her to always be kind, to be grateful to the family that would take her in, to be as accommodating as he knew she could be. He’d reminded her that she had no standing in this world, and her existence depended on the benevolence of a man who was not her father. Maura had tried to be all of the things her father had recommended, but she was not their kin, and Mrs. Garbett had hated her from the moment she’d laid eyes on her. Mr. Garbett had been indifferent to her for the most part, even though from time to time he would defend her. Still, Maura had always believed Mr. Garbett liked her. Now she believed he had been precisely what he’d shown her: indifferent.

  Given her experience in Stirling, perhaps she should have known that being grateful and accommodating would not serve her here, either. Rumpkin had shown himself almost at once to be an impossible, slovenly beast with no regard for her or that hapless lass who came from Aberuthen to cook his stews.

  Still, she might have born it. She’d even had thoughts of tidying up the house a bit for him, as she was reluctant to sit on any seat. But it was Rumpkin’s drunken pawing of her that had prompted her to barricade herself in the room. She’d been caught completely off guard by it—he’d come up behind her, had put one hand on her arse, another on her breast and his greasy mouth on her neck.

  A shudder ran through her as she recalled it.

  Maura had found a strength she had not known she possessed in that moment. She had shoved the mountain of a man with all her might, and he’d stumbled backward, falling into his chair. “Donna be a shrew,” he’d slurred, and as he’d tried to lever himself to his feet she had fled to her room at the top of the stairs, had bolted the door shut, then had pushed a bureau in front of it for good measure.

  The next day she’d had to remove the bureau to accept the bit of food the lass had brought her and left outside her door. She’d taken the bread, had left the bowl of stringy stew untouched.

  Oh right, she’d almost forgotten—she was starving just now.

  Maura turned away from the door and looked at her prison. She had a small stack of books that were keeping her occupied, but which she’d soon finish. She was running out of wood for the hearth, her clothes needed washing and she’d lost all manner of decency. The clothes she’d been wearing the night he’d put his hands on her were discarded onto the floor, where they would remain, unless she resorted to burning them for warmth. She hadn’t bothered to dress her hair or don a gown over her stomacher and petticoat in days.

  She fell onto the chaise longue at the end of the bed, and stared morosely at the ceiling with its peeling paint. She couldn’t survive in here much longer. Last night, she’d concocted an elaborate plan in her head, whereby she would will herself to make it to spring when the days would be warmer. She could simply walk out of this house once Mr. Rumpkin had fallen into unconsciousness with his fingers wrapped tightly around a bottle. But then she’d grown sullen, for spring was too far away, and there was an entire winter to endure.

  She needed to devise another, better plan.

  She had only a few coins, some shoes that were worthless for anything other than dancing or strolling around manicured gardens, one decent gown and one serviceable gown. The third gown she’d been allowed to leave Stirling with was the one lying in a heap on the floor.

  As she lay there contemplating, she heard a sound that she would have thought was a rat scurrying by had it not come from outside the window. She slowly sat up, staring at the window. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t, this Mr. Nichol Bain. Maura shot up from the chaise and hurried to the window. She opened it slightly, just enough to see out.

  All she could see was an auburn head of hair as the man picked his way up the thick vines that covered the tower.

  Bloody bounder. Mr. Garbett must have paid him handsomely to ferry her off to yet some other hell. She closed the window and latched it shut. If he thought she would open it to him, he was a fool. She went back to the chaise and plopped down onto her back, one bare foot on the moldy carpet, one arm slung across her body, waiting for the inevitable moment that he pounded on the window demanding entrance. She hoped he fell and landed on his arse. She hoped his fingers ached so much that it brought a tear to his eye.

  She did not expect him to punch his fist through the glass, but that’s what he did, shattering the pane into a rain of chunks. That same fist reached through the opening for the latch and swung the window open. Maura was so stunned by this that she couldn’t move, and watched, dumbfounded, Mr. Nichol Bain’s acrobatic entry into her room. He paused just inside, brushed off his clothes, ran his hand over his bobbed hair, and then leveled a gaze on her that suggested he was quite perturbed at having to make an entry in this manner.

  Neither of them said a word. Maura didn’t know what stunned her more—his bold entrance or his fine looks. His eyes were the palest green, his hair the shade of autumn. He stood well over six feet, and broad shoulders that looked even broader in a greatcoat tapered into a trim waist. He was perhaps one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.

  But his expression was thunderous as he surveyed her lying there—she was still incapable of movement—and said, in a deeply timbred voice, “Feasgar math.”

  He had just wished her a good afternoon in Gaelic. Maura stared at him. Had he come from the Highlands, then?

  “Now I see what caused Adam Cadell to lose his mind,” he said, and bowed gallantly.

  For the love of Scotland! Men were degenerates, the whole bloody lot of them. Whoever this man was, or whatever he wanted, Maura
didn’t care. She had gone well past the point of caring in Stirling and straight into unyielding fury with the world and everyone around her. She did not want to be reminded of Adam Cadell, that bloody coward. She sighed with impatience, cast her arm over her eyes, and silently willed this handsome stranger from her room.

  He did not leave her room. No, he was moving about, pausing here and there. When he next spoke, she realized he’d walked the entire breadth of the room to the other window. “Allow me to introduce myself again, aye?” he said coolly. “My name is Mr. Nichol Bain.”

  She didn’t care what his name was. Did Mr. Garbett think she would trust anyone at this juncture?

  “I understand you must be mistrustful.”

  Mistrustful? Aye, sir, mistrustful and furious. She was teeming with raw, unabated fury. She had no wish to discuss what she was or thought and muttered under her breath, “Sortez maintenant, imbécile,” telling the fool to get out of her room.

  There was a long pause before he said, “Pas avant que vous n’écoutiez ce que j’ai à dire.”

  Not until you’ve heard what I have to say. Surprised, Maura removed her arm and turned her head to look at him.

  He had squatted down onto his haunches a couple of feet away from her and was watching her closely like a hawk, his eyes sharp and focused, his movement very still.

  Maura pushed herself up on her elbows and glared at him. All right, so he’d been schooled in French, too. He thought himself clever, she could clearly see it in his eyes. “Mir ist es gleich was Sie zu sagen haben.”

  She gave him a very pert smile. She’d just told him that she didn’t care what he had to say, and silently thanked her late father for insisting her education include languages.

  Mr. Bain’s smile was slow and almost wolfish. “Aye, you have me there, lass. My German is no’ as good as that. Nevertheless... Wollen Sie von hier fortgehen?”

  She gasped softly. This man, whoever he was, was a formidable opponent. She sat up, putting both feet on the floor, her hands clutching the edge of the chaise on either side of her knees. She gave him a good look, appraising him, before she answered his question. “Aye, I want to leave here,” she said. “But no’ with you.”

  Mr. Bain stood up, clasped his hands behind his back and said calmly, “At present, that would seem your only choice.”

  “It is no’ my only choice. I could leap from the window you’ve so graciously opened for me, aye?”

  He shrugged. “If you meant to leap from the window, I suspect you would have done so on the day you felt it necessary to barricade yourself in this room.”

  Well, then, he was a perceptive man. He should be heralded for it among women—Look here, lassies, all of you, a perceptive gentleman! Come quick, for you’ll no’ see this again!

  Maura stood up. She was at least a full head shorter than him; he had to look down. And when he did, he unabashedly looked directly at her bosom before lifting his gaze to her eyes.

  She glared at him. “What do you want, then?”

  “To take you from these...accommodations, first and foremost.”

  She folded her arms across her body. “And then? Where do you mean to take me? To Mr. Garbett? Or am I to have the pleasure of visiting yet another cousin?”

  He glanced at her mouth. Maura considered kicking his shin. “To Luncarty,” he said.

  “Luncarty. What the devil is a Luncarty?”

  “It is a small village and an estate. It is also an opportunity.”

  She laughed at him. An opportunity! How naïve did he think she was? “Is it? What sort of opportunity would it be, then, Mr. Bain? Am I to defend myself against the advances of another man I’ve never met?”

  “Pardon?” he said, and had the decency to at least look slightly horrified. “Did Rumpkin—”

  She clucked her tongue at this fool. All men were fools.

  But this fool’s expression turned slightly murderous. “I would no’ put you in a situation that might cause you harm, Miss Darby. There is a house in Luncarty that I think you would verra much like. A big wealthy house.”

  “Ah. Someone’s mistress, then.”

  He seemed taken aback by her direct manner. “No one’s mistress. You are Mr. Garbett’s ward, aye? He has vowed to do right by you.”

  She cast her arms wide. “Does this look right to you, sir? Aye, go on—if I’m no’ to be a mistress, what am I to do at Luncarty?”

  “Marry the laird.”

  She gasped with shock. And then laughed with sheer delight as she gathered her tangled hair and pulled it over her shoulder. “You must be mad! Or you must believe I am mad.”

  “What I am is determined to find a suitable situation for you.”

  “Well, that is no’ one!” she said, and laughed again, this time with a twinge of hysteria. “I will no’ marry someone I’ve no’ met!”

  “Of course you will meet him before you decide,” Mr. Bain said with the patience of a parent. “The gentleman is an acquaintance of mine. He’s kind, he’s in need of a wife and he will treat you like a princess.”

  “I suppose you think that’s all that is required!”

  Mr. Bain shrugged. “What more would you like, then?”

  “What more? Love? Compatibility?” All the things she was desperate to know, given that she’d spent the last twelve years of her life searching for even the slightest bit of love or compatibility. For the slightest hint of affection. Since her father died, Mr. Garbett was the closest she’d had to knowing any sort of affection, and even that was sporadically applied in the way of a pat to the head or a squeeze of the shoulder.

  “Love and compatibility,” he scoffed. “All verra lofty goals for a lass who is locked in a tower with no prospect of anything more than servitude.”

  Maura’s breath caught in her throat. Her fury and disbelief dulled and she felt the truth in his words settle like a weighted mantel about her shoulders. She sagged, dropping her arms.

  “Will you at least allow me the opportunity to explain?” he asked.

  “By all means,” she said dryly. “You’ve gone to the trouble of climbing the wall and smashing the window after all.” She walked away from him, to her wardrobe. She pulled out a shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. The broken window was letting in a north wind and flakes of snow. “You were saying, Mr. Bain?”

  “Dunnan Cockburn is heir to Scotland’s largest linen manufacturer. He lives in a grand house with only his widowed mother. He is a good man.”

  Maura eyed him with skepticism. “Why has he never married, then?”

  “He is no’ particularly adept with the fairer sex.”

  What did that mean? Was he hideously ugly? A happy drunkard? “I would guess that you manage the fairer sex with aplomb, aye?” she said. “Perhaps you ought to instruct him.”

  One corner of his mouth tipped up. “I am hoping that you will come along and make that task unnecessary, Miss Darby.”

  “What if I agree to meet him? When will I leave this wretched place?”

  “Tonight.”

  That caught her attention—she could leave tonight? A flurry of thoughts began to race through her mind, not the least of which was that she had a way out of this house. That was the first step. She didn’t know what she intended to do once she was freed from this prison, but she did not intend to marry some faceless man.

  What she wanted was to get her mother’s necklace back. That necklace was the proverbial straw that had broken the camel’s back. Maura had done everything the Garbetts had ever asked of her, including moving to the small servant’s room at the end of the hall to be “out of the way.” She’d remained at home when she and Sorcha had been invited to parties so that Sorcha could shine. She’d tried to keep to the shadows when company came. She’d said please and thank you, had never asked for anything, had done everything she knew to do to be
a grateful, accommodating girl. And for that, they’d accused her, called her a liar and, the ultimate insult, had taken her necklace.

  They should not have taken it, and Maura should not have let them. She’d done nothing wrong. It was all she had to her name, and she intended to have it back.

  She didn’t have a plan for that, either, but the first step was getting out of the hell Mr. Garbett had sent her to, and Mr. Bain was offering her a way out.

  Whatever would come next, Maura couldn’t guess. But it would not include marrying a man in Luncarty who was “not adept with the fairer sex,” whatever that meant. But in order to escape, Mr. Bain had to believe that she would be foolish enough to agree. So she mustered up all the charm she could manage, looked into the pale green eyes of the man standing before her and said, “Aye, all right.”

  His brows dipped into a dubious frown. “All right?”

  “I’ll go.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Is that no’ what you wanted? I’ve changed my mind.”

  His frown grew even more dubious, but he said, “Have you a bag? Anything to carry your things?”

  She nodded.

  “Fill it with what you can carry. Clean yourself up and meet me in the drive when you’re ready.”

  “Any other commands, your highness?”

  “Aye. Dress warmly.” With that, he turned away from her, easily pushed the bureau from the door, unbolted it, and strode out.

  Maura’s heart was suddenly beating with excitement. It occurred to her that this opportunity could disappear, and she could be prevented from escape. She had not a minute to spare and ran to her vanity.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NICHOL WAS NO stranger to the dithering of young ladies at their wardrobe, and had expected to be kept waiting a good hour or more for Miss Darby. But here she came after only twenty minutes, bundled in a cloak lined with fur, with her hair bound haphazardly at her nape, and her leather bag—stuffed to the gills by the look of it—banging against her leg.