Every Time with a Highlander (15 page)

“I'm going to his office,” Undine said.

“Makes sense. We're unlikely to get a better opportunity than now, in the middle of the night,” Michael said, tightening her laces.

She shook her head. “You can't go down there with me.”

“Right,” he said, “because it'd be much nicer to be given the news you'd been thrown in the dock—or worse, the river—along with my coffee tomorrow. ‘Pardon me, old boy, but things have gotten a bit sticky with my fiancée. I had the strangest sense you were taken with her, which was bad enough, but then I found those lovely, soft hands digging through my drawers. Normally, I'm all for that sort of thing, but I'm afraid these particular drawers are strictly off-limits and we've had to have her drawn and quartered. Now be a good fellow and pass the bannocks, would you?' Oh, that'd be a great end to my first twenty-four hours here.”

Undine rolled her eyes. “John would never eat bannocks.”

“Really? That's your only comment?” He continued the tightening.

“And is that how people talk in your time?” She sniffed. “'Tis very off-putting.”

“I'm coming. That's that.”

“I don't need help. I have my methods.”

“And I have my pistol. We'll make a great team. We've already made one,” he said, putting his arms around her and kissing her neck, “or have you forgotten?”

“You can give me the pistol and I'll have the protection you think I need.”

“Nope. Sorry. We're inextricably linked, he and I. You can't have one without the other. By the way, you smell wonderful. Is that lilies?”

“Lilies?
Never
. I despise them.”

“Really? Why?”

She hesitated. “I don't know. I just do. The scent you smell is gardenia. And how like a man to see a pistol as male.”

He pulled the device in question from his waistband and examined the barrel. “There is a certain elegant similarity.”

“Elegant?” She rolled her eyes and twisted away. “'Tis like saying a hippo bears an elegant similarity to a swan.”

“I'm not sure I entirely follow, but I'm flattered by your choice of size.”

She made a Scottish noise and began rummaging in the bedside table. “In any case, I can find my own weapon.”

“I'm sure Bridgewater's guards have an innate fear of being swatted to death with a hairbrush or a copy of Caesar's
Gallic Wars
. You're being stubborn. Also, don't you think I'm involved?”

“You?”

“I, the man from his solicitor's office. Isn't it possible the man from his solicitor's office knows something?”

She paled. “I never thought of that. All the more reason to get you out of here.”

“But I could help.”

“You don't know anything.”

“But he doesn't know that.”

“You think you're that good of an actor?”

“I do, yes.”

She sighed. “Well, that's all the more reason for you to let me break into his office on my own. As you said, you're supposed to be from his solicitor's office. You can't be found rifling his papers.”

“And you're supposed to be his fiancée. How is that any less of a concern?”

She shifted. “Because if I don't find the proof I need to stop him, then you'll still have a chance to get it out of him in your meeting and take it to Abby.”

“Oh,
no
. No, no, no, no, no. We're not dividing our effort in order to double our chances of success. Pardon me for saying so, but the problems of the people of Scotland and England don't amount to a hill of beans in comparison to your safety. Not to me.”

She looked up from her searching long enough for him to see the hint of pleasure on her face, which she immediately hid. “A hill of beans?” she asked lightly. “Is that something from one of your theatricals?”

“Sort of. Do you like it? I stole it.”

“Does the actor end up with his head on a spike?”

Worse. He ends up saying good-bye to the woman he loves.
“Not in this one.”

“Well, I'm glad to hear not everything you've done has an unhappy ending. By the way, you told Nab you're a director. What's that?”

“I'm the person who tells actors what to do.”

“Someone tells actors what to do? That's strange. Do they listen?”

“Not really. It's a wee bit unsatisfying, if I'm honest. But it's made me rather skilled at working with difficult people.” He watched her size up a letter opener as a potential weapon.

“Does that come in handy?” she asked.

“More than you'd expect.”

“Well, you should care about Scotland, but I'm not surprised you don't. I doubt an Englishman's ever been born who really cares about Scotland.” She'd laced the word “Englishman” with unmistakable disdain.

“You might be right,” he said, “if I were an Englishman.”

She wheeled around. “Are you not?”

“No. I'm a Scot. Born and raised in Peebles.”

Even in the candlelight, he could see the surprise on her face. But it wasn't delight, as he'd expected. She smiled, but there was something manufactured about it.

“You talk like an Englishman.”

“Drama school, I'm afraid. This,” he said in his Borders accent, “is my real voice.”

“You're very talented,” she said after a moment, but it didn't sound like a compliment. “I had no idea. You hid it well.”

“I didn't
hide
it. You make it sound like I didn't tell you I was married.”

“Are you married?”

He shook his head, afraid his voice would betray him.

“But you were.” She said this with a certainty he knew he'd be a fool to deny.

“Yes,” he said. “A long time ago. Not anymore.”

“She hurt you.”

“There was a fair bit of pain, yes.”

Like spotlights, those eyes traced the path of sorrow he kept hidden. He felt as if his skin were being burned from his body, but he didn't move and he didn't say a word.

The reflection of the candlelight seemed to quiver in her eye, and for an instant he thought… Well, he didn't know what he thought.

“Strong and ever present,” she said at last. “How do you keep people from seeing it?”

“It's not easy.”

“Your magic is indeed powerful.” She touched his arm, and the scorching resolved into a gentle warmth. “People like us can carry it, but I think it's better to put it down.”

The sounds of the footman returned. They had to act.

“The time for compromise has arrived,” he said.

She crossed her arms. Her hair had been pinned up quickly, and the stray strands reminded him of what they had shared.

“And what do you mean by that?” she said.

“I'll limit myself to staying within earshot of you, so I can come like the cavalry if you call. And you limit yourself to staying out of danger.”

She pursed her lips, evidently searching for a hole in the offer and finding none. She extended her hand grudgingly. “That will do.”

“Another shake?” He clasped her hand.

“Lately, I seem to have forgotten all my rules.”

Bridgewater's office sat at the end of a long hall visible through the doors of the drawing room. Kent was to wait in the garden off the drawing room's french doors, pleading an upset stomach and the need for fresh air if someone asked. Undine was going to divert the guard outside the office door. She and Kent had descended the stairs unobserved. Nab had done his job well. As she stood outside the drawing room, she took a deep breath. She had to trust Kent was in his proper place even though she couldn't see him.

That had always been a problem for her. There were few people in whom she could fully place her trust. Whether that was the fault of an overly independent nature, a necessity of the life she'd chosen, or a reaction to a series of disappointments and blows, she didn't know. She could count on Abby in all things, even if their political views sometimes diverged. And she was quite fond of their new friend, Serafina. As far as men, with whom the majority of her time was spent and who were by nature harder to trust, she could count only Duncan, Gerard, and one or two acquaintances from her youth among those she would put her faith in. And now Kent.

But Kent was different. He possessed powerful magic, that much was certain, though she knew her attraction to him had begun before the spell. The magic alone made him a worthy companion, though it hardly made him trustworthy. She should be incensed he used a spell on her without her permission, but somehow she knew no harm would come to her under his care and that he had no ill intent. Even more puzzling, she had no interest in removing herself from the magic's influence.

You're under a spell. That's why you have no interest in removing the influence.

It was true. But he'd excited a part of her she'd thought unexcitable. Not her body, she considered with a smile, though he'd certainly done that well enough, but her desire to be with another person. And for that, she was both surprised and grateful.

Closing her eyes, she listened for a sense of the night. The soldier was gray and adrift in her head. Bored with his post. She turned toward the staircase. Bridgewater was somewhere beyond—a jagged boulder tumbling down an endless hill. Even in his dreams, he pushed forward, crushing, destroying. She could also feel Kent. He filled the space around her with a beautiful, undulating blue, like water—there to catch her and hold her, weightless.

She entered the drawing room, holding her candle high. She saw the guard down the hall but ignored him, walking straight to a tall display of objets d'art in his line of sight. She looked longingly at the objects sitting on the highest shelf—three large, onyx elephants decorated with silver and pearls, a father, a mother, and a child. Given their size—the father was easily over a foot tall—they were also likely the heaviest of the objects on the shelves as well.

She walked a few steps back and forth, staring at the creatures, then looked around, letting her gaze come to rest on a small table. She put her candle on the floor and dragged the table to the bottom of the display. Whether or not she agreed with their politics—and she'd met a few Englishmen for whom she did not develop an instant dislike—she'd never met an English soldier who would not do whatever he could to help a gentlewoman in distress. She looked up at the elephants again and climbed as unsteadily as possible onto the table.

The man pelted down the hall. She stretched her arm for the elephants—

“Undine! For the love of God!”

Bridgewater caught her by the waist and swung her, breathless, off the table.

“Let me call a servant. It is the elephants? My God, you could have fallen. Thank you, Private.”

The guard, who'd stopped a few steps behind Bridgewater, bowed and returned to his station.

She was too surprised to think. Bridgewater hadn't been tumbling down a hillside. He'd been coming down the stairs. Kent's spell had dulled her thinking.

“I can't believe you're still awake,” she said.

“Nor I you. We'll be leaving very early, you know,” he said, adding tenderly, “though you can sleep in the carriage if you need to.”

The private resumed his position outside Bridgewater's office. The opportunity was lost.

“Are we still going, then? I thought since the man from your solicitor's office arrived…”

“I hardly know him. I've been thinking about it. 'Tis best if we go. Morebright will be happier. Are you here alone?” he added lightly.

“Aye, except you and the private,” she said with a laugh. “I noticed the elephants earlier, and you'd said I should make myself at home. I thought the smallest one would be most charming on the chest in my bedchamber.”

“I'll certainly ask a footman to fetch it for you in the morning. Come,” he said, taking her hand. “Perhaps a walk through the garden will help us slumber.”

“Oh, no, I-I shouldn't like the damp. Let's sit for a bit here.”

He led her to the settee and went to collect the candle. “Have you seen Beaufort?”

Her heart thumped. Had he seen her enter Kent's bedchamber? “Not since you introduced us. Why?”

“I thought I heard him.”

“You did,” a voice said.

Undine turned.

Kent stood in the doorway, pulling at his beard. “I was speaking to the lad who delivers candles. I wish to have my wicks trimmed more closely.”

Bridgewater gave Undine an exaggerated eye roll, as if to say “What sort of man is so particular about candles?”

“I see you can't sleep either,” Bridgewater said.

“I was nearly asleep when I was interrupted, and now I feel as if I might never close my eyes again.”

Even though Kent was looking at Bridgewater, Undine repaid the indirect compliment with a smile and saw the corner of his mouth rise.

“I pray my candles weren't to blame,” Bridgewater said.

“On the contrary,” Kent said, “the candles were more than satisfactory. 'Tis the wicks that were lacking. But I do not hold the length of a man's wicks against him. I'm certain the boy will profit from my suggestions. My lord, as long as we're both awake, might we use the opportunity to discuss the matters that have brought me here?”

Bridgewater looked at Undine. “Well, I…”

“Oh, please do,” she said, standing. “I can entertain myself elsewhere.”

“May I suggest the garden?” Kent said.

“Oh, I-I-I would prefer to avoid the damp, sir.”

“Nonsense. The night is warm. I suggest you keep close to the side of the house, though. It serves as a fine windbreak and there are some lovely lilies in bloom there.”

Lilies?
She met Kent's eyes, and he gave her an owlish blink.

Bridgewater led her to the door. “This may take a while, my dear. I suggest you see yourself up to bed when you finish.”

“Take all the time you need.”