To Tempt A Rogue (16 page)

Here in the wilds of Scotland she had rediscovered those missing pieces. She had somehow regained the essential parts that had been hurt and beaten down. But she had also discovered something else, something that she never knew existed.

A female vulnerability. It was at times a disconcerting thought that for some unknown reason this man possessed the power to make her feel the fragility of her womanhood. Even more disturbing was the notion that occasionally she had come to
like
that feeling.

“Such a serious, thoughtful expression, Harriet. Are you longing for more of my kisses?”

“I am remembering my past.”

“With regret?”

“Sometimes I feel my past is composed solely of regrets.” She sighed softly. “And horrible mistakes.”

The words, once spoken, could not be called back. She turned her back on him, staring out into the woods, hoping he would take the hint that she did not wish to further elaborate.

But of course, he did not. She heard his booted feet crunching the dried leaves, felt him standing beside her, a formidable male presence.

“Who hurt you, Harriet?”

“Julian. My fiancé.” She whispered, wondering if saying the words softly would ease the pain. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and hunched her shoulders.

“What happened?”

She nearly groaned.
What had happened, exactly? Were there truly words to explain it all?
She had been abandoned in the midst of a great scandal, but that humiliation was not the root of her pain. “There is no easy or simple answer to your question. Julian and I became engaged at the end of my third Season. He was a soldier, serving with Wellington, so I knew it might be a long engagement. It didn't matter. I was so proud of him, but more significantly I was so proud of myself for wringing a marriage proposal from one of the Season's most elusive bachelors.

“He was a handsome man, popular in Society, though I quickly learned he did not possess the kind of friends who would stand by and support him through a difficult time. He left for the Continent a week after our engagement was announced. I wrote to him diligently for years, though I rarely received any letters in return.

“I made excuses for his lack of regard, his lack of consideration. I comforted myself with the notion that someday he would return and then, at last, I would be his wife and we could begin our life together.”

“Did he fail to return?”

She let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, no, he came back. It was a disaster. I should have broken it off when it became apparent he wanted no part of honoring the commitment he had made to me. But I was too proud and too frightened of being alone. In the end my poor judgment of his character led others into grave danger.”

“It was not your fault that he acted without honor.”

Agitated, Harriet lifted her hand and rubbed her brow. “It was my responsibility. Deep in my heart of hearts, I knew what sort of man Julian was and yet I ignored it, I told myself it wasn't true. I made him out to be a far better man than he was because I so desperately
needed
him to love me. And the most laughable truth of all was that he never did. I doubt he even liked me.”

Mr. Wainwright turned her shoulder so she faced him. She took a deep breath, wondering if he understood how guilty and humiliated she felt. “Dear Harriet. It is hardly a sin to wish to be loved.”

He enveloped her in his arms. The embrace lacked the usual sensuality and passion that seemed to flair so easily between them. Instead it was a gesture of comfort. Harriet had not realized how badly she craved this show of kindness and support until it was so selflessly offered.

She felt a sob rise up from her throat, but valiantly fought it back, clenching her jaw tightly until it ached. Julian had already taken far too many of her tears. He no longer warranted any of her time or emotions.

“What an idiot you must think I am,” she muttered. “A weak, spineless woman who embraced the foolish notion that, miraculously, love changes everything.”

His broad chest rumbled and moved and she realized he was laughing. She lifted her head and stared at him, her cheeks hot.

“I have never in my life met a less fragile woman than you, dear Harriet. And we both know you are far too clever by half, so there is no need to berate yourself for seeking what we all crave. Someone who will love us. Completely and unconditionally.”

He went very still and searched her eyes with his own. Harriet licked her lips and swallowed, wishing a breeze would flutter by, for she felt very overheated.

“Is that what you wish? To find someone who will love you?” Harriet whispered, hearing her own labored breathing as she waited for his answer.

“Certainly. A future alone is barren and empty. A future with a wife to love and children to spoil has meaning and substance.”

Harriet was so stunned by his answer she nearly lost her balance. So many men felt that marriage compromised not only their freedom, but their sanity. As for love—well, far too many males often considered that a very unnecessary emotion.

Harriet's fingers stole up his chest, and across his shoulders. She lifted a hand and pushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. The intensity of his stare never wavered, giving further credence to the sincerity of his words, but it was the expression on his handsome features that made her heart turn over.

“I wish you luck in your search for love and happiness,” Harriet said solemnly. “I believe you will not find it too arduous a task.”

For an instant, Harriet felt overwhelmed by bitter regret. More than anything, she longed to be that woman. The wife who was loved, the woman who gave birth to the children who would be spoiled. His wife, his children.

But she knew it could never be.

 

 

Dinner that night was a strained affair. The intimacy they had shared in the afternoon had suddenly disappeared and they treated each other with unfailing politeness that made everything they did seem awkward and unnatural. Conversation was as sparse and mundane as the food they were served.

When the meal finally ended, Harriet suffered a moment of panic, worried that he would not volunteer to walk her to her bedchamber door, as he had done every night. She had decided this afternoon on the long, silent ride back to the castle, that she would leave in the morning. Kate was well enough to travel—there was no reason to linger.

She had not informed Mr. Wainwright of her decision, yet for some strange reason she believed he knew, especially when he so hesitatingly asked if she would like his escort to her chamber.

Her stomach was in knots as they made the all too familiar walk. Harriet struggled not to think beyond the moment. When they reached her door they stopped and turned at the exact same moment, facing each other. For a second he appeared ready to kiss her. But he did not.

Instead he reached out and took a stray lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. “The stable master informs me that your coach and driver are planning to depart early tomorrow morning.”

“There is no reason to remain. Kate is fully recovered, though she may claim otherwise.” Harriet studied a mark on the wall over his left shoulder with abject curiosity. “This afternoon Kate tried to tell me she was in grave danger of having a relapse, but I know that was merely an excuse to stay near Mr. MacLeod.”

“So you will also be leaving?”

Harriet nodded, not trusting her voice.

“If I ask you to stay, to wait until the children arrive, would you do so?”

“I cannot.”

He gently cupped her shoulders with his hands and brushed his lips against hers, holding her deliberately away from his body. “I should like to think we are parting as friends.”

“Of course.”

“Then, just once, I would like to hear you call me by my Christian name.”

Harriet pulled in a deep breath. For some reason his simple request brought her alarmingly close to tears. “Good night, Nathaniel.”

“Good night, Harriet. Sleep well.”

She clasped her hands together, lacing her fingers and gripping them so hard they turned white. It was the only way she knew to prevent herself from reaching for him and making an utter fool of herself. She wondered what else she could say, how she could somehow magically make things different between them. But there were no words.

Her sleep that night was tormented. Her thoughts centered on how she could have done things differently, could have changed the ending to this most bizarre chapter of her life. But the restless hours of sleep brought no answers.

 

 

Nathaniel's fingers slowly curled around the doorknob to Harriet's bedchamber. He hesitated, a part of him knowing this was wrong. Yet circumstances compelled him to twist the knob and push the door open.

He was hoping she was a light sleeper, that the noise he made would rouse her from slumber. It did not. He raised the candlestick he carried in one hand, thinking that perhaps the light would disturb her rest. It didn't.

Straining to see through the shadows he could barely discern her shape beneath the heavy coverlet. He could summon one of the female servants to wake her, but he was under the distinct impression that most of them returned to the village each night.

He knew Mrs. Mullins had rooms at the castle, but Harriet had already joked that she could barely understand the housekeeper's thick burr. It hardly seemed fair to summon her.

Nathaniel took a deep breath, and moved closer. All the various conventions he and Harriet had flouted this week were overshadowed by the vast impropriety of this moment. A gentleman never entered the bedchamber of an unmarried female in the middle of the night. Especially not the bedchamber of a woman in his employ.

He soothed his conscience by telling himself these were exceptional circumstances. Besides, he technically wasn't alone with Harriet. There were three young chaperons following closely on his heels.

Nathaniel approached the bed. Harriet was sleeping on her back. She had not braided her hair and the dark strands were fanned out in wanton abandon on the pillow. The sight held him momentarily spellbound and he cursed the sudden quickening in his loins.

Nathaniel took a deep, steadying breath, unintentionally inhaling her delicate fragrance. The scent only sharpened his desire. He felt like shouting out his frustrations, hoping it might startle Harriet awake, but that would most likely frighten the children.

His breathing unsteady, Nathaniel loomed over the massive bed. His hand reached out—

“Nathaniel, please we must stop. Oh, please do not test me,” she cried suddenly, thrashing her legs beneath the coverlet. “I fear I don't have the strength to resist you.” She turned on her side, burrowed her head in the pillow and sighed in her sleep.

Nathaniel moved back from the bed. His face burst into a wide grin. The little minx. She was dreaming of him! If the situation had not been so dire he would have crawled in beside her and slowly brought her to wakefulness, slowly kissing the edges of her delicious mouth, gently stroking the tender flesh of her bare breasts, and then delving into her moist, yearning womanhood.

“Uncle Nathaniel?” whispered a childish voice. Lord Avery took a stumbling step away from the bed, feeling as if he had been caught in an act of pure debauchery. “Yes, Jeanne Marie?”

“Is this our room? Mine and Phoebe's? Because if it is, I don't want to stay in the bed with that strange lady. She talks while she is sleeping.”

Nathaniel managed to hold back his laughter. “You and Phoebe shall have your own bedchamber, right near mine,” Nathaniel replied. “And Gregory will be in the chamber next to your own.”

“Do you talk while you sleep?” Jeanne Marie asked solemnly.

“No.” Nathaniel regarded his young niece with a teasing grin. “I whistle. And sometimes I sing.”

His remark brought the hoped for smile to the child's face. Then, with his focus once more centered on the task at hand, Nathaniel reached out and shook Harriet's shoulder.

“Wake up, Harriet,” he said. “We need you.”

Harriet stirred, opened, then shut her eyes. Her sleep-laden brain struggled to awake and understand. There was a soft, glowing brightness in her room, yet she knew it could not be morning. There were voices, too. Deep masculine tones mixed with sweet high-pitched chords.

Slowly, Harriet again opened her eyes. She carefully sat upright in her bed and drew the covers to her chin. It was dim. It was cold. It was raining. And Nathaniel was in her bedchamber.

His sculpted features and sensual mouth looked especially appealing in the shadowy intimacy of her chamber. He was dressed informally in a black waistcoat, white shirt, dark breeches and boots, with no coat or cravat. He was staring at her with such an intent expression that her heart gave an unsteady jolt.

It was like her dreams, her fantasies. He had come to her room, had come to her bed. His lithe, muscular body emanated a raw, masculine vitality that overwhelmed her senses. It was enticing, intoxicating. The thought of what was to come dazzled her spirit. It was what she had wished for, had yearned for, had finally dared to dream about—the promise of physical and emotional fulfillment shared between them.

But he wasn't alone. He had brought others with him. Children. There were children. His three young wards? Was it possible? They stood beside her bed, gazing up at her, from tallest to shortest in a neat little row, lined up like steps on a stairs. Harriet blinked, then reached for the flint she kept on her bedside table. She struck it and lit the candle that was also kept nearby.

With the aid of additional light, Harriet was better able to examine her uninvited, unknown guests. They gazed at her with unwavering regard, with wary, lost expressions on their young faces. It was enough to make her heart turn over in her chest.

They were a handsome trio, similar in looks, though their coloring varied from delicate blond to dark hair and blue to brown eyes. Though she knew their ages to be nine, seven, and four they looked far younger, far more defenseless. Harriet's throat tightened at the somber picture they made and for a long moment there was only the sound of the beating rain echoing through the bedchamber.

“I am sorry to have disturbed your sleep, but the children are here and we have a problem that needs your assistance,” Nathaniel said.

“They have arrived
now?”
Harriet at last croaked.

“In the middle of the night? In the middle of a storm?”

Nathaniel made no attempt to hide his grimace. “It seems to be the preferred form for visitors to Hillsdale Castle. If memory serves, that is exactly how you arrived.”

Harriet looked at him in alarm as she remembered that stormy night. “Where is Brutus?”

“I have already taken care of the hound. He is locked in my bedchamber, no doubt chewing on my best pair of boots.”

“Good.” Harriet let out a breath. “That should keep him entertained for a few hours.”

“Who is Brutus?” the boy asked, as he wiped his nose on a grimy sleeve.

“He is one of the castle dogs,” Nathaniel explained. “You may meet him in the morning, if you like.”

“After the beast has eaten a large breakfast,” Harriet muttered under her breath.

“I like dogs,” the younger girl announced. “Especially when they sit in your lap and let you cuddle and kiss them.”

“Brutus is a very large dog. Why, I bet he could put
you
in his lap,” Harriet said with a slight smile. “But I'm sure he will like a pat on the head and a good rub behind the ears. We shall wait until he knows you better before you start giving him kisses. Your—”

Harriet glanced up at Mr. Wainwright in complete confusion.

“Uncle Nathaniel,” he supplied softly.

Harriet nodded. “Your Uncle Nathaniel will supervise an introduction to Brutus sometime in the morning. After you are well-rested.”

“We sleeped in the carriage. We don't need to rest anymore,” the boy declared in a belligerent tone.

“Carriages can be very uncomfortable,” Harriet said, wondering how far they had come on this journey. “Won't it feel good to stretch out in a big, comfortable bed, with a deep, soft mattress?”

“No.” To emphasize the point, the little boy shook his head, his dark hair flopping into his eyes.

“We really aren't very tired,” the older girl said hesitantly, glancing at her sister.

The younger girl seemed to get the unspoken message, for she straightened her shoulders and declared loudly, “I was sleeping for a very long time. And I don't like squishy beds.”

Ah, so that was the way of things.
Harriet was glad they were showing a solidarity of spirit, though she would have preferred if they wait until a more reasonable hour to be defiant about going to bed.

Mr. Wainwright let out a distressed sigh and ran his fingers through his already ruffled hair. “If they aren't sleepy, we can't send them to bed. Perhaps they—”

“If the children do not wish to go to sleep, they may sit in the front parlor until morning,” Harriet interrupted, hardly believing what a push-over Nathaniel was with these three young scamps. “Though I doubt there is a fire lit, so the room will be very cold. Perhaps we can find a spare blanket to chase away the chill. You could all share it. Snuggling together might aid in keeping away the worst of the cold. And we will also need to search for a few candles, though they will most likely sputter and go out, leaving you in total darkness. It will be hours before dawn arrives.”

“I don't like the dark,” the younger girl whispered.

“Neither do I.” Harriet reached out and smoothed her hand over the child's shoulder. “If you go to bed, I shall make certain to leave a candle burning where you can see it all night. And we'll check to make sure the mattress isn't squishy. Would that be all right?”

The child's face relaxed. “Yes.”

“I don't need a candle. I'm not a baby.”

“Of course you aren't. You are a big strong boy. I have a nephew who is nearly the same age, so I know a great deal about boys.”

The little boy's brows knit together, as if he were trying to decide if this was a good or a bad thing.

Nathaniel's gaze swung in her direction. “Then it is agreed the children shall go to bed. However, there was some sort of mishap with the luggage coach. It broke a wheel early this evening and had to be left behind. In the confusion, the children's bags were not transferred to their traveling coach. They have no nightclothes.”

“A problem easily remedied,” Harriet replied. She threw back the covers and rose from the bed. “I need a minute to locate my robe and slippers. Then we can get the children settled for the night. Have you woken any of the other servants?”

Harriet received no answer. Her back was towards Nathaniel and the children. If she hadn't heard their breathing, she might have thought they had left. She shrugged into her robe and turned around to face them. The three children were observing her movements with innocent curiosity, but Nathaniel was looking at her with such frank sexual interest it sent a shiver down Harriet's spine.

He cleared his throat. “As far as I know, the household is asleep. I answered the front door myself when the children arrived.”

Harriet steeled her shoulders, willing herself to composure. Having him in her bedchamber in the middle of the night was far too close to her disturbing, erotic dream. Thank goodness for the three young chaperons.

“Mrs. Mullins will have to be roused so that rooms can be prepared. I'll not have the children sleeping among dust and cobwebs,” Harriet said.

“Their rooms have been ready for several days,” Nathaniel said.

Harriet glanced at him in suspicion. “Is there clean linen? Freshly washed drapes? Properly cleaned rugs? No musty odors?”

“The rooms are in excellent condition. I inspected them myself.”

“Oh.” Harriet fidgeted with the belt of her robe.

“How about food? Have the children eaten? Are they hungry?”

“Apparently all they have been doing is eating,” Nathaniel replied wryly. “And not the type of food conducive to the swaying motion of coach travel.”

The older girl nodded her head. “Gregory got sick. They stopped the coach and Uncle Duncan was trying to get him out when it happened. A lot of it went on Uncle Duncan's shiny black boots.”

“It smelled horrible,” the younger girl declared.

“We played near a stream and threw rocks in the water while the servants cleaned it up.” She wrinkled her nose. “But they didn't get rid of the smell, so at the next inn we got a new carriage.”

“Goodness, that was quite an adventure.” Harriet smiled briefly at the trio, then turned to Nathaniel. “Is Duncan your brother?”

Nathaniel looked blank for a moment, then his eyes strickened with alarm. “N-no. The children address us both as uncle out of affection and regard, not because of any familial relationship.”

Harriet's gaze narrowed. Though his answer seemed forthright, there was something about Nathaniel's expression that rang false. It was as though he were trying to hide something from her.

“It may seem silly given the circumstances, but I would very much like to be properly introduced to your wards,” Harriet said.

“Of course.” Nathaniel moved to stand behind them. “Children, this is Miss Sainthill.”

The girls both executed a polite curtsey and Gregory managed a quick bow. Harriet was charmed.

“This is Phoebe,” Nathaniel continued, placing his hand gently on the older girl's head. His hand touched the younger girl next and she snuggled close to his arm. “This is Jeanne Marie. And this, is Gregory.”

The little boy jerked back, then darted his body side to side, making a game of avoiding his guardian's touch. Nathaniel chuckled, pursuing the child until he captured him in a hug that had them both laughing.

“I am very pleased to meet you all,” Harriet said.

“Even if it is the middle of the night.” She gave them what she hoped was a friendly smile and then announced, “We had best go and find your new bedchamber so you can settle in for a nice rest.”

Not surprisingly there were groans of protest from all three youngsters, but the adults were not swayed. Nathaniel led the way, gripping a candelabrum held high. The children followed and Harriet brought up the rear.

As they headed along the dark passage to the opposite side of the castle the ghostly echo of a low moan filled the air. The sound sent goosebumps skittering up Harriet's arms. She glanced ahead anxiously to see if the children had a similar reaction, but those three pair of feet never missed a step.

They entered a room in a section of the castle that Harriet had not explored, knowing this was where Nathaniel's bedchamber was located. The room was well lit, with several candelabra burning brightly. It was also occupied by a man who was unknown to her. He was crouched in front of the hearth obviously trying to light a fire. He appeared to be having very little success, for the room was cold.

Harriet was surprised to see him, since Nathaniel had said no other servants were awake.

“Devil take it, I had no idea the place was in such a disgraceful state,” the man muttered. “What a poor friend you must think me, Nathaniel, to send you off to such a crumbling old keep. We need to take the children back to Edinburgh as soon as possible. They must be kept safe. 'Tis too late to begin the journey tonight, but we—”

The stranger ceased speaking abruptly when he noticed her. He rose slowly to his feet, seeming to half fill the room. “Oh, hello. And who do we have here?” he asked, with a charming, roguish smile on his face.

The timbre of his voice was low and cultured, with just a faint trace of a Scottish burr. He spoke like a gentleman, yet his wolfish appraisal made Harriet feel the need to check the top button of her nightgown and tighten the closure of her robe.

“Good evening, sir. I am Miss Sainthill,” Harriet replied in a frosty tone, inclining her head slightly.

He stared at her for a moment before bowing. “Duncan McTate, at your service.”

“McTate? I know that name.”

He smiled again, revealing himself to be an especially handsome specimen of a man. “I imagine you've met several McTates during your stay. This is my castle and my clan, and many of these good people cling to the tradition of taking the laird's name as their own.”

Harriet's eyes locked with his and in that instant she felt a jolt of recognition. “The Scottish warrior in the portrait gallery,” she said in quiet amazement. “ 'Tis most remarkable. The resemblance between you and him is quite marked.”

McTate's eyes filled with an amusement that was almost tender. “I've always fancied myself a fighter, a valiant defender of home and hearth. I vaguely remember those portraits from my visits here when I was a lad, no bigger than young Gregory. You must stroll with me in the gallery tomorrow, Miss Sainthill, and show me which of those handsome lads shares my good looks.”

Harriet nearly grinned, but caught herself. Living at Hillsdale Castle must have addled her brain, for she had never before succumbed to such blatant charm. It was a point of pride that she had always possessed a low tolerance for this type of drivel. Yet somehow Duncan McTate had charmed his way past her defenses.

Frowning fiercely, Nathaniel stepped between them. “If you two are through, perhaps we can turn our attention to the children. Or have you forgotten about them already?”

Harriet blinked at Nathaniel's curt tone. McTate met his look with a steady gaze. “I hadn't realized I was poaching on your territory. Forgive me. Yet I'm pleased that living in this fine Scottish environment, breathing the crisp Highland air, has opened your eyes to the value of a good woman.”

Nathaniel's brows crashed together in an ominous line. “As usual McTate, you have completely misread the situation, but what else can one expect from such a great Scottish lout.”