Unlaced by the Outlaw (Secrets in Silk) (16 page)

“But you won’t.” She raised a hand to hold him back and returned to the horse. “Keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Sinclair.”

Her glare warned that she meant every word. He’d overstepped, pushing her too far too soon. “It was an invitation, no’ a demand, lass.”

But he should have known better. She wasn’t about to throw away twenty-five years of proper behavior. Without asking, he lifted her back on the horse and took the reins.

Instead of riding with her, he began walking beside the mare, leading it through the meadow, as he’d done before. Margaret had fallen quiet, but she soon relented. “Both of us know that you can’t walk to the inn. Ride behind me, if you must, else we won’t reach shelter before dark.”

Cain swung up onto the mare and increased the pace. “As you will.”

Some of the landmarks had changed since he’d gone this way in the past. He kept the setting sun in front of him, knowing it would lead him to the western roads. But he’d expected to come through one of the smaller villages by now.

A suspicion took root that perhaps they’d gone farther north than he’d thought. If that was true, then they could not reach the coaching inn by nightfall. But he would not say anything to Margaret, since he didn’t want her to believe that they were lost. That couldn’t be true—he knew this region well.

But when the sun crept steadily lower, she asked, “Where are we, Cain?”

“I ken where I’m going. Or have you forgotten how many times I delivered garments for you and your sisters?”

“No, I haven’t. But you haven’t answered my question.”

And that was because he wasn’t entirely certain. There ought to be a river running parallel to the road, but he’d not seen it. If that was so, then there was only one remaining alternative where they could spend the night—at a large manor house only a few miles from the border of Scotland.

“We’ll be there soon,” he lied. To change the subject, he asked, “Have you chosen a man to replace me and make the deliveries for Aphrodite’s Unmentionables?”

“Not yet. You were the one man we trusted to keep our secret.” She leaned back against him as they rode.

Inwardly, Cain wondered if Margaret had ever worn such sinful unmentionables. Over the years, she’d tried repeatedly to convince her sisters to give up the business. Yet, it was a hard fact that the money they’d earned was enough to transform their lives.

It had changed his, as well. He’d put aside money of his own, though even after saving for four years, it would never be enough for what he wanted. He was chasing an impossible dream, of having a good home and giving Jonah the life he’d never had.

The sun rimmed the edge of the horizon with rose and gold, sinking steadily lower. In time, Margaret turned to him.

“We’re not going to reach the inn tonight, are we?” Within her voice, he heard the uneasiness.

“No. Perhaps in the morning.”

She turned slightly in the saddle. “I was afraid of that. What will we do, if we have no shelter?”

“I’ll find something.” Though he wasn’t certain if they would reach the manor house in time, it was the best hope they had.

Chapter Seven

B
eing so close to Cain Sinclair was unsettling. There was a caged power in him, of a man who was restless and tense. He wanted more from her, and his very words had slid beneath her defenses, making her desire him. But Margaret knew better than to give in to temptation. It would only bring about greater problems.

By dusk, there was no village in sight. She was beginning to wonder what Sinclair intended to do—set up a place for them beneath a tree?

“Where will we stop?” she asked.

His grip tightened upon the reins. “If I havena found what I’m searching for, then when we reach the next stream, we’ll make camp.”

“And what is it you’re searching for?”

He didn’t answer but kept moving the horse at a steady trot. She doubted if he would find anything at all, but to her surprise, he drew the horse to a stop at the top of a hill. “I was looking for
that,
lass.”

Below them was a manor house larger than the stone house her parents owned in Ballaloch. From the size of the dwelling, there was no question that it belonged to a nobleman and his family. A sudden tightness clenched in her throat at the sight of the residence. “Was that where you thought we could stay?”

“Aye. Perhaps in the stable or among the servants.”

She hesitated. “No, we could do better than that.” The thought of sleeping in a warm bed with a hot brick at her feet was entirely too tempting. If she presented herself as a lady traveling with her cousin, it might be that the family would allow them to stay inside the house. Perhaps the gentleman might even be acquainted with her father. She could only hope that he would overlook her common gown and appearance, recognizing her breeding.

Margaret touched her hair and ensured that every last pin was in place. “We’re going to knock at the front door and ask to pay a call upon the lord who owns this estate.”

“And if he’s no’ there?”

“There are lights ahead,” Margaret reminded him. “The servants would not light the main rooms if no one was there.” She squared her shoulders. “After we knock at the door, let me speak to them. Do not say a word, I beg of you. If they learn you’re a Scot—”

“They’ll throw us out,” he finished. “Or worse.”

“Yes, well, if you can imitate an Englishman, it would be to your benefit.”

“I’m wearing a kilt and plaid,” he pointed out. “It’s no’ as if my clothes help matters. They’ll ken who I am.”

He was right about that. Thinking for a moment, she said, “I suppose you have no choice, then. I’ll say that you’re related to the Viscount of Falsham. With any luck, they won’t know any differently.”

“It’s no’ a bad idea,” he admitted.

Margaret could only hope so. Paul Fraser was a Scottish viscount, and his estate was south of Edinburgh. The nobleman who lived here might believe they were related.

They continued down the hillside until they reached the gravel driveway. Cain helped her to dismount, and Margaret steeled herself against what lay ahead. She knew how to present herself, how to play this role. She could only hope that whoever resided here would take pity upon them and grant them shelter for the night.

With her heart pounding, she strode up to the front door, beckoning Sinclair to stand behind her. She rapped the brass knocker and waited, silently praying that they would find what they sought.

A thin older man answered the door, and his expression revealed surprise. “We were not expecting guests at this hour. May I inquire as to who you are and why you are here?”

“I am Margaret Andrews, daughter of Baron Lanfordshire,” Margaret began. “My cousin and I were traveling to Ballaloch. However, our coach overturned and my maid died in the accident.” She lowered her gaze, trying to keep to the truth as much as possible, though some lies were unavoidable—an imaginary maid among them. “We were hoping to seek shelter for the night, until we can travel to a coaching inn on the morrow.”

“Your father is Colonel Lord Lanfordshire, I believe,” came a man’s voice. Margaret glanced behind the footman and saw a tall gentleman approaching. His dark blond hair held a streak of gray, and his eyes were a warm brown. He sent her a kindly smile. “I am Lewis Barnabas, of Hempshire.”

The name sounded somewhat familiar, but she couldn’t place it. The man was older than herself, and he had strong features. Though he wasn’t handsome, Margaret couldn’t quite stop staring at him.

Suddenly, she managed to recall her manners, and she curtsied slightly. “I am pleased to meet you, sir. My father is Henry Andrews, Lord Lanfordshire. And yes, he did serve in the army during the war.”

“I don’t travel to London often, but I’ve had the pleasure of meeting him. Your sister is the Duchess of Worthingstone, I believe.”

“She is, indeed.” Margaret breathed a sigh of relief that the man did seem acquainted with her family.

“But I have not had the pleasure of meeting you, as of yet, Miss Andrews.” His eyes gleamed, and her attention went directly to the man’s mouth. She found herself comparing his clean-shaven face with Cain Sinclair’s beard stubble. The two men were opposite sides of a coin, dark and light.

Mr. Barnabas reached out his hand, and Margaret placed her left palm in his. He raised her hand to that mouth, and she felt her cheeks flush.

“I’ve no’ had the
pleasure
of meeting you, either,” came Sinclair’s voice from behind her. His brogue had thickened, and when he held out his hand, there was a warning in his eyes. “I am Cain Sinclair.”

Though his words were polite, Margaret knew full well that he didn’t like Mr. Barnabas. The threat in his expression was unmistakable.

“You are both welcome in my house,” Mr. Barnabas said. He added, “And I am glad that Miss Andrews has a cousin to look after her. A woman of her beauty could fall into danger without someone to protect her.”

Margaret was taken aback by his words. He thought her beautiful? Even at the age of five-and-twenty? Instinct warned that this man possessed a golden tongue and was speaking the words she wanted to hear, rather like Lord Lisford. Even so, she wished for a moment that she was still wearing the green silk, despite how impractical it was.

“Will we be meeting Mrs. Barnabas?” Cain asked pointedly.

“There is, regrettably, no Mrs. Barnabas.” He smiled at Margaret, his gaze lingering enough to make her look away. “At least, not yet.”

Cain’s hand pressed to the small of her back in an unmistakable warning. He also insisted on keeping his coat after the footman took hers. It was almost as if he was afraid he wouldn’t get it back.

“I fear we’ve intruded upon you at an inconvenient time,” Margaret apologized.

“Not at all.” Mr. Barnabas’s voice was warm, disarming in the way he watched her. “Would you care for a small repast? I could have my cook prepare something for you.”

Margaret was about to decline, for it was yet another way to trouble their host. But before she could reply, Cain interjected, “Aye, that would be lovely.”

Lovely? He’d never spoken such a word for as long as she’d known him. She strongly suspected he was mocking Mr. Barnabas or even herself. But when she turned to him, his expression was shielded. Something had him on edge, and she couldn’t tell if it was wariness of their host or jealousy.

“I’ll have my groom see to your horse,” Mr. Barnabas offered. “In the meantime, follow me into the dining room, and you can tell me more about what happened.”

He led the way, but before Margaret could follow, Cain said, “Keep up your guard, lass. Something is wrong in this place.”

“Mr. Barnabas has been nothing but polite,” she whispered, hastening her step. She couldn’t think of what he’d possibly noticed that could be wrong. They’d been granted shelter by a gentleman, and she’d caught nothing untoward in their interaction.

“He has his eye upon you.”

That
was what this was about. He didn’t like the thought of any man being kind to her or paying attention. Margaret relaxed somewhat, for she could easily handle this situation.

“What if he does?” She shrugged, giving it little importance. “Am I not permitted to speak with a respectable man?”

She was baiting him and knew it. For Heaven’s sake, they were only staying a single night. After this, it was doubtful she’d see the gentleman again. And once he learned about her scandalous past, that would be the end of that.

Sinclair stiffened at her words, but leaned in to her ear. “Have a care, Margaret. I’m no’ going to leave you alone with him.”

Now that was going too far. It wasn’t as if Mr. Barnabas had any intention of accosting her. Whether it was jealousy speaking or whether Sinclair genuinely had a reason to doubt the gentleman, Margaret couldn’t say. But his domineering behavior was back, and she wasn’t about to let him tell her what to do. Rather than argue, she quickened her step until she caught up with their host.

The dining room boasted a mahogany table that would seat ten. Two silver candelabras rested on each end, and the Oriental rug was thick beneath her shoes. Before Mr. Barnabas could do so, Cain chose a chair and pulled it out for her. She accepted the seat, and Mr. Barnabas sat to her left. Sinclair sat across from her, no doubt so he could kick her beneath the table.

Margaret tucked both legs beneath her chair, just to be safe.

“Tell me how I can be of help to you,” their host urged. “I could lend you my coach in the morning to take you to the next coaching inn.”

Though she wanted to thank him and agree that yes, she did want to borrow the vehicle, she caught a sudden frown on Sinclair’s face. His mouth was set in a firm line, his eyes holding a dark anger. Honestly, this was going too far.

“I would be most grateful to you for your assistance, Mr. Barnabas. My father will recompense you for any expenses or perhaps, I could—”

But the gentleman was already shaking his head. “No, it would be my pleasure to help a stranded lady in distress.” He sent her a smile, but beneath it, she detected a note of insincerity. It was the proper answer to give, but did he mean it?

She studied him more closely, trying to understand what it was that Cain Sinclair saw. The dining room was lovely and inviting, with flowers on the side buffet, and the footman stood at the far end of the room, his posture immaculate.

Perhaps that was it. Everything was
too
perfect.

She studied the silverware and the china pattern. Every plate was turned so that the bird pattern was facing in the correct direction, and there was nothing out of place. Not a single crumb marred the surface of the tablecloth. Which was as it should be. It demonstrated an attention to detail that many servants lacked.

“We can talk about our journey in the morning,” Cain said. “You should eat something, lass, and rest.”

The butler, whom they learned was John Merrill, poured wine for them, while a footman served them a thick vegetable soup. Their host made conversation, telling them about how many acres of land he owned and the estates he would one day inherit. In a way, it reminded her of the Viscount Lisford—as if Lewis Barnabas was trying to impress her with the promise of a different life. Lord Lisford had invented tales of his own wealth, stories that had turned out to be false.