Unlaced by the Outlaw (Secrets in Silk) (19 page)

“Is that what you think?” Cain countered. The brandy was smooth and fiery against his throat. “You’re wrong, Barnabas. Say what you will, but Margaret and I are family.”

Or at least, they would be, if he could ever convince her to wed him. He knew his words had come out steady with the ring of truth. Cain knew exactly how to lie, how to say what people wanted to hear. He took another swallow and added, “No one will harm her under my protection.” He wanted Barnabas to hear the hinted threat.
Especially against any man who seeks to hurt her.

There was something about this nobleman that bothered him—a sense that all was not right. The servants were tentative, and that said a great deal about their master.

“You watch her in a different manner than a cousin,” Barnabas continued. He stood before the fireplace while sparks flew up against the wood. “Are you . . . together?”

Cain didn’t like the man’s assumptions or his insinuations against Margaret. He took a step forward, using his height to intimidate the man. “You willna speak a word against her. She’s a lady.”

Lewis Barnabas shrugged as if he didn’t truly believe that, but he said, “I am glad to hear it. Perhaps Miss Andrews and I can become better acquainted in the next few days.”

Cain wasn’t about to let that happen, but he decided to soften their disagreement by feigning indifference. “The lass is going to Ballaloch, as I said. If you’re wanting to court her, you should call upon her father. Lord Lanfordshire would have to give his permission.”

“Then of course, I shall do so.” Barnabas’s voice held an air of arrogance. “That is, if Miss Andrews would enjoy my companionship.”

When I’m dead and buried
, Cain thought. The man behaved as if it was a privilege for Margaret to have his interest.

“There willna be time to speak with her. We’re leaving,” Cain reminded him.

Barnabas only smiled. “Are you?”

Cain didn’t know what he meant by that, but he set down the glass of brandy. He sent the man a dark look, letting him see that he would not stand down. “Aye. And while I ken that she’s grateful to you for a place to spend this night, I willna let you threaten her. ’Tis Margaret’s choice to leave whenever she wants.”

Were it up to him, he’d leave this moment. But he knew Margaret wouldn’t understand his reasons. “Now, if you wouldna mind, I should like to get some rest.” Which meant he planned to visit Margaret and ensure that she was safe, with a means of barring her door.

Barnabas signaled to the maid who had accompanied them earlier. “Give Mr. Sinclair his room for the night. I’m certain we will talk more in the morning.”

Not if Cain could help it. His instincts had never failed him before, and he sensed trouble brewing. He planned to awaken Margaret before dawn and take her far away from this place.

“Let me in, lass,” came the voice of Sinclair from behind her door. Margaret paused, for she was wearing only a cotton nightgown she’d found in a dresser drawer.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

“I need to talk with you for a moment.”

She hesitated, not knowing whether it was wise to let him into the bedroom. Cain Sinclair had made no secret that he desired her, and she worried that he would attempt more than a conversation. But worse, she feared that she could not turn him away if he dared to reach for what he wanted.

“Come back in the morning,” she whispered. “It’s late, and you should not be here.”

“Open the damned door, lass, or I’ll break it down.”

His words weren’t exactly encouraging, but she had no doubt that he would do precisely what he’d threatened.

She yanked open the door and glared at him. “What is so important that you must steal into my bedroom at this hour?”

Cain said nothing but closed the door behind him. Then he lit a candle and began examining her room. He ignored her presence but went straight to the window and locked it. A moment later, he dragged a heavy dresser over toward the door.

“What are you doing?” she whispered. “This isn’t necessary. You act as if you expect me to be attacked by someone in the middle of the night.”

His eyes turned cold. “Aye, lass. I wouldna put it past him.”

She couldn’t believe he would think such a thing of Mr. Barnabas. The man had impeccable manners and had not once behaved in an inappropriate manner. Furthermore, he’d opened his home to them.

“Nothing is going to happen,” she insisted. “Now if you would kindly leave my room . . . ” She let her words trail off, waiting for him to go.

He moved forward and looked down upon her. His dark hair hung down over his shoulders, and the look in his eyes reminded her of the way he’d touched her before.

“I would never harm you at all, lass. You ken that, don’t you?” His voice was husky, filled with unspoken promises.

She managed a nod, caught up by his close presence. He touched her shoulders, running his hands over her arms, until his hands rested at her waist. “If I could sleep outside your door, I would.”

“I’ll be fine,” she insisted. Her skin rose up with nerves, and she was so afraid that he would begin touching her again. She was sensitive to him in a way she didn’t understand. Images rose up in her mind, of him taking her back to bed . . . of him running his hands over her flesh and tempting her toward sin.

Don’t do this,
her conscience warned. Now was not the time to fall prey to any man.

“Push the furniture in front of your door after I go, lass,” Cain told her.

But the dresser was so heavy, she didn’t know if she was capable of it. “I have a key to this door,” she pointed out. “I can lock it from inside.” If it would make him feel better and convince him to leave, so much the better.

“Do that,” he insisted.

She waited for him to go, but Cain remained standing where he was. His hand moved up to her hair, and he ran his fingers over the long blond strands. “I like your hair this way, lass. You’re no’ so proper now.”

She caught his hand, trying to ignore the way her heart was beating faster. “You must go, Mr. Sinclair. Now, please, before anyone discovers you here.”

“What do you care if anyone finds me?” he demanded. “We’re leaving in the morning.”

“It matters to me.” She
did
care what others thought of her, while it might be foolish. She didn’t want Mr. Barnabas or his servants to discover her lies, not when they were reliant upon the man for transportation. Margaret took his hand and guided him toward the door. “I will be fine, I promise you.”

But the way he was watching her went beyond attraction. He was staring as if he wanted to take her back to the bed and have his wicked way with her.

“It’s no’ safe here, lass. And don’t be allowing that Mr. Barnabas to turn your head. He may be wealthy and have better table manners than me. But there’s a darkness in him.”

She didn’t know what to believe. Mr. Barnabas had opened his doors to strangers, giving them food and a place to sleep. Outwardly, there was nothing to suspect.

But she had allowed herself to be led astray once before, by Lord Lisford. She’d been caught up by his handsome face and the way he’d spoken all the words she’d wanted to hear. It wouldn’t happen again.

“I will be fine, Mr. Sinclair,” she told him. “You needn’t worry.”

“Get some sleep, then.” His voice was deep, as if he wanted to sleep at her side. Once again, she faltered at the tone of his voice. “We’ll be traveling early.” Cain sounded as if he intended for them to continue on horseback. She’d had her fill of that, especially when Mr. Barnabas had offered another means of transportation. If they borrowed his driver, they could continue their journey in comfort, and she would pay the servant well for his trouble.

“I thought we would use Mr. Barnabas’s coach. He
did
make the offer.” She couldn’t understand why Cain was in such a hurry to leave.

“He willna offer us a coach,” he countered. “Mark my words, there will be something wrong with the vehicle in the morning. We won’t be leaving in it.”

“You’re being ridiculous, Mr. Sinclair.” He made it sound as if Mr. Barnabas intended to keep her prisoner here, when that wasn’t the case at all.

“He’ll be finding a reason, lass. He wants you to stay. And damned if I’ll let you become his prey.”

She was convinced that he was overreacting out of jealousy. “Perhaps you’re the one I should be afraid of,” she murmured. “Seeing as you’re the one in my bedroom.”

“Say the word, Margaret, and I’ll keep you warm.”

A rush of heat slid over her at the thought of his hard body beside hers. She remembered what it was to feel him pressed against her, his hands moving over her skin.

But that would be a grave mistake. She could not let herself succumb to the wild longings that kept creeping nearer. She knew that her reputation was tarnished and what others would say about her. Yet somehow, she thought she could bear the gossip more easily if it wasn’t true. If she remained innocent, despite all that had happened, it would bring her comfort.

“No,” she whispered. She crossed the room and opened the door. “Good night, Mr. Sinclair. I promise I’ll lock the door after you’re gone. In case anyone tries to come inside.”

Like you,
she thought.

Henry Andrews was slowly losing his wife. She sat in a chair beside the window, staring into nothingness. Rarely did she speak, and each time he’d tried to coax her back into the world of the living, she’d ignored him. It was as if she had retreated inside herself and no longer wished to live.

He walked slowly toward her and rested his hands on the back of her chair. “I wondered if you might like to go for a walk.”

She didn’t look at him, but he knew she’d heard him. “What I want is to go back to Scotland.”

Her answer startled him. “Why do you want to go to Ballaloch?” It had been weeks since Margaret’s disappearance, and his wife was behaving as if their daughter was dead.

At last she stood from the chair and turned to him. “Because I think those men you hired are lying to us. They know that the longer it takes to find her, the more money we’ll pay. I can’t believe that in all this time, no one has found her. Something is wrong.”

He agreed with her on that point. Which was why he’d joined with Castledon, both of them hiring men to search all the roads leading from London.

They had found the coach Margaret and Sinclair had traveled in. It was overturned, badly burned by fire. A man’s body had been found nearby, presumably the driver.

Beatrice worried that Margaret had been seriously wounded in the accident or worse, that she was dead. She hardly slept at night anymore, and she’d stopped eating meals with him. Over the past few days, he’d watched her grow even more fragile. She needed news to bring her hope, not news that would devastate her.

He strongly believed that Margaret would be found. It was
that
news he wanted to give his wife—not more cause to worry.

There was a fire in her eyes now, of a woman determined to find her daughter. He was glad to see that she’d emerged from the shadows of grief and was willing to leave London. After the weeks of her suffering and sadness, he would do anything to bring back her smile. If that meant traveling together across England, so be it.

“When do you want to leave?” he asked.

Her cheeks flushed, and she appeared startled that he’d agreed so readily. “Tomorrow,” she whispered. In her eyes, he saw a hopeful light, as if she could bring Margaret back by fervent wishing.

“I’ll make the arrangements,” he promised. “In the meantime, why don’t you have the servants pack our belongings? We can reach our estate in a week or two, and hopefully we’ll find her on the way there.”

Beatrice ventured a step forward. Her face held a wistfulness, and he wanted so badly to hold her close. He wanted to feel her arms around him and breathe in her scent. Although both of them were older, she was as beautiful now as she was on the day he’d met her. The lines around her eyes showed the marks of happiness and sadness over the years.

A fierce hope beat within him that he could mend the breach and get his wife to love him again. He opened his arms slightly, hoping that she would move forward and embrace him.