Unlaced by the Outlaw (Secrets in Silk) (22 page)

“The butler, Mr. Merrill, loaned me a coat and a shirt.” There was an uncomfortable look on his face, as if he didn’t like being beholden to anyone. “I think they might have belonged to the former master of this house.”

“You look handsome,” she informed him. “And without the kilt, you would look like any of the men here.”

“Without the kilt, I’d be half naked, lass.” He sent her a charming smile, and she bit back a laugh.

“Well, then. I suppose you
would
be noticed.” She was glad to see that his humor had returned.

After supper was announced, Mr. Barnabas began leading a countess inside the dining room. The guests lined up by rank, and Cain squeezed her hand. “I suppose now I’m to disappear into the kitchens.”

“You will not.” Margaret led him in. “As the acting hostess, it is my responsibility to lead you inside.” She linked her arm in his and saw that the footman had indeed arranged an extra place beside her. Margaret took the chair at the farthest opposite end from Mr. Barnabas, and Cain sat to her right.

He said nothing, but she sensed that he would have preferred the kitchens. The young lady on his other side was the same one who had begged an introduction earlier. She was flirting shamelessly with him, and Cain answered her questions. All the while, he mimicked the table manners of those around him.

As the dinner progressed, Margaret conversed with the people around her, but she felt like a shadow of herself. Though she could behave as if this were an entertaining evening, it felt as if she no longer belonged here. What did she care if others spoke about Parliament or the weather? What did it matter if the fish was a trifle overdone?

Cain turned to her and remarked, “Have you been enjoying yourself, lass?”

She kept her voice low. “Only when you came to join me.”

Cain didn’t know why he’d bothered to come to this gathering. He knew nothing of these people or what was expected of him. He should have listened to his instincts and stayed back in his room.

And yet, he’d wanted to catch a glimpse of Margaret. Her hair was bound back, with a few teasing strands curled against her cheeks. She was wearing sapphire blue, and the color of the gown brought out her green eyes.

And damn him if the gown didn’t fit her like a second skin. It was tight against her shoulders, revealing the curve of her breasts. It made him remember touching her, arousing her on horseback. He wanted nothing more than to peel back that silk and reveal her delicate flesh, tasting her until she moaned.

She blushed, as if she’d guessed his thoughts. From beneath the table, he took her hand. She squeezed it, and he kept her palm in his.

At the other end of the table, Barnabas was smiling at the older woman beside him, and there was a strain around his eyes. He might’ve decided to host this supper party, but it was clear that his thoughts were elsewhere. Cain wondered exactly what family matter was distracting him, but undoubtedly it had to do with the estate.

“I must say, Barnabas, you’ve done very well with Hempshire,” one of the gentlemen remarked. “I believe we should call you the Phoenix now, for you’ve brought this estate out of the ashes.”

Barnabas gave a deferential nod. “I’ve worked very hard to make it prosperous.” He met Margaret’s gaze at the other end of the table. “All I need now is a wife and helpmate.” As a courtesy, he also smiled at each of the other young women, but it was clear where his interest lay.

No’ bloody likely
, Cain thought. Aye, the man had wealth and good manners. But Margaret was his.

“You’re hurting my hand,” she whispered, and he realized then that he’d been clenching her fingers.

“I’m sorry.” To atone for it, he stroked her fingers lightly.

The next course arrived, and the guests appeared delighted when the footman revealed a dish of tiny birds. Cain stared down at his plate, appalled when the guests began slicing the fowl and crunching their bones.

“What in the name of God is this?” he demanded of Margaret in a low voice.

“Ortolan buntings,” she explained. “It’s a French delicacy.”

“Why would anyone want to eat those?” The idea of crunching through a songbird was revolting. “I’m no’ touching it.”

Margaret didn’t appear thrilled by the dish, either, and in a low voice, she whispered, “It’s not exactly in good taste, considering we’ve been at war with France. I can’t imagine why he served this, unless he was hoping to impress his guests.”

She sliced through the bird and moved it to a different part of her plate. It was an illusion, designed to make others believe that she’d eaten it.

“Don’t you just love ortolan, Mr. Sinclair?” the woman beside him was asking. “It’s such a rare dish.”

“Here. You can have mine,” he said, pushing the bird onto her plate. The other guests stared at him, as if he’d committed an unforgivable sin. Why would they care?

Margaret said nothing at all, and he supposed he’d embarrassed her. She was pushing her bird all around the plate, and her lips were pressed together. At a closer look, he realized that her shoulders were trembling.

“Are you all right, lass?”

She covered her mouth with a napkin and shook her head. When he tilted his head to look at her closer, he realized that she was laughing. Honestly, what had come over the woman?

“Were you wanting the bird, instead?” he demanded.

She choked back a laugh, gripping her napkin as if her life depended on it. “N-no. I’m fine.”

“Well, I, for one, do not want your castoffs,” the young woman said. Her sour expression made it seem as if he’d spit upon her plate.

“As you like.” Cain speared the bird with his fork and dropped it onto Margaret’s plate. The feet stuck straight up in the air, and at that, she broke down with laughter.

“Forgive me. I shouldn’t laugh, but honestly—” A snort escaped her, and a few of the others smirked as well. Barnabas’s expression darkened, and it was clear that Cain had offended him. So be it. He didn’t care what any of these folk thought of him. They could take their ridiculous foods, and he’d play no part in it.

“I’ll leave you to your supper, then.” He stood up from the table and tossed his napkin on the chair. The other guests regarded him with fascinated horror, but Cain was ready to be gone from all of them. He didn’t belong here with men and women like this. He’d come on Margaret’s behalf, but it was clear that he couldn’t even dine among them without making a fool of himself.

He strode away from the guests, not even bothering to apologize to Barnabas. But worst of all was knowing that he’d made
her
laugh at him.

He had more pride than to endure an evening like this with strangers. And it only reminded him that they came from different worlds—and this was one that he wanted no part of.

As he crossed through the hall, toward the staircase, he caught a glimpse of a small boy carrying a bucket of coal. The lad was far younger than Jonah, but he had the same dark hair that looked as if it hadn’t been combed in a few days.

Seeing the boy reminded Cain of his purpose. He wasn’t here to let Margaret pull his strings, teaching him how to behave among the gentry. He had his own family to protect.

And he remembered, too well, the dangers he and Jonah had faced together.

FIVE YEARS EARLIER

“But . . . we can’t leave, Cain.” Jonah stared up at him, his nine-year-old face shocked. “This is our home.”

Cain had begun throwing clothes, food—whatever he could find—into a bundle. He didn’t stop to look for anything but kept adding as much as he could carry. When he glanced up, his brother was still staring at him, frozen in disbelief.

“Don’t stand there, lad. We have to leave within the hour.” He knew what would happen to the crofters who refused to leave their homes. Strathland had ordered them all to go, and there was no choice in it.

“He canna do this,” Jonah protested. “We’ve always lived here. How can he make us leave?”

“Because the earl owns this land.” His younger brother didn’t understand that Strathland’s men were riding even now, torches in hand. Those who had not yet abandoned their homes would be forced to leave when the flames struck the thatched roofs. Cain had seen the fires in the distance and heard the screams of the folk whose belongings were going up in smoke. It was only a matter of time before they reached these dwellings.

“Take everything you can carry,” he commanded. “We’ve no time left.”

His brother didn’t seem to understand the urgency but kept staring at the walls as if he couldn’t decide what to leave behind.

“Now, Jonah,” Cain said softly. “Or you’ll no’ be able to carry any of it.”

When his brother turned, his face was stricken with fear. He picked up a handkerchief that had belonged to their mother, crumpling it in his hand. “Where will we go?” This was the only home he’d known, and Cain could see how close Jonah was to tears.

“To Lady Lanfordshire,” Cain said. “We’ll ask to set up our shelters there until we can find another place. Near the coast, maybe.” He reached for the pistol that had belonged to their father, tucking it in at his waist. At least they could have a few things that would remind them of their parents.

Jonah was already shaking his head. “I won’t go, Cain. I canna leave.”

The sound of horses drew nearer, and there was no choice but to seize as many of their clothes as he could gather.

“Jonah, get out!” he shouted.

A lighted torch landed upon the thatched roof, and it caught fire immediately. The flames took hold, the black smoke thickening the space.

Cain grabbed his brother by the hand and jerked him outside. Only moments later, a bundle of charred thatch and bits of the roof fell inside where his brother had been standing. Hatred darkened the boy’s face when he saw their home go up in flames.

“We did naught to Strathland,” he told Cain. “It wasna our fault.”

No, but they were at the mercy of a man who had decided they were no longer useful to him.

“Our fault was in living upon his land,” was the only answer Cain could give. Then he led the boy away from the blaze of fire, pretending a confidence he didn’t feel.

He’d built a new home for his brother, though not so large as the one their father had built. The winter had been freezing that year, and food was scarce. Although they’d survived the winter, he’d struggled to earn a living. Until Victoria Andrews had asked for his help in acquiring fabric for Aphrodite’s Unmentionables.

During the war, it had been all but impossible to find silk and satin. Cain had never told any of them how much of the fabric he’d had to steal. He’d let them believe that he’d bought it secondhand or from the shops in London.

The truth was, he’d taken some of the silk off a ship that had come in from China. It hardly mattered what the color was—all Victoria cared about was texture. He’d lied, cheated, and stolen from the wealthy . . . all to feed the hungry men and women of his clan.

And he didn’t care that he’d done it. If breaking the law meant that he could get food for his brother, so be it. Aphrodite’s Unmentionables had given the crofters’ wives sewing work that brought in more money and supplies. It had given them hope. He’d have stolen silk from the Prince Regent if necessary.