by Platt, Meara
Who was to stop him?
Well, his father might try. But one look at the joy on Rafe’s face as well as the determination in Gavin’s eyes would convince his father it was a good match.
Bah! He’d worry about it later.
He descended the stairs and had just reached the ground floor when he saw Mr. Barrow striding down the hall. “My lord, I see that we have a similar purpose. I just finished checking the kitchen doors and windows. All is undisturbed. As an added precaution I have a man posted at the servants entrance since this is where everyone on the staff and any workmen come and go.”
“Thank ye, Mr. Barrow. What do ye say? Shall I take the rooms at one end of the hall and ye take the rooms at the other end and we’ll meet back in the middle?”
“Very good, my lord.”
Gavin had searched through two rooms and was about to enter the music room when a chill ran up his spine. Something warned him to take extra care when going in. Perhaps it was a slightly different scent to the air that had alerted him. He suddenly realized there were no footmen stationed at this end of the hall. “That canno’ be.”
He saw Mr. Barrow emerge from one of the rooms of state and silently motioned him over. The man moved quickly and was surprisingly light on his feet for someone his age and portly size. “M’lord, is something amiss?” he asked in a whisper.
Gavin also kept his voice low. “I’m not sure. The footmen are missing. Shouldn’t there be at least one posted here? I dinna like this Mr. Barrow. Instinct tells me that our villain is in the music room, or was here recently. Do no’ simply barge in. I dinna want him shooting ye if he is still in there.”
“Aye, m’lord,” he said, drawing his pistol. “Stay behind me. Let me have a look first.”
Gavin did not like the idea of standing back, but he was not going to bicker with the Bow Street man now. He watched Mr. Barrow enter with caution and check each alcove. Other than a few niches, there was nowhere else a man could hide, for the room was a large, open space with a piano as its centerpiece and little other furniture. “All clear, my lord.”
Gavin entered and went straight to the glass doors that led onto the snow-covered veranda. He saw footprints in the snow and they led straight to these doors. He saw the tiny puddle of water, no doubt melted snow. When he tried the doors, they were unlocked. “Bloody hell, he got in. And he must have taken a footman’s livery. Find those footmen, Mr. Barrow. See if they’re alive. Get a description of this fiend from them. I want confirmation of the man we’re looking for. I’m going back upstairs.”
Blessed saints.
Rafe and Taffy were alone and unprotected.
“No, my lord! Wait!”
“Do as I say, Mr. Barrow.”
“The hell I will. I’m coming with you.”
They raced upstairs, Gavin far ahead of the Bow Street runner since he was leaping up the stairs three at a time, pistol still in hand. As he got to the door, he stopped to listen, afraid the villain might shoot Rafe or Taffy if he simply burst in.
He heard a giggle and his son clapping.
Thank heaven.
He quietly opened the door and slipped in.
Rafe, still in his nightshirt and woolen socks, hopped up and down. “Papa! Papa!”
Gavin picked him up and wrapped him in his arms. “Blessed saints,” he said, kissing the boy’s cheek until it was red as a berry, for he was kissing him so desperately hard. “Are ye all right, lad?”
“Yes, Papa.” His son laughed. “We played a game. And I got five points for hiding so well. Taffy said I did the best job ever!”
He froze and stared at Taffy. Only then did he notice her expression. His heart felt as though it was about to pound a hole in his chest. “Lass, tell me what happened.”
Mr. Barrow had caught up to him by then and arrived just in time to hear her report.
“I’ll tell you.” Rafe hopped up and down. “Let me tell you!”
“Verra well, son. Go ahead.”
“Taffy was washing my face and then all of a sudden she said we were going to play a hide and seek game, and she told me to hop quick as a rabbit and hide behind the desk.”
“In the sitting room?” Gavin pointed toward the alcove.
Rafe nodded. “She told me to be quiet so the man wouldn’t find me. And I was quiet. Wasn’t I, Taffy?”
“Yes, Master Rafe. You were even quieter than a mouse and for that I’m going to give you another five points. That’s ten points in all for an excellent job this morning.”
The import of her words roared through Gavin’s ears. “Blessed saints. Taffy, tell me the rest of it.”
Her gaze took him and Mr. Barrow in. “He’s dressed in the duke’s livery. He rolled in a cart, claiming he was bringing in his lordship’s breakfast. Average height. Average weight. Brown hair. Intense green eyes. Pointy nose. Big ears. Does that fit Bruce Gordon’s description, my lord?”
Gavin nodded. “That’s him.”
“I pretended to be making up the bed and generally tidying up. He doesn’t know me. Thought I was the maid.” She motioned to her uniform and the hideous mobcap she had put back on her head to cover her beautiful curls. “I told him there must be some mistake because the marquis and his son were downstairs having their breakfast. I tugged on the bellpull, threatening to summon the head butler to straighten it out. That’s when he hurried out. He turned left down the hall, but I couldn’t follow him.”
Mr. Barrow nodded. “Of course not, Miss Ralston. You had to look out for the lad. Which you obviously did quite brilliantly.”
She pointed to the servants panel. “I drew the table up against it, but I think we must put something bigger there to block access. Although he came in through the hallway door, bold as you please, this time. I think the next time he will attempt access through the servants stairs. But I’m so sorry, my lord.”
Gavin arched an eyebrow. “Why?”
“I think I should have taken out my pistol and…” She mouthed the words ‘shot him’ so that Rafe wouldn’t hear.
“No, lass. Ye did right. Ye weren’t even certain he was our man, or that he dinna have a weapon at the ready to hurt ye. Then he would have known ye were lying to him and started searching for my son.”
She appeared to ease somewhat, but none of them would rest easy until this man was caught. She nibbled her lip and then continued. “Where did he get the cart? Or the food? Although I’m not sure he actually had any food under the salvers. I would have caught the scent of eggs or ham or sausages. I think he just scavenged whatever he could find from one of the unused state dining rooms.”
Mr. Barrow ruffled Rafe’s hair when the boy smiled up at him. “Well, I’ll be gathering my men and searching this house from cellar to attic. My lord, I’ll need you and your son to remain in here with Miss Ralston while we conduct our search. I’ll arrange for the housekeeper to bring food enough to hold you to supper.”
Gavin wasn’t pleased in the least to be confined, but he had his son to think about. If not for Taffy’s fast thinking, the outcome would have been far worse. “I’ll do as you say, Mr. Barrow.”
Gavin bolted the door as soon as Taffy’s employer left. He then carried the chest of drawers and placed it firmly against the servants panel. When he was done, he turned to Taffy. “Lass, I’m going to kiss ye until ye’re breathless.”
Rafe giggled, reminding him that the boy was watching.
Her beautiful eyes rounded in surprise and a rosy blush stained her cheeks. “Perhaps another time, my lord.” She rolled her eyes, attempting to indicate that his son was in the room and that to kiss her now would be most inappropriate.
“No, lass. I’ll be doing the deed right now.” He turned to Rafe. “Lad, put yer hands over yer eyes and count as high as you can. Do ye think ye can count to twenty?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Good. Cover yer eyes. Start counting now.”
It took him to the boy’s count of one to stride to Taffy’s side and tak
e her in his arms. It took him to the count of two to plant his mouth on hers and kiss her with all his heart and soul, and not stop kissing her until his son reached the count of twenty.
The boy still had his hands over his eyes. “Can I do it again, Papa?”
“Blessed saints. Yes, Rafe. Count slowly this time.”
“So you can kiss Taffy again?”
Gavin chuckled. “Och, aye. Were ye peeking, lad?”
He nodded. “Yes, Papa.”
Gavin smiled as Taffy’s entire face turned red as a berry. He found it amazing that this incredible girl could keep her wits about her when facing a cold-blooded killer and yet blush in all her innocent splendor at the mere prospect of his kiss. “Well, don’t peek this time. And remember to count slow.”
“All right.” Rafe’s little hands still covered his eyes. “But Papa…”
“What is it, lad?”
“Taffy is my friend and it isn’t fair.”
“What isn’t fair?”
“You’re taking all her kisses. When can I have a turn?”
CHAPTER NINE
TAFFY NOW UNDERSTOOD what Mr. Barrow meant when he’d told her the marquis would behave like a caged tiger and become impossible to control. The stubborn Scott was circling the room, pacing from the door to the window to the servants panel and back to the door, then with a growl, starting all over again. “You are going to make us all dizzy if you don’t stop prowling, my lord.”
She was seated on the settee in the alcove, Rafe contentedly nestled in her arms while she read him a story about a young boy who stowed away on a pirate ship. Of course, the boy in the story was now called Rafe and he was getting into all sorts of seafaring misadventures that delighted her young charge to no end.
“I think Papa is overset because he wants to kiss you again,” Rafe said in a whisper that easily carried to his father’s ears because little boys did not quite understand that whispering meant you were supposed to speak in a low voice.
She emitted a snort of laughter.
The marquis stopped pacing and leaned his deliciously large, muscled frame against the archway to the sitting area. “I will no’ deny I found it most pleasing,” he said, his tension easing long enough for him to manage a wicked grin. “Nor will I deny Taffy if she wishes to kiss me. Do ye wish to kiss me, lass?”
“Oh, I don’t think so, my lord. I am quite comfortable where I am. No present intention to move from my spot or do anything other than read to Master Rafe.”
His smoldering gaze shot tingles through her.
She’d kept her mobcap on because she knew he disliked it and she needed to cool him down. Obviously, it was not working. She now had a hot, caged tiger on her hands, which was exciting and thrilling, but also terrifying.
Her heart was lost to this man.
She would feel terrible when he and Rafe rode away.
She dared not even consider the possibility he would take her with him. To allow herself such dreams, only to have them shattered, would be too painful.
He continued to stare at her, his gaze now more frustrated than attentive. “Lass, I canno’ stay in here and do nothing while that man is on the loose in this house.”
Rafe poked his head up. “What man, Papa?”
Taffy turned calmly to the boy. “Did you sneak a peek at the footman who rolled in a breakfast cart earlier today? You know, the man with whom we played the hide and seek game?”
Rafe nodded.
“You must always play the hide and seek game with him, Master Rafe. If you see him, then you must run and hide, and not come out until your Papa or I call you. And do you know where you are to go to hide?”
The boy nodded again. “In the library, the little hole behind the stacks.”
“Yes, that is exactly correct. And if you cannot get to the library?”
His eyes grew big and wide. “Then I hide wherever I can and not come out until you find me.”
“Master Rafe, you are the cleverest boy in all of Scotland.” She leaned over to give a mock whisper in his ear. “Don’t tell your Papa but I think you are even more clever than he was as a boy. I think I must give you another ten points for being so wise and ever alert.”
Of course, the marquis could hear every word she’d just said.
His look had been hot before, and now it was scorching. And yet while the heat in his eyes could burn a hole in the elegant carpet, his smile was affectionate and warm. She yearned for this man, for the possibility of his love.
“Lass, I canno’ sit here any longer. Bolt the door behind me. I’ll see what Mr. Barrow has to report.”
If she could have taken this big, stubborn Scot over her knee and spanked him, she would have. “My lord, I’m certain it will not be much longer now before they find him. Will you not be a little more patient?”
“No. My father dinna raise me to be a sniveling coward. I intend to find the man before he finds us.”
She rolled her eyes in exasperation and rose to come to his side. “This is exactly what he hopes you will do. Surely, you must understand this. You cannot walk into his trap. And who is to save you when you do? My orders are to remain here with your son. If you leave, I will not be able to protect your aristocratic behind.”
To emphasize her irritation, she folded her arms across her chest, tapped her foot, and pursed her lips in indignation.
“Ye look like ye just sucked on a sour lemon, lass.” He playfully plucked the mobcap off her head to further irk her. “I’m going to burn the garish thing when all this is finished.”
“You will not. I’ll be charged for the loss of it.” She tried to swipe it back from him, but he easily raised it out of her reach. “Gad! Is every marquis as annoying as you? Or is it just the Scottish ones?”
“Taffy, ye are not my priggish tutor and I am not a child to be talked down to. I do not need ye protecting my exalted Scottish arse. Bolt the door after me and do not give me that sucked-on-lemons look when I return.”
“Fine.” She held out her hand. “Give me back my cap.”
He stuck it back on her head, pulling it low so that it covered her eyes. “’Tis a sin to cover yer lustrous curls.”
“I shall report your bad behavior to your father,” she teased back.
“Make sure ye report this, too.” He picked her up as she was adjusting her cap, and gave her a grinding and utterly exquisite kiss on the mouth.
She shook her head and hurried to the door to bolt it after he strode out. Then, because she was still reeling from his kiss, she leaned her head against the door and groaned. If Mr. Barrow ever assigned her another Scottish nobleman to guard, she would refuse. No amount of compensation would sway her.
But after a moment she returned to Rafe who was peeking out from the sitting area alcove, his sweet face all smiles because he’d seen his father kiss her again. “Papa likes you.”
She worried that the boy would make too much of her father’s flirtations and get too attached to her. “Let’s finish our seafaring story, shall we? Where did we leave off?” She flipped the pages. “Oh, yes. Young Rafe had found a treasure map and figured out where the sixteenth century Spanish pirate, Roderigo Marengo, had buried his legendary treasure before he’d met his untimely death in the jaws of a big-toothed tiger shark.”
Rafe nestled back in her arms while she continued reading to him. “The English pirate captain, Red Jack Cummings, realized his stowaway, Rafe Carstairs, was a very smart young man. He decided not to make him walk the plank and toss him into the wild Sargasso Sea.”
“Why is it wild?” Rafe asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe because it has a lot of storms. The waters grow rough and the winds howl, and boats are tossed up and down amid the crashing waves.” She read on, watching the boy whose eyes were wide in wonder. He was so absorbed in the story, for a moment she forgot the danger of her mission and enjoyed the simple pleasure of watching this boy react to every chapter.
She was now reading to him about the day
Red Jack sighted an island in the Sargasso Sea. “Red Jack called Rafe over to the rail and lifted him up so he could see into the water where a hundred eels were swimming around the floating bits of seaweed. Their silver scales shimmered beneath the blue sea, while at night, they made the water shine as bright as the moon so that Captain Red Jack’s ship seemed to be sailing upon a sea of silver moonbeams.”
They were nearing the point where Rafe and Red Jack were about to explore the island to hunt for the lost Spanish treasure, when she heard several shots ring out. By the echo of what sounded like hunting rifles, she guessed the shots had come from outside, just to the west of the house. “Master Rafe, don’t move.”
He grabbed her hand and would not let go. “Is someone shooting? Are they hurting my papa?”
She didn’t know and did not wish to lie to the boy by making up a story. “I’m not sure who is doing the shooting. Sit right here. I’m going to peek out the window.”
But he would not let go of her hand. “No, they’ll hurt you, too.”
She gave him a hug, overcome that he was sincerely concerned about her. What she would not give to have such a sweet child of her own. But this was a dream for the future, one that would not include him or his father. “It’s gotten quiet now, Master Rafe. I’ll tell you what, you and I are going to crawl to the window. But only I must peek out of it because I’ve been trained to do it very sneakily so that no one knows I’m looking.”
He agreed to that.
As with everything, she made a game out of it. But the boy, despite his young age, understood that matters were not all right. She placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder in part to comfort him and in part to gently hold him down so that he did not stick his head up and give that villain a clear shot.
Not that she believed it was likely, but caution was best. If this villain felt his hunters were closing in on him, he would do something desperate.
She peered out and her heart leaped into her throat. A man lay motionless on the ground in a pool of blood, the dark red liquid quite stark against the pristine white snow. Then she recognized Mr. Barrow’s waddle as he ran toward the man, and recognized Mr. Barrow’s most trusted investigator, Mick, running at his side. But the first to reach the prone man was the marquis. There was no mistaking his powerful build and long, graceful strides. “Your papa and Mr. Barrow are fine, Master Rafe. They are taking care of a man who is hurt.”