He still needed to pen a letter to Camden, asking him to do a bit of poking about regarding Warrington and even Lord Stewart. What caused a nobleman to sell his daughter off to a debaucher? Twice? By God, Graeme would see to it that Berget never had to fear in that regard again.
As he spooned a bite of exceptional mutton stew into his mouth, he contemplated what Marjorie’s reaction might be to the forged letters when he told her. She was a fair-minded person, gracious and forgiving. She wouldn’t kick up a fuss about the references. He was sure of it.
Berget was good for the girls.
She was good for Marjorie.
And she was good for him. Very good.
So now, what precisely was he to do about her?
Did he dare trust himself to pursue a decent woman? He couldn’t quite squelch the smile tilting his mouth at her early profession that she would seduce him. He’d rather like to see her try. Aye, that he would.
His humor faded and the bite of bread he swallowed lodged in his throat. No, he wouldn’t. For he’d be honor-bound to wed her, and that wasn’t an option he was prepared to pursue.
Chapter Thirteen
Another week passed in a haze of activity.
The sheep shearing, lambing, and barley harvesting had taken place in the spring, but there were always a score of other duties to keep a laird busy day and night. Graeme directed the outdoor arrangements for the cèilidh while Marjorie had servants running hither and yon with her orders with other preparations for the celebration.
Berget continued her duties as governess, but there’d been no more mind-rattling kisses.
At times, he saw her watching him with a pensive expression.
Didn’t she understand he’d nearly taken her beneath the trees? She’d be ruined if he yielded to his desires. Touching her would dissolve his barely controlled restraint, so he’d reverted to avoiding her again.
A short while later, one short rap preceded Camden sauntering into the study.
At once, Graeme rose and came around the desk to grip his brother’s arm. “Welcome home.”
“Ye look like hell.” Grinning widely, Camden slapped Graeme’s shoulder. “I’m surprised to see ye hidin’ in here. That wouldna have anythin’ to do with the new governess, would it?”
A hand clasped to his nape, Graeme sliced his brother a sharp look. “Ye’ve been talkin’ to Marjorie already.”
It wasn’t a question.
Resting his hip on the edge of the desk, Camden folded his arms. “Is there anythin’ to what she says?”
Quashing the urge to tell Camden to bugger himself, Graeme puffed out a long breath and turned to stare out the window. His brother meant well and only cared that he was happy. The same could be said for Marjorie.
In fact, truth be told, it astonished him how easily she’d conceded to Berget.
“I’ve kissed the lass.” He shot a glance over his shoulder. “More than once, in fact, and I told her about Nairna and Andrew, too.”
Camden released a low whistle and kicked his foot back and forth as he studied the carpet pattern. Finally, he lifted a shoulder. “So what’s the problem then?”
“Besides that she’s our nieces’ governess?” Flicking up a finger, Graeme tapped it with the fingers of his other hand before raising two more. “That I promised her my protection and that means I canna take advantage of my position as laird? That she came here under false pretenses?”
“Dinna forget, she’s bein’ pursued by a lecherous bastard,” Camden offered offhandedly.
“Och, there’s that, too.” Graeme indicated the decanter on the sideboard. He wasn’t revealing her virginity. That would remain a precious secret between her and him. “Care for a dram?”
Camden nodded as he fiddled with a letter opener, casually flipping it in the air and catching the hilt. “Aye. I’m fairly parched.”
For a moment, the tinkling of crystal and the distinct gurgle of whisky splashing into tumblers were the only sounds in the vast room. Graeme strode across the floor and after passing Camden his spirits, took a long swallow. He closed his eyes, bracing against the slow, welcome scorching to his belly.
“She really has ye tangled in knots disna she, Brother?” No mocking accompanied the question.
Another sigh escaped Graeme. “Aye, because I believe I can really care for her. But after my first disastrous marriage…I dinna ken.”
Camden cocked his head, the grin tugging at his mouth, sympathetic rather than sarcastic.
“Since when have ye been afraid to fight for what ye want? Aye, yer first marriage was a disaster. Nae one is denyin’ that, but that debacle wasna of yer makin’. Nairna would’ve been miserable with any mon. If ye and Berget have feelin’s for each other, I think ye should pursue them.”
As Graeme returned to his chair behind the desk, he waved the suggestion away. “Tell me what ye learned of Warrington and Stewart. Berget already confessed to forgin’ the reference letters. Marjorie kens as well, and we’re in agreement she only did so out of desperation. She’s no’ by nature a dishonest person.”
Camden slid off the desk and balancing his whisky tumbler, settled into a comfortable black, leather wingback chair before propping his feet atop the desk and crossing his ankles.
Eyeing his brother’s casual posture, Graeme arched an eyebrow, and Camden cocked his in return in a silent challenge.
“Warrington may no’ be a buggering sod like Berget’s first husband, but he has a licentious reputation. He’s abusive to his servants, and from what I’ve been able to glean from speakin’ to them, his wife fared nae better.” He tipped back his tumbler, then grimaced. “The scunner frequents the profanest establishments in Edinburgh, and more than one whore has been severely injured or worse at his hands. He enjoys inflictin’ pain.”
“Christ.” Graeme raked his hand through his hair. “There’s nae question of her weddin’ him, but I doubt he’ll accept that. From what she’s told me, he sounds obsessed with her. And I’ll wager, he’s an arrogant shite who thinks Berget ought to be grateful he’ll have her.”
With a sage nod, Camden shifted, crossing his other ankle atop the first.
“How much did he offer to pay Stewart for her?”
Graeme recalled how devastated she was to learn she’d been sold to her first husband for five thousand pounds.
Camden snorted, curling his lips in disgust. “A measly three thousand pounds.”
“Seems the value he placed on his only child has decreased.” Because he believed she was used goods? The bloody cur. “And that speaks of a mon with troubles spinnin’ out of control.”
“Aye, Stewart’s a gambler, and he borrowed from disreputable cravens to keep up appearances,” Camden agreed, leaning his head against the chair. “Some of the people he owes coin to have lost patience.”
Scratching an eyebrow, Graeme sneered, “And I’ll vow, he’s already spent the money Warrington paid him, hasna he?” He sank back into his chair, shaking his head. “Do ye think he’d harm Stewart?”
His brother answered with a sharp nod. “Without a doubt to both questions. In the unsavory establishments I visited, rumors circulate about other people Warrington’s loaned funds to. Many have ended up maimed or missin’.”
Fingers steepled under his chin, Graeme leaned forward. “I gave my word to Berget that she could stay here as long as she desires, and I offered her a laird’s protection.” He shot a glance to the closed door. “Did ye discover who the other man was nosin’ around the agency askin’ questions about her?”
Tossing back the rest of his whisky, Camden nodded and, dropping his feet to the floor with a muffled thud, set the empty glass atop the desk. “’Twas Warrington. And what’s more, I’m no’ convinced the agency’s owner, a Rupert Miller, didna accept a bribe from him.”
Jerking his head up, Graeme slammed his palms flat onto the desktop. “Precisely what are ye implyin’, Camden?”
“A clerk confessed—with a substantial monetary in
ducement from me—that he overheard a conversation. He believes Miller told Warrington where Berget is. I think the clerk was sweet on her. He admitted he sent her a warnin’ letter, though he didna name me or Warrington.”
“Shite!”
Fury and dread coursed through Graeme, and he pounded his fist atop the desk, rattling the inkpot. With a frustrated growl, he shoved to his feet. One hand cupping his chin and the other splayed on his hip, he paced back and forth.
“I did inquire at the inns I frequented on the way home if anyone of Warrington’s description had been there. He’s no’ the sort of fellow ye can forget. No’ with his stark white hair and black eyebrows. He has the look of the devil himself about him.”
“And?” Was the bastard close?
A frustrated scowl contorted Camden’s face. “He hadna been seen.”
Whirling to face his brother, Graeme shook his head. “But there are dozens of other inns he might’ve stopped at if he’s journeyin’ here.”
Graeme swore again. “Dammit.”
“So, what are we goin’ to do, Brother?” Camden asked.
Head lifted and eyes narrowed, Graeme stared hard at the door.
He had no choice. This was the best course to ensure Berget’s safety.
“There’s only one way I can truly protect Berget now.” He slanted a resigned glance to Camden. “Ride at once to the village and return with the priest.”
Chapter Fourteen
Berget hummed as she strolled the lawns with Cora and Elena. Despite her best efforts, the girls had removed their bonnets and were currently intent on catching a butterfly.
Evidently, butterflies were rare this far north, and the girls were ecstatic to see the coppery-orange and inky-black creature flitting about.
A soft smile arced her mouth. She loved it here.
She’d found a peace she hadn’t expected at Killeaggian Tower. Aside from Graeme’s retreat behind the wall he’d erected between them, she was content. The tiny ember of hope that the attraction between them might grow into something more had all but died.
It had only been in the last couple of days she recognized the sorrow squeezing her heart for what it truly was. She’d done the rashest thing and fallen in love with him.
A rider thundered down the lane from the keep’s entrance, and she shaded her eyes against the sun, squinting to make out who he was.
Her breath left her lungs in a whoosh upon recognizing Camden.
When had he returned?
And why was he leaving again already?
A chill skittered along her spine, and she shivered. She’d confessed everything to Graeme, and he’d shared the details with Lady Marjorie. Berget kept no more secrets, except for her love for him. Nevertheless, uneasiness prickled down her spine again.
In the short while since she’d come to live here, she’d come to love the people and the land. She could easily see herself spending the remainder of her days in the Highlands. But the girls would only need a governess for a decade at most.
Then what was to become of her?
What was more, could she bear abiding ten years under the roof with a man she adored, never having her love requited? Berget didn’t have an answer for that. Would it be worse to remain or leave, and possibly never see him again?
She didn’t miss her parents either. That made her a horrible daughter or a person who’d experienced enough manipulation in her lifetime and had determined to forge her own future from now on.
“Cora, Elena, let’s return to the keep.” She extended her hands, and after a few halfhearted cries of disappointment, the girls scampered to her sides and clasped her fingers.
“I still dinna understand how a butterfly comes from a poop,” Cora said, her small forehead furrowed in confusion.
“Pupa,” Elena corrected, glancing to Berget for confirmation.
“Yes, butterflies form pupas or a chrysalis, and moths spin a silken cocoon,” Berget affirmed.
“I wish we could see one borned,” Elena sighed.
Berget didn’t correct her and explain they weren’t born but underwent metamorphosis.
“I wish you could, too. But honestly, I don’t even know where to look for pupas or cocoons in the Highlands. Let me conduct a bit of research in the library and see if I can discover the plants they prefer. Perhaps we might come upon one if we’re very lucky.”
As they sauntered up the sloping hill, she smiled at a pair of calves butting heads in a neighboring field. They were an unusual breed with thick, wavy black hair, and unlike anything she’d ever seen in the Lowlands. A few Highland cows also mingled with the Galloways.
As she and the girls neared the top of the lawn, Lady Marjorie descended a stone staircase leading to a cozy enclosed courtyard at the rear of the castle. Wearing the same saffron-colored gown she’d worn when Berget first met her, today, she’d plaited her hair and wound it around her head. She truly was a lovely woman.
She met them at the corbeled arched entrance, a smile on her lips but a tinge of tension crimping the edges of her eyes.
“My darlings,” she said, bending to kiss each daughter atop her head. “Maive has just taken pear tarts from the oven. She specifically asked me to find you, so that you may test her new recipe.” She angled her head and tapped her chin with her forefinger, seemingly undecided. “That is, if you can be persuaded to come indoors.”
The girls needed no further urging before they clasped hands and scampered off.
“Make sure you wash your face and hands first,” their mother called. Shaking her head, she bent her mouth into a wry smile. “Do you suppose they’ll do as I bid?”
Berget knew her charges well enough by now to know they wouldn’t.
“No.” She dangled their discarded bonnets. “I’m still working on convincing them of the necessity of wearing a bonnet to protect their skin. I’m sure Cook won’t let them touch a tart until they are well scrubbed though.”
Lady Marjorie looped her arm through Berget’s, and her earlier uneasiness returned.
“Is aught the matter?” she asked.
Marjorie sighed, and taking Berget hands in hers, gave her fingers a little squeeze. “Graeme wishes to speak with you at once.”
Berget drew her eyebrows together turned her mouth downward into a small, confused frown. “Is something amiss? Have I done something wrong?”
That fear always niggled at the back of her mind. Even though Lady Marjorie, Graeme, and everyone else of the keep had been nothing but gracious to her.
“Berget, may I ask you something personal?” Usually straightforward, there was an unusual hesitancy in Lady Marjorie’s question.
Searching her new friend’s face, Berget couldn’t fathom her poignant expression. “Of course. I’ll answer if I can.”
Marjorie steered her gaze over Berget’s shoulder for a moment, before bringing it back and offering one of her genial smiles. “Are you happy here?”
That was what she wanted to ask her? Berget would’ve sworn it was something much more profound or worrisome.
“I am.” She allowed a small smile. “Far more content than I’d ever expected. In fact, more so than I’ve been for most of my life.”
Chagrin chafed her conscience again.
Initially, she’d believed herself unrepentant for forging the documents, but the truth of it was, as soon as she’d arrived at Killeaggian Tower and met Graeme and Marjorie, remorse had pummeled her. “I know I used false measures to obtain the position, but I thought…”
“Don’t fret about that.” Shaking her head fervently, Marjorie clasped Berget’s hands firmly. “That’s not why I asked, anyway. Do you care for Graeme?”
The direct question so took Berget back, her jaw slackened for an instant. “He’s the laird. I’m a governess. It would be most unseemly of me to direct my regard toward him.”
Oh God, she’s learned of the kisses somehow. And now I’ll lose my position.
A fragile smile tipped Lady Marjorie’s mo
uth. “I’d hoped you harbored stronger emotions for him. He’s a man deserving of love.”
Why would she say that?
Berget had no idea how to respond, for what she’d said was true. A governess had no business entertaining romantic notions toward her employer. Particularly the keep’s laird who’d become distant and reserved since their last kiss.
Which told her unequivocally, he harbored no interest in pursuing a relationship with her.
She’d only been half-jesting about seducing him. Naturally, she had no idea how to go about such a thing. Besides, did she really want to ruin her reputation?
With Graeme, it might’ve been worth it.
While it had been fun to flirt, she knew as well as he, things could go no further. She’d learn to bear the pain of her secret love. In time.
Before Berget could respond to Marjorie’s last comment, the object of their discussion descended the stairs. Graeme’s vivid blue gaze flicked between them, and his well-formed mouth tightened the merest bit.
“Marjorie would you give me a few moments with Berget, please?”
She nodded. “Of course.” As she moved to pass them, she paused and touched his forearm. “Are you positive you wish to do this?”
Do what?
Terminate Berget’s employment?
Emotion and panic surged up her chest, but she sternly tamped them down. She’d face her dismissal with poise and grace. He’d never hear her heart shattering or see the distress in her expression.
He gave a terse nod. “I am. ’Tis the only way.”
Her heart sank further still. Swallowing, her teeth clamped tight, she clenched her fingers together, willing herself to be brave and not to weep.
Sending her a compassionate glance, Lady Marjorie gave the smallest nod before turning and ascending the stairs.
Graeme said not a word until she disappeared into the arched stone entry atop the landing. Then, he extended his arm, his eyes hooded and expression unreadable. “Walk with me.”
To Seduce a Highland Scoundrel Page 11