by Cheryl Bolen
At least until the ladies he intended to write swept in to rescue her. They’d soon have her decked head to toe in Almack patroness-approved attire.
“Gregor?”
He turned back from the door. “Aye, lass?”
Indecision flickered in her eyes before she drew her shoulders back and marched across the floor. “I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done for Chris and me. I vow, someday, somehow I shall make it up to you.”
Such sincerity rang in her voice he couldn’t help but admire her gumption.
His gaze dropped to the rosy, plump lower lip she’d been torturing for the past half an hour. Likely, she wasn’t even aware she chewed the tender flesh when nervous or upset. What he’d like to do above all else was ask for a kiss. Except, only the lowest cur bargained with a woman as desperate as her.
Still…
Slipping a handful of her hair over her shoulder, he gave her a naughty wink. “I can think of all sorts of creative ways ye might do that, my tropical flower, but I’ll settle for a wee kiss from yer sweet mouth.” He couldn’t resist seeing her reaction. As he suspected, she wasn’t immune to him either.
Her eyes rounded, filling with wonder, and her jaw slackened.
“I was but teasin’ ye, lass.” He gently pushed her mouth closed. “What kind of a blackguard do ye take me for?”
“Not a blackguard at all. You’re a kind, decent, brave man.” She thrust her hand out at him, and it was his turn to be taken aback. “I agree to your request.”
No one need tell him a stupid ear-to-ear grin split his face. “Ye do?” He wrapped her small, rough hand in his and shook it.
“I do. But I choose when and where.” She shoved his torso with her other palm. “Now find me suitable clothing, please. I cannot wait to bathe and wash my hair.”
As Gregor thumped down the stairs, the vision of her naked and dripping wet sifted into his imagination, and he missed the next step, nearly tumbling head over arse. Good thing it was the second to the last stair or he might’ve broken his neck. “Gude, what’s come over me?”
Another two days passed uneventfully, and Sarah stirred the porridge as she listened for sounds that Gregor or Chris had awoken. Humming, she browned the sausages then checked the steeping tea.
Wearing a stained apron over the simple plaid morning dress he’d procured for her, she’d cooked meals and performed other small tasks, trying in some small manner to repay Gregor’s kindnesses. And to keep her mind off the irrefutable fact that her grandmother didn’t want to see her or Chris.
Her letter, delivered by Gregor himself to the butler—possessed with a face homelier than an old mule’s back end, according to the Highlander—had gone unanswered.
Again.
What would she have done if Gregor had turned out to be a scoundrel? She dismissed the unnerving thought. No sense fretting about something that hadn’t come to pass, and she was quite confident at this juncture, wouldn’t. That much she’d learned about him. Gregor McTavish was a man of honor.
Likewise, he awaited responses to the notes he’d sent, so she’d spent the past two days mending his clothing, tidying his already neat apartment, cooking, and reading from the pleasant and abundant assortment of books lining the shelves beside the window.
It had been so long since she relaxed and enjoyed a book, she felt wicked and indulgent.
Chris had been harder to keep amused. He could barely read, and grew bored easily. Cat kept him entertained part of the time, but he’d grown increasingly restless. After Gregor’s daily outing yesterday to seek word about Santano’s whereabouts, he had returned with a few toys.
With Christmastide just over three weeks away, it wasn’t surprising he’d easily found trinkets for Chris’s amusement. Not only were shop windows full of tempting displays, but street vendors also hawked their handmade wares.
At first, she’d fretted someone might’ve seen him, but he’d assured her he’d been discreet. A wagoner made the purchases and delivered them to Stapleton’s warehouse, concealed in a freight wagon of supplies.
Although she hated being further indebted to Gregor, the joy on Chris’s face as he’d sat upon the floor, opening the packages had reminded her very much of the Yuletides celebrated in Jamaica, and Sarah couldn’t refuse the well-intended gifts.
She hadn’t observed Christmastide whilst in London. Pauper poor and barely able to keep themselves fed, so pinch-penny was she with money that gifts had been out of the question. She blamed Santano for that too.
On his shopping sojourns, Gregor had obtained useful information.
The good news was the Mary Elizabeth was scheduled to sail in just over a week. Chances were, Santano wouldn’t make port again for six months or more. The bad news was that would make him much more desperate to find her and the key before he put to sea.
She’d avoided the blackguard for three years. Surely with Gregor’s help she could manage another ten days. That gave her time to hatch a plan and leave London.
She couldn’t argue that she found the Highlander deucedly attractive, and his appeal increased with each passing day. Larger than the men she was accustomed to, his ruggedly handsome face and hands bore evidence of time spent in the sun. He wore his hair—as light as hers, though more honey-toned than flaxen—unfashionably long and tied back in a queue.
Few men in the Caribbean had passed Papa’s scrutiny or had been permitted to call upon her. Truth to tell, no more than she could count on one hand and none sparked more than a passing glance and a polite smile. Certainly, since arriving in London, romantic entanglements had been the last thing on her mind.
No, survival had been at the forefront of her thoughts for three years. For the first time since disembarking that fateful afternoon, she wasn’t in a constant state of fear.
She owed Gregor McTavish much more than a promised kiss.
Touching the braid hanging over her right shoulder, she fingered the black ribbon.
He permitted her to borrow one of his, not wanting to raise questions by buying pins for her, although he might’ve asked one of his employees to do that as well. Except he told the worker who’d bought the toys for him that they were gifts for his kin. His claim rang true since Yuletide, though no longer illegal, was still strongly discouraged by the Scottish Kirk.
It seemed he’d thought of everything, constantly weighing the situation and the repercussions.
None of Santano’s thugs had returned to the shop, but in case they did, the door to his living quarters remained locked at all times, and as Gregor had asked, she and Chris stayed away from the windows.
Sarah speared the drapery-covered windows a darkling look.
She’d much prefer the natural light, but would take no chances of discovery. She’d dared a peek outdoors this morning, and the sky lay heavy with a peculiar pinkish-gray cloud cover. As it had the past several mornings, a thick layer of frost and ice covered every surface.
Once again, appreciation swelled within her breast and tears in her eyes as well. Homeless, how would she and Chris have survived this freezing cold? They wouldn’t have.
“I kent I smelled sausage.”
Sarah whipped her attention to the doorway, very much aware of the virile man a few feet away.
Hair damp, and attired only in his boots, buckskins, and white lawn shirt, Gregor dominated the entrance. Lord, he was a gorgeous specimen of manhood. Under other circumstances, she might’ve been tempted to explore a relationship with him.
If he noticed her fascination, his mien in no way betrayed it. He inhaled a deep breath, patting his tummy. “I’m famished.”
“You’re always starving, Gregor.” She ran another gaze over him and couldn’t help but appreciate his well-muscled, masculine form.
His blue-gray eyes twinkled with mirth, and she vowed he knew exactly the wanton thoughts she entertained.
Heat swept upward from her middle to her neck then to her cheeks. To cover her embarrassment, she waved the spoon tow
ard the table. “Sit down. The food’s almost ready.”
“Mrs. Smith is due this afternoon.” He took a seat, dwarfing the sturdy chair. “I’ve decided ye and Chris should hide in the warehouse. I’ve already prepared a place for ye.”
So that’s why he was late to breakfast. “That’s a good idea.” She nodded as she poured his tea.
“I dinna want to do anythin’ out of my normal routine to alert anyone that ye’re here.” He said by way an explanation as he lifted his knife and fork. “I expect responses to the letters I sent verra soon too.”
As he tucked into his meal, Sarah once again tried to understand the enigmatic Highlander. Nothing seemed to shake his confidence. He remained optimistic and encouraging, still adamant her grandmother would come ’round.
A sad smile tipped her mouth, and she hid it behind the teacup raised to her lips. Too bad his optimism wasn’t contagious.
The office bell clanged below.
Alert, his features tense, Gregor jerked his head up and put his finger to his lips. “Shh.”
Chapter 7
Swallowing her fear, Sarah nodded and hands shaking, placed the cup back in its saucer. It took her a moment to settle it soundly and stop its clattering. Something as simple as an unexpected bell ringing and panic bubbled to the surface.
“Lock the door after me.” Gregor patted her shoulder, his huge hand burning through the gown’s thin fabric. The gesture had no doubt meant to soothe, but every time he touched her, sensual sparks lit.
No sooner had she turned the key in the lock than a sleepy-eyed Chris shuffled from the bedroom, rumpled and disheveled.
“Morning, sister.”
“Good morning, darling. Did you sleep well?”
Yawning behind his hand, he nodded and blinked groggily.
Rather than take the bedchamber and have Chris sleep upon the sofa, Sarah had chosen to sleep on the floor at the foot of his bed.
For years, they’d shared the same uncomfortable mattresses, but she conceded, she appreciated not having his bony elbows in her ribs or being walloped during one of his bad dreams. Not only did he still have nightmares, but he also walked in his sleep. Though not likely, she couldn’t take a chance of him wandering from Gregor’s apartment.
After she spent the first night on the floor, a feather tick, a thick coverlet, and another pillow had appeared in the chamber for her use. She hadn’t said a word, but Gregor had noticed.
That was another thing she admired about him; his attention to little details and his consideration for others. As if she needed something else to add to the growing list of things he’d done to impress her.
“Come along. Breakfast is ready.” Wrapping an arm around Chris’s shoulders, Sarah hugged him to her side and guided him toward the kitchen. While he ate, she meant to bundle her bedding into the storage closet to prevent the housekeeper from becoming suspicious.
Holding a brown spotted horse atop cherry-red wheels, his favorite of the playthings that Gregor had given him, he gave her a lopsided smile. “I like it here, sister.” He gave her a toothy smile, and rubbed his left eye with the palm of his other hand. “I like Gregor and Cat too.”
Sorrow and desolation whirled together, tightening her chest. She swallowed then cleared her throat before painting on a bright smile. “I do as well, darling, but I told you already, we cannot stay. It’s not safe for us or for Gregor.”
Well, not until the Mary Elizabeth set sail, in any event. Then she’d have a few months’ reprieve. She fully intended to abscond to somewhere Santano would never find them.
A pout pulled Chris’s usually cheerful mouth downward as he settled into the chair. Several strands of hair fell over his forehead, concealing his left eye. “Are we never going to have a home again, Sister? Will we ever see Mama again?”
I honestly don’t know.
He knew about Papa, but not Mama. The truth of it was, she didn’t know whether her mother still lived. A tiny spark of hope glimmered that she did.
Sarah couldn’t tell him they mightn’t ever have a home. Most likely wouldn’t ever see their mother again, so she did what any loving sister would do and distracted him. “Have you named your pony yet?” She dipped her chin toward the toy horse he rolled back and forth before him.
“Yes. Brownie, ’cause he has brown spots.” He pointed to the irregular circles.
“Most appropriate.” If not entirely original.
Holding the toy up for her inspection, he broke into a wide grin. “Gregor promised to teach me to ride. I want to learn on a pony just like this.”
Spooning porridge into his bowl, she glanced up. “He did? When was that?”
“While you bathed the other day.” One of its wheels squeaking, he rolled the toy across the table again. “He showed me a big book with horse pictures. His cousin raises them.”
Botheration. Gregor shouldn’t be making promises of that nature. Chris didn’t understand that sometimes people said things to be kind: things they didn’t intend to or simply couldn’t do.
The key rattled in the outer door lock, and she raised a finger to her lips, as she swiftly closed the kitchen door before placing Chris’s food on the table. The unmistakable sound of the bolt sliding home reassured her, and she released the breath burning her lungs.
A moment later, Gregor swaggered in looking entirely too cocky and pleased with himself. “It’s all right, lass, lad. Just a messenger, droppin’ off an order for me. Truth to tell, I didnae expect him until later this mornin’.”
She poured Gregor fresh tea before taking her seat again. Never had she known a man to drink more tea than Gregor McTavish, and he drank his brew sweet. Three lumps of sugar per cup.
Papa had preferred black coffee.
Grinning, as if he were Saint Nick himself, Gregor strode to the table, holding two large brown paper-wrapped bundles. “I have a surprise for ye.”
My, the man did enjoy giving to others. She’d never known anyone with as generous a nature.
Chomping on a bite of sausage, Chris grinned. “What is it?”
“Chris, chew your food first then talk,” Sarah gently admonished him. She turned the same starchy eye upon Gregor. “What have you done? I told you, I don’t feel right accepting anything else from you. Besides, won’t those raise suspicions?” She wiggled her fingers at the packages.
If anything, Gregor’s grin grew bigger, pure delight sparking in his eyes.
She pressed a hand to her frolicking belly. Gads, when he smiled at her like that, it took all of her will to cobble together a coherent thought.
“Alas, that’s the beauty of it.” He gave a mischievous wink and patted Chris’s shoulder. “I used the Yuletide as an excuse. I dinna ken why I didna think of it before. Dafty of me, really. I had a half dozen more packages wrapped and delivered to the kirk for the poor, so nae one kens the truth.”
“But, Gregor, the Scots don’t celebrate Christmastide.” Even she knew that.
Drawing himself up, he sliced Chris—busily eating and playing with his horse—a sideways glance. “Och, but I’m in England now. Would ye begrudge me enjoyment of the tradition? I hear all sorts of savory foods and sweets are served.” He patted his flat stomach.
Clever, endearing man.
“I ken there are kissin’ boughs and mistletoe too.” Rocking back on his heels, he hugged the packages, causing the stiff paper to crackle in protest. His devilish wink made her blood sidle warmer still, and heat stung her cheeks. “Should a lucky gentleman catch a bonnie lassie beneath either, he’s entitled to a wee kiss.”
Lord. A kiss from a man like him would no doubt set her blood afire and singe her hair.
“You’re taking advantage of the situation, Gregor McTavish.” She attempted to sound stern, but her voice came out rather breathier than she’d intended. “Your breakfast grows cold. Why don’t you set those aside? We can open them later.”
“Aye, lass.” He winked again, obviously pleased as Punch with himself and enjoyin
g this misadventure far too much. Before she could think of a suitable retort, he disappeared into the main room, returning shortly with letters between his forefinger and thumb. “I forgot to tell ye. I’ve had responses from Countesses Ramsbury and Clarendon and the Duchess of Harcourt.”
Her confusion must’ve shown on her face.
“The countesses are Ewan’s sisters and her grace is the wife of one of Ewan’s closest chums,” he explained as if it were the most common thing in the world to be on intimate terms with nobles.
“My, you do have lofty connections, don’t you?” Sarah settled into her chair and after draping the serviette across her lap, cocked her head.
“Aye. I do.” Gregor shied his eyebrows high up his forehead and chuckled. “I’m still waitin’ to hear from the Baroness de Deavaux-Rousset, the Countess of Luxmoore, the Viscountess Warrick, and Lady Sethwick.”
Spoon midway to her mouth, Sarah gaped. “Oh, my stars. You weren’t jesting about knowing a goodly number of peeresses. Have you imposed upon all of them on my behalf?” She nearly groaned aloud from mortification. But if it benefited Chris, her damnable pride would have to suffer.
“Aye,” he said, tea cup in hand and not the least bit repentant. “And a few noblemen too.”
A humiliated groan did escape her then.
Two days ago, she’d believed he exaggerated. Knowing what she did about him now, she’d learned he was a man of his word. Having never spent any time in the company of aristocrats, the idea of doing so made her increasingly anxious. Imposing upon Gregor was one thing, but asking favors from high-ranking haut ton denizens?
That was quite another, and she wasn’t altogether sure she’d measure up.
He cut a piece of sausage then speared it with his fork. “They’re all either relatives or friends of Ewan who’ve become family friends as well.”
“You’re very close to your cousin, aren’t you?” Sarah hadn’t any cousins.
Mama had been an only child, and Papa rarely spoke of his family. He’d run away to the sea as a young boy. Once, he’d mentioned his drunkard of a father’s ham-like fists and the beatings he’d endured. She had no idea if any of his relatives lived, and considering what little she knew of them, she wasn’t keen to find out.