The whisper held a terror that he didn’t understand. But he didn’t have time to ask her more, so he simply said, “Perhaps it won’t come to that.”
He reached for the doorknob, and the shouting had grown louder. Though he’d never faced an angry mob, he’d faced his father’s fury often enough. He pushed back the doubts, letting in nothing but cold logic. Whatever the reason for this attack, he would find a way to dispel it.
When he opened the door, the bright flare of their torches gleamed against the fallen snow. There were nearly two dozen of them, men of all ages. Despite wearing the same tartan colors, the men were a blend of many clans forced to leave their land. Their rage at the injustice was palpable, and some wore ragged clothing hardly suited to such freezing weather.
Jonathan steeled himself against what was to come, knowing he had to protect Victoria. That need stretched beyond all else. Closing the door behind him, he ignored the winter chill and nodded to them.
“Gentlemen. Is something the matter that you would disturb Miss Andrews from her sleep?” He kept a firm grip upon the pistol at his side, letting them see it but not creating an overt threat.
“He’s the one that drove us off the land he bought from Strathland,” one remarked, his face filled with fury.
Jonathan regarded the man with a calm look. “I only arrived here a short time ago. Your anger is misplaced.”
“We canna keep living here,” another said. “There’s no’ enough room, and it’s far too cold for the bairns tae be living in tents.”
Jonathan didn’t argue but said, “I believe Miss Andrews gave shelter in the barn to several of the wounded men, not long ago. I doubt if she would mind if the children slept within that shelter.”
“When she’s got a fine house like this?” the first demanded. “I say we take the house. Or let it burn.”
The wildness in the man’s eyes did not suggest he was willing to listen to a reasonable discussion. Jonathan lifted the pistol, aiming it toward the man. “You should leave.”
“You’ve only got one shot,” the man reminded him. “And there are more of us.”
“You would do this to her family, after she gave you a place to stay?” Jonathan said. He struggled to think of another argument, one that would make sense to them.
“A place to stay?” The man spat upon the ground. “There’s naught here but crowded land where we haven’t got a pot to piss in. What have they ever done for us?”
Jonathan stared back at the angry tenant, refusing to back down. Money wouldn’t solve their problems, and if he attempted to bribe them, they would only demand more. His brain searched for a way of pacifying these people, and a flash of inspiration struck.
“Miss Andrews has work to offer your wives. She has been sewing gowns and there is a demand for more. I know she would welcome their help as seamstresses.”
Doubt covered their faces, but he continued, “Mr. Sinclair has been selling them in London for a profit, and she can’t manage the sewing by herself. Ask him if you don’t believe me.”
“Sinclair’s already gone back south,” one remarked.
“Then you know I speak the truth.” Whether or not that was so, he added, “There would be a share in the profits for you.”
“We can’t eat coins,” the man argued, but his anger had diffused somewhat. The crowd had shifted, and many were talking among themselves in Gaelic.
“No, but Sinclair has brought back food and supplies with those coins. It would feed your families through the winter. But if you’d rather burn down the house and see that opportunity disappear, it’s your choice.”
After a time, a tall man approached, one who seemed to speak for all of them. “I’ll be sending my wife and several of the women to the house in the morning. If what you say is true, and Miss Andrews can provide work and money for our families—”
“It’s true.” Jonathan lowered his pistol. “Come back in the morning and speak with Miss Andrews yourself.”
With that, several of the crowd members began to disperse. He watched as they left, but the first man didn’t join them. “This isna finished,” he said. “Ye’d best be watching your back, Sassenach.”
When Mr. Nottoway walked back through the door, thankfulness and relief poured through Victoria. He was alive. And from the sounds growing fainter, he’d somehow made the men leave.
“Are they gone?” she whispered.
He nodded, reaching for his crutches. “They agreed to leave for now.”
A slight noise from the hallway revealed the presence of Mr. MacKinloch and Mrs. Larson. Neither was armed, but after a look from Mr. Nottoway, they retreated back to the servants’ quarters.
“Thank you,” she whispered when they were alone.
Her heart was pounding so fast, she doubted if she would sleep at all this night. The mob of people could have set the house on fire, forcing her to leave or be burned alive. Dear God, she’d been so foolish to stay here. She’d not really understood the danger or the anger of these men. For the millionth time, she cursed herself for being too afraid to leave these four walls.
Mr. Nottoway acknowledged her thanks with a nod, moving steadily toward her with his crutches. Though he’d managed to undermine the threat, she didn’t miss the concern on his face. “The women will be coming to pay a call on you in the morning. I told them you would need help with sewing. In return, you’ll share your profits with those who assist you.”
Victoria hadn’t considered it before, but it might solve her problem. If she gave the women simple instructions, it was quite possible they could help her. The vision took shape and expanded within her mind. If the women were good at stitching, she could spend her time designing the garments instead of making them herself. It would be so much more than she’d hoped for.
And yet… they didn’t know what she was sewing. Her cheeks brightened with the thought.
“They need the work and money,” he said. “I said you could give that to them.”
“It’s possible,” she hedged, not wanting to say too much.
He set the crutches against the stairs and held on to the banister, watching her. “I’ve a question for you.”
When she waited, he continued, “Why did you say you couldn’t leave the house? I told you they might burn it down… and you insisted you couldn’t go.”
Her skin went cold with the fear that he’d guessed her secret. She could give him no answer. He drew closer, until he sat a few stairs down from her. His shoulders were so close, she could reach out and touch him. “Was it the men who frightened you?”
She shook her head, not looking at him. The reason was poised at her lips, and she didn’t know if she could hide this truth from him any longer.
“Is it me?” he asked softly.
“No.” She drew up her knees beneath the dressing gown, feeling so vulnerable, she wanted to fade away into the wall. “It’s my own cowardice.”
He moved up a step, sitting just below her so that her face was even with his. “I wasn’t going to let anyone hurt you, Victoria.”
The use of her name unraveled the edges of her shielded fear. She took a breath and when she met his eyes, she saw no condemnation in them. So be it.
“Something happened to me… years ago,” she began. “I’d prefer not to speak of it.” The memory of being separated from her family, lost in the Highlands, was a terror she’d buried deep inside.
He made no remark, waiting for her to continue. As he leaned back against the wall, his face was shadowed in the darkness. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking right now, but she forced herself to finish it.
“Since that day, I haven’t left this house.” Taking a deep breath, she lifted her face to look at him. “I haven’t gone outside in five years. Whenever I try, it’s as if my body won’t move. I can’t breathe, as if someone is crushing my lungs.” Her mouth trembled, and she averted her face. “I wish I could force myself. But it’s so hard for me, and I don’t know how to overcome it.�
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In the darkness, his hand reached for hers. He spoke not a word, but simply held her palm in his. His thumb grazed the center, in a silent caress.
Her fingers threaded in his, and he brought her hand to his mouth. The warmth of his breath held her spellbound, and in the shadows, she felt no censure in his touch. Only understanding.
“You must think me foolish,” she whispered. “Perhaps mad.” The words dug into her confidence, and she braced herself for an answer she didn’t want to hear.
“Fear is real. Not something to be ashamed of.” There was a tightness in his voice, an edge she hadn’t noticed before. “Someone made you afraid to leave your house. Was it your father?”
“No. I-It’s nothing to do with him. But it’s been this way for so long, I don’t know how to live any differently.”
“Then these walls are your prison.” He drew her hand downward, releasing her fingers.
“I don’t want it to be this way,” she whispered. “But after all these years, it’s getting worse. My mother and sisters don’t understand why I can’t walk outside, and they’ve tried to let it alone. As if it would… just go away.”
She didn’t know why she was confessing this to him, but in the darkness, it seemed less intrusive. Somehow easier to spill out the secrets she’d held back.
“Ignoring your fears won’t make them disappear.”
“I wish it would.”
For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Now that he knew, she supposed he would want to leave sooner rather than later. The thought bruised her spirits, and she desperately wished she could somehow change the way she was. Years of loneliness stretched out before her, and the spindles of the stairs suddenly did feel like iron bars.
Finally, he spoke. “You saved my life,” he admitted, “and I am a man who pays his debts.” He moved to sit beside her, with his knee touching hers. “I believe I could help you. But if I did, I suspect you’d dislike me even more than you do now.”
“I don’t dislike you,” she argued. “But you do like getting your own way.”
“Of course I do. Because I’m right.”
The arrogance in his voice made her smile in the darkness for a moment. His knee nudged hers, and she allowed herself to enjoy his nearness, taking comfort from the slight touch. “You might believe that,” she answered quietly. “But you cannot help me. I am the only one who can overcome this.”
“I suppose your family was kind about it, weren’t they? Nurturing you.”
“They were, yes.”
“I wouldn’t be kind at all,” he said. “Forceful, most likely.”
She had a sudden vision of him dragging her outside, like a primitive barbarian. He did have a strongly ingrained sense of confidence, as if he expected his orders to be obeyed.
“And you think that would help me overcome my fear?” She didn’t at all believe it.
His arm came around her waist, almost in an absent manner, as if he weren’t aware of his actions. “Their methods didn’t work, did they? What harm is there?”
She could think of no reply, except that it was probably best if he didn’t get involved. But as she searched her excuses deeper, she realized another truth. It was vanity holding her back. She didn’t want Mr. Nottoway to see her when she was afraid. She didn’t want to show any weakness in front of him.
“If you’d like, we could make a wager,” he offered. “I’ll have you walking outside within a fortnight.”
No, he couldn’t. The urge to contradict him came to her lips, but she forced herself not to admit defeat so easily. “And if I can’t?”
“Then I’ll compensate you financially for the care you’ve given me, and go back to London.”
His offer tempted her. She wanted so badly to leave this house, to overcome the invisible chains that bound her here.
“If you succeed, is that… all you want from me?” she whispered. “Just to repay your debt?”
In the shadows, his hands came up to frame her face. He leaned in so close, she could feel the warmth of his breath upon her skin. “There’s a great deal more I want from you, Miss Andrews.”
A shiver passed over her, his voice conjuring up images she’d never dared to dream of. “But whether or not you choose to take advantage of my interest is entirely up to you.”
“Please. You have to leave,” came his mother’s voice. “If he finds you here—”
“I don’t care if he does. You’re the one I’m worried about.” Jonathan hadn’t missed the dark bruises upon Catherine Nottoway’s face. His mother had received the brunt of her husband’s fists on so many occasions, she’d stopped appearing in public.
“I’ll be all right. He just has a terrible temper. I can manage him, just as I’ve always done.
“I don’t believe that.” He reached out to take her hand and turned it over, drawing up her sleeve. More bruises marred her forearm, where her husband had gripped it.
“It’s only because I disobeyed him. I deserved to be punished for it.” Her face held an apology, and only years of good breeding prevented him from cursing in front of her. How could she ever believe that?
Jonathan wanted her to leave his father, traveling to a place far away, where the duke would never find her. He had spent the last two years buying unentailed property in secret, never letting his father know of his assets. He intended to take his mother away, giving her a sanctuary where no man would ever raise his fists to her.
“You don’t deserve to be treated like this,” he said, holding her hand gently.
“I’ll be a better wife to him,” she insisted. “When I’m obedient, he truly is a good man, Jonathan.”
“He’s the Devil incarnate.”
Her face filled up with dismay. “No, he’s not. He loves me, Jonathan.” She covered her bruised arm and tried to muster a smile. “You just don’t understand him the way I do.”
“He’s a blackguard and a bully. You’re better off without him.” Lowering his voice, he added, “I’ve purchased land for you. If you ever wish to leave him…”
“No. Don’t even suggest such a thing.” The stubborn glint in her eyes revealed her determination not to abandon her marriage. “I am well enough where I am.”
Though he’d tried, time and again, to convince her, in the end, she’d stayed with the bastard.
Jonathan opened his eyes, the heaviness weighing down upon him. He’d acquired the house in Scotland for his mother. He’d been glad of the remote location in the Highlands, hoping that it could give her the freedom she’d lacked in London. But Catherine had refused to leave the town house, never believing she could live apart from the duke.
If only he’d forced her to go, things might have turned out differently. He lived with the guilt each day, knowing that he’d held the power to protect her but had allowed her to remain in a place that was far too dangerous.
He’d respected his mother’s wishes, and it had ended… badly. Jonathan closed his eyes, pushing back the dark memories. He hadn’t been able to save his mother.
But he could save Victoria.
Her position was not at all safe. She was surrounded by rebels who were desperate enough to burn down the house rather than find new homes. It infuriated him that her family had left her here with nothing but a housekeeper and a footman. Were they so naïve about the danger? Or didn’t they care? After last night, he wasn’t about to leave Victoria alone. He wanted her out of this region, preferably in London where her family could take care of her.
Jonathan settled back to stare at the ceiling, wondering how he could help her overcome her fear. Dozens of strategies played out in his mind, one in particular taking precedence. He’d told her he wasn’t going to be kind. Kindness clearly hadn’t worked in the past. But neither did he want to become a bully like his father. He considered different tactics, making a list of each possibility.
The one clear advantage was that she wanted to overcome her fears. She didn’t want to live like a recluse, and that was a poin
t in her favor.
The answer lay in trust. She had to learn to trust him, to realize that the danger was from the risk of an uprising, not from the physical outdoors.
“Lady Lanfordshire.” Cain Sinclair tipped his hat and waited for the matron to acknowledge him. Beside her, Margaret Andrews glared. “Miss Andrews,” he continued.
“What a surprise to see you, Mr. Sinclair. I never thought we would see you this close to Christmas, especially with your brother in Scotland.”
Cain ignored the remark. He’d promised Jonah that he would return before Christmas Eve, and so he would, even if he had to pay more precious coins for a coach ride home. Though his brother was fourteen and believed himself to be nearly a man, Cain didn’t like leaving Jonah for long periods of time.
“I’ve brought you more money,” he said, handing Margaret the purse of coins. “Another garment your sister made. Thirty pounds this time.”
Margaret’s eyes widened, and when she took the sum, his hand brushed against her gloved fingers. In his mind, Miss Margaret Andrews defined the word prim. Her brown hair was pulled back tightly as if a single strand didn’t dare escape from her topknot. Every inch of her was pressed and perfect, from the toe of her polished shoes to the immaculate dress she wore. A woman like Margaret was off-limits, entirely unapproachable. Which was why he delighted in teasing her, watching a shocked expression transform her face.
“She made another gown so quickly?” Lady Lanfordshire gaped at the sum, and when he studied Margaret, she gave a slight shake of her head as if to say, She doesn’t know. Do not tell her, or I’ll murder you where you stand.
Interesting.
Cain gave a shrug. “It’s all there. And I delivered the new fabrics to Miss Andrews, as you asked.”
“Mr. Sinclair, it’s very kind of you, but your services are no longer needed. My daughter cannot engage in commerce, or it will harm her chances of making a successful marriage.”
Another warning look from Margaret. It seemed he was caught squarely in the middle of this.
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