Her Kilt-Clad Rogue

by Julie Moffett

  Still, she pretended indifference. “I’d say naught, of course. It is nothing but a pretense.”

  His gaze intensified, searching her expression for something. But what?

  “I like your hair loose like this,” he said, taking a strand and winding it around his finger. “’Tis so soft and pretty.”

  “It is really quite ordinary and plain.”

  He chuckled. “Ye are far too modest, Genevieve. Ye have no idea how beautiful ye really are.”

  “Now you patronize me.”

  His expression turned serious. “Never. Ye are beautiful and never more so than at this moment. Come now, dinna ye still believe in just a wee bit o’ magic?”

  She had believed once, she almost said aloud. When she’d allowed a handsome Scottish rogue to kiss her under the stars and she believed him when he told her she was beautiful. Never again.

  She shrugged off his closeness, his words. “Magic is for the young and foolish. I am neither.”

  She detected a flicker in his gaze. “One is never too old for magic.” His voice was soft. “I could make ye believe. I did once before.”

  Before she could speak, he kissed her, caressing her lips with his mouth in almost a reverent fashion. She quivered at the sweet tenderness of it and unable to resist, stood on tiptoe, winding her arms around his neck and kissing him back.

  He groaned at her response, his arms tightening around her, deepening the kiss. The gentle massage sent currents of desire through her and she savored every moment, a part of her wondering if it would be their last kiss. His hands explored the hollows of her back and she molded into the hard contours of his body. She expected hunger and urgency in his kiss like before in the tower, but tonight the kiss was thoughtful and intimate. Achingly affectionate and dreamy. A kiss that would make even a hardened heart believe in magic.

  All too soon, he lifted his head and brushed a light kiss across her forehead. “So, do ye feel it,” he murmured against her hair. “’Tis just as it was ’tween us ten years ago.”

  The memories rushed back and the pain, long suppressed and buried, broke to the surface in an agonizing burst of anguish and grief.

  “I’m not the same girl you knew. She no longer exists.”

  “Och, but I think she does.”

  The memories of his abrupt departure assailed her, jagged and hurtful. “I’ll not let you do this to me again.”

  He raised a dark eyebrow. “Do what?”

  “Take liberties with me because it amuses you. I know you sent for me because you pitied me. I…I had nowhere else to go and you knew it. But you hired me to teach your son and nothing else. I’ll not serve as an object of your entertainment because you are bored with your other dalliances.”

  He seemed stunned by her words. “An object o’ entertainment?” Anger lit his eyes. “That’s what ye think ye are to me?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Furious that once again he had caused her to forget reason and exposed her deepest vulnerabilities, she nearly shouted. “I’ve seen you with Catherine. This time around I know she’s your intended. So I’m putting you on notice that I’ll not permit myself to be ravished again by nothing more than a…a…kilt-clad rogue.”

  His voice cooled. “Is that really what ye think o’ me, Genevieve? That I’m a man who canna keep his hands off a woman? A man who cares naught who he takes to his bed?”

  “That’s exactly what I think.” The pain in her heart made her reckless with her words. “So, go back to the arms of your beautiful fiancé and cease your dalliance with me.”

  She turned away from him, hating the fact that her voice sounded so strained and so terribly, awfully…jealous. Desperate, she wanted him to leave before the tears fell and she humiliated herself any further.

  Silence hung heavy before he spoke. “I thought o’ all people, ye knew me better than that. I hoped that ye did.”

  She still could not bring herself to look at him. “Just what do I really know of you, Connor? That you made sweet promises to me, none of which you ever intended to keep or that you broke my heart when you left without a word or explanation. How do you expect me to trust a man who drove his own wife to her death?”

  The minute the words slipped out she wanted to take them back. Horrified, she turned to face him, shocked at how pale his face had gone. “God’s mercy, Connor, I’m sorry. I was angry and hurt. I didn’t mean to say that.”

  It was too late. Shutters fell over his eyes, his expression turning distant and cool. “I suppose ye are right about me after all. How kind of ye to give me a most honest, if no’ brutal, look at my true self. Now, I must attend to my duties and permit ye to see to yours. That will be all.”

  With those bitingly cold words, he left the schoolroom without a backward glance. For a moment, Genevieve simply stood there, a horrible pain squeezing her heart.

  If only he knew how much she still loved him. But she would not be his mistress. For to do so would destroy what little was left of her heart.

  Chapter 7

  Connor should have been pleased his guests were enjoying the ball, but he couldn’t have cared less. It didn’t matter that Mrs. MacDougal and the other servants had transformed the Great Hall into an elegant retreat with hundreds of candles and beautiful displays of flowers. A group of colorfully dressed musicians he had paid a pretty coin for played in one corner while nearby a long trundle table groaned under the weight of dozens of plates of food.

  The guests mingled, ate and danced with appropriate merriment as Connor dutifully made his way among them, stopping to chat. He knew he appeared the impeccable host, gracious and generous. But inside he felt angry, despondent.

  Now he knew what Genevieve truly thought of him.

  Her accusations stung, even more so because many of them had been true. He was no saint and he had never claimed to be. But his feelings for her were different. They’d always had been different. Nonetheless, she hadn’t believed him, hadn’t believed his kisses were true. She didn’t trust him, couldn’t trust him because of his past. In many ways, he didn’t blame her.

  Damn it all to hell.

  Tonight he’d intended to reveal his feelings, to apologize for his mistakes over the past years. He wanted to tell her that he did not love Catherine, and that he was not intending to wed her. But he’d never been good with words and instead thought his kisses, his passion, would convey his true feelings. It had always worked for him in the past and, so he had hoped it might work with her.

  Instead, it had only made things worse. Unfortunately his ill-famed reputation was interfering with the most important relationship he’d ever had. What in God’s name had she called him?

  A kilt-clad rogue.

  He cringed. Did she really believe that?

  Unbidden, he sought her out and saw her moving among the guests. She stayed close to Ewan, but was careful not to smother the lad. She looked so lovely and pure in that simple gown of blue. Even more surprisingly, she truly resembled Christina Douglas with her impossible-to-tame brown hair flowing loose about her shoulders. He had no right to soil her, to stain her with his reputation, but God help him, he still wanted her.

  Clenching his fists, he turned away. Catherine murmured something and he forced a smile. He’d have to hurt her too. Undoubtedly she would recover once he smoothed the way with a fair amount of coin. He had no illusions that she loved him, but his rejection would greatly damage her pride. Still, he’d do what had to be done.

  He caught another glimpse of blue from the corner of his eye and turned in time to see Genevieve and Ewan whirling across the floor. Emotion tightened in his chest. He would have her no matter what she thought of him. There had to be a way to rebuild the fragile trust that had been forming between them. But first he had to show her he wasn’t a rogue and that his intentions toward her were honorable.

  Determined, he waited until Catherine’s attention was elsewhere and made his way over to Genevieve and Ewan. He forced himself to keep his voice light with no tr
ace of his earlier anger.

  “Ah, Miss Fitzsimmons, there you are. Are ye, um, having fun?” He grimaced. Witty conversationalist he was not.

  Surprised, she glanced up at him. When he saw her red-rimmed eyes and knew she’d been crying, his heart stumbled.

  “Of course, it’s a lovely ball, Mr. Douglas.” She spoke so softly he had to lean down to hear her. “I’m grateful to be invited.”

  Hell and damnation. This is not how he wanted her, meek and miserable. He wished to show her he was no longer angry—that he understood why she had misconceptions about him. But what in God’s name could he say to her with Ewan standing right there and a roomful of guests all poised to conveniently overhear whatever he might say?

  “Ah, would ye like to dance?”

  He saw the confusion in her eyes. “I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. Ewan and I were just about to retire for the evening.”

  “Oh. I see…so…I…” Silence stretched between them. Connor groped for something else to say, but as usual, words failed him. Even worse Ewan had begun to stare at him with curiosity.

  He cleared his throat. “Well then, I’ll bid ye a good night, Miss Fitzsimmons.” He nodded at Ewan. “Lad.”

  When they turned away, he strode directly to the balcony to let loose a string of curses. Christ’s wounds, he didn’t have the slightest idea how to handle this mess he’d made with her.

  Before he could berate himself further, Catherine sidled up, linking her arm with his. “Will ye dance wi’ me, Connor?”

  He took another breath to steady himself. For one more night, he’d pretend to be the man she thought she wanted. But come tomorrow, he’d tell her the truth. His heart lay with another.

  Genevieve awoke to a fierce pounding on her door. She jumped out of bed, snatched a robe and wrapped it around her. A quick glance at the window showed that it was still dark. She swung open the door. Connor stood there still fully dressed in his kilt and plaid.

  “What time is it?”

  “Late.” He removed his plaid and draped it over her shoulders. “Ye must come at once. Ewan’s been hurt and the lad is asking for ye. Fetch something for your feet.”

  “Hurt?” She stumbled toward the hearth and slid her feet into a pair of shoes. The wool plaid was scratchy and smelled of Connor. “What happened?”

  “I dinna know exactly. Mrs. MacDougal just summoned me and I’m stopping to get ye on my way out. Make haste, please.”

  Panic streaked through her. “Where is he?”

  Connor’s expression turned grim. “The hound pen.”

  “No. Oh, my God, no.”

  She had to run to keep up with Connor’s hurried strides. His plaid shielded her from the cool wind, but inside she was chilled by fear.

  They saw the bobbing torches and heard the murmur of voices near the dog pen long before they saw Ewan. Connor pushed his way through the small crowd and easily jumped the fence. Worried, he knelt at his son’s side. Ewan lay on his back, clutching his left shoulder, tears streaming down his face. He was still dressed in his pirate’s costume. Genevieve felt a rush of guilt and shame. He must have slipped out after they had bid each other good night. She hadn’t thought to check on him before going to sleep.

  What kind of governess was she?

  “Da.” Relief crossed his face when he saw Connor.

  Connor took the boy’s hand. “What happened, lad?”

  “I…I was trying to climb the fence when I fell.”

  “What in the devil were ye doing down here at this hour?”

  Ewan glanced at Genevieve shamefaced. “I was too excited to sleep. I thought to see the hounds just one last time so I could show ye how well I can handle them now. But ’twas dark and I slipped.”

  “Are ye hurt badly?”

  He tried to hold back the tears. “Just my shoulder, I fear.”

  Genevieve felt wetness dampen her own cheeks. “It’s going to be all right, Ewan.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve ruined everything. I’ll never be able to go on the foxhunt now.”

  “There will be other times,” Genevieve reassured him.

  “Says who?” Connor snapped out the words. “I’ll no’ have Ewan harmed again.”

  Ewan shook his head. “Dinna be mad at her, Da. Miss Fitzsimmons helped me see that the hounds are no’ so frightening.”

  It was the first time she had ever heard him call her by her proper name and emotion thickened in her throat at his defense.

  “I’ve sent for the doctor.” Connor lifted Ewan from the ground. “Ye’ll rest in your room until he arrives.” He handed the boy over the fence and into the arms of a man on the other side. After jumping over, he took Ewan back in his arms.

  Without another word, he strode toward the castle. Genevieve followed silently, her heart heavy. She was certain she’d soon have to face the moment she’d been dreading since her arrival.

  She was about to be dismissed.

  After Connor had settled Ewan into bed, he motioned for her to go into the schoolroom. He followed, leaving Ewan’s door slightly ajar.

  Instead of immediately admonishing her, he all but ignored her, pacing the schoolroom with his hands clasped behind his back. He still wore his kilt and as he moved, she caught fascinating glimpses of his bare, muscular thighs.

  She finally spoke. “Connor, I’m sorry. I should have consulted with you before allowing Ewan to work with the hounds. It’s just that he wanted so badly to surprise you, to make you proud.”

  He stopped pacing and crooked his finger. “Come here.” She took several steps forward until she stood nearly toe-to-toe with him.

  “Was this your idea or Ewan’s?” A dark gleam shone in his eyes.

  “Mine.”

  He laughed, but without humor. “Are ye certain Ewan didna manipulate ye into doing this? To plan this to look like an accident so he could rid ye from the castle?”

  The thought both startled and unnerved her. “No.” Then she reconsidered. When she remembered the look of sheer joy on Ewan’s face when he petted the hounds for the first time, she shook her head firmly. “No, I’m certain. This was no devious plan of Ewan’s.”

  Connor sighed. “Then ’tis ye I must blame for this mishap.”

  “Yes, I accept full blame.” She paused and then plunged on. “And yet, I feel it is my duty to point out that part of the blame is yours, as well.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Mine?”

  Since she felt she would be dismissed by the end of the conversation anyway, she decided to be completely candid with him. “Yes, yours. If only you had shown Ewan some attention, he wouldn’t have been so starved for it, and I wouldn’t have been so willing to help him gain it. But apparently you couldn’t bring yourself to spare that kind of affection. Instead, you have had nothing but the coolest reserve for your own son while you spent your time arranging foxhunts and balls, dallying with widowed women and kissing the governess.”

  There. It came out a bit bolder and harsher than she intended, but she’d said it. And by God’s mercy, it was the truth.

  For a moment he simply gaped at her in surprised incredulity. Then his eyes narrowed and she saw fire flash within their depths.

  “Ye dare to tell me how to act with my son?”

  “Someone has to. You barely show him any fatherly interest.”

  He straightened. “That isna true. I provide for him, dinna I? He has a home, a name. I’ve hired him a governess to teach him the ways o’ the world. What more does he expect? What more do ye expect.”

  “I expect a lot from you. But Ewan doesn’t expect anything. He simply wants your love, your affection. You may not realize it, but you behave quite differently when you’re around him. It’s like you become another person—more formal, cool and aloof. Most of the time, you don’t even look directly at him. It’s as if you’ve purposely erected some kind of barrier between you and Ewan.”

  “That is quite enough.”

  She ignored his command. “Connor, I don
’t know what happened between you and your wife, but Ewan is innocent. Would it hurt so terribly much to lower that barrier a bit and get to know him? He’s obviously hurting and so are you. Perhaps together you can resolve the issues that are keeping you apart.”

  Before he could reply, they both heard a noise in the corridor. Connor strode out and Genevieve heard him greet the physician. She waited in the schoolroom, listening to the low murmur of their voices while the doctor examined Ewan. After a short time, Connor returned to the schoolroom.

  “It seems we are fortunate Ewan hurt naught more than his shoulder. The doctor will bind it.”

  “Thank God.”

  His mouth tightened at the corners. “Despite what ye think, Genevieve, I know what’s best for my son.”

  She sighed. “I know you mean well, Connor, but do you really? Have you asked Ewan how he feels about the possible union between you and Catherine? It’s hard enough for him to get your attention without a wife, and he’s likely terrified of what will happen once has more competition. Perhaps if you’d reassure him that everything will be fine once you’re wed, he’d feel more secure about the marriage.”

  She paused, rubbing her eyes with her fingertips. “Now, having said my piece, I shall go pack my bags. If you would be so kind as to order me a carriage back to Alnwick on the morn, I would greatly appreciate it.”

  He stared at her with an open mouth and then snapped it shut. To her amazement, there was no longer anger in his eyes, only sadness and a deep-seated resignation.

  “I’m no’ dismissing ye. I dinna want ye to quit as Ewan’s governess.”

  It was her turn to be surprised. “You don’t?”

  “Nay. There is much I need to discuss wi’ ye, but now is no’ the time. I’ve a son in bed with a hurt shoulder and a castle full o’ guests all expecting a grand foxhunt tomorrow. Just promise me that ye willna pack up and leave before I’ve had my say.”

  “Your say? What do you mean?”

  “Ye shall see. I promise ye, soon all will be clear.”

  Chapter 8