The Sweetest Touch

by Marie Higgins

  It didn’t matter. This could never happen again. He must see to it that Louisa was trained in something and then sent to another household to live.

  * * * *

  Richard Macgregor rode his horse hard. Frustration built inside of him like a festering infectious wound, threatening to kill him within time.

  He’d lost money already due to Louisa’s absence. He threatened all the children to find her. And every night as they returned to the house and had no information for him, he took out his anger on them, whipping them soundly. Someone had to know something!

  Louisa had disappeared into thin air. Literally. There was no trace of her whatsoever. This was not acceptable!

  Since her disappearance, he’d searched completely through three towns. Any woman he came upon who resembled Louisa, he stopped. None of them were the thin, pretty girl with wavy blonde hair. And as each minute passed without finding her, he became that much angrier.

  As he neared the town he was headed for, he slowed his animal just a mite as not to draw attention to himself. Although he furiously searched for Louisa, he couldn’t alert the police to his panic. He’d kept himself—and his thieves—away from anyone suspicious. Whenever the police started sniffing around and asking questions, Richard had taken his band of miscreants to another town to set up camp.

  He rode slowly through town until he spotted an inn. His throat was dry and he needed something to moisten his mouth—and alert his mind. Richard stopped his horse, jumped down, and tied him to the post before entering the establishment.

  Only a few gents lingered in the smoke-filled room. The scent of alcohol hung thick through the air as Richard made his way toward a table. When the familiar looks from a nearby man caught Richard’s attention, he turned and hurried to that table instead. The gent was heavily into his cups already this early afternoon, and Richard realized the scent he’d detected when first entering the inn came from this table alone.

  “I should’ve figured ye’d be in here,” Richard snapped as he sat across from the other man.

  Percy Featherspoon jumped in his chair and nearly toppled over, but grasped on to the table to keep him from falling. His wide, glassy eyes latched on to Richard. After a couple of blinks, the other man nodded.

  “Macgregor. What do I owe this hon-nor of your pres-sence?” he slurred.

  “I thank ye for recognizin’ me considerin’ how foxed ye are.” Richard drummed his fingers on the table. “But nonetheless, I’m happy to have found ye. I need to talk with ye about an important matter.”

  Featherspoon straightened in his chair, but still swayed as if the room were spinning. “Whot about?”

  Richard rolled his eyes. “What do we usually discuss?”

  The other man bobbed his head once. “You want another child.”

  “Indeed, I do,” Richard said softly. “And soon. One of my best has run away…but I’ll find her.”

  Featherspoon’s forehead creased. “Your best, you say? Which one?”

  “Louisa.”

  It took only a moment before Percy’s eyes widened and color left his face. “Oh, dear. This is not good at all.”

  “Of course it’s not, but…” Richard scratched his chin as he studied the lanky man with thinning hair sitting across from him. “Why do ye think this isn’t good?” He leaned closer. “What do ye know about this chit that ye haven’t told me?”

  “If memory serves… I think Louisa Hamilton grew up around this area.”

  A different kind of anger hit Richard, exploding in his head. “Ye think she grew up around here? Ye brought Louisa to me in Scotland. Ye told me she was orphaned.”

  “Uh…well, you see…” Percy ran his long fingers through his receding hair. “I’d only told the girl she was orphaned when in reality, I…um…kidnapped her.”

  Grumbling a steam of curses, Richard leaped across the table and grabbed the other man’s overcoat. “What kind of insipid fop are ye, man? Do ye know what kind of problems could arise now?”

  Percy peeled Richard’s fingers off his garment. “You don’t understand. I did it for my…um, a family member. Several years before I took Miss Hamilton, I was disowned by my family. By taking Louisa, I found a way to get back into their good graces.”

  Richard righted himself in the chair and scrubbed his face. This couldn’t be happening. Macgregor did not make mistakes, and he killed those working for him who did.

  He jumped to his feet and lifted Percy with him. “Then I suggest ye sober up quickly, because Louisa is missin’ and ye are goin’ to help me find her.”

  Percy nodded quickly. “Indeed, I will. I assure you, we’ll find her quickly.”

  * * * *

  Louisa had been woolgathering. Again. Yet what else could she do? All she had to think about was the wonderful, kind, and loving man who had kissed her so passionately.

  She’d wished Trevor hadn’t asked Mrs. Smythe to give her the next day off because she needed something to keep her mind and hands occupied. If she worked with her hands, then her mind wouldn’t relive every minute, every incredible second she had been in Trevor’s arms at the pond. He’d kissed her with such gentleness it took her breath away, and when he’d touched her so tenderly...it was all she could do not to swoon.

  What would have happened if Mrs. Smythe and Beth hadn’t come to find her? Would Trevor have taken things further—and would Louisa had allowed it? Not once did she think about what they were doing as being wrong. In fact, it was the greatest feeling she’d ever experienced. Her body told her no man had kissed her like that before, and for certain no man had touched her in such a way that made her toes curl and her mind float as if on an endless cloud spinning toward paradise. Every time he touched her it had been so…sweet and endearing.

  All night she had dreamed about Trevor...dreamed of what kind of life she’d have as his wife. Although utterly ridiculous, she needed to dream—to feel alive.

  In the morning, confusion settled in her head and she wondered if she’d ever kissed a man before. She seemed to know how. For some reason, her past held this secret, and she didn’t know if she wanted answers. It was easier to be oblivious.

  Today Mrs. Smythe put her in with the laundry maids. Determined to learn something without messing it up, Louisa listened to instructions and followed their example the best she could. Occasionally she caught herself slipping into a fantasy about Trevor, but before too long, she pulled herself out. She must impress Trevor’s household staff. She must not disappoint him again.

  Louisa really had to watch herself in the laundry room. Touching Trevor’s clothes, she wanted to close her eyes and run the cloth along her cheek, but she refrained—although it was extremely hard to do. She tried to act as if her heartbeat didn’t pump out a crazy rhythm every time she touched an article of his clothes, and could practically picture him wearing them.

  As she turned to move, she accidentally bumped into the hot stove. Her palm burned and she jerked away from the heat. Through the thick fog still in her mind, a memory formed.

  She was a small child around five years of age. She had touched the hot poker from the fireplace and burned her finger. Her father lifted her in his arms and soothed her while her mother spread some kind of ointment on her skin.

  Louisa couldn’t see faces, but in her heart, tenderness grew from this memory and she realized she must have had a loving childhood. Odd, but her parents weren’t dressed in servants’ clothes or rags. Instead, they were dressed similar to Trevor and his mother.

  Within seconds, the memory faded and another replaced it. She was frightened. Terribly so. A bulky man stood over her with a poker from a fireplace—much different than her earlier memory. This man was angry. Threatening her. “If ye slip up one more time, I won’t hesitate to use this.”

  All at once, a place on her leg began to throb. This man had burned her on purpose before as a form of punishment. Louisa bent as she lifted her skirt and touched the very spot he’d harmed her. She’d noticed the puck
ered section of skin the other day and wondered about it. Now she knew.

  An ache pounded in her head and she squeezed her eyes closed and willed the pain away. Questions swam in her head. Where were her parents—and how did she end up with that terrible man?

  Time slipped by quickly since there was a lot of work to be done with the laundry. By the end of the day, Louisa’s arms were as heavy as wet rags. Not only was her body exhausted, so was her mind since she hadn’t been able to remove those two confusing memories from her head.

  Thoughtful Mrs. Smythe had a hot tub of bath water waiting for Louisa in her room. She quickly undressed and then sank in the water, sighing aloud as it relaxed her. Before she became too weak, she washed her hair and piled it on top of her head as she finished scrubbing the rest of her. She laid back and closed her eyes, enjoying the peacefulness.

  She pushed aside the bad memories and an image of Trevor surfaced...the library...and being in his comforting arms. Especially the wonderful kiss by the pond. Unfortunately, something else niggled at her mind. Why had she pleaded with him not to withhold her meals as punishment? What had happened in her life to make her say that? And who was Macgregor? She didn’t want to think about the shadowy vision she’d had before Trevor had taken her in his arms and comforted her beyond belief, yet the man Macgregor was a mystery that needed to be solved. Although she couldn’t picture his face, she knew she feared him. She also knew he was somebody she did not want to remember.

  Fear like never before encompassed her, and she wanted to hide away forever. If Trevor hadn’t arrived when he did, who knows what might have happened in her frame of mind.

  Suddenly, Macgregor’s voice rang clear in her head as she remembered the threatening man with the poker in his hands. Gasping, she sat up straight. Chills ran through her body, testifying that the man with the poker was indeed Macgregor.

  She quickly climbed out of the tub, dried her body, and threw her night rail on. Taking the brush, she slowly walked to the fireplace to warm herself, dry her hair, and think. Within minutes, footsteps boomed on the floor down the hall, marching up toward her room.

  Her heart dropped. Oh, no. Not again.

  Chapter Eight

  Out of all the garments for her to shrink, why did it have to be his favorite shirt?

  Trevor marched toward Louisa’s room, anger filled him with each step. Yesterday, he’d promised not to blame her for messing up, but this was where he drew the line. Did she even realize how much he’d spent for that shirt?

  He hadn’t realized it was a size smaller until readying himself for a dinner party tonight. When he pulled the shirt over his head, he knew right away something was amiss. The material hugged his shoulders and chest more than they should. The sleeves were not billowy or long, but snuggling against his arms and ending just below his elbows. He didn’t have to ask Mrs. Smythe where she’d put Louisa today. His ruined shirt told him enough.

  He reached her bedroom door, stopped, and pounded. “Louisa, I would like to speak with you, if you don’t mind,” he snapped.

  “Uh...” Bare feet padded on the floor. “As you wish, but—”

  Trevor didn’t wait to hear the rest of her thoughts before he swung open the door and stepped inside. “Do you realize what you have done—”

  Near the fireplace, wrapped in a night rail as damp hair hung down her shoulders and arms, stood Louisa. She took his breath away. Oh good heavens... Why hadn’t he waited for her answer? Gazing at her made it hard to breathe, and if his throat kept tightening, he wouldn’t be able to swallow, either.

  She stood clutching a towel to her bosom with wide eyes. Her mouth parted as if she wanted to speak, but only quick breaths escaped.

  Inwardly, he groaned. “Forgive me, Louisa. I should have waited for you—”

  She gasped and pointed to his shirt. “Did I do that?”

  It took him only a moment to realize what she was referring to—the very reason he came here in the first place but seemingly forgotten about. Before he could respond, she hurried to him and clutched his arm. Tears swam in her eyes.

  “Forgive me, Your Grace. I honestly thought I had followed directions in the laundry room.” She sniffed and wiped away a stray tear. “But I fear I have no skills at all.”

  Trevor released a heavy sigh and silently cursed his temper. He’d made her cry again. “Louisa, forgive me. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Indeed, you have every right.” She threaded her fingers through her hair and pushed back the damp strands from her face. “I will leave first thing in the morning to find other employment. Although…at this point, I have no idea what kind of employment to search for.” Her voice broke and she bit her trembling, bottom lip.

  Shaking his head, he stepped closer to her. “That is utterly ridiculous, Louisa. I’m not sending you away.”

  She sniffed. “You should. I cannot do anything but destroy things.”

  “I’m quite certain you can do something, but we haven’t found it yet.”

  “You have so much patience, Your Grace. By the time we discover what it is I can do, you may not have a house left standing.” She swept her hand, indicating his attire. “Or any clothes to wear.”

  Her comment—as serious as she tried to make it—made Trevor grin. “Oh, Louisa. I believe I have just discovered your skill.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “You have?”

  “I enjoy having you around because you make me laugh, which is something I haven’t done for a long time.”

  Her face cracked a smile as she wiped away a stray tear. “You are being very humorous, Your Grace. But there is no possible way I can find work as a jester. It just isn’t done in this century.”

  He laughed again. “No, my sweet. You will not find work as a jester.” Sighing heavily, he glanced down at his shirt. “Well, I suppose I should change. I have a dinner party to attend this evening.”

  “I hope I have not made you late.”

  “Of course not. Are you not aware that a duke is never late?”

  “So true. Out of respect, they cannot serve the food unless the duke—or someone with the highest title—is there.”

  “You are correct.” He tilted his head. “I truly believe now that you have worked at an estate at one time. You know your way around a manor, even if you don’t know how to work the different positions.”

  She nodded. “I think you are correct. In fact, earlier this evening, I did remember something.”

  Excitement shot through him as he grasped her hands. “Please tell.”

  “I burned myself on the stove,” she said, lifting up her palm, “and I remember being a young girl and burning myself. My parents cared for me. Although in my memory I couldn’t see their faces clearly, I could tell they were dressed as you and your mother are. I don’t know what might have happened to them to make me live like a vagabond, but I do feel these were indeed my parents.”

  “So you feel like you were raised in a good home with noble parents?”

  “I do.”

  “Very interesting. I would love to test a few theories on you to see what you know. One I could probably do right now.”

  “What is it?”

  “I would like to see how many dances you know.”

  Louisa stared wide-eyed at him for a brief moment before snorting an unlady-like laugh he thought was adorable.

  “Me? Dance?” She shook her head. “I think not, Your Grace. Although I don’t remember my life, I would certainly know if I have ever danced before.”

  “Come now.” He held out his hand. “Let us see for ourselves, shall we? Have you danced the Scotch Reel? We shall try that out first.”

  “But…” She acted as if she would say more, but then paused a few moments before shaking her head. “We don’t have enough people. We need at least four more dancers.”

  Trevor grinned. “Very good. You do know about that dance. Can you now show me what you would do if we had that many more people with us?”

  Staring
at the floor, she stood in silence, then slowly her feet began to move in the right direction. The fancy footwork required would be difficult if one had never attempted this dance, but Louisa moved through the steps perfectly. Every second that passed, her eyes grew rounder and her smile wider.

  “Splendid,” he praised. “What about the Cotillion?”

  She started to shake her head, but soon she took his hand as he led her through the beginning of the dance. Excitement jumped in her eyes as she realized she could dance. His heart also accelerated. For certain, Louisa was no vagabond at all. The happy expression on her face warmed his heart.

  “Very good, Louisa. Now there is one more I want to see if you know.”

  Her head bobbed in a quick nod. “Oh, yes. Let’s see what else I remember.”

  He hesitated with this dance. Although scandalous, the Waltz was still played in some ballrooms across England. Napoleon had tried to make this dance socially acceptable, but most of society was appalled at the closeness of the dance. However, if Louisa had indeed been raised by parents of Quality, she would have known this—either scandalous or not.

  And…this gave him the perfect excuse to hold her close.

  Trevor took her hand in his and placed his other around her waist, slowly pulling her to him. “Do you know the waltz?”

  Her buoyancy dulled considerably as a slight tremble took over her smile. But her feet moved with his as he led her around the small bedroom floor. Suddenly, her exuberance changed, and a different expression crossed her face. He’d seen this one before—the most recent was when they were by the pond and right before he’d kissed her.

  “I do know this dance,” she whispered. “Not many people will dance the waltz.”

  “Indeed. To some, it’s considered scandalous.”

  “You are correct.”

  “But…you are dancing with me now,” he said in a soft voice as his heartbeat knocked crazily against his ribs.

  Her gaze flitted between his eyes and his mouth as the color in her eyes darkened. His throat turned dry, and he couldn’t swallow even if his life depended on it. The more they danced, the closer he pulled her as if it was natural to want her so near. To make matters worse, she didn’t try to stop him like a proper girl would have done.