He burst out laughing, unable to keep up his charade. “Ye’re verra savvy for someone who’s so poor at chess.”
“So, you did let me win! And I’m not so bad.”
“Aye, and ye are. It was difficult to lose to ye. But I didna mean to make an unfair bet. I just wanted to see a smile on your lovely face.”
He grinned at her, the monster, and she didn’t know whether to feel insulted or complimented. Her damn cheeks felt hot just because he’d said she was lovely.
“And now flattery. Sir, you are a rogue, indeed.” Lizzie was flustered, not sure if he was teasing her.
His smile seemed open and guileless, but her pounding heart warned her to run. Everything seemed suddenly dangerous, their shared laughter, the stories of their childhoods, the fact that she was beginning to like him as if he were a real person and not some historical figure she might read about when she made it home.
She got up in a hurry, nearly knocking her chair backwards, and nodded curtly at him. “Good night, Mr. Ferguson.”
He blinked and his smile faltered, almost as if she’d hurt his feelings. Hell. She had to get out before she reached out to soothe his troubled brow. Her hand acted on its own accord and actually reached out for him. She turned and walked from the room at what she hoped was a steady pace, her traitorous hands held tightly at her sides. When she got in the hallway, she ran until she reached the safety of her room.
She flung away her shawl and loosened her garments, turning to look at her flushed face in the scuffed mirror.
Get it together, she warned herself to no avail. Dear God, his body was amazing and she burned to press against him. It had been more than a year since she’d had sex. How could she in this time, when her reputation would be ruined. She’d become a target for all sorts of lecherous fiends if she so much as made out with someone and the word spread. She had to keep her job, set a good example for her charges, or she’d be destitute.
And it hadn’t been all that bad after a while. She enjoyed reading, and learned how to play chess, though apparently she could use some practice. Many evenings the family she stayed with had musical entertainment to which she’d be invited, and there was never a lack of needlework to do. If she kept busy, she rarely thought about sex anymore.
Until now. Until bloody Quinn Ferguson. Now she couldn’t think about anything else. And with him being Catie’s guardian, he was completely off limits, not that he’d ever look twice at her in that way. Though he flirted outrageously, he seemed to hold her in the highest esteem, which was nice. It was nice to be held in any esteem. Most people barely saw her except when they needed her to do something.
It sucked being a spinster with no means. It was far, far better being an independent woman in her own time, even if she didn’t have a whole lot of money then, either. At least people respected and sometimes even admired her. She could smile at a man without word getting around that she was of loose moral character and should be disgustingly propositioned at every turn.
She tossed herself onto her bed, completely worked up. She had half a mind to march down to his room and brazenly slip through the doorway and into his bed. She’d bet all her savings he wouldn’t turn her away. And she’d bet any future earnings that it would be a mighty good time, too.
But he wouldn’t respect you tomorrow, she thought sadly. Stupid eighteenth century. And why did she care at all if Quinn respected her? In fact, the more she thought about it, he seemed like he was a little more evolved than the average man of his time. He treated her closer to a person than anyone had in the last year.
Perhaps they could … wait, was she thinking up reasons for it to be acceptable to sleep with Quinn? She groaned. It would never be acceptable! Punching her pillow six times in a row and curling into a ball, she eventually managed to fall asleep.
Chapter 6
The two days while they waited for the gowns to be finished were spent exploring the city and calling on neighbors to practice Catie’s conversational skills. On their excursions to the park or about town, Catie cavorted here and there, thrilled with everything she saw.
Lizzie liked exploring eighteenth century London. It was terrifying and exhilarating and it never failed to shock her when she came upon a building that still stood in her time, something she walked past every day of her life, right there, spanking new. It took her forever to get her bearings in the truncated, dirty version of the London she grew up in, but she loved the sinister alleys, the rowdy pubs, the dusty squares, the livestock. If Lew knew some of the places she ventured on her own without an escort of any kind, he’d have dropped dead. She knew she was lucky she hadn’t been accosted, but never went out after dark, and something about her firm step and fierce glare seemed to scare away anyone who might have thought she was easy pickings. That and she carried a knife with her, tucked into a pocket she’d sewn into her skirts.
With Catie, she stuck to respectable places and had a footman follow behind them in case Catie wanted to buy something. She was in a tizzy over having so much freedom and didn’t understand at all how rich she was, passing by the prettiest things at the front of shops to look at the things that might be cheaper. She never admitted to liking anything until she’d shyly asked the price and then decided if she thought it was too dear.
“You needn’t worry about money,” Lizzie tried to explain to her, afraid if she ended up marrying a tightwad, she’d wear the same pair of stockings for ten years. “You must learn to assert yourself so people don’t take advantage of you.” Lizzie meant her future husband as well as shopkeepers, but didn’t want to scare her.
The poor thing still thought she was going to get a fairy tale prince. Lizzie found she honestly liked Catie and tried to give her advice, all the while reminding herself not to get too attached. She was leaving soon and this girl would get eaten up like all the rest of them in this time.
She had a fleeting notion to ask Catie if she wanted to come with her. She had a bit of an independent streak and would go nuts in the twenty-first century. She could go to school or get a job in a shop, learn to drive, actually date someone without having to marry him. Silly. Lizzie was so excited to get home, she was getting sentimental.
During the social calls, Lady Amberly hovered like a nervous hen, afraid Catie would do something outlandish and Highlandery, but Lizzie was pleased to find that she had lovely, simple manners, perfect for a sweet young lady.
She wasn’t overly accomplished, that much was true, but she laughed good-naturedly at her mistakes, her humble smiles charming everyone. Every moment that Lizzie spent with her, Catie became less plain, her sparkling personality shining through and making her seem downright pretty.
The neighbor’s son, Oliver Cliffstone, already seemed to think she hung the moon, and though he was completely unsuitable, it was good practice for her to speak to a young gentleman without wringing her hands in her skirts or giggling overmuch. Lizzie couldn’t help but almost rub her hands together with glee. Even without the fortune, she would make a good match all on her own merits. The fortune insured an amazing one, and Lizzie planned to reap the benefits.
She only saw Quinn at meals and he was a perfect gentleman, inquiring after her rest at breakfast and her day at dinner, then benignly ignoring her. At the sideboard at breakfast the first morning after they’d played chess, their hands had brushed while reaching for the marmalade and he quickly stepped out of her way.
“Please allow me, Miss Burnet,” he said, her name rolling off his tongue and up her spine like a caress.
He filled her plate with enough food to feed a small army, with four pieces of sausage, kippers, and a six inch high pile of bread topped with a fist sized dollop of marmalade. She’d laughed and waved him to take that plate.
“I must be mindful of my figure, sir,” she said, cursing herself for engaging.
Why bring his attention to her figure? And then she’d thrown in a Scarlett O’Hara eyelash flutter. She served up a more modest meal for herself while she t
ried not to feel his eyes sweep over her. Since living in this time, she’d gained at least a stone or more, having no access to kickboxing or sweaty yoga or dance classes. When she felt certain no one was watching, she might run flat out for the length of a street, but if anyone ever saw her they’d either chase or think she needed assistance.
Horseback riding was the only exercise any of her young charges ever did, and Lizzie could sit a horse, having taken a few lessons in case she ever needed the skill for a role, but she couldn’t keep up with them, and it was a sport for the wealthy, not a servant like herself. Prowling the streets and trying to do pushups and crunches in her room at night was the best she could do to stay in shape, but in the past year she’d grown extremely soft.
The appreciative smile Quinn gave her after boldly checking her out made her blush and also feel good from her head to her toes. If someone as handsome as Quinn thought she looked all right, maybe she hadn’t gone too far to pot.
“Ye’ll need your strength to keep up with Catie’s antics,” he said, still keeping his eyes disconcertingly trained on her.
She had to admit she liked his attentive gaze, but had to remember her place, especially after rudely fleeing from his presence the night before. As embarrassed as she was about that, it was better he think she was a bit brittle, so she gave her tightest lipped smile and sat down at the far end of the table. When he didn’t follow her, she felt a twinge of disappointment, but shoved it aside.
After she’d coldly rebuked his friendliness, both after playing chess and in the breakfast room, he’d stopped reading in the same room as her at night, instead choosing a book, nodding at her and leaving. That same strange disappointment hit her each time he left, an emotion she couldn’t figure out and refused to entertain. It was for the best. He was a distraction, nothing more.
He hadn’t joined them on any of their visits, so when he turned up in the hallway as they were preparing to leave for a carriage ride around the park, filling up the space and taking up more than his fair share of oxygen, Lizzie stepped back as if burned from his nearness.
He reached out and took her arm. “Are ye well, Miss Burnet?” he asked.
His hand was so big, he could have wrapped it all the way around her wrist and overlapped his strong fingers— oh, why was she assessing his finger strength? She forced herself to smile and breathe naturally, becoming slowly accustomed to his towering presence. She looked up into his face and seeing that he had a definite twinkle in his eyes, she blushed. Did he know how he set her off balance, and did he enjoy her discomfort? She ratcheted up stern spinster mode to eleven and raised a brow at him, pressing her lips together.
“Certainly. We’d be delighted to have you accompany us, wouldn’t we, Catie?”
“Aye, of course,” she said, always happy to spend time with her brother.
The carriage was not new or shiny, though the Amberly’s were abundantly rich. Lady Amberly had money of her own and had married quite well, her husband’s trollish nature and looks notwithstanding. But Lord Amberly loved country life, walking around his vast estate with his carved staff, hunting and riding and being better than his neighbors. They rarely came to town and he had little interest in what was fashionable.
When Lizzie first made the trip out to their estate, she was surprised to see how nervous Lady Amberly was to hire her for her niece’s coming out. Though she had the name that would allow Catie invitations, she didn’t actually know many of the families outside of her neighborhood and was afraid she’d do something wrong and spoil Catie’s chances. She’d never even seen the girl, and had nothing good to say about the sinister Scot who’d stolen her sister, ruined her good name, and eventually caused her early leave of this world. Lizzie had to admit, the tearful story had colored her opinion of the Fergusons, though the younger generation at least weren’t at all how they’d been described.
When she got settled across from Quinn, not sure if looking at him was more distracting than the risk of brushing up against him, and Catie was busy goggling at the sights, she asked why Catie had never visited her English relatives before now.
He took his time in answering, so she thought she might have offended him, but the rueful smile he gave her told her he wasn’t quite sure how to answer.
“In truth, up until recently, it wasn’t my decision to make,” he said. “And I’m ashamed to admit I never gave it much thought.” He smiled at Catie, who seemed to know she was being discussed and turned to make a face at him before poking her head back out the window. “Now that I’m forced to, I must say I think my brother was wrong in keeping her from her aunt and uncle. Lady Amberly seems nothing but kind and to be sure, Catie’s uncle will be the same when we meet him.”
Lizzie frowned. “No, he’s horrid, actually.”
Quinn shouted with laughter and she went cold, wondering what about him made her drop her guard enough to speak ill of her employer. For all she knew he would run back to them and tell what she’d said. She vowed to be more reticent, and shook her head as if it was just a jest. Something told her she could trust Quinn, but he threw her off so badly, she wasn’t quite sure she could trust herself at the moment.
Normally, she could withstand deep blue eyes in a handsome smiling face, all attached to a big, rugged man dressed smartly in close fitting breeches and a crisp jacket. During her years in the acting business, she’d been surrounded by good looking men and had learned not to be affected by them, but there was something about Quinn. He had a magnetism that went deeper than his looks.
“You haven’t worn your plaid the entire time you’ve been here,” she blurted, thinking that seeing him swathed in a tartan tablecloth would be far less distracting than the muscle hugging clothes he’d been provoking her with the last couple of days.
They arrived at the park and he helped them out of the carriage, his hands leaving a heated impression on her waist as he lifted her down. She hurriedly checked to make sure no one saw, as she could easily exit a carriage without help, or at the very least only needed a hand to keep her balance. She didn’t know what had possessed her to hang onto the carriage opening like a helpless damsel until he’d just scooped her up and set her on the ground. Catie turned around and blinked impatiently at her while she got her bearings. Lizzie waved her on ahead, and she gamboled up the path like a colt.
Quinn held out his arm and with only the slightest hesitation, she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. It was as nice an early autumn morning as London ever had, the sun struggling to come out from behind a bank of low hanging clouds, the dew sparkling on the grass, and the smell of the river wafting in on the occasional breeze. Leaning against his strong arm as they made their way along the winding path, she felt curiously close to content.
“Ye asked me about my plaid?” he asked as they endeavored to keep up with Catie.
“I imagined you’d be in full regalia down here,” she said.
He nodded at his sister. “I didna want to offend or make her stand out. I dinna mind these bloody clothes too much, but God, I’d like to wear my kilt.”
Lizzie laughed, he sounded so earnest. She hated the clothes too, though she couldn’t explain to him why. She wondered what he’d think of her in her workout gear.
“You should wear what makes you comfortable,” she said, glancing over at him.
He was pretty spectacular in day wear. When they started going to parties, she might expire instantly if she saw him all gussied up in more formal attire. As much as she hated wrestling herself into her many layers each morning, she’d grown a fondness for the men’s outfits of this time. They were just so flattering, especially when the man had a body that was easy to flatter, like Quinn did. When she was back in her own time, she’d probably have to buy an elaborate costume for any new boyfriend, and hope he put up with her weird breeches fetish. She turned her face into the cooling breeze. She really had to convince him to start wearing his kilt so she could stop being mesmerized by his trousers.
“Ye dinna think I’ll start a fight?” he asked.
“Do you start many fights, normally?” She looked up at him to see he was giving her question serious thought.
“I didna used to, in fact I dinna like fighting. That’s more Lachlan’s area of expertise. I’m a peaceful sort.” He patted the arm she had linked through his. “I can hold my own, mind ye.”
She giggled and chomped down on her lip to keep it in. “I’ve no doubt.”
He scowled. “With men my own size.”
She couldn’t help it and burst out laughing, recalling the little pickpocket who’d got the best of him on their first day in London.
“Are there men your own size?” she asked.
Human men, she wanted to clarify. Not Viking demi-gods. The look he gave her made her realize she was flirting with him, and he knew it. There was pure devilry in his eyes.
“Wear the kilt,” she breathed.
“As ye like,” he answered, tilting his chin to Catie, who’d met up with someone further up the path.
All the fun and sparkle darkened to concern when he saw the young man take her hand, and he stepped forward with purpose in his stride. Lizzie tightened her grip on his arm and dug in her heels, alarmed at the stormy look on his face.
“It’s just the neighbor boy. Catie made his acquaintance yesterday. He’s harmless.”
Quinn relaxed slightly, but the menacing look remained. Lizzie stopped in her tracks and tugged on his arm until he looked down at her.
“This is scary,” she said, waving her hand around his face. “If you look at every man who speaks to Catie the way you look right now, she’ll never even get one dance, let alone a marriage proposal.” He slowly relaxed his features to mere stoniness. “Come now, you can do better than that. Try friendly and inviting.”
His face bloomed into a smile at her lightly teasing encouragement and she dropped his arm. Do not liken him to the sun, she told herself, even as she found herself leaning toward him. But he was golden and big, and quite honestly, brighter than the actual sun at the moment, which had given up and retired behind the clouds.
Smitten by the Spinster Page 6