by Caro LaFever
Robert’s eyes suddenly popped open.
Cam jerked his hand back.
His son’s gaze went blank. “I don’t need ye.” His young voice rose in a screech. “Go away.”
So his father did.
Chapter 7
By the time the next morning had arrived, Jen had herself back together. She’d banished any thoughts of heat and desire. She’d bandaged her courage. She’d also decided to let well enough alone.
Robbie was her friend. She’d done the best she could for him. It was up to father and son to figure themselves out.
Her job was to find the ring. Her job was to tend to her own family.
Her job was not to try and bring these two males together.
Pulling on a heavy wool jumper, she prepared herself for work. During the past few days, without him around, she realized how much she’d come to love watching Cameron Steward pace the library: his long, powerful legs eating up the area, the way he swung his arms as he walked, the beauty of his body. She’d missed the beauty of his voice too: the rugged touch of its burred accent, the rolling rhythm of the words, the passionate delivery.
She also wanted to know the rest of the story.
Over the last few days as she’d come to realize the ties slowly binding her to this man, she’d realized she needed to leave as quickly as possible. Before she was totally in the thrall of her employer.
Find the ring.
Leave.
Clicking open the door to her bedroom, she stepped into the dusty hall.
“Hi.” Robbie stood at the top of the stairs. His head was covered by a medieval chainmail coif, and he held a scary-looking sword in his hand. “He’s home.”
The ache in the young boy’s words matched the ache she’d heard last night in a man’s deep voice. She swallowed her own aching desire to make this right between them. “Yes. He is.”
“Not that I care.” The sword quivered as he lifted it and swung it in front of him.
“That’s a big sword.” She’d learned during the last few days not to question Robbie’s ability to do anything manly. He had inherited his fierce pride, she’d bet. “Can I hold it?”
“No.” The boy swung it to his side. “Only a man can hold it.”
She could point out how sexist that was. She could also point out he wasn’t a man. Not yet. But picking a fight with her new friend, so early in the morning, wasn’t on her agenda. “I have to get to work.”
“He’s waiting for ye.” He turned and stomped down the stairs, the sword clattering behind him. “He’s been in the library since six a.m.”
How could his father think this boy spent all his time being sick in his bedroom? How could he have not noticed this fierce little creature observing everything he did?
Jen followed him until they reached the ground floor.
He turned, the chain clanking around his head, pushing his glasses askew. “I’ll see ye in the garden, then? We can have a picnic for lunch.”
Glancing out the circular window set into the side wall, she looked back at him with disbelief.
The boy gave her a grin. “Don’t worry. The rain will clear.”
It probably would. The child had a preternatural instinct about the weather. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact he spent most of his time outdoors. “All right. A picnic it is.”
“Ye bring the food.” He danced down the hall, the grin still on his face. “I’ll bring myself.”
She shook her finger at him. “You’re the one who invited me.”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll bring the food.” He laughed before racing off.
Jen strode through the clutter of the great hall with a lingering smile on her face and arrived at the open library door right on the stroke of eight.
“You’re late.” A ferocious scowl covered her employer’s face.
The last of her smile disappeared. Yet she wasn’t going to take the bait. A promise had been made last night in her warm, small bed—to herself and to her family. She would not engage in any conversation with this man that could lead to any kind of intimate connection. No arguing. No pointing out he was wrong. No introducing any personal subjects. “I’m here.”
Cameron Steward stood, as usual, in the window bay. His armor of choice, black jumper and black jeans, outlined him in stark contrast to the muted light of the rain-drenched gloom. His hair, as she’d come to expect, lay in rumpled disarray.
He jerked his predator gaze back to looking outside without responding.
Sucking in her breath, she marched to the desk to sit in the high-backed chair. She opened the computer and the program, then placed her fingers on the keyboard to wait in passive silence.
A rustle of movement from the door brought her head up.
“Mr. Steward.” The housekeeper peered into the room from the doorway. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes.” With a restless shrug of his shoulders, he turned to confront them both. “I’m going to have a party.”
Jen straightened in her chair, surprise spinning in her head.
Surprise was not what blanketed Mrs. Rivers’ face. Horror would be a more accurate term. “A party?”
“Yes.” He slid his phone from his pocket and skated a finger across the screen. “I’m counting twelve altogether.”
“Twelve what?” the older woman’s voice quavered.
“Twelve people.” An impatient frown drew his tawny brows down. “In a couple of weeks.”
A couple of weeks? Jen’s mind strolled through the dirty great hall, the dusty rooms, the barren garden. Her brain toured the line of empty bedrooms on the third floor, with their ancient mattresses, uncleaned bathrooms, and musty smells.
She giggled.
He swung around to stare at her, his brows now lifted in wonder. “Did I hear a cheerful noise coming from ye, Ms. Douglas?”
At least he’d used her title. She should be pleased. Instead, a pang ran through her.
Her mouth tightened.
“Or maybe not.” With a grimace of his own, he swung back to his housekeeper. “They’ll stay for a weekend so they’ll need beds.”
“But… But…”
“Do ye cook, Mrs. Rivers?” He kept going at a relentless clip.
Jen knew the woman cooked. After all, who else could be stocking her fridge every week? The dinners she’d eaten, though, were not fit for a fancy house party of twelve. Her grandfather had held hundreds of house parties when she’d lived with him. She understood what the expectations were. Mrs. Rivers’ comfort food would not suit.
“I… I…” The frazzled woman twisted her hands in front of her.
“What I mean is, do ye cook more than what ye usually serve me and the boy?” The man prowled closer to the woman. “Something special?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Steward.” The housekeeper’s dull gaze had turned frantic. “I suppose I can think of something.”
“Good, good.” Looking pleased, he patted her on the shoulder. “We're all set, then. I’ll give ye the exact dates tomorrow.”
“Yes, yes.” The woman ran off as if hellfire were chasing her.
Jen stuffed down another giggle.
“Well.” He rubbed his hands together and paced to the bay window. “That went well.”
The man was clueless. Instead of realizing he’d asked his drab housekeeper for something impossible, he looked as if he’d checked off an item on his to-do list and was able to move on.
There was no way one woman could clean this house in a couple of weeks. There was no way the garden would be ready for a spring party—even if Jen had already spent quite a bit of time on the area. And there was certainly no way one woman would be capable of providing endless elegant spreads for twelve guests and her employer.
Your job is to find the ring, Jennet.
Correct. She put her fingers on the keyboard and focused her concentration on the computer screen.
“Are ye ready to begin the story again, Ms. Douglas?” His broad shoulders twitched before going
still.
“Yes, Mr. Steward.”
“I hate it when it rains.” Robbie’s disgruntled voice rumbled from her cozy armchair, a childish replica of his father’s more powerful roar.
Jen plucked the two tea bags out of their respective cups and threw them in the trash. Plopping a good helping of milk in each one, she whisked them off the counter and walked over to set one on the end table by the chair. “You’re living in the wrong country if you don’t like rain.”
The amusement in her voice made him frown. “It’s not all rain I hate.”
“Really?” Taking a seat opposite him, she sipped on the hot, comforting brew.
“Yes. Really.” He grabbed his cup and took a sip too. “There are different kinds of rain, ye know.”
She leaned back in her chair, prepared for another lecture. This boy knew more about a vast array of things than any child she’d ever met, and most adults too. “Kinds of rain?”
“There’s the kind of rain that’s just misty.” Robbie adjusted his glasses, his odd eyes gleaming with the love of sharing knowledge. “Then there’s the kind of rain that lasts only for a few seconds, like a blast of wet.”
“I’ve experienced that kind of rain.” She shivered. Only a couple of days ago, she’d been caught in a sudden storm that had left her drenched and cold.
“Those aren’t so bad because ye can hide in the shed or under a hedge for a second.”
“What if you don’t have a shed or a hedge near—”
“Then ye get wet.” He shrugged his bony shoulders. “That’s why Da says ye always need to be aware of your surroundings.”
His son had taken the advice to heart. The kid knew every inch of this house and every foot of the estate.
“But this is the kind of rain I hate.” He jumped off his chair, the flash of his skinny, white legs making her smile. Today, he’d chosen a traditional kilt overlaid with a leather jerkin. He’d proudly shown her the tasseled sporran she’d spotted in the glass case on the first day she’d arrived.
“How did you unlock the case?” she’d asked as she eyed what must be a hundred-year-old artifact.
“Oh,” he’d said, with a nonchalant grin, “I picked the lock.”
Someone absolutely needed to take this boy in hand.
“This storm is awful because it doesn’t stop.” Leaning on the one window in her cozy nest, he gloomily surveyed the sheets of rain pouring down. “It’s bound to go on all day. We’ll not be having a picnic today, that’s for sure.”
“We had a wonderful picnic yesterday.” Right after leaving the library and a beaming employer who honestly thought he was going to get his party the way he wanted, she had been accosted by her new friend. Within minutes, she’d been tugged outdoors, a food-filled basket in his hand. How could she complain when the boy had led her to an enchanting hidden glade on the other side of the moor from the mansion?
“Da doesn’t come this way now,” Robbie had said when she questioned whether his father would find them. “He always goes the other way in the afternoon.”
He tracked his father.
Lord help him. And his son.
“But that was yesterday.” The son twisted away from the window, his mouth drawn into a pointed, pained pout. “And today is today.”
“We’ll do something in the house,” she suggested. “We can look at your collections.”
“We’ve already done that.” A rough sigh escaped him.
She racked her brain. True, she hadn’t been with children very much, but she’d once been a child herself. This couldn’t be too hard. “How about hide-and-go-seek?”
His two-toned eyes lit. “That would be brilliant!”
“Do you want to hide?” Her heart warmed. She’d found something to keep this eager child challenged. “Or should I?”
“Me.” He bounced off the window ledge and raced to the door. “Give me ten seconds.”
“Wait, we need to set some rules—”
He was gone before she could say one more word. Like his father, Robbie didn’t appear to want many rules.
Counting to ten, she waited until the shuffle of his shoes on the stairway stopped. The third floor was out, obviously, from the noise of his descent, and since the second floor was off limits, her search would be limited to the first floor. Not that this saved her much time. The first floor offered a vast array of places for a boy to hide.
She spent fifteen minutes going through the great hall with no success. The drawing and dining room yielded no laughing child, and the library held only silence. For a brief moment, she thought about taking some time and looking for the ring in the room, but Robbie was her friend and she couldn’t let him rot wherever he hid.
After another half hour had gone by, she was ready to claim defeat. She’d even forced herself into the awful armory room, with no results.
“Psst.”
A little voice made her glance up.
“A hint.” Robbie’s dark eyes twinkled over the banister. “I’m up here.”
“On the second floor.” Crossing her arms, she frowned at him. “You told me I wasn’t to go there.”
A flash of hesitant concern crossed his face before a grin replaced it. “It’s all right. You’re my friend now.”
“I was your friend when you told me that.”
“Not as good of a friend.” His childish logic seemed to please him because the grin widened. “Give me ten more seconds to hide again, and then come up.”
“Robbie—”
With another flash, he was gone.
This is good, Jennet. Very good.
The second floor. The family quarters. She should be happy about this.
She was not. It felt like a betrayal.
But to whom? Robbie? He’d invited her.
To her employer, then?
She’d come here to take. How could walking up some steps be any greater of a betrayal?
“It isn’t a betrayal at all,” her confident grandfather’s voice whispered in her memory. “It’s reclaiming what’s ours.”
Before she could waffle any longer, she forced herself to climb the stairs.
The layout was grander than the third floor. A wide hallway led down the center, decorated with dusty, elegant, antique tables and large, gold-framed portraits of various aristocrats. None of the faces looking at her had odd-colored eyes, or the feline grace of her employer and his son.
Did Cameron Steward idly pick some random paintings to plaster on his wall?
“Psst.” The hushed noise was followed by a muffled giggle.
Jen crept past several impressive oak doors, following the lingering sound to one particular door. By her calculation, this room should be right below her own. Was this Robbie’s room? She pushed the heavy door open and peaked inside. Complete darkness. Her hands slid along the wall, finally finding the electrical switch.
Yes, this was Robbie’s room.
The evidence was clear. The barrel chest stuffed with costumes. A line of Harry Potter books competed with a mishmash of plastic soldiers and LEGOs. The mirror across from the bed had been decorated with some sort of odd crayon drawing.
What puzzled her was how drab and dank the room was. This was a child that sparkled with life. Yet the drapes were dark and heavy, covering any light from the two windows. The walls were painted a dull blue and the bed had a simple, ugly blanket. No Superman sheets or other colorful cartoon characters that appealed to children.
“Psst.”
She caught the edge of a blue-and-black tartan skirt out of the corner of her eye before it disappeared down the hall. Striding out of the room, she shut off the light and swung the door closed. Her instincts told her to go left, so she followed it.
“Psst.” Another hint slithered from the bottom of the next oak door.
She was close. Jen twisted the doorknob and pushed again.
Another gloomy, cold room. This time, however, when she slid her hand along the wall and flicked on the electric switch, not
hing happened.
“Surprise!” The beam of a torch lit the delighted face of her young friend. “Ye found me.”
“With quite a bit of help.” She eased into the room.
“It’s okay.” His grin widened, looking spooky in the light beaming from below. “Ye would have never found me in here if I hadn’t helped.”
“Where’s here?” She tried to pick out any furniture, but could see little.
“This is my pirate’s cove. My private pirate’s cove.” The torch bobbled from his face, shedding its light on the entryway. “Which reminds me. Ye better close the door.”
“Are you sure?”
“This room needs to be dark and secret. Close the door, please.”
The combination of his strict manners and demanding order made her chuckle. She edged the door closed.
“Good. Thank ye.” Robbie smiled at her, the light back on his face.
“Why doesn’t the electricity work?”
“I turned it off,” the kid said, with a casual nod.
Jen stood still because she didn’t want to trip over any bounty, and she suddenly realized this boy could have created a fire danger. “It’s dangerous to fiddle with electric currents.”
This child needed someone close. All the time.
He shrugged. “I read about it. I knew what I was doing.”
Arguing with the son was as fruitless as arguing with the father. “So you keep it dark in here to hide all the treasures away?”
“Exactly.” The light swept the room, and she realized it was some sort of suite. A door opened at one end of the room and for a moment, she saw a grand canopy bed with extravagantly-carved wood columns. “This used to be my granny’s place.”
His childish voice echoed, giving her the sense the outer room was big and nearly empty. “Where is your granny now?”
“She’s dead.” Robbie spoke the words with a simple, quick flip, as if they meant nothing to him.
Yet she heard what was underneath. “You miss her.”
The light flashed across a sheet-covered sofa, past the outline of a bookshelf before arching back to the open bedroom door. “Let me show ye my pirate treasure.”
He’d avoided any acknowledgment, but she didn’t push. Pushing into pain was never a good idea. Jen followed behind him as he paced into the bedroom and across to an elaborate armoire. “It’s in here.”