Scotsman of My Dreams Page 24

  “Thank you, Charlotte,” Minerva managed to say, although she didn’t believe a word of it.

  This was the first she’d heard of Charlotte’s mother being ill. She sent her best wishes to the woman and watched as the maid left her sitting room.

  Nora had refused to accompany her to Scotland as well. The reason was her fear of trains, of all things, which came about suddenly.

  Betty had claimed she was afflicted with a sickness of the bowels, explaining every symptom in such graphic detail that she’d waved her hand in front of her to stop the girl.

  Each one of the maids who had gone to Scotland with her in previous expeditions was refusing to accompany her now.

  Fine, she would simply go by herself, although traveling with only Hugh as her companion wasn’t the wisest choice she could make, especially after their confrontation this morning.

  When she informed him she wanted to go to Scotland, he only nodded, his face bland.

  “Are you angry with me for some reason?”

  “On no account, Miss Todd. It’s not my carriage. If you want to take it somewhere or allow someone else to drive it, it’s not my say.”

  She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Michael told you.”

  He gave her a sideways look.

  “Michael didn’t have to tell me, Miss Todd. The carriage hadn’t been put up the way I do it.”

  “You mustn’t blame him, Hugh, or punish him in any way. What he did was at my direction.”

  “Yes, Miss Todd.”

  “Are you going to be like this all the way to Scotland?”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Miss Todd.”

  “Oh, bother, Hugh. You know very well what I mean. If you’re angry with me, go ahead and say it now and let’s get it out in the open. Otherwise, stop calling me ‘Miss Todd’ in that tone of voice.”

  “Why did you go to him?”

  She almost stomped her foot in frustration. She’d made a terrible mistake by having a relationship with Hugh. He hadn’t understood why it had to end, and now he wanted to bring the past into the present.

  “I really don’t have to explain, Hugh,” she said.

  “You wear on a man, Minerva. You settle in like a hook and hang there.”

  “Is that how you feel?” she asked, startled by his description.

  “I’d be your lover still, if you’d allow it.”

  How did she tell Hugh that she’d never felt for him what she felt for Dalton, damn the man?

  “It’s better if we don’t discuss it,” she said.

  “I know what’s happening between you and your earl. I can’t blame you for aiming higher.”

  “Aiming higher? The man drives me insane.”

  “But you can’t forget him. He’s your flame, just like you’re mine. Moths, Minerva. We’re all moths.”

  He turned and left the bay, leaving her standing there staring after him.

  She was going to have to make the decision about Hugh. Perhaps it would be wiser to simply release him to go and find another position.

  Was she going to be endlessly bedeviled by her mistakes? First Hugh, and now Dalton. What had she done? Stupid, stupid woman, she’d gotten herself enmeshed with a man who interested her too much.

  He crooked his little finger and she sprang to his side like a trained dog. Even her seduction of him hadn’t been hers after all. She had walked into his net and been trapped.

  She was starting to feel entirely too much for the Earl of Rathsmere. She would not be just one more of his conquests. Poor plain Minerva Todd, drawn to the spider’s web like a drunken fly. Or a moth, like Hugh said.

  She remembered every moment of that night. When dawn broke over the eastern sky, she didn’t want to leave, but she had, donning her clothes amidst laughter and kisses.

  He’d walked her to the garden gate in his dressing gown. The Earl of Rathsmere stood there nearly naked to ensure she got to her carriage without incident.

  She watched him until a sleepy Michael had pulled away and driven her home. The hour was still early enough that she crept to her bed without any of the servants seeing her.

  Only to be unable to sleep, thinking of him.

  No, she was not going to be imprisoned by emotions. She was not going to become one of those foolish women who couldn’t do anything except pine for their beloved.

  She had work that interested her, a sponsor she admired, and several hundred miles to put between her and Dalton MacIain.

  She was going to Scotland.

  After sending a telegram to Lady Terry that she was on her way, she packed her trunk with all her equipment and cooking utensils. She had Cook load the carriage with another trunk of foodstuffs that would last a few weeks, jars of pickled things and dried meat. Her aprons were next, each full-­length and equipped with pockets for pencils, notebooks, measuring devices, and small glass jars.

  Hugh would load the heavier tools into another trunk, everything from small shovels and picks to brushes for removing the dirt from more delicate objects. It might have made more sense to take a carriage to Scotland, but the journey would have lasted days. Instead, they would take a train to Glasgow and hire a carriage there.

  The preparations for the trip to Scotland calmed her mind and eased her emotions. She couldn’t go back to work for Dalton. She couldn’t sit across the desk from him and study his face day after day, acting like a lovesick woman. She couldn’t sit next to him in the wing chair and not reach over and touch him. Just her fingertips on the top of his hand, or her palm on his sleeve. She would want to graze her knuckles across his cheek in the afternoon, feeling the growth of his beard. Or bend to kiss his eye patch, as if doing so might grant him the gift of sight.

  What would she do if he wanted to touch her in turn? Could she push away his hand if he cupped her face? What would she do if he whispered to her, “Join me in my room, Minerva”?

  What would she do if he kissed her again as they sat alone in the library?

  No, she was much better off going to Scotland. Out of sight, out of mind, wasn’t that the saying? All she had to do was occupy herself with her work and visit with Lady Terry.

  Dalton MacIain would no longer be at the forefront of her thoughts. Nor would she continue to chastise herself. She would excuse her actions in the spirit of curiosity. She had wanted to know what it would be like to bed the Rake of London.

  Wonderful. Glorious. Divine. Unbelievable.

  Now that she knew, she would endeavor, somehow, to forget the episode.

  She would have left for Scotland without another thought had not Mrs. Beauchamp waylaid her.

  “Miss Todd,” the housekeeper said, “I hope you realize that I know my place. I’ve never said much when you wear your trousers skirt or fiddle with things from a grave all day long.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Beauchamp?” she asked, pulling on her gloves.

  “But I feel I have to tell you that I think you’re making a mistake, going to Scotland with only Hugh as company.”

  “I’ll be fine, Mrs. Beauchamp.”

  “It’s not that he’d do anything, Miss Todd. I’ve faith enough in Hugh, but it’s what other ­people would say. It’s not done, Miss Todd, you being a single lady and all.”

  “I’m not exactly a maiden in the schoolroom, Mrs. Beauchamp.”

  “No, Miss Todd, but you’re not a widow, either. You’ve never gone to Scotland without a maid or two with you.”

  “None of them wish to accompany me, Mrs. Beauchamp, and I can’t force them.”

  “Well, for them, it’s sleeping in a tent, Miss Todd, with no accommodations and the like. It’s always raining and they’re always wet.”

  “I didn’t know that’s how they felt,” she said.

  “Nor should you. They didn’t tell you, Miss Minerva, but they did share
their feelings with me.”

  She’d taken pleasure in her expeditions, while it was now quite obvious that her servants hadn’t.

  “Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Beauchamp, but I’ll stay with Lady Terry on this trip. That should silence the gossips.”

  Mrs. Beauchamp didn’t look mollified.

  “What am I to do,” she asked, “if no one wishes to accompany me?”

  “Don’t go, Miss Minerva.”

  She stared at her housekeeper, wishing she could make the woman understand. She had to leave, as quickly as possible, before she did something even more foolish.

  “AND WHY on earth do you think I want to employ you?” Lewis asked.

  Stanley Howington didn’t rise when Lewis MacIain entered the parlor. Or what should have been the parlor had it been cleaned. Newspapers were scattered on several surfaces along with a selection of dirty dishes.

  “Don’t you employ a maid?” he asked.

  “I don’t have the funds to employ anyone,” Lewis said. “There’s a caretaker of sorts for the house, but he doesn’t do anything but mumble when he sees me.”

  He didn’t enter the room fully, but leaned against the door frame, folding his arms. “If I did have the money, I certainly wouldn’t be hiring a secretary. Why ever for?”

  “Because I provided you with information,” Howington said. “That deserves some loyalty, does it not? Not to mention the funds I advanced you when Dalton was in America.”

  Lewis didn’t say anything for a moment, merely regarded him with an impassive expression.

  Howington had seen that look many times before from Dalton. The man had no idea of all of the ser­vices he performed since he’d been hired. He was the one who ensured the servants and the tradesmen were paid and looked over Mrs. Thompson’s expenditures. He’d kept the man supplied in liquor.

  What did he get for his loyalty? To be treated with disdain when Dalton noticed him. More often than not, the man barely knew he was there. Everything had changed after America. The earl’s disdain had transformed into ridicule and active dislike.

  At first he thought that Dalton must know what he’d done. But there was no way he could have. No, the man’s antipathy rose from another reason entirely, one that was a mystery. The new Earl of Rathsmere had developed an intense dislike to him, and Stanley had known his days were numbered.

  But to be pushed out because of a woman? Especially a woman like Minerva Todd? No, he wasn’t going to accept that insult.

  Howington’s face felt stiff when he attempted to smile. If he had any other recourse, he would turn his back on the MacIains and have nothing to do with them. But his pride had gotten the better of him. By walking away from the Earl of Rathsmere, he’d effectively damaged his chances of being employed by another peer. Without a letter of introduction, without references, he might as well be one of the walking poor of London.

  “Very well,” he said, his voice composed. “Perhaps I should throw myself on your brother’s mercy. Tell him what I did and beg his forgiveness.”

  “Go ahead,” Lewis said. “It’s your word against mine.”

  “Not entirely,” Howington said. “I keep very good records, Lewis. I never throw anything away. I have a copy of the letter I sent you. The one recommending William Harris to do your bidding.”

  If he hadn’t been studying Lewis so carefully, he might not have seen the subtle change of expression. The man was in a bind and knew it.

  “You can begin by cleaning up this room,” Lewis said, stepping away from the door. “And your next task will be to figure out how I get some money.”

  “Without killing your brother this time?” Stanley asked, smiling.

  Chapter 28

  Minerva was late. She was late when she’d always been punctual, arriving at nine. Perhaps he needed to finalize their employment agreement. She would always appear when he expected her. In return, he would pay her double what he’d paid Howington.

  Would she agree to come to his house on a Saturday or Sunday? The past two days had been miserable without her. Could he convince her?

  How on earth was he to work with her all day and not kiss her? Or clasp her hand in his, just to feel her touch?

  “I hate like hell to make that smile disappear,” James said.

  Dalton turned toward the door, just able to make out the shape standing there. But it was more than he’d been able to see a few weeks ago.

  He motioned toward one of the chairs in front of his desk.

  “Then don’t,” he said to his old friend. “I take it you’ve interviewed Alice.”

  “I have.”

  He turned his head, staring at the window, startled at the brightness that greeted him. He blinked and turned away.

  “What kind of day is it?”

  “It looks to rain,” James said. “But I haven’t come here to discuss the weather. We have to talk about Arthur’s death.”

  He knew that. He’d known from the moment James entered the room. But he was stalling for time, hoping against hope that James had brought him some other news than what he expected. How did he cope with the realization that Lewis was motivated by greed? That he’d allowed it to drive him to murder? How did he accept the fact that Lewis killed Arthur?

  “Alice is a lovely woman,” James said.

  “I haven’t seen her since I returned to London,” Dalton said. “She’s made no effort to get in touch with me.”

  “You’ve been such a recluse, do you blame her?”

  “Yes,” he said. “She was Arthur’s wife, but she married someone only months after his death. I doubt it was my reclusiveness that prevented her from seeing me. No doubt it was embarrassment.”

  “If it makes any difference,” James said, “she seems very happy. Her husband was present during our interview. He’s very protective of her. They held hands the whole time.”

  Why was he so irritated on Arthur’s behalf? Had he forgotten about Sarah? The very woman who had led him to question Arthur’s death?

  “What did Alice say?”

  “Lewis and Arthur had a fight the night before. About money, she said. To quote her, ‘It was always about money with Lewis.’ ”

  He nodded, unsurprised.

  “She saw him coming into the house about two o’clock. She got word of the accident a few minutes later.”

  The feeling in his stomach was reminiscent of those months in America, when he’d been so hungry that he’d eaten something suspicious, only for it to make him ill.

  “Even suspecting what we do,” James was saying, “there isn’t enough proof to go to the authorities. No one actually saw Lewis shoot Arthur.”

  “Then what the hell do we do? Forget it? Pretend it didn’t happen? Let him get away with it?”

  “There’s one way,” James said, “but it means making you a target.”

  “How?”

  “We flush him out,” James said. “We give him news that inspires him to act quickly, hopefully carelessly.”

  “I have no objection to being a target, James, but what news are you considering?”

  “What’s the one thing Lewis wouldn’t want to happen, the one thing he wouldn’t want you to do?”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “If Lewis was behind Arthur’s death, and also at the root of what happened to you in America, then he wants the earldom.”

  “And the fortune that goes along with it,” Dalton said. “He’s already gone through his inheritance.” Before James could say anything further, he understood. “My marriage. He wouldn’t want me to marry and father children.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I doubt he would believe I’m getting married, James. I’ve been a recluse.”

  “Not with Miss Todd.”

  His ears felt hot.

  Had Hinnity rep
orted Minerva’s arrival the other night? James probably knew the exact moment Minerva entered his home and how long she remained.

  “I don’t mind being a target, James,” he said. “But not Minerva.”

  “I can assure you, Dalton, that she won’t be in any danger. I’ll put my best operative on guarding her.”

  His mind didn’t shy away from marrying Minerva. The bell that would’ve otherwise clanged at the idea was somehow silent.

  “Would Miss Todd agree to the deception?”

  “Is there any reason she should know?” Dalton asked. “I could communicate the news to Lewis in a note.”

  “It would be better if he read the announcement in the newspaper.”

  “Then I’d better inform Minerva we’re engaged.”

  If the engagement were publicized, he would have to make sure that the world knew she broke it off, so she wasn’t affected by the ruse. If anything, society would understand. Poor girl, trapped in marriage to the monster.

  Damn it, he wasn’t an ogre. At least she’d never considered him one.

  Ten minutes after James left, their plan agreed upon, Mrs. Thompson appeared at the door.

  “Sir, the post has come,” she said.

  Normally, the mail was Howington’s duty. At least he was spared the man’s slinking into the room.

  “The letter from your cousin is here.”

  “So soon?” Glynis must have mailed it before telegraphing him.

  “Would you like me to read it?”

  No. The answer was instantaneous. He didn’t want to hear another bit of bad news, this about Minerva’s brother.

  “Yes, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Thompson.”

  She settled into the chair in front of him, opened the letter and began to read.

  The news was as bad as he feared.

  Minerva needed to know, but he dreaded telling her. How could he bring her pain?

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” Daniels said.

  Every single member of his household knew to announce himself except for that fool, Howington. Once again he was grateful he wouldn’t have to deal with the man again.

  If Daniels was here, then where was Minerva?