As a distraction, Frances chose a slice of bread, delicately smearing it with raspberry jam. ‘H-here you are.’ She held it out to him, well aware that for a man of his size, there wasn’t nearly enough food on the tray. He could have devoured everything by himself.
The laird broke off a piece and ate it. Frances tried not to stare, but as she watched him, she grew transfixed by the sight of his mouth.
Stop it, she warned herself. Right now, she ought to knock her head against the wall if that would bring back common sense. She already knew what would happen if she let a handsome man turn her head. It would only result in heartache.
Locharr reached for another slice of bread and this time broke off a small piece before he buttered it. ‘What would you have chosen as your forfeit, if you’d won the game?’
‘Dancing,’ she confessed. ‘It is a necessary skill that you must learn, whether you want to or not.’
He suppressed a grimace. ‘I ken how to dance. I’ve no need for instruction.’
She wondered if he felt clumsy or awkward. Or worse, if anyone had ever teased him. ‘If you are engaged to Lady Regina, dancing will be expected of you.’
‘I dinna care what they expect.’
‘No, but it will make it easier on her if you behave as other gentlemen do.’ Frances took a sip of the tea she didn’t want and studied him, her mood softening. ‘In time, she may even fall in love with you.’
‘Love isna necessary,’ he pointed out.
‘No, but it will convince her to marry you. If a woman loves a man, she is glad to follow him anywhere.’ Once, she had been willing to do just that. A bitter pain caught her heart, and she locked it away.
The expression on his face was knowing, but he didn’t ask. She had come to Scotland to forget the past, and there was no sense in talking over matters that were over and done with. The price had been paid ten times over for her folly, and she found it easier to bury the devastating memories.
‘Did you ever love someone?’ he asked quietly.
The air in the room seemed to grow stifling, and she felt a tightness expand in her chest. Yes, she had loved someone, more than life itself. Emotion gathered up inside her, threatening to spill into tears. But she held it back and answered, ‘A long time ago I did. But it’s over now.’ She had no desire to even think of the past, much less converse about it. Instead, she rang for Alban to take the tray away.
‘Locharr, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take a walk around the grounds. By myself, that is.’
‘Are you wanting an escort?’
‘No, I will remain in the gardens for a time, that’s all. I don’t think any of your servants will harm me, and I will be visible from the windows, should I need help.’ She had met his staff and thus far, she felt quite safe.
‘I must caution you about London, though. Do not ever be alone with a young lady at a gathering without a suitable chaperon,’ she warned. ‘You would be forced to wed her.’ He might know that already, but she felt compelled to warn him.
‘And what of Lady Regina?’ he suggested. ‘Is that no’ the point? Her father wishes us to marry.’
‘True, but she would be ruined in the sight of her friends and would resent you for it.’ Frances knew from personal experience, exactly what that was like. Even now, years later, it still stung to realise that her friends had turned their backs on her. Which meant they had never truly been her friends.
She stood as Alban entered the study. The footman cleared away the tray, and the laird waited until the man had gone before he spoke.
‘You may go, Miss Goodson.’ He escorted her from the study and closed the door behind them. Frances was quite happy to leave the papers behind. ‘Thank you for your help this afternoon.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She added, ‘And…if I am being overbearing, please forgive me. I mean only to help you win the heart of Lady Regina.’
The laird accompanied her as they walked down the hallway. ‘Good day, Miss Goodson. Be sure to pack your belongings. The coach will be here in the morning.’
Not likely, if Alban managed to delay it.
But she shrugged as if it were inevitable. ‘There are still some etiquette rules we can discuss tonight at supper.’
‘Because if I don’t use the right fork, Lady Regina willna marry me, is that it?’ His dry sarcasm and roguish expression made her knees turn liquid. It made her imagine his handsome face leaning in closer to steal a kiss.
Have you no shame? she warned herself. Your imagination has gone wanton.
‘Or the proper spoon,’ she shot back with her own insolence. ‘One never knows the importance of cutlery.’
She flushed at his nearness, realising that it was her loneliness that caused the idle dreams. She had trained at the agency for a year, surrounded only by women. She had lived alone, without so much as a cat for company. This was the reason why she was so sensitive to a casual touch. It would go away, she was certain.
‘Would you mind very much if I asked Alban for a basket and shears?’ she enquired. ‘Could I choose some flowers for the house?’ A good walk would clear her head and remind her of her purpose.
‘There’s naught blooming just now, but you can ask him, if you wish.’
‘Thank you, Locharr.’ She bobbed a slight curtsy and then hurried down the hall towards the retreating footman. It was only an excuse to leave, and they both knew it.
She needed to be careful when she was around Lachlan MacKinloch. He was a handsome man with a fierce smile that made her willpower crumble. Frances reminded herself that she needed to encase her heart in steel and lock it away, along with her wayward desires. He belonged to another woman, and even if he did keep her as his governess, it was only temporary. Eventually, she would never see him again.
Frances returned to the house with an empty basket, for the laird had been right. The only blooming flowers were a few brave crocuses pushing through the ground, and daffodil shoots that had emerged. She hadn’t minded the brisk walk, despite the misting rain. It had been wonderful to stroll through the gardens, exploring the beds. She had no doubt that the landscape would be a magnificent rainbow of colours, come the spring.
You won’t be here to see it, a voice reminded her. The thought dimmed her mood, for she adored this castle. She knew that she was treading on dangerous ground already. The laird was a good man, though stubborn. And heavens, he was attractive. When he had drawn so close to her, she had imagined kissing him, pressing her hands against his broad shoulders. The very thought sent a tremor of forbidden desire within her.
Frances shoved it back and locked it away. She could not let herself imagine something that would never be. But she would enjoy every moment of whatever time she had left, even if it was only today. For the next few hours, she could pretend that this was a new life, a new beginning. The grief of the past would fade away, and she would forget it in time.
When she reached the stairs, she saw the footman, Alban, struggling. His leg appeared to be troubling him, and he lifted it to the stair tread before stepping with his other foot.
‘Are you all right, Alban?’ she asked quietly. ‘Is your leg bothering you?’
He reddened, as if he didn’t want to answer. ‘It’s