Chapter 2
“Only a few more days,” Mrs. Lickfold—Helena announced with satisfaction as they settled into their next compartment. “We have made good time.”
Hunter was having trouble feeling quite so chipper as he stowed first his small suitcase, then her valise, on the shelf above their seats. Mister passed him her bag as well with a grateful nod and he returned her gesture as he slid it up there as well.
Well, the last few days had proved…interesting.
For starters, he’d expected to feel a sort of camaraderie with Amy Stake Mister, Helena’s maid.
But it turned out the woman had been her friend since childhood, and never did anything as crass as stifle a sigh at her mistress’s demands, or roll her eyes behind the woman’s back, or share a put-upon look with another servant.
Nay, instead the maid would boldly call Helena out on her actions, and more often than not, Helena would reconsider.
A most interesting dynamic.
But not quite as interesting as what Hunter was learning about—and from—Helena herself.
When he’d agreed to this mission, he’d expected it to be a simple hirer-hired situation where he did what she required.
But the fact that he was masquerading as her husband gave him an advantage.
In public, at least, he was expected to take control—to lead her.
It felt unnatural, given how he knew she was used to being in command.
But then that made sense, considering how long it had been since she’d seen her husband. How much she had accomplished with only his advice.
Amy settled in her habitual spot on the forward-facing bench nearest the door and pulled out her knitting. Mrs. Lickfold—Helena, Hunter reminded himself, eagerly took the spot beside the window, peering at the view, which admittedly was only the Sterling train yard.
“I am done with changing trains,” she announced with a satisfied sigh, bouncing a little in her seat. “The next time we debark will be for the hired carriage. Then it is only a day’s travel to the ferry.”
“Only? And then a day on a boat,” Hunter finished as he sank down to the seat opposite her with a sigh. “I had no idea Islay was so bloody far away.”
“Well yes, it is.” Her gaze didn’t leave the window as she took in the accelerating sights. “But that is part of its charm. There, we cannot be bothered with silly things like propriety or social standing. We just get things accomplished, and are proud of it.”
Hmmm.
It wasn’t the first time this pretend wife of his had made a comment that hinted she wasn’t quite as proper and prim as she’d given him to believe in London.
Aye, her wardrobe continued to be stark and buttoned up, and he couldn’t stop wondering what she’d look like in pink satin, but…
well, he was beginning to think their arrival on Islay could turn her into a different woman altogether.
And he wasn’t sure what he thought about that.
Because, despite their differences, despite the chasm between them as employer-boss…hirer-hired? Master-mistress? Whatever they were, he liked Helena Lickfold. He liked her boldness, liked her iron control, liked teasing her, liked seeing the way her cheeks darkened just slightly when she flushed.
And maybe he liked daydreaming about what her shoulders would look like in that pink satin ballgown…
She’s yer employer.
Well, actually, she was employing him to be her husband. Surely he was allowed to daydream about his wife in a ballgown?
Yer pretend wife, ye dobber.
Shaking his head at his peerless stupidity, Hunter leaned forward to scoop Wulf off her lap. “Hello, young Beowulf. Did you miss me?”
Considering the excited convulsions the animal went into, trying to lick both Hunter’s face and his own backside, aye.
With his hands under the dog’s front legs, Hunter lifted the thing up to nose height. “If ye piss on me, ye wee mangey toad, fair warning—I’ll toss ye out the window.”
The dog, of course, merely barked in excitement and tried to eat his chin.
Hiding his smile behind a long-suffering sigh, Hunter shifted so his knees faced the window, allowing Wulf to plant his front paws on the glass and watch the passing landscape.
He caught Helena studying him. “What?”
“I think you do like my Wulfie.”
“What? This flea-ridden rat sitting on my lap?”
Her lips thinned, but he couldn’t tell if it was annoyance or amusement. “He does not have fleas. Nor is he a rat. But he is on your lap.”
“Och, nay.” Hunter scratched the thin fur behind the animal’s back leg. “He’s a bag of rats, tied together with sinew and rawhide.”
From her corner, Mister snorted. Helena twisted to stare out the window.
She didn’t know that he could see the reflection of her smile.
“Ye ken, Wolfram, that my sister is a veterinarian? This train is going in the wrong direction for Fort William, otherwise I’d have ye meet her.”
He cupped the dog’s apple-shaped head from the rear and slid his fingers under the floppy ears, lifting them up. Making an interested “Mrrr?” sound, he cocked the dog’s head to the side, as if the animal was asking him a question.
“Och, aye! She’d give ye a flea-soak then something for yer scabies, and ye wouldnae have to worry—”
The noise Helena made was somewhere between a laugh and a curse, but she lunged forward, scooped the dog off his lap, and snatched him back. “Wulfie does not have scabies.”
Grinning, Hunter stretched his legs out, his booted feet brushing up against her gown. “Och, ye’re certain? Rabid voles often—”
“Clearly you are no veterinarian, sir,” Helena announced with a haughty sniff. Still, his fake wife peeked up at him from under her lashes as she petted her dog. “Your sister…you mentioned her before. When I spoke of the difficulties of being a woman in business.”
Well, Gabby was one of his favorite topics of conversation, so why not? Hunter stacked his hands behind his head, shifted his chin as if he was watching the landscape…but kept his gaze flicking to her surreptitiously as he told their story.
“Gabs and I are twins—she’s ten minutes older, and kept all the brains of the outfit.
She says I got the brawn and the heart though, so that’s something.
She’s always loved animals. Our parents werenae married, and neither wanted anything to do with us, so our uncle raised us, and he made certain she got the best education and training available. ”
Helena was outright studying him now. “And she became a veterinarian?”
He shrugged. “She’s no’ allowed to claim the title, because she’s a female. On our last mission, where she was sent to investigate her now-husband, I had to pretend to ken about animal care while she fed me the lines. Similar to what ye’re planning on doing at the distillery, I assume.”
She’d paused in her petting and Wulfie wriggled in her lap to remind her to continue. Helena hummed, making no effort to hide her interest in the story. “Perhaps that is why your uncle recommended you for the role.”
“Och, no’ because I’m the strongest of his agents?” Hunter pulled his hands down and cracked his knuckles. “The most handsome?”
“Takes direction well, I think was what the advertisement said.” She was studying his hands—his scarred knuckles—but now glanced back up.
“I will admit that when I began my surreptitious research into where I could hire a man such as you, I had not considered a detective agency. But a friend of a friend recommended your uncle, who apparently knows everyone, and I appreciated that London was so far from Islay.”
Days away, even in this modern era.
Hunter shrugged again. “The Bull Lindsay Detective Group takes all sorts of cases. Bull’s got a patron with high-level clearance and sometimes we take missions of national security.
Sometimes a wealthy benefactor hires us to solve a case the police willnae take…
and sometimes it’s something simpler, like a lady needing a husband to win a whisky competition.
” He smiled when he said the last, and earnestly too so she wouldn’t think he was trivializing her goal. “I do enjoy whisky, ye ken.”
This time her huff sounded a bit more like a laugh, and despite the fact she ducked her chin, he thought he could see a smile tugging her lips.
The last few days hadn’t just brought exhausting country-long travel, but long hours of staring at one another across the train compartment.
He’d finally learned to play whist—she’d beaten him four out of five times—and had eaten more apples than he’d ever thought was possible, and he’d asked her everything he could think of about the Bruadarach Distillery and the upcoming Best of Islay competition.
He had to be prepared, Hunter told himself firmly. He wasn’t absolutely fascinated by this woman with dark cheeks and a sparkling mind.
Seeing the way her face lit with pride and excitement as she spoke of her distillery and her men was humbling. Even the name—Bruadarach meant dreamer—was a reflection of how hard she’d worked to build the place into the success it clearly was.
Hunter felt lucky as hell to learn from such a brilliant woman.
Although he still wasn’t confident in his ability to talk about the finer points of grain, distilling, and germination, he thought he might be able to bullshite his way through a conversation with a competitor.
He’d done worse, after all.
“Soon, after we win the Best of Islay competition, Bruadarach whisky will become known throughout the Highlands.” Her quiet words were almost a vow, rather than a boast. “My land, my peat, my barley, my men…we are the best. I just wish…”
When she trailed off in a sigh, Hunter leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “What do ye wish, Helena?”
She swallowed, her throat a delicious-looking delicacy wrapped in lace. “I wish I could be enough for the distillery. That I did not require to be the vessel of a husband’s instructions to be taken seriously.”