Chapter 16 #2
Discreet, was he? Yes, he’d have to be, considering what had happened between them at Brodie’s cottage. Not that it mattered to her. It didn’t, but one would think a gentleman who was, er … well, whatever Callum was to Lorna Niven, would refrain from kissing another lady.
But perhaps Callum wasn’t a gentleman at all.
Yet for all the ugliness rushing through her, she had no reason to suspect him of anything underhanded. Not really. That is, it was plain to see he knew Lorna Niven very well. A lady didn’t tease a gentleman as Lorna teased him otherwise.
But that didn’t mean there was a tendre between them.
She glanced at him, then looked quickly away, a pinch in her chest. This morning’s scowl was nowhere in evidence now, and to add insult to injury, he was unfairly handsome today.
The exercise and fresh air had whipped bright color into his cheeks, and his silky dark hair was charmingly disheveled, drat him.
Those who had something to hide had every reason in the world to be discreet. But had Callum really hidden anything from her?
Perhaps the better question was, had he revealed anything to her? Because now she thought of it, he’d told her surprisingly little about himself, and nothing at all about his life at Balnagown Castle.
He’d certainly never mentioned Lorna Niven’s name, not in the entire four days they’d been alone at Brodie’s cottage. They’d had nothing but time on their hands, yet he hadn’t breathed a single word about her.
It was a telling omission.
She’d asked for the wrong secrets during the card game, it seemed.
But he hadn’t just kept Lorna Niven’s existence from her.
He hadn’t said a word about his mother being here at Balnagown, either.
It could be that he was innocent of any wrongdoing.
This was all pure speculation on her part, and that while the green goblin of jealousy was coloring her every thought.
But if he wasn’t innocent, well … there was nothing handsome about a liar, and all the silky dark hair tossed in artful waves around his face didn’t change that.
Either way, she felt like an utter fool, mooning over that kiss as she had. Had he been laughing at her while she was going on about how she was no longer afraid of him, and how grateful she was he’d been the one who’d found her hiding under her father’s desk?
Just the thought of his amusement made her cringe. The truth was, she hardly knew Callum, and it might be better if she never did.
Balnagown was a large castle. Perhaps she’d do well to keep her distance from him.
“… promised to take Miss MacLeod to see the red corridor,” Mr. Corbett was saying. “This brave lady has expressed a wish to visit Black Andrew’s haunting grounds.”
“Are you quite certain you wish to do that, Miss MacLeod?” Miss Niven asked. “I’ve heard he’s a shocking sight. I’ve never seen him, but I recall a guest of my father’s leaving the castle in the middle of the night after hearing Black Andrew’s ghostly footsteps. He was quite shaken.”
“Miss MacLeod claims to have no fear of ghosts. She insists she doesn’t find them in the least shocking.” Mr. Corbett smiled down at her. “We’ll see if she’s telling us the truth soon enough.”
“I assure you I am, Mr. Corbett. I never lie.” She couldn’t resist a glance at Callum then. He was watching her, his face so expressionless she might have believed he was utterly unaffected by this conversation if it hadn’t been for his eyes.
Something was swirling in those pale gray depths, something turbulent.
“As for ghosts, I don’t find them shocking. I’ve always found living people to be a great deal more so.” She raised her chin and looked pointedly away from Callum. “Shall we, Mr. Corbett?”
“Yes, indeed.” He drew her arm more securely through his and gave her a roguish grin. “Never fear, Miss MacLeod. If Black Andrew should appear, I’ll defend you with my life.”
Lorna laughed. “Bravo, Mr. Corbett.”
“See to it your heroics don’t interfere with your duties, Corbett.” Callum bit off each word through gritted teeth. “We’ve those letters to see to later this afternoon.”
Both Lorna and Mr. Corbett glanced at him, clearly surprised, but after an awkward instant of silence, Mr. Corbett nodded. “Of course.”
Callum said nothing more. But then he was good at that, wasn’t he?
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Niven.” She inclined her head to Lorna, but she took no leave at all of Callum and marched off on Mr. Corbett’s arm without sparing him a single glance.
It would be just as well if they didn’t run into Black Andrew in the red corridor.
In her current mood, she’d frighten the life out of him.
He wasn’t going to go chasing after Freya MacLeod. Damn it, he wasn’t.
Corbett appeared content enough to act as her escort, and Freya couldn’t have been more pleased to have him, with the way she’d strolled off on the man’s arm without so much as a backward glance.
Which was just as it should be, of course. Wonderful, even. It wasn’t as if he’d wanted to play chaperone for her today. God knew he was relieved to have the chit out of his way.
If she was clinging to Corbett’s arm with a bit more enthusiasm than was strictly appropriate, then so be it. And if that absurdly bright smile she’d just bestowed upon him would only encourage the man’s flirtatious tendencies, it wasn’t his place to say so.
It was nothing to do with him.
Except he had promised Hamish he’d keep an eye on her. Hamish was sure to disapprove of Freya wandering off alone with a notorious flirt, and neither was Hamish likely to excuse that inviting smile she’d given Corbett, or the flutter of her eyelashes as she gazed up at him.
Hamish wouldn’t like any of this. In fact, Hamish would have been furious over that entire encounter. Utterly, blindly furious.
Hamish, that is.
As Hamish’s surrogate in all things related to Freya MacLeod, it was incumbent upon him to see to it she didn’t get herself into any difficulties with her careless behavior.
Well then, there was only one thing to do, wasn’t there?
Chase Freya MacLeod.
He took the stairs two at a time and reached the guest wing on the third floor just when she was about to enter her bedchamber. “Wait, Miss MacLeod. A moment, if you please.”
She turned, her eyebrows aloft. “Yes? How may I help you, Mr. Ross?”
Good God, but her voice was as cold at Balnagown River in the middle of February, and her eyes were as flinty as a pair of jade stones.
There would be no inviting smiles for him, then. “Just a word of caution, Miss MacLeod, to take care how you behave with Gordon Corbett. He’s likely to take all your charming pleasantries as encouragement.”
“I beg your pardon.” Her eyebrows ticked up another notch until they disappeared into her hairline. “My behavior toward Mr. Corbett was in no way inappropriate.”
Her voice had cooled to arctic levels, and her lips had gone so tight she might have spat a diamond through her teeth. If he’d had his wits about him he might have seen those eyebrows as the warning they were and taken steps to avoid an impending fit of feminine outrage.
But he was well past that.
His wits had deserted him in almost the same instant he’d first laid eyes on Freya MacLeod, and God knew they were nowhere to be found now. “Indeed, it was, and I think you know it. You were purposely flirting with him.”
“Flirting? Why, how dare you? You’re mad. I was doing no such thing, although if I was flirting with him, I don’t see how it’s any concern of yours.”
“Of course it is. Hamish has charged me with keeping an eye on you, if you recall, and I don’t think he’d approve of the blatant display I just witnessed.”
She gaped at him for a moment, her mouth open, but then her chin shot up. “Blatant display! I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Ross, but I warn you to watch what you say, or you’ll find yourself on the receiving end of a blatant display you won’t soon forget.”
“There’s no use denying it, Miss MacLeod.” He leaned his hip against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. “I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Why, of all the arrogant, high-handed nonsense! I don’t know what you think you saw, Mr. Ross, but I can assure you, it wasn’t flirting!”
She stamped her foot, her green eyes glittering with fury, and some distant part of him vaguely recognized he had no right to speak to her in such a way, but that feeble voice of caution was no match for the rest of him.
When, after all, had logic ever won a battle against seething, raging jealousy?
Never. Not once, in all of history.
“No?” He took a step toward her, until he was so close the tips of his riding boots brushed her skirts, and her back was against the door. “I see. Then you simper and flutter your eyelashes at every gentleman?”
“Simper!” Two bright spots of color appeared in her cheeks. “I … you … for pity’s sake, Mr. Ross, you’ve quite lost your mind! I’ve never simpered in my life!”
She looked a great deal like her sister Sorcha when she was in a temper. So much so that it was a bit worrying, but he’d gone too far now. Any thread of control he’d had had snapped at the sight of Freya’s dainty fingers curled around the sleeve of Corbett’s coat.
Anyway, she didn’t have a dirk to hand, so his limbs were safe.
But his mind was another matter. He was losing it, bit by bit.
Or else he’d already lost it, just as she’d said, because he was opening his mouth again, and words he’d much better have kept to himself were tumbling out. “For God’s sake, Freya! Do you think I didn’t notice that Corbett was looking at you like you were a sweetmeat on a silver tray?”
“If he was, it’s nothing to do with me! For your information, Mr. Ross, I don’t flirt with gentlemen I’ve only just met.”
He braced his arm on the door above her head and leaned closer, and the scent of fresh air and the hint of black tea that clung to her tickled his nose. “But you kiss them, don’t you, Freya?”
Good Lord. He’d done it now, hadn’t he? If there was ever a wrong thing to say to a lady, that was it, but how could he regret the deepening flush in her cheeks, the dark green flash of fury in those eyes?
She was glorious. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.
“I didn’t kiss you, Mr. Ross. If you recall, you kissed me.”
“So I did.” He leaned closer and lowered his head until his lips were a breath away from her ear.
“But you kissed me back, didn’t you, Freya?
Not chaste kisses, either, but deep, wet, dizzying kisses.
What would you say if I told you I’d dreamed about those kisses over and over again since that night under the willow tree? ”
She stared up at him, her chest jerking with each of her short, shallow breaths. “I’d tell you not to worry over it, as I’m sure you’ll forget them soon enough. I’m not the first lady you’ve kissed, Mr. Ross, and neither am I fool enough to believe I’ll be the last.”
“You seem certain of that.” Far more so than he was.
Freya wasn’t the first lady he’d kissed, no, but every other kiss paled in comparison to the one he’d shared under the willow with her, just as every other lady paled in comparison to her.
Not one of them had ever haunted his dreams as she did.
“I am certain. Do you deny it’s the truth, Mr. Ross?”
He shouldn’t deny it. He didn’t have any promises to offer Freya MacLeod. Yet the words he should have said, the words that might have released her from this strange spell that held them together, wouldn’t come.
Instead, he touched his fingertips to her chin, raised her face to his, and told her the truth. “I hardly know anymore, Freya.”
For an instant their eyes held. Her smooth, pale throat moved in a swallow, and it was all he could do not to rest his palm against that delicate column so he might feel the movement, trace her fluttering pulse with his fingertips.
But she didn’t give him a chance. She jerked her chin away from his hand and turned toward her bedchamber door, reaching for the doorknob. “I don’t wish to discuss this with you any longer, Mr. Ross.”
He caught her wrist in a gentle grip before she could turn the knob, and for an instant—only an instant—he pressed his face against the back of her neck and allowed himself a moment to breathe in the scent of her hair.
Sunshine, fresh winter air, and Freya.
It was only a moment, only a breath. It wasn’t enough, but before he could fill his lungs with the dizzying scent of her again, her bedchamber door opened, and she slipped through it without a backward glance.
And he was left alone in the corridor, standing there staring at a closed door.
Which was no less than he deserved.