Chapter 22 #2
Likely punched him in the nose.
So to avoid having to explain that, he simply sat lounging on Cameron’s sofa and watched her read. She was engrossed, that was obvious. She was also making notes, which he supposed shouldn’t have surprised him.
She glanced at him, then did a double take and smiled. “Nice nap?”
“I couldn’t help it,” he said with a yawn. “Too many nights chasing after a very pretty textile thief.”
She blinked. “Me?”
He smiled, deciding that if she had to ask, perhaps it was best not to wax rhapsodic about her charms lest he indeed give into his first impulse, which was to pull her over to sit next to him and show her just how pretty he thought she was. He sat up and attempted to change the subject.
“Find anything interesting?”
“It depends on the date. What did you guess, 1602?”
“I’m thinking so,” he said. “Someone was talking about Hamlet when we were last there. The first quarto was registered in late July of that year, if memory serves, so I think we can almost guarantee it was being performed.”
Her mouth fell open. “How do you know that?”
He put his feet on the floor and leaned forward to rub his face with his hands. He shook off the aftereffects of what had indeed been a very nice nap, then looked as casual as possible.
“I was a bit of a theater buff growing up.”
She closed her book. “Did you grow up here at the castle?”
He started to tell her that those were details she probably didn’t need, but realized hard on the heels of that that he actually did want to tell her a few things. Perhaps it went with the absolute madness of taking her to the shore. To his house that he’d bought with his own money.
“Never mind,” she said with a smile. “Didn’t mean to pry.”
He looked at her in surprise, then winced. “Sorry. I don’t have a very good poker face.”
“No, actually, you don’t. How you talk anyone out of their antiques is a mystery to me.”
He smiled. “I’m actually very good at that sort of thing. Just not about discussing what bothers me.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything, really. Not if it bothers you.”
He studied her for a moment or two. “Do you want to know?”
“I find, actually, that I do.” She looked at him seriously. “How weird is that?”
“Thank you,” he said dryly.
She smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry.” She hesitated, tapping her pencil against her notebook for a moment or two, then looked at him. “I don’t date much.”
“So you don’t know the usual dance, is that it?”
She shook her head slowly.
He considered. “Would you like to come sit here next to me?”
She considered as well, then nodded. “I think I would.”
“Then please do.”
She left her books on the table, then walked around it to sit down next to him. She looked up at him. “What now?”
“We could hold hands.”
“Will you divulge details if we do?”
“I would anyway, but it might make me feel better whilst I’m about it.”
She smiled. “You aren’t serious.”
He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “I think it would, but I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to do.”
“Hmmm,” she said. “Holding hands with a very handsome man in a castle that I think is mostly original, in front of a fire big enough to roast a good part of an entire cow, while I listen to him tell me his secrets? I think I like it.”
He smiled in spite of himself. “You didn’t mention the Vanquish.”
She shrugged. “It’s what you drive, not who you are.”
He closed his eyes, because it was either that or get himself in all kinds of trouble.
He held out his hand, was rather too relieved for his peace of mind when she put hers into it, then propped his feet back up on Cameron’s table.
He held Samantha’s hand in both his, suppressed the urge to flee—the woman was going to drive him crazy long before he managed to get a handle on what, if anything, he felt for her—then took a deep breath.
“I didn’t grow up here precisely,” he said.
“My parents had a house on the estate, because my father was the second cousin twice removed of the laird, Alistair. My mother wasn’t fond of being here but my father never would have moved away.
He loathed Scotland, as it happened, but I think he always assumed that one day he would take the title for himself. ”
“Really?” she asked, sounding surprised.
“Well, Alistair had no children, so I suppose it was a logical assumption.”
“Hmmm,” she said thoughtfully. “But you said Lord Robert was Alistair’s heir.”
So he had, he supposed. “It’s complicated.”
“Hmmm,” was all she said. “So, if your father disliked Scotland so much, why did he want the title?”
Derrick shrugged. “The power of it, I suppose, or the prestige. The Cameron fortune was fairly substantial at the time. I wouldn’t begin to speculate what the current laird has done with it. He has a gift for making money and finding old things.”
She laughed a little. “You know, I keep thinking he’s on the verge of drawing a sword—” She shut her mouth with a snap, stared into the fire, then looked up at him. “But that’s impossible. I mean, he was born in this century, right?”
He looked at her then, but he just simply couldn’t bring himself to answer.
Her mouth fell open. She gaped at him for a minute or two, then shut her mouth with a snap. “I’ll think about that later. I have seen some pretty crazy things over here, but . . . well, back to you and yours. Your father wanted to stay and your mother didn’t. What happened?”
“They stayed, my mother complained endlessly, and my father repaid her with disdain.” He listened to the words come out of his mouth and wondered how he could be so nonchalant about details that had grieved him for so much of his youth. “They were killed in a car accident when I was twelve.”
Her hand in his flinched. “Oh, Derrick, I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “It was a blessing in disguise, actually. We came to the keep to be watched over by my grandfather—”
“We?”
He looked at her. “I have an older brother, older by a year. I suppose we were a bit more like twins, though I’ll always maintain he’s much uglier than I am.”
She smiled. “You’re funny. Go on. What then?”
“Nothing much that was interesting. I raised all manner of hell, Connor was the angel that received all the accolades, and we each moved on with our lives.”
“Where is he now?”
Derrick shrugged. “A few years ago he was acting somewhere. Likely in some local church converted into a leisure center, plying his dastardly trade on those with no taste.” Actually, his brother was in Stratford, making a rather large name for himself, but Derrick didn’t like to think about that too often.
She was stroking his thumb with hers. He honestly doubted she realized she was doing it.
“And you?”
He looked at her, then. “This will cost you.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Nay, woman, this will cost you.”
“You know, you’re too bossy.”
He had to admit that was true, but she was getting better at telling him to shove off, as it were, with each of his attempts at ordering her about.
He smiled faintly. “I left home early, raised hell other places, then decided that I preferred life north of the border. So, I live in London only because my business is there, but I come home as often as possible.” He shifted to look at her. “Your turn.”
“Oh,” she demurred, “my life is very boring.”
“Spill the details.”
“Stop bossing me.”
“I’m not sure I can,” he said solemnly. “I’m very good at it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sick of it.”
“We could take turns.” He looked around him for paper and pen to use in scratching out a schedule, but the sad fact was, he was too reliant on screens. Heaven help him if the power grid ever went down. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, then smiled at her. “I’ll take mine now.”
“It’ll cost you later,” she muttered.
“I’ll consider paying, if it’s my day to be bossed.”
She took a deep breath and stopped stroking his hand. He supposed that was his cue to take over. He stroked the back of her hand with his fingers, wondering if she had any idea how cold her hands were. He almost told her she didn’t need to tell him anything, but she was already saying as much.
“I don’t have to do this.”
He shook his head. “You don’t.”
She sighed. “It really is a very boring story. Gavin, you know. I also have a sister, Sophronia, which you probably already know, too.”
“I might.”
She looked at him narrowly. “What else do you know?”
“Nothing interesting. You tell me the interesting parts.”
“There’s nothing much to tell, but I’ll humor you anyway. Gavin left home as soon as he could manage it. He’s actually smarter than he looks, though his ACTs were abysmal. Sophronia is an actress, which my father didn’t approve of.”
“Typical.”
She smiled. “His ego is enormous, I will admit, though he’s very good. I think he saw Sophie as a threat, so he was never eager to have her home again. All that was left was just me and somehow I turned into the last best hope for a child they could mold.”
“And you let them?”
“What else was I going to do?” she asked.
“My parents . . . well, my father’s a self-absorbed egomaniac and my mother’s manic.
Even talking to them is like talking to a hurricane.
By the time I realized what I was dealing with, I couldn’t get out of it.
I know it sounds crazy to live under the thumb of someone—two someones, actually—but I couldn’t tell them to, well, you know. ”
“You seem to have no problem with me,” he observed.
She looked at her hand in his for so long in silence, he wondered if he’d said the wrong thing. She finally looked at him. Her eyes were full of tears.
“I don’t think you’ll hold it against me if I do.”
He almost teared up himself, hard-hearted sod that he was. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it.
“Haven’t so far,” he admitted as gruffly as he could manage.
“Will that change?”
He closed his eyes briefly, squeezed her hand, and got to his feet. “Don’t think it will,” he managed. “Let’s go for a walk.”
“Isn’t it dark?”
“Sunny’s garden has lights if we want to use them, but I think the moon’s full. Now, where are my bloody shoes?”
“By the door.”
He looked down at her, then pulled her up with him. “Let’s go before we both get too maudlin.”
He found his shoes, found hers for her, then took her by the hand and led her down the stairs. He caught sight of Ewan crossing the great hall toward him and held up his hand with an expression on his face that had Ewan shutting his mouth before he could spew out anything stupid.
“Later,” Ewan suggested.
“Excellent plan,” Derrick agreed.
He fetched two jackets—he realized as he put one on Samantha that both were his—considered turning the lights on but realized it wasn’t necessary, then walked with Samantha out into the back garden.
The roses were only just beginning to bud, which was the only thing he regretted.
He would have been happy with something beautiful for her to concentrate on.
They walked in silence for a bit, then wound up on a bench set against the stone of the castle. He held her hand in his, because he was growing far too accustomed to it for his own good, then looked at her.
“I don’t think you have to go back,” he said slowly. “Not if you don’t want to.”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure how I would manage to stay here.”
“I might be able to help you find a job.”
“Textile research?”
Something more personal was almost out of his mouth before his brain slipped into gear. He shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps something else.”
“I could sell the drawing I made of your view while you were sleeping.”
He blinked. “You drew?”
“I told my inner critic to go to hell before I started.”
He laughed a little. “Let’s go have a look then. I know a gallery owner in London.”
“So do I. He’s a jerk.”
“Aye, but he owes me a favor or two. It won’t induce him to buy anything, but it would at least get you in the door.”
“I certainly wouldn’t get there myself.”
He looked at her seriously. “Samantha, my brother wouldn’t take my call, even if I could unbend far enough to make it. This might be difficult to believe, but Gavin has mentioned you in passing and he was complimentary.”
“What did he say?” she asked.
“He said he had a baby sister who was brilliant and gifted and there were times he almost felt bad for leaving her behind to deal with his parents.”
“You’re right,” she said quietly. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, it was after I’d reduced him to tears over salt cellars,” Derrick admitted, “so perhaps his defenses were down.”
She stood up, pulled him to his feet, then put her arms around his neck and hugged him quickly. She kissed his cheek, then pulled away and backed up. “Let’s go back inside.”
“Do that again.”
She shot him a look. “I don’t think it’s your day to be bossy.”
“I’m absolutely convinced it’s my day to be bossy. Come back here.”
She walked back toward him, then stopped when she was scarce a handsbreadth away. She looked up at him seriously. “I’m not good at games.”
He jammed his hands in his jeans pockets because that seemed the safest course of action. “I don’t play games.”
“Don’t hurt me.”
“I’ll try not to.”
She studied his face, then reached up and put her hand against his cheek. “Less than a week ago you were ready to toss me in jail and now you want me to hug you?”
“I’d actually prefer that you kiss me, but I’m willing to settle for what I can get.”
“Why?” she asked seriously.
“Because I like you,” he said, suppressing the urge to shift.
She looked at him for several more excruciatingly long minutes, then she leaned up on her toes, put her arms around his neck and hugged him.
He cast caution to the wind and put his arms around her as well, holding her less tightly than he would have liked to.
No point in terrifying the lass unnecessarily.
He closed his eyes at the feel of her lips against his cheek.
Damn it, out of all the things he’d expected, this was the last.
But he released her when she pulled back, smiled pleasantly, then reached for her hand, because pulling her back into his arms and discussing feelings he shouldn’t have been having for her was an extraordinarily bad idea.
“Let’s go, Miss da Vinci,” he said politely. “I’d like to see what you did.”