Page 31 of In Search of a Husband
“I think you prefer it that way.”
He dropped his voice, his ice-cold blue eyes somehow filled with fire.
“Why are ye here, Miss Bancroft?”
She swam back, needing space. From the moment she set eyes on Mr. MacInnes, she was pulled into his chaotic world, even if he presented himself as a man of strict control and calm.
“I should ask you the same. You hired me.”
“But why are yeherein Scotland, hundreds of miles away from your friends and family in London? What do ye want from me?”
“What makes you think I want anything other than the agreed-upon salary?”
“Everyone wants something from me, Miss Bancroft. And to be frank, it’s clear ye have no experience with children.”
She shrugged, swimming closer toward the shore, suddenly afraid she would be carried off. The slightest thing lately would make her question why she was here at Dunsmuir Castle.
Freedom.
But how could she say that to a man without being laughed at? The world was made for them, and women were merely the prizes passed from father to husband, voiceless in the course of their own lives.
“I was discovered in a compromising situation with a marquess,” she confessed, suddenly overcome with the desire to study thetreeline of the forest surrounding the riverbank. “I was ruined. Eventually, it became clear I was something to be tolerated by the close friends who remained by my side. They have their own lives to move on with. And I had to decide.”
“Decide what?”
“If I was going to let a man stop me from living my life, Mr. MacInnes.” Kate turned, studying her employer, certain his next breath would be only out of service to let her go. “So, dismiss me or whatever you feel necessary. I will not hide.”
He scratched the top of his cheek, then cupped water with his left hand and washed it over his arm, examining his shoulder and elbow in the process.
“I feel as if I might owe ye an apology.”
“Feel away, sir.” A soft, sad smile slipped out. She was never one for feeling sorry for herself, but she hadn’t ever pictured this for her life either. She clamped her hand over her mouth and shut her eyes as soon as she realized what she said.
His laugh was a quiet warm rumble that nearly erased the gooseflesh covering her arms.
“Uncle!” the girls yelled.
He whipped his head in their direction. “Christ, it’s always something…”
“Usually, yes,” Kate supplied, still drowning in her embarrassment. “It’s when they’re quiet you should really worry.”
“Or now…” He dove, cutting across the water with such ferocity she couldn’t help but admire the power there rippling under his flesh.
If there was a hell, she would in fact be going. Kate couldn’t even escape to Scotland without letting her thoughts sway to those of the flesh. She was in fact wicked, and wayward, and the most sinful of women.
And she was beginning to think perhaps that wasn’t shameful.
“Damn it, girls! Bring those back.”
“Sorry, Uncle,” they giggled, dashing off with their arms full of his jacket, shirt, and boots.
He slapped the water, glancing back toward Kate.
She shrugged, feeling just as lost as he appeared.
“What now?” he asked.
“I imagine it will be a cold, scandalous walk back to the castle, sir.”
