Page 33 of Deception and Desire
He eyed the pastries laying on brown paper. “Ian needs to approve a shipment. Or Lachlan. I canna find either of them.” He sniffed. “Did Mrs. Douglas make that?”
“Yes, my grandmother thought it would be a nice gesture for Lachlan’s return. Would you care for one?”
“Weel, since ye offered, I’ll take a wee bite.” He settled in front of her, his hulking form snug between the arms of the chair. “But I wouldna want to deprive my cousin again.”
Fenella laughed. “She sent a tart for each of you. Ian and Malcolm had theirs earlier. I’m saving one for Lachlan.” She handed him one of the flaky treats. “I wonder if you could answer a question for me?”
Colin broke open the tart and licked at the berry filling. “I’d tell ye my deepest, darkest secrets if ye bribed me like this,” he said around a mouthful. “Ask me anything.”
“Have you heard of McPherson’s Forge?”
He nodded and took another bite. “It’s a local business. They repair our power looms or other machinery if I canna fix something.”
“So, McPherson’s isn’t a regular expenditure?”
He shook his head. “No’ to boast, but I’m good with my hands and figuring out mechanical problems. It irks me to have to call in McPherson, so I dinna do it often. He’s a good man, but I have my pride.” Colin stood, wiped his mouth, and bid her good day. “If ye see Ian, tell him I’m looking for him.”
Interesting, she thought. A legitimate business but not a legitimate charge. Not on a monthly basis, at least. She walked over to the shelf and ran her finger along the dusty leather spines. She pulled out the accounts from the past two years. Mr. Pelling had worked for the MacNaughtons less than two years. The regular entries of thirty-five pounds began two months after the accountant’s handwriting appeared in the ledger. Only four to McPherson’s were entered with a different amount. A total of seven hundred pounds stolen.
The man had nerve, she thought, considering his wage. One hundred pounds annum was more than enough to ensure loyalty. Or at least honesty. Was McPherson part of the deceit or another victim whose business had been chosen at random? It was time to ask Ian or Lachlan.
Chapter Nine
An Excuse to Entice
Lachlan grabbed anotherheavy bag of wool and tossed it over his shoulder. The physical labor felt good after being imprisoned in the townhouse for days. He wiped the sweat from his eyes with one forearm and tossed the sack onto a growing pile. His bare upper body was slick from exertion and bits of wool and grime clung to the hair on his chest.
“Is that the last of it?” asked Ian, counting the rows.
He nodded, hands on his knees, breathing deeply. One week of inactivity, a bit of physical labor, and his body ached. His brother clapped him on the shoulder. “Sorcha said it would take ye a while to get back to yer old self. Dinna work yerself too hard. Ye’ve nothing to prove.”
“I’ll not have Colin seeing me with the endurance of an old woman.” Lachlan straightened and grinned. “Ye’d do the same in my place.”
“All the same, remember to listen to him when I leave. Ye may be in charge, but he knows this mill and will give ye good advice. Confer with him whenever ye can.”
“I will, but now I have a sweet reward waiting for me in the office,” said Lachlan. “Shall we have a last whisky at The Pigeon tonight or stay at home and drink the good stuff?”
“Och, I’d rather have some quiet after the catter and welter of this place.” He held up a hand as Lachlan passed him. “I thought ye promised to leave the lass alone?”
“I didna mean her, so much as what Mrs. Douglas sent. Ye thieving pigs ate my share of sweets when I was incapacitated. So, the kind lady sent more.” His eyes strayed to his stockings, and he studied the laces intently. “I thanked her this morning and apologized for my behavior. She graciously accepted.”
“Weel, knock me over with a wee feather. I’m proud of ye, Brother. If ye mean it, ye’d best clean yerself up and put yer shirt back on.”
Lachlan hated the guilt that had knotted his stomach over the past days. “She’s a bonnie lass, but ye’re right. I canna treat her like a village girl or one of the barmaids. I think she’s a wee more sheltered than the lasses I… mix with.”
“I thought the same. And it doesna sound like her family is much support for her financially. Mayhap there was a calamity in her father’s business before he died.” Ian shrugged. “It’s our luck she’s decided to stay with her grandmother. Mrs. Douglas is a good woman and respected in Glasgow.”
Stopping by the water tub, Lachlan splashed his face and chest, rubbed off any lingering fragments, and smoothed back his hair. Pulling the shirt over his head, he tied it at the neck and shrugged on the waistcoat.
She was a long-legged beauty, he thought as he dressed. Must be the Scots blood in her. He liked that he didn’t have to look down at her when they spoke or worry about crushing her when he… no, he couldn’t let his mind go there. He hadn’t yet figured her out. One moment she was more girl, blushing at his words or look or a touch. The next, she was a confident woman, holding her own in quick, sharp banter. Her sweet gentle eyes reflected innocence and vulnerability, then flashed silver in an instant, keen with intelligence, seeing right through him. Naïve then knowing, flippant then thoughtful. Lachlan enjoyed a good riddle.
Miss Franklin smiled as he entered. He gave her a nod and a wink. He couldn’t seem to help himself.
“Hello, Lachlan. You look… wet.” Her plump lips pressed together, and he knew she held back a laugh. “Did you come for your pastry?”
He nodded and plopped down in a chair. She said his name in an almost sensuous way, stretching it out in her English accent. His body responded with approval. “Aye, Miss Franklin. How are the numbers treating ye?”
She handed him a tart. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, gazes locked. Her eyes flickered ashen dark before she looked away. He took a bite and groaned, recognizing the heat but letting her attribute it to the sweet. “Almost worth the goose egg on my head.”
