Elaine Coffman - [MacKinnon 04] (25 page)

“I dinna ken. Something must be bothering him.”

“Maybe he’s sorry he was so hard on you about being married
before. Has he said any more about that?”

Maggie’s expression turned pensive. “No. But I dinna ken
that is a problem for him any longer.”

Molly didn’t even try to hide the surprised look on her
face. “You don’t mean he’s falling in love with you?”

“I wouldna go so far as to say that. Do you ken it’s
possible?”

“Not if that fool persists in being a fool,” Molly said.
“And you know
which
fool I’m referring to.”

“Aye,” Maggie said, taking the apron from Molly and tying it
around her own waist. “You’re developing a fine sense of Scottish humor,
Molly.”

“You didn’t think you could come into our lives and not make
a few changes, did you?”

The two of them stood there looking at each other, as if
they both had something to say and neither of them could find the words. Before
Maggie could think of something lighthearted, Molly turned through the door and
was gone.

After cleaning the kitchen and scrubbing the floor—rinsing
it twice—Maggie felt better. Tired, but better. Hanging her apron on the peg,
she picked up the lamp and made her way down the hallway, noticing the
rectangle of light coming from beneath the library door.

Adrian looked up when she opened the door and stepped
inside. “It’s late,” he said. “I thought you would have been in bed by now.”

“I thought the same about you.”

“I’ve got two letters to write to families of the two men
killed this week.” He rubbed the back of his neck and closed his eyes. “I’m
tired,” he said. “Tail-dragging, moon-howling tired.”

Maggie put the lamp down and came around his desk, stopping
behind him to rub his neck. The muscles were hard and tight, forcing her to
massage deeply. “No wonder. You haven’t had much sleep these past weeks. I
wondered what was bothering you. You should have told me about the accidents. I
could have helped.”

“We were able to handle things. Like I told you, I didn’t
want to worry you,” he said, and Maggie’s heart lifted.

“I worry more when you keep things from me.”

“I know,” he said, and reached up to pat her hand. Then,
almost shyly, he pulled his hand away, clearing his throat. “Well, I guess I
better be seeing to those letters now,” he said.

“I could write them for you,” she said, turning back toward
him.

For a moment he simply stared at her. “It’s late. You should
go to bed.”

“I can rest tomorrow. You canna. Besides, I ken I have a
gentler way with words.”

She could see the battle going on in his mind. He was
tempted, she could tell, but still he didn’t want to let her into his life. She
held her breath, standing quietly, afraid to move, as she waited to see what he
would say. She expelled a breath of relief when he spoke at last.

“All right,” he said, and stood.

Maggie took a seat, picking up the pen and dipping it in the
inkwell.

“The names of the men are here, along with their next of
kin. Say whatever you like. Include these vouchers for the pay they had coming
and something extra from me. Tell them it isn’t much…” He stopped and looked at
her. “You know what to tell them,” he said gruffly.

“Aye,” she said, “I ken what to say.”

Maggie sat down and began writing. When she finished the
first letter, she looked up, finding she was alone.

The next evening, a worn and weary Adrian returned home, and
although he arrived earlier than usual, he was more exhausted, the signs of
worry and strain etched deeply in lines that seemed to have suddenly appeared
on his face.

When Molly announced dinner was getting cold, Maggie went to
find Adrian, locating him in his study, his long legs stretched out over the
length of the leather sofa, his feet dangling over the massive rolled arm. His
boots were lying on the floor, and as she looked at him sleeping in his
stocking feet, he appeared younger and more vulnerable. This was a strange
thought, she decided, for Adrian was not the kind of man to give off any hint
of vulnerability. She found the discovery curiously uplifting.

Without waking him, she took a seat across from him, content
to sit quietly and watch him sleep. Adrian’s senses must be acute, even when he
was asleep, or so she decided when, after a few minutes of observation, he
opened one eyelid looked at her.

She was sitting in the chair, her elbow crooked, her chin
resting in the palm of her hand. When he opened the other eye, she said,
“Hello. You must have a clean conscience. You slept like a bairn.”

“And what makes you so knowledgeable about babies?” he
asked, coming up to a sitting position and stretching.

Her heart cracked like an acorn.

He reached for one of his boots and his words skittered
across her nerves like nails scraping ice, but she smiled, so he wouldn’t know
just how close he had come to uncovering another secret.

“I was a bairn once myself,” she said, coming out of the chair
and picking up his other boot, handing it to him.

He reached for the boot and their fingers grazed. They
looked up at the same moment and their eyes locked, broke the contact, looking
down to pull on his boot. “Are you sure you’re a duchess?” he said, without
bothering to look at her.

She raised her brows and tilted her head curiously to one
side. “Why would you be asking a thing like that?”

He scowled, and she threw back her head, consumed with
laughter. He was distracted for a moment with the white, pearly luster to the
skin of her throat.

“Tell me,” she asked, her hands on her hips. “How does a
duchess act, then?”

“Dignified,” he responded without having to think upon it.

“And I’m not…dignified?” She dropped into the chair across
from him.

“Sometimes you are. Sometimes you aren’t. You sure as hell
don’t know how to eat apples. Makes me wonder if you can serve tea.”

“Then you must tell me how a dignified duchess should behave
and I’ll try to amend my ways.”

His frown was so deep now, she wanted to reach out her hand
and smooth the line away from between his eyes. “All I know is what Ross wrote
me.”

“And what was that?”

“He said they made odd little bows and served tea,” said,
allowing his sarcasm to dismiss the subject.

She laughed, knowing what he was about, and refusing to
dismiss such an interesting topic. When she spoke, there was a bubble of humor
in her voice and her eyes sparkled with amusement. “I ken I can give you an
odd
little bow
,” said, dipping gracefully to the floor, her skirts billowing
about her. “If this is what you had in mind.” When he didn’t respond, she said,
“Well? Is it, my lord? Were you thinking of a curtsy?”

“Something like that,” he grumbled. “But not here. Not right
now.”

“Well, come and eat then,” she said, and the merry sound of
her laughter followed her from the room.

The next evening Molly met him wandering around the house,
dazed as a duck in thunder. “Are you lost?”

“No,” he said with surprise. “Do I look lost?”

“You do,” Molly said, then added, “She’s in the salon.”

Molly wasn’t being too friendly, but Adrian figured she
would come around in time, whether he said anything to her or not. So he
decided to remain silent and let her anger run its course, figuring he could
handle almost anything she dished out. As long as she didn’t poison his food.
He went to the salon and found Maggie there, wearing a gown of the deepest
shade of rich sapphire blue. She was seated at the sofa, behind a lavish silver
tea set. She indicated a chair with a wave of her hand, and Adrian, curious as to
what she was up to now, dropped silently into it, his feet thrust out in front
of him. “Shall I pour?” she asked.

“If you want to put any tea into those tiny cups, you’ll
have to. My aim isn’t that good.”

She poured and handed him a cup and saucer. He gave her a
blank look. “It’s tea, not poison,” she said, offering him a smile.

He took the cup, glancing up at her when the cup rattled,
but she seemed to take no notice. He followed her lead and took one sip, before
deciding he looked like a complete and utter fool, and what was worse, he felt
like one.
Why am I such a clumsy oaf around her? Look at me, Maggie. Hear
what my heart speaks. Don’t listen to my foolishness.

Coming to his feet, he dumped the saucer and cup back on the
tray. “I liked you better the other way,” he said with a growl, and left the
room.

He collided with Molly as he came out the door. “What in the
hell are you doing? Eavesdropping?”

“If I was, it would be a mighty lonely occupation. You sure
never say anything worth listening to.”

Adrian felt his temperature rise. “It’s hot in here,” he
said, going around her. “Why don’t you open a window?”

“You might as well get used to it,” she said. “It’s hotter
where you’re going.”

Once she was in her room, Maggie fell backward across her
bed, not even thinking to remove the moire dress or to at least lie down in
such a way as to not crush the fragile roses that held up her bustle. For a
long time she lay there thinking about the way Adrian had reacted tonight. Why
had it upset him when she served the tea? She had only meant it as something
funny, a reminder of the day before when he had asked her if she was sure she
was a duchess. Was his memory of rejection what made him toss his cup of tea on
the tray and leave the room with such abruptness? Had there been so much pain
in his life, then, that he suffered from still?

It couldn’t be,
she thought. It couldn’t be because
he was beginning to care for her, that he was afraid of falling in love. But
she knew, even as she denied it, that seemed only explanation.
Dear Adrian.
Was he so unlucky at love that he was either hurt by those he loved, or hurt
the ones who loved him? Was she such a terrible threat to him, then? Her mind
was in an emotional upheaval, but she felt somewhat relieved. She smiled wryly,
her heart beginning to race. A shiver rippled across her when she remembered
their lovemaking. He cared. He had to care.

Didn’t he?

The strain of it had her nerves close to shattering. She
would rather face the English on a battlefield than to go through many more
days of this.

Coming off the bed, she began pacing the floor, removing her
clothes as she did. When she was stripped down to her chemise, she began
pulling the pins from her hair, then taking up the brush, she brushed in unison
with her pacing the floor. One, two, three, turn. Brush, brush, brush, change.

Adrian was coming around. She knew it, as well as she knew
that was the reason for the rise in tension. He was coming around, and he was
resisting her all the more because of it. All she needed was more time.

Putting on her gown, she climbed into bed. Her prayers were
for more time—time with Adrian she knew she needed. Just a little help from the
Almighty. Adrian was coming to care for her. She was certain of that, and while
she wasn’t so foolish to call it love, he did care for her. He did.

It wasn’t much, but it was a beginning. The thought of this
almost savage stranger, whom she shared a life of desire and suspicion with,
coming to love her still seemed as incredible as it ever had. Incredible, but
at least it now seemed possible.

She fell asleep thinking about tomorrow. Tomorrow was a
brand new day that hadn’t been touched yet. Tomorrow she would try again to
show him he could trust her. The thought of it washed over her like laughter.
She felt as excited as a schoolgirl.

* * * * *

Downstairs, Adrian sat in his study eyeing a bottle of
brandy. He was angry with himself for losing control as he had this afternoon
in front of Maggie. What was he afraid of? Why did he want to get close to her,
only to run the other way when he had the chance?

The way he saw it, he had two choices. He could drink
himself into a stupor and pass out, thereby eliminating, for a time, the desire
he felt for Maggie, or he could go to her now and make love to her.

He liked the sound of the second one better.

He thought about that. Maggie frustrated him. The only way
he could get the memory of making love to her out of his mind was to think
about making love to her again. He looked at the brandy.
Drink or make love,
he told himself at last. Put that way, there was precious little thinking he
had to do.

A few minutes later, he was knocking on Maggie’s door,
wondering if she would notice that he hadn’t opened the door and walked in, as
he had that time before. He knocked again, and heard a soft “Come in.”

He opened the door and stepped into the dark room. Making
his way to her bedside table, he lit the lamp, turning it low, before looking
down at her with amusement dancing in his eyes. He had only one word to
describe the way Maggie looked right now. Soft. The perfectly groomed hair he
was accustomed to had been replaced by a cloud of unruly curls that fanned
about her like a golden cape. Somehow the refined, elegant woman she was, was
gone, and in her place was a ravishing creature whom he felt an uncontrollable,
irrational need to bend to his will and make her respond until she was mindless
with wanting him.

“Did you come in here to fight, or to make love?” she asked,
her voice husky with sleep.

His body lurched at her words.

“Which would you prefer?”

She smiled and stretched. “That depends. The last time you
came into my room to make love, we ended up fighting anyway, and then you
disappeared for two weeks. Have you ever thought what people around here must
think?”

“About what?”

She wiggled back into the bed, stacking her pillows one on
the other, then pushed herself up to sit upright. “First you leave me waiting
for two weeks after I arrive here, before you come to meet me. A short while
later, you leave again for the same length of time. I ken this is an
uncivilized part of the world, Adrian, but even so, your men must be wondering
what’s wrong with me that you dinna want to be around me.”