Chapter Four

BY THE TOES OF SAINT ANDREW, THERE’S NAE worse task in the world than gutting a stinkin’ slippery fish,” complained Oliver, wrinkling his nose with distaste.

“If ye’d gripe less and gut more, the job would be nigh done by now,” chided Eunice. She scooped a slippery pile of glassy-eyed fish heads into a bucket of cold water, then plunged her arms in up to her elbows and briskly began to rinse the bobbing faces clean.

“Ye can scarce expect a man to nae complain when he’s been forced into doin’ a woman’s work,” Oliver retorted, sawing fiercely at a hapless haddock’s head. “I’m sure ye’d have somethin’ to say if I told ye to go out back and chop a pile of wood, or lay the fires, or clean the silver.”

“Ye’ve not chopped a piece of wood in three days—not since ye discovered ’twas the only chore Jack would do without twisting his face into a black knot,” Doreen pointed out, as she vigorously scraped the skin off a carrot. “Ye’ve got Jamie and Simon fightin’ over which of them can have the fun of layin’ the fire next, and just yesterday ye convinced the lassies that if they set to work polishin’ the few silver pieces Miss Genevieve has left, they would no doubt conjure up one of them magic genies Annabelle was reading about in one of her fairy tales. I’ve never seen the silver gleam so bright.” She gave him a look of mock disapproval.

“I was just tryin’ to let the wee ones have a little fun,” Oliver protested innocently.

“Ye were tryin’ to get them to do your work,” Eunice countered. “Now, I’ve nae objection to ye teaching the children to do chores, but seeing as there’s little for ye to do today and I’m up to my ears in fish heads and sheep’s pluck, I see no reason why ye canna help Doreen and me put three meals on the table and take some food up to his lordship besides. Sweet Saint Columba, I’ve never known a man to eat as much as he does,” she marveled, tossing the shimmering fish heads into an enormous pot on the stove. “Been here just three days and already he’s finished off two pots of broth, four loaves of bread, a dozen bannocks, three pans of tatties with onions, and an entire boiled haggis.” She doused the heads with a jug of fresh water.

“’Tis a good sign that he’s hungry,” Doreen remarked, attacking another carrot. “It means that he’s farin’ better.”

“If he eats like this when he’s feelin’ poorly, I scarce want to think about what he’ll eat when he’s well.” Eunice dropped a few sprigs of parsley into the soup pot and covered it, then checked the pot in which a sheep’s lungs, heart, liver, and windpipe were simmering. Satisfied that everything was faring well, she went to the table and continued rolling out the oatcakes she planned to cook on the flat, cast-iron griddle heating over the fire. “Between his lordship and Jack, there will be nothing left in the larder by week’s end.”

“Now, Eunice, ye know ’tis just because they’re newly released from prison,” said Oliver. “We’ve all felt what it is to have hunger gnawing at our bellies in that foul place. I can still remember when Miss Genevieve first brought me here.” His mouth curved in an affectionate smile. “She sat me down at this very table and served me a dish of your fine rabbit stew with dumplings. Upon my soul, I thought I had died and entered the gates of heaven.” He scooped the purple-and-gray guts out of another fish.

“And so ye had,” said Eunice, banging her rolling pin against a mound of dough. “There’s few who could ever resist one of my stews. Lord Dunbar always used to say ’twas my cooking that made the dinner parties he and his wife were so fond of giving among the most sought after invitation in all of Inveraray.”

“Aye, I’m sure it was.” Doreen’s voice was edged with anger. “A pity he couldn’t see his way to payin’ ye a decent wage for all yer years of hard work.”

“Well, he’s the one sufferin’ for it now,” remarked Eunice, pummeling her dough into a thin sheet. “Miss Genevieve told me she’d heard that Lord Dunbar had dismissed yet another cook, apparently for serving a tainted chicken that made every one of his fancy guests violently ill. Poor Lady Barclay didn’t even make it out the door before spewin’ up the rotten meal all over Lord Dunbar’s shiny new shoes.”

The three burst into laughter.

“Forgive me for interrupting.”

Startled, they looked up to see Haydon standing in the doorway, naked except for the plaid from his bed.

It was a combination of restlessness and boredom that had finally roused him. His fever gone and his body healing, he had started to find the confines of Genevieve’s pleasant, tidily arranged chamber almost as stifling as his prison cell. It was with some effort that he managed to hoist himself off the soft mattress and onto his aching legs, but once his initial dizziness had waned, he found that he did not feel so weak after all.

Encouraged, he went to the wardrobe in search of his clothes. Upon discovering nothing beyond a few modest gowns and some carefully folded mounds of feminine undergarments, he decided that the plaid from the bed would have to suffice. He draped it clumsily around his waist and then, not quite knowing what to do with the extra fabric, tossed it carelessly over his shoulder, thinking it would serve until something better could be found.

“Your pardon, ladies,” he said, seeing by their wide-eyed stare that he had shocked them with his state of undress. “I’m afraid I was unable to find my clothes.”

“That’s because we burned them, laddie,” Oliver informed him cheerfully. “Miss Genevieve didna want to risk having anyone find a prison uniform lyin’ about.”

Haydon vaguely remembered Genevieve making some mention of this. His senses were suddenly overwhelmed by the spicy sweet fragrances wafting through the kitchen air. He looked longingly at the pots simmering on the stove. It had been over two hours since he finished the bread and broth Genevieve had brought up to him, and he was extremely hungry. “Is that meat cooking?”

“It’s sheep’s pluck,” Eunice replied, “but it’s not cooked yet. I’ll be mincing it fine and making haggis from it once it’s boiled and cooled. It’ll be ready by dinnertime.”

“What about the other pot?” Haggis was fine and well, but Haydon was looking for something a little more substantial.

“Steer far from that one, laddie,” warned Oliver, chuckling, “unless ye can stomach the sight of a lot o’ beady little eyes starin’ up at ye.”

Haydon’s stomach lurched. Just what the hell had been in all the soup he had consumed since coming here? “You’re cooking eyes?”

“It’s fish heads,” Eunice said, casting Oliver a disgruntled look. “I’m making ye a lovely fish soup. I thought ’twould make a nice change.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” Haydon was almost certain that if he faced one more bowl of broth he would retch. “Do you happen to have some roasted beef, or perhaps some glazed chicken?” His mouth began to water in anticipation.

“I’m afraid not,” Eunice said, shaking her head. “It’s Thursday.”

Haydon was perplexed. “Thursday?”

“No meat left on Thursday,” explained Doreen. “Except, of course, the pluck.”

“I see,” said Haydon, although in fact he did not.

“Tonight we’ll be havin’ fried haddock and haggis with tatties and peas,” Eunice elaborated, sensing his confusion. “Then tomorrow night it’ll be my fish soup. On Saturday I’ll be seein’ if I can’t find a nice piece of cheap beef to cook in the pot with parsnips, cabbage, and potatoes. Sunday I’ll have made stew and dumplings with whatever is left, and on Monday I’ll have turned that stew into a rich soup. By Tuesday I’ll be shopping for a piece of meat again, and maybe I’ll find some neck cutlets of lamb or perhaps an oxtail that the butcher is willing to part with for a fair price. Whatever it is, it’ll have to be made to feed ten people—eleven, includin’ yourself—over three days. And that’s why there’s no meat left on Thursday night—we always finish whatever I started cooking on Tuesday by today’s luncheon.”

Haydon was utterly unfamiliar with the workings of his own staff and kitchen, and quite accustomed to being served a selection of freshly prepared fish and meat dishes three times a day. The idea of having to buy cheap cuts of meat and then stretch one meal into another was completely foreign to him.

Eunice took pity as she saw disappointment clouding his handsome face. “But that doesn’t mean ye’ll be going hungry, milord—there’ll be fresh oatcakes in just a few minutes, and I’ve some sweet butter and sharp cheese to go with it. That should tide ye over nicely ’til dinnertime.”

“Why don’t ye sit down on that chair while ye’re waitin’, lad,” suggested Oliver, who had just finished decapitating his last victim. “Ye look like ye’re nigh ready to fall down anyway.”

Haydon adjusted his plaid as he seated himself. Cheese and oatcakes would have to do, he supposed, until the haggis and haddock were ready. “Where is Miss MacPhail?”

“Taken the children to see the paintings,” said Doreen. “She likes to take them to an art gallery once a week.”

“The lass thinks it’s good for them to see art.” Oliver furrowed his white brows in bafflement as he rinsed his fish corpses in a tub. “Says it helps them to see the world around them, or some such blather.”

“I don’t know why they need to look at paintings for that,” said Eunice, greasing the surface of the griddle with a piece of suet wrapped in muslin. She slapped her oatcakes onto the griddle’s glossy surface. “All they need do is open their eyes. They’d be better off here, learnin’ how to make a decent clootie dumpling, or helping me to wash the linens.”

“Ye say that because ye once lived in a fine house that was full of paintings, Eunice,” Doreen countered. “But until Miss Genevieve took me to that gallery, I scarcely knew such pretty things existed. Miss Genevieve wants the children to see that there’s more to the world than what they’ll find here—like great ships and angels and battles and such.”

“Angels indeed,” huffed Eunice, watching as her oatcakes began to brown and crisp. “Flyin’ about half-naked with their bare bosoms out for all the world to see—it’s plain disgraceful, to my way of thinking, and certainly not a fitting sight for children.”

“How many children does Miss MacPhail have?” asked Haydon curiously.

“There’s six of them now, including Jack,” replied Doreen. “Three boys and three girls.”

“Are any of them actually hers?” Although Genevieve was unmarried and exuded an aura of sexual innocence, it occurred to Haydon that she could still be the mother of at least one of her brood.

Oliver’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Well, lad, if ye’d ask her that question she’d tell ye flat that they are all hers, and make no mistake about it. But if ye’re askin’ how many of them has she actually borne, the answer is none of them.”

“She might as well have borne Jamie,” observed Eunice, banging a plate with three golden oatcakes and a wedge of cheese before Haydon. “She’s cared for him since he was but hours old.”

“Aye, and a fine job she’s done of it too,” declared Doreen loyally. “If not for her, the poor lad would be dead—and no one would have cared a whit.”

Haydon cut himself a chunk of cheese and balanced it on a warm oatcake. “Why is that?”

“Jamie is the bastard of Miss Genevieve’s dead father, Viscount Brynley, and one of his maids,” explained Oliver. “No one here cares about a maid’s bastard.”

“Surely Genevieve’s father cared,” Haydon protested.

“He was dead long before the bairn arrived,” replied Eunice. “I suppose had he lived, he might have made provisions for poor Cora and wee James.”

“Or he might have just turned her out with a few quid and told her it wasn’t his problem,” Doreen countered angrily. “Men can be all pretty words and kisses when they’re tryin’ to find their way under a lass’s skirts, but they start singin’ a different tune quick enough the minute they discover they’ve left somethin’ growin’ in there.”

“A pretty thing, Cora was,” reflected Eunice, “with hair like fire and laughing eyes. I was working for Lord Dunbar then, and I used to see her sometimes down at the market. ’Tis no surprise the viscount took her to his bed.”

“I expect ’twas a bit of a surprise for Miss Genevieve’s stepmother to discover that her maid was carryin’ her husband’s bairn after he died,” mused Doreen. “Tossed Cora out on her ear, she did, with nothing but a swollen belly and the clothes on her back.”

“’Twas quite a scandal at the time,” said Eunice, laying more cakes on the griddle. “Everyone in Inveraray could talk of nothing else. Of course, no respectable household would take the poor lass in. And so she left. Most folk thought she had family that she could go to, but if she did, they dinna let her stay, for a few weeks later she was back again, round as a melon with no work and no money. And then she stole some apples and a bun, and she was sentenced to two months in jail.”

Haydon paused in his eating, appalled. “They put a pregnant girl in jail for stealing some apples?”

“Makes ye wonder about what they call justice, don’t it, laddie?” Oliver shook his head in disgust.

“What happened then?”

“Well, Cora knew Miss Genevieve had a soft heart, and so she sent word to her,” continued Eunice. “And when Miss Genevieve went, Cora begged her forgiveness, and asked her if she could see it in her heart to take the bairn when it was born.”

“How could Genevieve take the child if she was dependent upon her stepmother’s charity?” wondered Haydon.

“She couldn’t. And that’s what she told poor Cora. Miss Genevieve was scarcely eighteen years old at the time, and was betrothed to the Earl of Linton. Her father had arranged the match afore he died, and because he believed her future was secure, he hadn’t taken the precaution of leavin’ her any money. He did give her this house an’ a few paintings and such—perhaps in the hope that they might be passed down to his future grandchildren. Miss Genevieve’s stepmother got all the money.”

“Miss Genevieve told Cora that the minute she got out of jail she would help her to find a position,” said Oliver, who was now hacking Doreen’s carrots into uneven chunks. “And then Cora would be able to work and look after the bairn herself.”

“Don’t forget, at that time, Miss Genevieve was young and had scarce notion of what life was like for those not of her station,” explained Doreen, anxious to defend her mistress for her ignorance. “Nor had she any ken of how much work a bairn could be. She probably thought it would just sleep all day while Cora did a few easy chores.”

“But when Miss Genevieve went next to visit her, she discovered that poor Cora had died in her cell while birthin’ the bairn.” Oliver paused in his chopping. “The warder told her the bastard was a sickly runt that would not last through the night, which would save them the trouble of sendin’ it to the orphanage, where it would just die anyway. Miss Genevieve demanded to see the bairn. When they brought him out, she took wee Jamie in her arms and said, ‘This is my brother and I’m takin’ him home,’ just like that.” Oliver’s wrinkled face beamed with pleasure, as if he could just imagine Genevieve doing such a thing.

“What did her betrothed think of that?” wondered Haydon.

“At first he thought she must be suffering from some sort of woman’s ailment that had made her touched in the head,” scoffed Doreen. “Thought she was just grievin’ over her father’s death. Brought in a doctor all the way from Edinburgh to examine her and make her right again. After a week the doctor presented his lordship with a huge bill, and told him there was nothin’ wrong with his betrothed except, like most new mothers, she was very tired.”

Eunice chuckled. “He even insisted the earl consider hiring someone straightaway to help her with the bairn, since she seemed to know nothing whatsoever about caring for bairns, other than what he had shown her.”

Haydon found himself smiling. From the moment she had appeared in his cell like an outraged angel, he had known Genevieve was a woman of unusual strength and conviction. Even so, for a gently bred, inexperienced girl with no apparent income to take in a bastard baby in the face of both her stepmother’s and her betrothed’s opposition demonstrated remarkable compassion and courage. “And did the earl hire someone?”

“No.” Oliver’s expression grew dark. “The miserable swine broke their engagement and walked away. Told everyone that she had gone off her head and he wasn’t to blame for whatever might become of her.”

“Then the viscountess packed up and left as well,” added Doreen. “Which was the best thing, except that she took all of Miss Genevieve’s father’s money with her and dismissed the remaining servants, leavin’ Miss Genevieve with nothing but this old house and a pile of debt.”

“’Twas hard on her, that first year,” said Eunice, placing a fresh batch of oatcakes before Haydon. “Living all alone in this house, with no one to help her or show her how to care for a bairn. The folk who used to pretend they were her friends stopped callin’ upon her or inviting her to their parties and such, because they didn’t want to be tainted with the scandal. Until I finally came to live here, the poor lass was just barely managing, all by herself.”

“How did you come to be employed here?” asked Haydon.

“Well now, I’m afraid that was another bit of a scandal.” Eunice’s plump cheeks, already pink from the warmth of the fire, reddened with embarrassment. “Miss Genevieve had heard that I was about to be released from the prison, ye see, after servin’ time for stealing a brooch from my former employer, Lord Dunbar.”

“Because they wouldna pay her a decent wage so she could put some quid aside for when she was too old to work,” interjected Doreen, wanting to make it clear that Eunice had had a very good reason to steal. “Instead they expected to her slave for them from morning ’til night, and then when they’d no more use for her they would toss her onto the street like an old rag without so much as a thank e.”

“Miss Genevieve bundled up Jamie and went down to the prison and asked if she could speak to me,” continued Eunice, smiling affectionately at Doreen. “Very sweet and polite she was, not at all like all the other rich folk I had known. And after we had talked a while, she asked me if I had any plans for when I got out of prison. I told her I hadn’t, but ’twas certain no one would hire me, as I was guilty of stealin’ from my former employer and therefore would forever be considered a dangerous criminal and untrustworthy. And she asked if I might consider coming to live with her and Jamie, and said she hoped I would, because they really needed my help to get along. Made it sound as if I would be granting her a wonderful boon. Said she couldn’t pay me much, but that I would have a warm roof over my head and good food to eat, and if I ever needed more of anything I only had to ask her and she would see if she could provide it. And here I am, thankin’ the good Lord each and every day that he sent Miss Genevieve to me, because if he hadn’t, I dinna know what would have become of me.” She fished an enormous handkerchief out of her apron pocket and dabbed at her eyes, then trumpeted her nose noisily into it.

“Then came the rest of us,” said Doreen, taking up where Eunice had left off. “Miss Genevieve took a special concern for any child that had nowhere to go after spending time in the prison. First came Grace, then Annabelle, then Simon and Charlotte. She asked me to come here after I was jailed for liftin’ a wee bit of brass from the customers at the tavern where I used to work for slave’s wages.” She snorted with contempt, as if it was beyond comprehension how she could have been imprisoned over such a trifling matter. “Said she could really use my help, since I knew about servin’ and cleaning up after crowds of people and such.”

Haydon looked at Oliver. “What about you?”

“Well, lad, I’m proud to say I’m the only true professional amongst the lot of us, descended from a long and distinguished line,” Oliver declared loftily.

“Your father was a butler?” said Haydon, somewhat astonished.

“A thief,” Oliver corrected him, amused. “And one of the best in the county of Argyll, I might add. Began teachin’ me the family business when I was but a wee lad of seven. I could ask a gentleman, ‘What time is it, sir?’ an’ lift his watch and billfold before he’d finished giving me the answer,” he boasted, chuckling. “Because I had an uncommon talent for it, my da had me breakin’ into houses and robbing coaches at an early age. There isn’t a lock in all of Inveraray I can’t get past. ’Course there’s no honor to it anymore,” he finished, scratching his white head wistfully. “Thieves today just bob a pistol or a blade about and terrify people into givin’ everything over. I ask ye, where’s the bloody sport in that?”

“And Miss MacPhail took you from the prison as well?”

Oliver’s expression softened. “Like a bonny angel she was,” he said. “Cold had seeped into my bones in that miserable place, and I was plagued with a nasty cough that made me sure I was about to take my dying breath. And she marched into my cell and asked but one thing: Did I like children?”

Haydon absorbed this in silence. How had one small slip of a girl found the strength and the resources to salvage the shattered lives of all these people? he wondered. And how did she manage to support all of them? Clearly money was tight, as was evident by Eunice’s thrifty approach to meal preparation. These three were obviously not paid much, but even so, to maintain a home and feed, clothe, and otherwise provide for ten people would be very costly. And that cost was only exacerbated by his presence, he suddenly realized. A stab of guilt penetrated his reflections. It was Genevieve’s uncommon concern for others that had enabled him to lie shivering upon her bed for the past three days, just one step ahead of the law.

He needed to get out of here soon, before his presence placed her and her family in any further danger.

“Well, laddie, if ye’ve eaten enough to tide ye over ’til dinner, ye’d best be thinkin’ about getting yerself back in bed,” Oliver suggested. “If Miss Genevieve were to come home and find ye wandering around naked but for a plaid about yer waist, I’m sure she’d have somethin’ to say about it.”

“What time will she and the children return?”

“She usually takes them to a tearoom after their gallery visit, where they have to mind their manners and sit still and learn how to behave in public,” said Doreen, banging her pot of mutilated carrots on the stove. “They’ll likely be gone another two hours or more.”

Haydon rubbed the dark growth of beard on his chin. “It appears I am in need of a shave and some clothing.” He raised an inquiring brow to Oliver. “Do you think you might have something that would fit me?”

“Only if ye dinna mind havin’ yer shirts stop at yer elbows and yer trousers end at yer shins,” he joked, amused by the idea. “I’m thinkin’ we’ll have to do a sight better than that if we don’t want to have ye arrested for indecency.”

“What about the viscount’s clothes?” suggested Doreen. “There’s two whole trunks of them up in the attic. Very fine things, too, I might add—Miss Genevieve has been keeping them so that the boys might wear them one day, providin’ the fashions haven’t changed overmuch.”

“Well, now, that just might do,” said Oliver, critically studying Haydon. “From what I understand, the viscount was nae as tall as you and he carried a fair bit of pudding on him, but with a nip here and a tuck there, we might be able to make ye look tolerable. Both Eunice and Doreen know a thing or two about needle and thread, and I can shine up a pair of boots until they look like glass.”

“I’m thinkin’ a lovely bath might do you a world of good as well,” said Eunice. “Why don’t you take him upstairs and fix him one, Ollie, while Doreen and I see what we can find amongst the viscount’s clothes? If we all work together, we’ll have his lordship cleaned up and looking presentable before Miss Genevieve comes home with the children.”

“All right, then, laddie,” said Oliver, delighted to have a task that released him from his duties in the kitchen. “Let’s see if we canna get ye lookin’ more like the gentleman ye were before this whole sorry murder business began.”

 

THE FRONT DOOR CRASHED OPEN AS A GIGGLING, yelping crush of children surged inside.

“I win! I made it in first!” declared Jamie, triumphant.

“Only because you pushed me out of your way,” Simon complained, shoving at him hard. “You cheated.”

Grace sniffed the air. “I smell ginger biscuits.”

“That’s not ginger, it’s allspice,” said Annabelle, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Eunice is making haggis again.”

“Maybe she made biscuits and haggis.” Charlotte’s expression was hopeful as she limped through the door.

“If she did, she won’t let you have a biscuit now,” Jamie told her with certainty. “She’ll tell you it’s too close to dinnertime.”

“Tell her you saw some naked ladies in the paintings today,” suggested Annabelle. “Then she’ll give you a biscuit to make you forget about it.”

“If you want to discuss the paintings you saw today with Eunice that’s fine,” said Genevieve, walking through the door. “But you just had tea and scones, and that should suffice until dinnertime.”

“I only had one cup of tea, and Simon had two,” complained Grace. “That wasn’t fair.”

“Fine, next time we go you shall have two cups,” Genevieve assured her, trying to restore the balance of justice. “Then you’ll be even.”

“Can I sit beside Jack next time?” asked Jamie, smiling at Jack as he sauntered in.

“I believe you shall have to ask Jack that.”

Jamie gazed at the older boy with worshipful eyes. “Can I, Jack?”

Jack shrugged and looked away.

Genevieve studied him, taking in his careless stance and averted gaze. Throughout the afternoon, he had remained cool and removed from the children, always standing just beyond the cluster she had instructed them to maintain, barely answering them when they asked him an excited question. It was as if he was uncomfortable with their obvious fascination with him, and was trying to maintain his distance. He was still planning to run away from her, she realized, troubled by the thought. Jack was older than the others had been when they came into her care, and therefore had a greater sense of his own maturity and independence.

She could only hope that he would realize the benefits of staying with her far outweighed the freedom and autonomy for which he apparently yearned.

“All right, everyone, let’s put our coats and hats in the cupboard and then we shall go into the drawing room and continue our reading of Gulliver’s Travels,” she said, releasing the ties of her bonnet and cloak. “Simon, would you please hang this up for me?”

The elfin lad sprang forward to retrieve her heavy cloak, which practically buried him within its voluminous folds. His thin little arms could carry no more, so she popped her bonnet on his head, much to all the children’s delight.

“Look at me—I’m Genevieve!” he squealed, spinning around so they all could see.

“Mind that you don’t crush the fabric,” Genevieve warned with mock severity. “All right, now, everybody ready? Let’s go inside.” She pushed open the doors leading to the drawing room.

And gasped as a tall, elegantly attired man rose to greet her from the chair in which he had been comfortably ensconced.

“Good evening, Miss MacPhail,” Haydon said, tilting forward in a mannerly bow. “I trust you and the children have had a pleasant day?”

Gone was the savagely handsome warrior with the dark, tousled hair and the roughly bearded cheeks who had found it an effort just to remain upright. Haydon’s jaw had been scraped clean, revealing a strong, chiseled line that might have been rendered by a Renaissance artist, and his thick, coal-black hair had been washed and trimmed, causing it to curl at the edge of his collar. His muscled body had been fitted into a charcoal frock coat, dove-gray waistcoat, white shirt and loosely cut trousers, with an expertly tied cravat arranged around his neck. They were her father’s clothes, Genevieve realized as she studied them, but somehow they had been adjusted so that they clung to her patient’s immense frame in long, fluid lines. His carriage was tall and sure, and his movements were no longer burdened by pain. Indeed, he looked every inch the fashionably refined gentleman, ready to host a dinner party for thirty, or perhaps simply depart for his favorite club.

Or for his home near Inverness.

A bewildering sense of loss swept through her, as if something she was beginning to treasure had suddenly been wrenched away.

“Genevieve took us to see some paintings of naked people,” reported Jamie, bounding past Genevieve and flopping into a chair beside the fireplace, where a cheerful fire was burning. Like all the children, Jamie had been in and out of Haydon’s bedroom countless times while he convalesced over the last few days, and was not affected in the least by his transformation.

“Really?” Haydon raised an amused eyebrow at Genevieve. “And did you enjoy it?”

Jamie shrugged. “The pictures of the ships were better.”

“The best part was when we went for tea,” Simon decided. “I had two cups with milk and honey, and finished one of Charlotte’s currant scones when she said she wasn’t going to eat it.”

Charlotte cast Haydon a shy smile. “One is enough for me.”

“And I’m going to have two cups next time,” added Grace, “just so it’s fair.”

“And I’m going to sit with Jack next time,” said Jamie, clearly excited by the prospect. “Isn’t that right, Jack?”

Jack was slouched by the doorway, poised for escape the moment Genevieve would permit it. “I suppose.”

“The nudes were very beautiful,” Annabelle declared, affecting a worldly air as she carefully arranged the folds of her skirts upon the sofa.

“I don’t know how those women lie about with no clothes on,” remarked Simon, frowning. “Don’t they get cold?”

“They only pose like that in the summer,” Grace explained with great authority. “The hot air keeps them warm.”

“It’s their love for the artist that keeps them warm,” rhapsodized Annabelle, clasping her hands to her heart. “That, and the knowledge that together they are making great art.”

Haydon felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “A fascinating point of view. What do you think on the matter, Miss MacPhail?”

Genevieve blinked, trying without success to tear her gaze away from the impossibly attractive form of Lord Redmond. “What?”

“In polite conversation we don’t say ‘what,’ we say ‘pardon,’” chirped Jamie.

The children giggled.

“Yes, of course, I meant pardon,” Genevieve said, feeling flustered. What on earth was the matter with her? She raised her hand to smooth down a stray hair, and felt that her cheeks had become flushed. “What was it you were saying, Lord Redmond?”

“Miss Annabelle suggests that a woman can be warmed by the euphoria of love,” Haydon elaborated, amused by the fact that Genevieve seemed to be so disconcerted by the change in his appearance. “Do you agree?” His gaze was dark and faintly teasing.

“I really don’t know,” she managed with what she hoped was a modicum of levity. “I suppose so.”

“Have you ever been in love, Genevieve?” asked Charlotte.

Genevieve regarded her helplessly, wholly unprepared for such a question.

“Of course she has,” Haydon replied, coming to her rescue. “After all, she loves all of you.”

“I don’t think it’s the same.” Jamie’s little brow furrowed in thought. “I mean, it’s not the kind of love that makes you lie about naked in front of a man, like those ladies in the paintings.”

“I really think we’ve discussed the naked ladies enough for one day,” said Genevieve, desperate to change the conversation.

“If ye hadn’t shown them all that indecency, they wouldn’t be blatherin’ on about it at all,” admonished Eunice, waddling into the drawing room with a plate of shortbread. “Here, duckies, have a wee sweetie and try to forget about it.”

The children happily swarmed around her, their eager little arms outstretched as they grasped at the biscuits.

“Mind ye don’t knock poor Eunice over,” Doreen chided, entering the room with Oliver.

“Sweet saints, ye act as if ye were starving,” said Oliver. “Did Miss Genevieve not take ye for tea?”

“That was hours ago,” countered Jamie.

“I only had one cup,” Grace explained.

“I let Simon have my second scone,” added Charlotte.

“The scones were very small,” Simon pointed out.

“And had hardly any currants in them at all,” finished Annabelle.

“Well, duckies, tonight we’re havin’ fried haddock and lovely haggis with tatties and peas, so that should fill yer wee bellies nicely,” said Eunice, keeping the plate low so the children could help themselves to another biscuit. “That is, of course, unless his lordship eats it all afore Doreen can get it to the table—his appetite is so big, I’m thinking we’ll soon need to hide the furniture!”

“Actually, I was thinking that Simon’s chair might be rather tasty,” Haydon reflected, looking longingly at it, “especially if it had a little of Eunice’s fine gravy drizzled over it.”

The children burst into giggles.

“Your pardon, Miss MacPhail. We did not mean to interrupt.”

The merriment permeating the room instantly disintegrated. All eyes fell in horror upon the sight of Constable Drummond, Governor Thomson, and the Earl of Linton, Genevieve’s former betrothed, who were standing at the drawing room entrance.

“The door was ajar and no one heard us knocking,” explained Governor Thomson, looking somewhat embarrassed by the liberty they had taken.

“And I assured the governor and the constable that you wouldn’t mind if we let ourselves in,” Charles added smoothly.

The handsome, fair-haired earl regarded Genevieve with a superior, faintly pained look, as if he found the sight of her laughing with her servants and children objectionable. He was dressed in the very height of fashion, with an exquisitely tailored black coat over tightly fitted checked trousers and immaculately polished chestnut boots. Over this ensemble he sported a heavy charcoal overcoat of the finest Scottish lamb’s wool, the lapels of which were trimmed in ebony velvet. At thirty-eight he was beginning to show the evidence of his affluent lifestyle, for his waist and thighs were sagging from a constant diet of overly rich food and minimal physical exertion, and his golden hair was sadly thinning across the top of his forehead. After critically studying Genevieve, he swept a cursory look over the children and elders.

Then his gaze joined that of Constable Drummond, who was staring at Haydon with predaceous fascination.

It was over, Haydon realized, his chest constricting. He could not run. Even if there had been some available path to the door, he would never risk anything that might endanger either Genevieve or the children. And so he simply stood there, despair crashing over him in a great, dark wave. Why had God granted him this short reprieve? he wondered bitterly. Why had He prolonged his torment by granting him this fleeting taste of freedom, only to rip it so cruelly from him?

Because his sins were great, he reminded himself with grim harshness. He might have killed his attacker in self-defense, but he had a long list of other transgressions that stained his soul and shattered any hope for forgiveness. The worst, of course, was his abandonment of his daughter, Emmaline. He had no right to the slightest shred of mercy after what he had done to her.

It was best to leave here quietly, without creating a scene.

He glanced at Genevieve, who stood frozen, her luminous brown eyes large and filled with anxiety. Suddenly there was much he wanted to say to her, and now he never would. He wanted to thank her, not just for her tender care and shelter, but for something far more. For showing him that there were people in the world who were genuinely good. That had been an extraordinary revelation for him, and he was glad that he had learned it before his impending death. He also wanted to thank her for rescuing Jack from that cesspool of a prison and offering him a chance to make a new life. And for believing, however briefly, that there actually might have been something worth redeeming within Haydon’s own battered soul.

He stared at her, shrouding his emotions with cold indifference, not wanting the others to have any inkling of his feelings toward her. He would not implicate Miss MacPhail in this matter any more than was absolutely necessary. He would tell Constable Drummond that he had forced his way into this home. He would say that he had threatened to kill all of them in the most hideous manner if they didn’t do his bidding. He regarded her intently as he swiftly formulated this plan, his expression hard, hoping that she would somehow sense what he could neither show nor speak.

Then he pulled his gaze away and calmly regarded his captors, his relaxed stance betraying no hint of the agonizing regret coursing through his veins.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Charles with forced civility as he stared up at Haydon, “have we been introduced?”

“No,” interjected Genevieve firmly before Haydon could respond. “You have not.”

Her heart pounded wildly against the wall of her chest, making it difficult to breathe. Until that moment she had been too overwhelmed with shock and fear to have any clear thought on how to handle the situation. But the fact that Charles honestly did not know who Haydon was shook her from her numbness. Charles had never met Lord Redmond, she realized. A quick look at both Governor Thomson and Constable Drummond revealed that they, too, were not entirely sure that the elegantly attired man standing with such assured composure before them was the dangerous murderer they sought. It was this slight uncertainty, this faint possibility that there was a sufficient difference in Haydon’s appearance and manner and dress, that spurred her to action. When she had first seen Lord Redmond rising from the chair in her drawing room, she had found the changes in his manner and appearance dramatic, and she had had the opportunity to study him at length as he lay upstairs in her relatively well-lit chamber. She could only hope that for Governor Thomson and Constable Drummond, who had viewed the man before them only as a filthy, feverish drunk with scraggly hair and many days’ growth of rough beard lying in a ragged uniform inside a miserably lit cell, the difference was even more compelling.

Everyone was staring at her expectantly, including Haydon, who could not imagine what tale she was about to weave. Her mind swiftly considered and rejected a list of possibilities of who Haydon might be. Cousin. Uncle. Friend. Acquaintance.

Ultimately there was only one role that she believed would offer him the requisite protection he so desperately needed.

“Gentlemen, I should like to introduce you to Mr. Maxwell Blake—my husband.”

She did not know who within the crowded drawing room looked more shocked—her children, her uninvited guests or Eunice, Doreen and Oliver, who were blinking in astonishment.

“Married?” sputtered Charles, his watery, gray eyes nearly popping from his head. “You got married?”

“Yes.” She moved to Haydon’s side and looked up at him, smiling brightly, surreptitiously pleading with him to play along with her ruse. Haydon stared back at her, careful to keep his expression composed as he considered this inconceivable turn of events.

And then, realizing he had no choice, he placed his hand at her back in a gesture that clearly intimated the proprietary rights of a husband. She trembled beneath his touch, and it pained him deeply to think of how great her fear was at that moment.

“Yes,” he said, firmly drawing her against the solid wall of his body. “I’m afraid we did.”

His powerful arm wrapped about her like a heavy shield, and the heat of his flesh penetrated the thin fabric of her dress, helping to ease her shivering. Genevieve knew she had set them upon a treacherous path, but at that moment she could think of no other way to save him. Drawing strength from the hardness of him pressing against her, she inhaled a steadying breath and forged ahead.

“Maxwell,” she continued pleasantly, “this is Lord Linton, an old friend who I’m certain will want you to call him Charles, and Governor Thomson, the esteemed governor of our jail, who in the past has been so supportive of my efforts to help the children. And this is Police Constable Drummond, who works hard to keep the streets of Inveraray safe for all of us.”

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, gentlemen.” Haydon extended his hand to each of them. “Especially you, Charlie.” Haydon enjoyed the flash of irritation that tightened Charles’s mouth. “My wife has spoken to me about each of you at length.”

“But—how?” demanded Charles, whose face had reddened to an extraordinary shade of scarlet. “When?”

“Actually, we were married a few months ago,” Genevieve supplied, her mind whirling as she struggled to fabricate a credible sequence of events. “You may remember, Charles, that I had to travel to Glasgow to oversee some business matters regarding my father’s estate. Maxwell and I met at an art gallery there.”

“My wife and I share a similar passion for art.” Haydon smiled fondly at her.

“I’m afraid our courtship was rather brief,” Genevieve added, frantically trying to work out the details in her mind.

“I asked for her hand the very day that we met,” continued Haydon smoothly. “As I’m sure you gentlemen can appreciate, I was utterly overwhelmed by her beauty, and was absolutely determined that she not escape my grasp.” He cast a thoroughly self-satisfied look at Charles, indicating that he was well aware of his wife’s prior relationship to him.

“She wouldn’t have me at first,” he confessed, chuckling. “Fortunately, I am not a man who backs down easily from a challenge—especially when the rewards promise to be so great.” He caressed her cheek lightly with the back of his fingers, then smiled with husbandly amusement at the rosy blush that flooded her skin.

“Well, I believe congratulations are in order,” managed Governor Thomson, who still looked utterly astounded.

“Thank you, governor,” said Haydon. “Your good wishes are most welcome.”

“I’m confused as to why you failed to mention your recent marriage when we called upon you a few days ago.” Constable Drummond’s gaze bore into Genevieve, trying to delve beneath the surface of her breathless performance.

“I’m afraid I am responsible for that,” Haydon asserted, unfazed. “Business matters in London have kept me from joining my new family until now, and my wife and I had decided that we would not tell anyone of our marriage until I had actually settled in a bit here in Inveraray. We were particularly concerned that the children might grow inordinately anxious about my impending arrival if they knew about it too far in advance. As I have only been here a few days, and we have been keeping mostly to ourselves, my wife has been reticent to announce our union. On the morning you unexpectedly called,” he continued, making only a slight emphasis on the fact that they had not been invited over, “I had not yet finished dressing and was therefore unable to come down and be properly introduced. Finally, I don’t believe my wife has grown quite accustomed to her new status as a married woman—have you, Mrs. Blake?” He flashed her a devastatingly charming smile, which had the immediate effect of flooding Genevieve’s cheeks with color once again. “I’m sure you gentlemen can understand our desire for privacy after such a lengthy separation,” he finished, grinning broadly.

“Ah yes, of course,” said Governor Thomson, looking thoroughly uncomfortable with such a delicate subject. He cleared his throat. “Absolutely.”

Charles glared at Haydon with barely concealed acrimony. “Of course,” he bit out stiffly.

His loathing was palpable to Haydon. It was clear to him that the earl was painfully unresolved about his decision to break his betrothal to Genevieve. Perhaps he had long soothed his ire by convincing himself that no one else would ever want her. The thought infuriated Haydon. He found himself wondering what vacuous, servile chit poor Charles had found to marry in her stead.

The sound of a stomach growling filled the uncomfortable silence.

“Are we going to have supper soon?” Simon wondered, rubbing his belly. “I’m starving.”

“Sweet saints, I’ve forgotten my haggis!” burst out Eunice. “Here it is, nearly supper time and I’ve nae mashed my tatties. Do excuse me, Miss Genevieve—and of course you, too, Mr. Blake…sir.” She bobbed a quick, clumsy curtsy at the two of them, then bustled out of the room.

“Oh my, I didn’t realize ’twas so late,” Doreen added, glancing at the clock on the fireplace mantel. “Come, my chicks, ye can help me lay the table for supper.” She headed toward the door, then stopped suddenly. “Providin’, of course, that’s all right with ye, Mr. and Mrs. Blake.” Her knees cracked like dry kindling as she also dipped awkwardly before her supposed employers.

“That is fine, Doreen.” Genevieve was thankful to Eunice and Doreen for making it clear to their unwanted guests that it was late and their visit should come to an end. “Mr. Blake and I will be in the dining room shortly.”

“Off we go, then, children,” said Oliver. “Let’s see if we can get some of the grime off yer hands afore ye start touchin’ all those plates and forks.”

The children hesitated.

“Come and see how well I can fold the napkins, Mr. Blake,” Jamie pleaded, taking Haydon’s hand. “I’ve been practicing.”

“And I want to show you how well I polished the teapot.” Charlotte limped over to Haydon and tentatively laid her fingers upon his sleeve.

She was shivering, Haydon realized. Something told him that her fear was not solely for his fate, but also for her own. A quick perusal of their guests revealed that Constable Drummond was staring at her with particular contempt. An unfamiliar feeling of protectiveness seeped through Haydon. He released his hold on Genevieve to pull Charlotte between them, then laid his hand with gentle reassurance on the fragile child’s thin shoulder.

“I would very much like to see that, Charlotte,” he murmured, his voice low and sure.

“Oliver said a genie would come out if we polished the silver long enough, but nothing happened,” complained Annabelle, winding an arm around Genevieve’s waist. “Do you believe in genies, Mr. Blake?”

“Everyone knows there’s no such thing,” Simon scoffed. He took his place beside Jamie, thereby completing the shielding ring of children around Genevieve and Haydon. “There’s no scientific evidence to prove it.”

Although each of the children had befriended him by wandering into his room over the past few days to see how he was faring, Haydon knew this demonstration of protection was for Genevieve, whom they all adored. Genevieve was trying desperately to safeguard him, and the children were doing their utmost to help her. Despite the fact that they were not acting out of any affection for him, Haydon found himself profoundly moved by their actions. Even Jack, who had slunk into a corner when the unexpected visitors arrived, was now leaning against the wall with his fists clenched, as if he intended to attack Constable Drummond should he suddenly decide to arrest Haydon.

“Do forgive us, gentlemen, but I’m afraid dinnertime around here is very much a family endeavor,” Haydon said apologetically. “Was there something you needed from my wife and myself?” His question made it clear that as Genevieve’s husband, he would be privy to any discussions they might wish to conduct.

“We wanted to ask the boy a few more questions.” Constable Drummond fixed his formidable gaze upon Jack.

Jack stiffened.

“About what?” asked Genevieve with forced calm.

“About the prisoner who escaped from jail,” Governor Thomson explained.

“Ah, yes, my wife mentioned that to me.” Haydon lifted a bemused brow to Constable Drummond, as if he felt such a simple matter must surely have been resolved. “Have you not found the man yet?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“That is unfortunate.” Genevieve’s voice was tense as she continued, “And by your presence here it seems you have some compelling reason to think that Jack might be able to shed some light on the man’s current whereabouts?”

“Of course we will try to assist you with your investigation in any way that we can,” Haydon interjected, giving Genevieve a reassuring squeeze. “Won’t we, Jack?”

Jack shrugged. “I already told them, I don’t know nothin’.”

Haydon frowned. “Are you absolutely sure?”

Jack nodded.

Turning to Constable Drummond, Haydon queried, “Do you have any specific questions you want to ask him—other than, of course, the ones you have already posed in your previous meeting?”

Constable Drummond hesitated, evidently confused by the restriction Haydon had put upon him. “Well, no, not exactly—”

“Forgive me if I’m being overly protective of my new family, constable,” Haydon interrupted, “for I can assure you, we want to assist you with your investigation in any way that we can. As I’m sure you realize, however, my wife and I are firm believers in the merits of trust. It is only by trusting our children that we can, in turn, teach them the lesson of treating that trust with care. If you intend to ask Jack questions to which he has already provided you with answers, then that means you have come into my home to suggest that a member of my family has lied to you. Is that your intent?”

Constable Drummond’s expression tightened. “No.”

“We merely wanted to know if any of you have noticed anything unusual over the last few days.” Governor Thomson sensed that they were on the cusp of offending Haydon, and that he was not a man who would take such an offense lightly. “Anything at all.”

Haydon regarded the circle of children around him. “Have you, children?”

They innocently shook their heads.

“Then I regret that we cannot be of any assistance to you today, gentlemen,” Haydon said, making it clear that his guests’ visit was at an end. “We shall be sure to keep you informed should any of us notice anything that we think might be pertinent to your investigation.”

“Our apologies for disturbing you, Miss MacPhail—I mean, Mrs. Blake,” Governor Thomson hastily corrected himself.

“Not at all, Governor Thomson.” Genevieve looked at Charles in feigned confusion. Each time she rescued a child from the prison, Charles made a point of calling upon her to tell her what a hideous mistake she was making, and what a ridiculous mess she had made of her once promising life. Obviously Charles had heard about Jack joining her household, and had come over to share his objection with her. “Was there a purpose to your visit, Charles?”

The earl hesitated. “I wanted to know if you would paint a new portrait of my daughter,” he improvised suddenly. “The one you painted three years ago no longer depicts her accurately. That is, of course, if your new husband will permit you to continue painting portraits.” He gave Haydon a challenging look.

Charles was trying to determine her new husband’s ability to support her, Genevieve realized. Over the years she had struggled constantly with her limited financial resources. By painting portraits of the children of those wealthy aristocrats who had once welcomed her into their homes as a guest, she had managed to help pay for some of her household expenses, thereby slowing the sale of her family’s most prized possessions. Although she enjoyed painting immensely, she had been forced to swallow a lifetime of pride the day she had walked into Charles’s magnificently appointed home, not as his betrothed or even an honored guest, but as a lowly employee.

She suspected that Charles had only offered her the commission because he derived perverse and bitter delight in seeing her reduced to that position.

She was reluctant to turn down the possibility of earning some money, but she also did not want to make it appear that her new husband was unable to support her and the children. To do so would only invite unpleasant speculation about him. “Maxwell and I have not yet discussed it—”

“You must do whatever pleases you, my dear,” interrupted Haydon, immediately sensing Genevieve’s dilemma. “If you would find it amusing to paint Charlie’s daughter, then by all means, you should go and enjoy yourself.”

The redness on Charles’s face effused up to the sparse roots of his pale hair. “My name is Charles,” he managed tautly.

Genevieve hesitated a moment, as if she were trying to decide. “Very well, Charles,” she finally relented. “I do enjoy painting portraits, and your daughter is a lovely subject. I would be happy to do this for you.” She smiled, pleased that it had sounded as if she were granting him a favor.

“And now, gentlemen, if you will excuse us, I’m afraid we have kept our children from their dinner long enough,” said Haydon. “Oliver, would you kindly show our guests to the door?”

“Aye, Mr. Blake, sir,” drawled Oliver, who had been itching to perform that very task from the moment they had arrived.

“A pleasure to meet all of you,” Haydon said, as Oliver ushered their guests through the corridor. “I hope to see you again soon.”

“Just don’t make it too soon,” muttered Oliver, banging the door shut behind them, “ye miserable bunch of bloody, boot-licking—”

“Did you see that?” Jamie demanded excitedly. “They really believe you’re married to us!”

“I’m proud to say I had a hand in that,” said Eunice, beaming merrily as she returned from the kitchen. “Did ye like the way I curtsied ever so nice for ye?”

“Aye, and me too,” Doreen added, following behind her. “And dinna think ’twas easy on these poor old knees!”

“I’d wager they heard them crack all the way up in Oban,” said Oliver, chuckling. “I thought it was the floorboards breakin’ beneath Governor Thomson’s bulk!”

“That Constable Drummond is the nastiest-looking man I have ever seen,” remarked Annabelle. “He looks as if he just bit into a lemon.”

“At first, I thought he had come for me,” Charlotte confessed. “He was so mad when Genevieve took me out of the prison last year.”

The knowledge that Charlotte had been afraid caused Genevieve to momentarily dismiss her own fear. She knelt down so she could look Charlotte straight in the eye. “No one is ever going to take you away from me, Charlotte,” she told her adamantly. “You must believe me when I tell you that. I will never let anything happen to you—do you understand?”

Charlotte nodded.

“Good.” She wrapped her arms around the girl and held her close. “Now go with your brothers and sisters and get ready for dinner. I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

Haydon waited for the last child to depart before he closed the drawing room doors. He pressed his forehead against them and inhaled deeply, fighting for calm. Finally he turned to face Genevieve.

“Why in the name of God did you tell them I was your husband?”

“Because I didn’t want them to drag you away in front of my children and hang you. And I believed it was the only choice that would adequately explain how you came to be sleeping under my roof.”

“You could have said I was your uncle—or even a distant cousin, for God’s sake!”

His anger took her by surprise. “That would have invited too many questions,” Genevieve argued. “If you were any other relation to me they would have immediately asked you about where you were staying, when did you arrive, and what was your business while you were here. Any claim of your being an uncle or a cousin could easily be proven false. I am an outcast here, Lord Redmond, and my penchant for doing the unthinkable is well known. Believe me, the people of Inveraray will have little trouble believing that I married a man I had known for only a few days. I have created an entire family out of thieves and urchins I had known for scarcely more than a few minutes. To marry a stranger on a whim is entirely in keeping with the impossibly irrational woman I have become to them.”

She was right, Haydon realized, drawing no pleasure from the conclusion. The woman before him had severed her ties with respectability and acceptance the moment she chose to single-handedly raise a thief ’s bastard over a life of tedious comfort with that primping, fatuous peacock, Charles.

A stab of irritation pricked his already dark mood. Just who the hell did that idiot think he was, barreling in here and acting as if he had some exclusive right to her? The idea that Genevieve had actually been betrothed to that sniveling, spineless fool filled him with fury. Whatever her father’s attributes may have been, it was clear he had not been a discerning judge of character. It had taken nearly every ounce of Haydon’s self-control to refrain from booting the pompous imbecile out the door on his expensively wrapped backside.

“I would have thought you might be a little more grateful for the risks I have taken on your behalf,” Genevieve continued, incensed that he dared to criticize her. “Did you think that after tending you night after night and making sure you didn’t bleed to death or die from fever I would merely stand back and watch as they led you away? If so, then you do not know the first thing about me, Lord Redmond.”

Anger had stiffened her stance and heated her cheeks. She looked as if she wanted to strike him. The fact that she faced him so readily, unwilling to back down, touched a deep chord of admiration within him. The irrepressible Miss MacPhail was a woman of astonishing strength and conviction, who would not retreat when she believed she was right. And more, despite the terrible crimes of which he had been accused and convicted, she was quite clearly not afraid of him in the least.

He felt an urge to touch her in that moment, to pull her into his arms and press his mouth to hers, to feel her soft, slender form against him, his hands roaming the firm swells of her breasts as she opened her mouth and invited his tongue inside. His body stirred and hardened, filling him with a desire that had long lain dormant, flooding his senses with restless, impossible need.

Appalled, he turned away abruptly. Here he was, in a crowded household filled with children, a hairsbreadth away from being hauled off and executed for murder, and all he wanted to do was bury himself in the woman who was responsible for saving his life.

Clearly, he was losing his mind.

“I did not mean to offend you, Genevieve,” he said, raking his hand through his hair. “It’s just that I wonder if you have considered the ramifications of the picture you have painted here. You have told the authorities that you and I are married. If I leave now, everyone in Inveraray will know that you have lied. Do you understand what that will mean for you? The relentless Constable Drummond will be breaking down your door, demanding your arrest for hiding an escaped prisoner. Given that justice here finds it appropriate to jail an expectant mother for stealing an apple, I can well imagine what punishment they will decide to inflict upon you. In addition to sending you to prison, they will deem you to be an unfit parent and take your children away.”

Genevieve paled, her anger suddenly chilled by this very real possibility. What had she been thinking? she wondered. That Haydon would simply stay with her forever, and no one would ever learn of their lie?

She sank into a chair, trying to stifle her panic.

Haydon braced one hand against the mantel and stared grimly into the flames of the fire.

He wanted to leave this place and try to clear his name by solving the mystery of who those men were who had attacked him the night this whole ugly mess began. That would mean having his barrister hire someone to investigate the matter for him, and remaining in hiding far from Scotland until the puzzle was solved. He was certain the authorities had frozen his bank accounts, but between his lawyers and his accountants, he was sure they could find some way to access some funds for him under the guise of legal fees. Once his attackers were brought to light and the charges against him were dropped, he could return to his prior life as Lord Redmond.

It could take years, he realized bitterly, assuming the investigation was successful at all. And in the meantime, the beautiful, intelligent, selfless woman before him would be arrested and imprisoned for her role in helping him to escape.

It was unthinkable.

“It seems I am trapped here.”

Genevieve looked at him in surprise. “Do you mean you’re going to stay?”

“For the time being, yes. I will stay and play the role of your husband. But I will only do it long enough to firmly establish our relationship to the people of Inveraray. Then, perhaps in a month or two, once the search for me has tired somewhat and everyone has come to believe that we are the blissfully happy couple we shall portray ourselves to be, I will be called away to England on business. And there, after a separation of a few weeks, I will unfortunately meet my demise in an accident. You will have a suitable period of mourning, and then you will pick up and go on, now with the added respectability of being a tragic young widow.”

Genevieve considered his plan a moment. “And what will happen to you?”

It did not surprise him that she remained worried for his welfare. Concern for others was woven deep into the fabric of her very being. It was part of what made her so desirable to him, as firelight played upon her pale cheek and sweetly furrowed brow.

“I will either eventually succeed in proving my innocence and reclaiming my life, or spend the rest of my days trying to keep one step ahead of the law. Either way, I am determined that neither you nor the children should suffer for trying to help me. And therefore you must promise me something, Genevieve.” His expression was deadly serious. “I would have your word that if I am discovered while I am staying with you, you will say whatever you must to establish your own innocence in the matter. You will tell them I forced you to take me in. You will say that I threatened you cruelly and relentlessly, that I even beat you, and that your fear for your own life and the lives of the children was so great that you felt your only option was to succumb to my demands and say I was your husband.”

Genevieve adamantly shook her head. “If I do that, no one will believe in your innocence.”

“If I am discovered here, my innocence won’t matter,” Haydon told her flatly. “I cannot risk investigating the matter myself while I am supposed to be the newly wedded Maxwell Blake. And if Constable Drummond and Governor Thomson realize that your adoring husband is actually their escaped prisoner, their fury at being duped will overshadow any willingness to reconsider my innocence. All they will be interested in is my immediate execution, so that the embarrassment of my escape and my subsequent masquerade can be buried with me.”

“I won’t pretend that you are some sort of monster when you’re not,” Genevieve argued. “If you’re caught, then I will go to the courthouse and explain to them what happened. I will ask the judge to reexamine your case and—”

“Listen to me, Genevieve,” he said, kneeling before her. “I know you are a fighter, and that is why you are unwilling to accept injustice. But I could not bear the thought that you and the children were made to suffer because of me. Do you understand? My death does not concern me nearly so much as the idea that I will have destroyed your life as well.”

His expression was harsh as he spoke to her, almost as if he was trying to intimidate her into agreement. But it was his eyes that captured Genevieve’s attention. There was anger there, laced with the frustration of a powerful man who was not accustomed to having to demand something more than once. But there was a terrible pain there as well, an overwhelming sadness that swirled through the icy blue depths, suggesting a wound that was still raw deep within him. It was this that she focused on, for it seemed so haunting and familiar, almost as if she were looking into a reflection of herself.

“Very well,” she said quietly, knowing full well that she would never honor his request. “I will do as you wish.”

Haydon eyed her speculatively. She returned his gaze steadily.

“Good.” He rose to his feet and crossed the room, suddenly anxious to have some distance from her. He felt as if he had inadvertently revealed some part of himself to her. It was not his habit to disclose anything about himself to anyone.

“Shall we go into the dining room and join the children for dinner?” Genevieve asked.

“If you’ll forgive me, I think I will retire upstairs and lie down for a while. I find myself somewhat tired.” Instead of moving toward the door, he gripped the mantel and stared at the fire.

“Would you like me to bring you something?”

“No.” Realizing his tone was gruff, he added, “Thank you.”

“Perhaps later, then.”

“Perhaps.”

He had drifted away from her, she realized, surprised by how much she felt the loss. For one brief moment she had looked into his soul, had almost felt as if she could reach out and touch him and know that he would not mind, that he might have even welcomed the feel of her slender arms about his enormous shoulders, offering him comfort and refuge. Her experience with men was limited to her utterly proper courtship with Charles, which had included a few disappointingly passionless kisses, and one rather fumbling grope of her breasts. Although her blond betrothed had seemed handsome enough to her when she was an inexperienced girl of eighteen, neither his perpetually disapproving face nor his increasingly pulpy physique could begin to compare with the darkly chiseled lines of Lord Redmond’s visage, or the powerfully cut ripples and planes of his warrior physique. She had seen him standing before her with nothing but a blaze of sunlight warming his skin, had swabbed almost every inch of his beautiful body with her gentle touch, and she knew that Lord Redmond was strong and hard and sleek, like a wild panther. She found herself wondering what it would be like to have his arms wrapped tightly around her, to feel herself pressed against his chest as he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers.

Heat flooded through her.

She rose and hurried toward the door, bewildered by the strange sensations coursing through her veins. Her relationship with Lord Redmond was one of unfortunate but necessary circumstance, and nothing more, she reminded herself.

Even so, the urge to stay with him was strong as she stole a final glance at him standing by the hearth, his powerful form silhouetted against the dying shadows of the fire.