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The Highlander And The Governess
Michelle Willingham
A ruined lady turned governess… Can she tame the Highlander? Part of Untamed Highlanders. When Frances Goodson is summoned to Scotland to give etiquette lessons she’s not expecting to tutor a handsome laird! The scandal of her past means going home is not an option, so she must help wild, scarred Lachlan MacKinloch win a wealthy London heiress. She’s determined to fulfil her task—and not get distracted by the passion she sees in the powerful Laird’s eyes…


A ruined lady turned governess
Can she tame the Highlander?
Part of Untamed Highlanders. When Frances Goodson is summoned to Scotland to give etiquette lessons, she’s not expecting to tutor a handsome laird! The scandal of her past means going home is not an option, so she must help wild, scarred Lachlan MacKinloch win a wealthy London heiress. She’s determined to fulfill her task and not get distracted by the passion she sees in the powerful laird’s eyes…
RITA® Award finalist MICHELLE WILLINGHAM has written over forty historical romances, novellas and short stories. Currently she lives in south-eastern Virginia, USA, with her family and beloved pets. When she’s not writing Michelle enjoys reading, baking, and avoiding exercise at all costs. Visit her website at: michellewillingham.com (http://www.michellewillingham.com).
Also by Michelle Willingham (#ueb42403c-49c4-56cc-a03d-af8b1c067127)
Warriors of Ireland miniseries
Warrior of Ice
Warrior of Fire
Warriors of the Night miniseries
Forbidden Night with the Warrior
Forbidden Night with the Highlander
Forbidden Night with the Prince
Untamed Highlanders miniseries
The Highlander and the Governess
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
The Highlander and the Governess
Michelle Willingham


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08941-8
THE HIGHLANDER AND THE GOVERNESS
© 2019 Michelle Willingham
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Note to Readers (#ueb42403c-49c4-56cc-a03d-af8b1c067127)
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To Mom:
You have supported me, stood by me,
and you have always been there for me
whenever I needed you.
I love you more than any words can say.
Contents
Cover (#uc71a6408-9133-5368-92c4-6f14511a5da4)
Back Cover Text (#ueddc9a66-9e84-599e-8a52-97e33c5013f1)
About the Author (#u1b6cc4b0-718b-5977-b2a8-eeff9bb91005)
Booklist (#udbca9eb3-47b4-59a8-8319-f72b92a1b4bd)
Title Page (#uea4d0930-fb32-52bf-b3ed-eeb5e20a2efb)
Copyright (#u7db53f37-d74d-51ba-97a3-f55b549c5250)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#uc19b9ade-1d13-5bcf-8854-9fdd9f5c03ac)
Chapter One (#u65dd6e8c-4f61-574e-99ba-2756f41d3358)
Chapter Two (#u448a86d1-fd79-5740-b258-f78fe4b24ec4)
Chapter Three (#u311333ab-7207-5cc4-8bd8-3bc426facbdb)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One (#ueb42403c-49c4-56cc-a03d-af8b1c067127)
Scotland—1813
Everything will be all right.
Frances Goodson suppressed the tremor of nerves in her stomach, uncertain whether it was panic or luncheon that roiled within her now. But she stiffened her spine and reminded herself to find her courage. It didn’t matter that she was alone or that her family had turned their backs on her. She had an offer of employment and a roof over her head. Surely it would be enough.
The agency had trained her to be an excellent governess, although this was her first position. She had never expected to choose this path, but when a lady became destitute, there was no choice but to resort to desperate measures. At least being a governess was somewhat respectable, even if it was not the life she had planned.
Frances prided herself on her education, and she felt confident that the Laird of Locharr would be quite pleased with her work. His daughter would become the toast of London after the young girl completed her lessons in etiquette—she was convinced of it.
She gripped her hands together before smoothing the grey bombazine dress she wore. Her blonde curls had been tamed and pressed inside a matching grey bonnet, and she looked all the world like a virtuous woman. No one in Scotland would know about her past. This was a new life for her, a new country, and a new beginning.
It was a pity that her new beginning involved torrential rain. It slapped against the windows of the coach in punishing sheets of water. Scotland was rather formidable, so it seemed. A heavy mist lingered in the air, obscuring her view. Even so, she would not let the terrible weather dampen her mood. She tried to imagine a blue sky with puffy white clouds, for surely it could not rain all the time.
The coach pulled to a stop in front of the laird’s castle, and Frances craned her neck to look at the grey stone fortification. It looked like something out of a haunted fairy-tale. She counted seven towers nestled at even intervals around the castle, with arched windows and parapets. Best of all, it overlooked the sea, resting atop a cliffside. She’d never expected Lachlan MacKinloch to own a castle of this size. It was far larger than she’d imagined, and she was beginning to wonder exactly how wealthy the Laird of Locharr was.
Although her heart was pounding out of anxiety, another part of her was delighted to live in a castle—even if it was only for a year or two. How many young ladies could boast of such a thing? Not many, she’d wager.
Frances let her imagination take flight as she envisioned giving history lessons in a room with stone walls and perhaps a medieval suit of armour in the corner. Or, if the laird’s daughter did not care for exciting stories of knights and battles, perhaps she could give the young lady botany lessons in the garden. She smiled at the thought, hoping his daughter would be a sweet girl, eager to learn.
That is, if he had a daughter.
A spear of uneasiness thrust into her stomach. She hadn’t really considered the possibility of a boy. The agency had been vague about her pupil’s age, saying only that the laird required an experienced governess who could train a student in manners and etiquette of the London ton. Surely, he meant a daughter. Frances was one-and-twenty herself, but she had been brought up as a well-bred young lady. Her mother had drilled her in all the lessons necessary for finding a good husband. She was completely confident in her ability and knowledge, even if she had been unable to use it for her own purpose.
Frances supposed it was possible that the laird had a young son who was not old enough to be sent off to school. She had no information about the child, but that didn’t matter. She had prepared for anything, and the agency had given her a trunk filled with borrowed books for all ages.
The coachman opened the door and held out an umbrella for her. Frances took a deep breath, gathering command of her nerves. She straightened her posture and raised her chin, hoping that if she behaved in a confident manner, her courage would return. ‘Thank you,’ she told the coachman as she took the umbrella.
The gravel was soft beneath her feet, and she was careful not to step in any puddles. Behind her, the coachman followed with her bags. She didn’t see a servants’ entrance, but instead walked up the main stairs. It was possible that inquisitive eyes were watching her from the windows.
Frances knocked at the door and waited. It took some time before the door opened, and she saw an elderly footman with snowy hair and a white beard. ‘Are ye lost, then, lass?’
She straightened and said, ‘I am Miss Frances Goodson, the new governess. The Laird of Locharr sent for me. I have come to instruct his daughter.’ Frances forced a smile on her face, clenching her shaking hands.
‘The laird has no daughter,’ the footman replied.
Oh, dear. Panic caught her in the stomach, and Frances blurted out, ‘Then he must have a son in need of my tutelage?’
‘The laird has no children. I’ll bid ye a good day and be on your way, Miss.’
No children? Before she could make sense of that, the footman started to close the door. No—she could not let him throw her out. Not until she had answers. Frances stuck out her foot to hold the door open. From her pocket, she withdrew the letter she had received from the laird and held it out. ‘Then please explain this to me, sir. I have travelled hundreds of miles to be here, and if there has been some mistake, I need to know what has happened.’
The footman took the letter, but before he could unfold it, a voice commanded, ‘Let her inside, Alban.’
Frances didn’t stop to wonder who had given the order, but she closed the umbrella and stepped across the threshold. Her gown was damp from the rain, and she tried to smooth it as she gathered her composure. Then she squared her shoulders as the laird approached.
Lachlan MacKinloch was the tallest man she’d ever seen. Judging by his broad shoulders and raw strength, he looked like an ancient warrior more accustomed to wearing chainmail than a kilt. His brown hair was unfashionably long and rested upon his shoulders. There was a faint tint of red to it, and his blue eyes stared at her as if he didn’t quite know what to make of her. Across his cheek, she saw an angry jagged scar. It made him appear more of a monster than a man, but she forced herself not to look away. From his fierce scowl, he appeared to be accustomed to frightening others.
Frances didn’t know what was going on or why this man had hired her. If he had no children, then the footman was right—there was no reason for her to be here. She couldn’t, for the life of her, understand what had happened.
Her errant thoughts were distracted by his attire. He wore a blue-and-green-striped tartan coat over a white shirt, a blue waistcoat with brass buttons, and another blue and green kilt with a leather belt that slung across his right shoulder down to his left hip. A blue bonnet rested upon his head. His stockings were also tartan, bold and fitted to his muscular calves. There was no denying his Scottish heritage. In his demeanour, she sensed stubbornness and a man who always got his own way.
She remembered her manners and sank into a curtsy. ‘I am Frances Goodson, the governess you sent for.’
He regarded her when she stood and commanded, ‘We will have words in the drawing room.’ Without waiting for her to agree, he walked away.
Frances stared at the laird, wondering exactly what sort of position she had accepted. A sudden wariness seized her, and she questioned whether his intentions were nefarious. But then, she was far away from London, and it was too late to leave now. Better to follow him and discover why he had hired her. Perhaps there was another child in need of her help.
With a quick glance behind her, she saw that the footman had slipped away, allowing them privacy. It wasn’t at all proper to be alone with the laird, but perhaps Locharr didn’t want the servants to eavesdrop about the reasons for her employment. Even so, she kept the door to the drawing room wide open in case she needed to call out for help.
It was a lovely room, exactly the sort she might have chosen herself. The curtains were a rich sapphire, and the white wallpaper had scrolls of matching blue. The furnishings were creamy white with rococo gold. Two of the windows in one corner were made of stained glass with blue birds and flowers. The laird stood in front of the window, staring outside at the downpour. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Frances wasn’t certain if she was expected to sit or stand, but she couldn’t resist the urge to sit upon one of the gilded chairs. She straightened her spine and cleared her throat. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Locharr. But I must admit, I am rather…confused as to why you have employed me as a governess if you have no children.’
He stood at the window for a while, and she had the sense that he was choosing his words carefully. ‘Show me the letter, Miss Goodson.’
She gave it to him, not really understanding why he wanted to see it. Unless someone else had sent it instead?
The laird’s expression turned grim, and he crumpled the letter, tossing it into the hearth. ‘I am sorry you made such a journey. My mother wrote the letter, not me. But you may stay for the night and be on your way in the morning.’
All the air seemed to leave her lungs. ‘Why—why would she send the letter? I don’t understand.’
The laird crossed the room and stood by the window. ‘I didna hire a governess. But my mother apparently believes I need help.’
Dear God. She had been hired to tutor a grown man. The very idea rattled her composure, making her question what to do now. She couldn’t possibly be a governess to the laird, as wild and untamed as he seemed.
But then, the idea of going home was far worse. The thought of enduring another journey by coach for a second week, made her stomach twist. And worse, her mother would sigh and claim that Frances was, yet again, nothing but a disappointment and a failure.
No. These might not be the circumstances she had imagined, but she intended to make the best of them. She had the knowledge he needed, and there was a chance—only the barest thread of a chance—that she could stay here. But only if she handled the matter in the right way.
‘I am so sorry if my arrival was a surprise to you,’ she apologised. With hesitance, she added, ‘Might I ask…what sort of help does your mother think you need?’
He didn’t answer for a long moment but continued to stare out the window at the pounding rain. His silence stretched on between them, making her feel as if a departure in the morning was inevitable.
‘Is your mother here, Locharr?’ she ventured. Perhaps the matron could help her decide what to do next.
‘Nay. She’s travelling. I dinna expect her to return for another month.’
‘Oh.’ Frances stood from the chair, wondering what to do now. Her position here was tenuous, and clearly, the laird did not want her. There was nothing else, save to beg for another chance. She went to stand beside him, hoping her pleas would help in some way. His physical presence intimidated her, and the scowl only accentuated the fierce scar on his face. His hair was ragged, as if he’d cut it himself. There was a feral quality to this man, and she wondered if he had shut himself away from the outside world.
‘I realise that you do not want me here,’ she murmured. ‘You should know that this was to be my first position as a governess. I may have journeyed here under the wrong circumstances, but I really do wish to help. Would you consider granting me one day? And if I am of no use to you, I will return to London without argument.’
He turned to stare at her. ‘I don’t need a governess, Miss Goodson.’
Her heart was pounding with fear, but she forced herself to meet his blue eyes. ‘No. But I desperately need this position. It’s all I have left.’
There was an invisible battle of wills between them, but she kept her gaze fixed upon his. Let him throw her out if that was what he wanted. But she would not surrender this task without a fight of her own.
At last, he admitted, ‘I am getting married in London in three months’ time.’
It was all Frances could do to keep her expression neutral. ‘My felicitations on your impending nuptials, then. Your bride will be fortunate to live in such a beautiful castle.’
‘I’ve no’ seen her in ten years,’ he admitted. ‘Our marriage was arranged by our fathers.’ He crossed his arms, his mouth a tight slash of annoyance.
‘Do you…not wish to wed her?’ Frances ventured.
‘I’ll wed her,’ he answered. ‘It matters not to me. She can do as she pleases, once the vows are said.’ There was a dark shadow to his words, and Frances wondered if he intended to abandon his bride. Her mind started to piece together his circumstances. If he was going to travel to London in three months for his wedding—and his mother had hired a governess to help him with his manners—then undoubtedly, Lady Locharr believed her son would frighten the bride. He was a beast in need of taming, and Frances understood all too well that society would ridicule anyone who did not inherently understand the rules.
Whether he wanted her help or not, he needed her. But like Scheherazade, she would have to earn her place, one day at a time. ‘How long has it been since you’ve visited London?’
‘Four years. I’ve no’ left Scotland since my father was buried.’ In his voice, there was a raw note of pain, and she studied him more closely.
‘I am sorry for your loss,’ she said quietly. ‘Might I ask the name of your bride? If you don’t mind revealing it, that is.’
He shrugged. ‘Lady Regina, daughter of Ned Crewe, the Earl of Havershire.’
Oh, dear. Frances had met the lady once, and the tall beauty was proper and cool in her demeanour. Rather like a statue of ice. Scandal would never dare to touch a woman like her, and Lady Regina had turned down countless suitors—even a duke. Why then, had her father settled for a marriage to a Scottish laird? It made little sense.
The Laird of Locharr appeared to be slightly older than herself, but his rigid demeanour would terrify most of the London ton. As the son of a Scottish landowner, someone must have taught him manners, long ago. But perhaps he had forgotten his etiquette.
It was likely that his mother had enlisted her help, to ensure that Locharr would not be embarrassed by gossip.
Rain droplets pounded the window overlooking the garden, but while he continued to stare outside, she stared at him. Lachlan MacKinloch really was quite a handsome man, in spite of the scar. If he cut his hair and chose different clothing, he would indeed catch any woman’s eye.
Frances was beginning to consider the prospect. Tutoring an unmarried man was scandalous, yes, but they were in Scotland, away from the rest of society. No one would know of her efforts to transform him.
Her heart softened at the thought of helping the laird win the heart of Lady Regina. If he allowed her to help him, he could become one of the most well-mannered gentlemen in London—a suitor Lady Regina would be proud of.
‘Would you grant me one day to help you?’ she asked. ‘If my instruction is not of any use, I promise, I will leave.’
He expelled a heavy sigh. ‘As I’ve said, I have no need for your instruction, Miss Goodson. My mother made a mistake.’
Frances’s brain was spinning with frustration, but she forced herself to remain calm. ‘Let us start with the evening meal. I will watch you eat.’
‘I ken how to eat,’ he retorted.
‘I will need to speak with your cook to ensure that several courses are served. In London, you will be expected to attend supper parties where Lady Regina is in attendance. There are subtle ways to ensure that she is enjoying herself.’
He eyed her as if she’d spoken a foreign language. ‘Why would I care?’
Frances steeled herself against his annoyance. ‘If your bride is happy, then you will enjoy a pleasant marriage. This arrangement might be a moment of joy in your life.’ She offered him a bright smile, but the look in his blue eyes narrowed upon her. For a moment, she felt like a deer staring back at a wolf, half-afraid of being devoured.
‘Alban will show you to a room where you can rest before supper tonight. Then you will depart in the morning.’ He started to turn, but she felt the need to correct him.
‘Locharr, you should acknowledge a lady with a nod before you depart. Or a bow if she is of a higher rank. Lady Regina will expect you to know this.’
His expression held a wicked gleam, but he gave a sweeping bow that almost felt like mockery. Frances bobbed a curtsy, but inwardly wondered how long he would allow her to stay.
Two hours later
Lachlan wanted to cheerfully murder his mother. Why would she hire a governess for him? Did she think he was a baw-heided lad of six? He saw no reason to bring Miss Goodson all this way for naught. It irritated him that Catrina had interfered in their lives like this.
He had kept himself apart from the world for the past two years, since Tavin had died, and he preferred the isolation. His wounds from the fire had healed but not the guilt in his heart. For a time, he’d forgotten about the arrangement, until Lady Regina’s mother had written to him, asking him to come to London. The countess had explained that the wedding could take place in May, if he had no objections.
The thought of marriage made him feel nothing at all. It was an arrangement, and he saw no need to court Lady Regina. He intended to arrive in London, arrange for the licence, and be done with the wedding. Why, then, had Catrina intervened? Did she think he would behave like a foppish gentleman, with his hair tied in a neat queue, bowing before his bride-to-be? Damned if he would embarrass himself in such a way.
The governess sat across from him in the dining room, braving a smile. He had to admit that she was bonny in her own way. Her hair was pulled into a tight topknot, though the blonde curls were escaping in soft tendrils around her face. She had green eyes with flecks of brown in them, and they reminded him of a river—beautiful with a hint of mystery. Her grey gown, however, was worn and colourless. It was too short for her, and he noticed several seams that revealed where she’d mended it. It’s all I have left, she’d said about the position. And aye, it might be true that she needed the work.
Miss Goodson had chosen a chair near his, and beside her, she had brought a sheet of paper, along with an inkwell and a pen.
‘Do you always bring a pen and paper to the dinner table?’ he remarked. ‘I didna think that was good etiquette.’
She brightened. ‘You are correct, Locharr. Under normal circumstances, I would never do such a thing. However, I intend to take notes on what lessons you’ll need. That way, I can be of use to you.’
‘You’re no’ staying,’ he pointed out. ‘I am granting you a meal, but there’s no need for notes. I ken how to use a fork.’
Miss Goodson set down her pen and took her napkin, folding it in her lap. ‘Of course, you know that. But there is still a great deal to learn about etiquette in London. There are many unspoken rules.’
Lachlan eyed the door, wondering if it had been a mistake to allow Miss Goodson to join him at supper. He was accustomed to taking a tray alone in his room. It had been years since he’d had a formal meal, and he wasn’t about to change his habits.
The governess appeared entirely too cheerful, as if she thought she could talk her way into becoming his tutor. There was a brightness about her, of a woman filled with joy and enthusiasm. Perhaps she thought it would change his mind about sending her away. Far from it. It made him want to push back, to behave like a wicked barbarian. And so he glared at her, letting her glimpse his bad mood.
‘Is something the matter, Locharr?’ Miss Goodson appeared concerned. ‘You seem angry with me.’
Good. His plan was working.
‘It doesna matter what I think of you. You’ll be gone, soon enough.’ He kept his tone deliberate, not bothering to be nice. It would be cruel to lead her on, to let her think she had a chance of staying—even if she did need the position to support herself.
Miss Goodson’s expression dimmed, but she picked up her pen once more. They waited for Alban to bring in the food, but there was nothing yet. The clock ticked away a few more minutes, and finally, Lachlan called out, ‘If you dinna bring the food out soon, Alban, you’ll have to fetch shovels to bury us! For we’ll both be dead of starvation!’
Miss Goodson’s eyes widened at his shouting. Her pen scratched rapidly over the paper, but she did not correct him. Aye, he knew he wasn’t supposed to bellow for his servants, but Alban might not hear the bell. The elderly man’s hearing had worsened over the years.
His younger footman, Gavin, entered the room, carrying a tureen of soup. He plunked it down on the table and ladled out a healthy serving to Lachlan before he turned to Miss Goodson. She did not say anything, but Lachlan corrected the footman, ‘You should be serving the lady first, Gavin.’
‘I’m sorry, Locharr. Miss Goodson.’ The footman gave a slight bow and took the tureen away.
Lachlan eyed the soup, waiting for her to eat first. The governess was staring at him. When it became clear that she was not going to taste the soup until he did, he picked up his spoon and took a small sip.
‘Very good,’ she said.
‘I wasna going to pick up the bowl and drink it,’ he told her.
There was a veiled smile playing at Miss Goodson’s lips. ‘No, of course not.’ She wrote another note on the paper and then set her pen down. ‘I can tell that you have had some instruction, Locharr. Your table manners are not bad at all. They only need some minor adjustments.’
‘Which are not your concern,’ he reminded her.
‘It could be.’ She smiled at him, and the encouragement in her eyes caught him unawares. For a moment, he watched her eat. Her hands were small and delicate, her motions graceful. There was a strand of curling blonde hair that had slipped free of her chignon, and it hung against her neck. Although she had done nothing untoward, there was something about a good girl that made him want to discover if there was more beneath the surface of propriety.
‘Why did you seek work as a governess?’ he asked. Miss Goodson was quite pretty, with the fresh face of innocence. Surely, she could easily find a husband. Why, then, had she travelled alone to Scotland?
‘Poverty is an excellent motivation for employment,’ she answered. Though she spoke with a lightness of mood, he believed there was far more to her story.
‘You were a lady once, weren’t you?’ he predicted.
Her face flushed, but she did not answer his statement. Which meant it was likely true. If she had fallen upon difficult times, being a governess or a wife was her only option. It seemed that Miss Goodson was a woman of secrets, and Lachlan wondered what they were. He supposed he would never know. He reached for his goblet of wine and drained it.
She eyed him and bit her lower lip. Then she frowned and dipped her pen into the inkwell, writing furiously.
Aye, it wasn’t right for a man to finish his wine in one gulp. Even so, he couldn’t deny the urge to tease her. He reached for the decanter and poured himself another glass. There was a pained look in her river-green eyes, and she bit her lip, drawing his attention to its fullness. She was a bonny lass, indeed. Whether she knew it or not, Miss Goodson was a danger to herself. She might be posing as a governess, but this young lady was a walking temptation.
‘Would you be wanting some wine?’ he offered, holding out the decanter.
‘No, thank you. I do not partake in spirits,’ she answered. ‘And next time, you should ask your butler to pour the wine. Or a footman.’ She dipped her pen in the inkwell and wrote a few more sentences on the scrap of paper.
‘If I waited for them, we’d have no food,’ he pointed out. ‘They’re no’ exactly making haste to get here.’
‘Be that as it may, if you are a guest at a supper party, wait for the servants to pour the wine.’
A few minutes later, Alban brought out the next course. It was a mutton pie, and Lachlan cut into it with his fork, while steam rose from the pastry crust. Miss Goodson was still writing furiously, in between bites of her own meal. What could she be worked up about now? He’d done nothing wrong.
Finally, she set down her pen and took a sip of water from her glass. ‘How long ago was this marriage arranged with Lady Regina?’
He stabbed the crust with his fork and brought up a bit of mutton and gravy. ‘Our fathers went to school together and were good friends. They spoke of it for years, though ’twas only in jest. After my father died two years ago, Havershire wanted to fulfil Tavin’s wish. We set the wedding date for this May.’
At that, she set down her fork. ‘Without asking Lady Regina? And you haven’t seen her in ten years?’ Her expression was aghast.
‘Nay. But she’s an obedient lass.’
Miss Goodson took a bite of her mutton pie, but he could see her thoughts turning over the matter. ‘Why would you agree to marry a woman you haven’t seen in that long?’
Because it had been his father’s greatest wish. Lachlan had wanted to give that gift to Tavin, even if he hadn’t been able to save his life. A dark twist of guilt rose at the memory, prickled with grief. He didn’t want to marry anyone, and he knew he was hardly a fit candidate for a husband. Lady Regina would be horrified by the sight of his scarred face. But if he fulfilled his father’s last desire, at least it was one thing he could do for the man.
‘As I said before, Lord Havershire and my father wanted to unite our families together.’
‘Even so, why would you agree to wed her without meeting her first?’ Miss Goodson enquired. ‘You might not like her any more.’
‘I like the twenty thousand pounds her father has promised.’ Lady Regina’s dowry was money he needed, because repairing a five-hundred-year-old castle was costly. The offer of marriage was a welcome means of absolving him from financial ruin, for he hadn’t realised how deeply Tavin MacKinloch had fallen into debt. Lachlan had already cut back on as many expenses as possible, but he didn’t want to dismiss any of his staff. They needed their wages, and he’d do whatever he had to if it meant protecting his clansmen.
‘That is a great deal of money,’ she agreed. ‘But I don’t understand why Lord Havershire would offer so much.’ She set her fork down and pondered a moment. ‘Lady Regina has plenty of suitors. She simply turns them all away.’
‘Because she’s promised to me,’ he countered.
‘She doesn’t want to marry anyone,’ Miss Goodson predicted. ‘I have met her on several occasions. They call her the Lady of Ice.’
Lachlan didn’t concern himself with his fiancée’s reluctance. There was no reason for her to raise objections to the marriage—particularly since he intended to let her live her life as she chose.
‘Lady Regina values a gentleman with manners,’ Miss Goodson warned. ‘If you wish to marry her, you will need to make a good impression. I could help you with this.’
‘I’ve no need of your help.’
But the young woman ignored him and held out her list. ‘I’ve written down possible lessons for you. Dining, dancing, conversation, and so on.’
Dancing? Lachlan despised dancing, and he would never engage in such a pastime. ‘I won’t be dancing, Miss Goodson.’ He loathed the very thought.
‘Oh, but you must. At a ball, you will be required to dance with Lady Regina. Only once, of course, but it is necessary to making a good impression upon her.’
Lachlan would rather cut off his thumbs than dance in public. ‘I willna make a fool of myself.’
‘Of course not,’ Miss Goodson answered. ‘I will ensure that you are well prepared. And you may find that you enjoy dancing. It can be delightful.’
‘You won’t be here to give any lessons,’ he reminded her. ‘The coach will be here first thing in the morning.’
‘But I just thought that—’
‘You’ll find another position,’ he said. The last thing he wanted was a woman staring at him and making lists. ‘I don’t need you. I don’t want you here.’
She grew quiet, and the melancholy on her face made him feel like he’d just killed her cat. It took an effort to stop from apologising, though he hadn’t been the one to hire her. This was all due to his mother’s meddling.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. Her river-green eyes gleamed with unshed tears. ‘It’s just that, I had such hopes.’
‘Go home, Miss Goodson. Your family can take care of you now.’
She shook her head, gripping her napkin. ‘I cannot go back to them.’
‘Why?’ He levelled a hard stare at her.
Her expression grew strained, as if she didn’t want to speak of it. After a pause, she said, ‘It’s complicated.’
He could tell she was trying to avoid the topic by any means necessary. But her past intrigued him, and he pressed further. ‘Are they cruel to you? Or violent?’
She shook her head but kept silent. He found himself wanting to know more, despite her reluctance. At last, he offered, ‘If you tell me the truth about why you don’t want to return home, I will grant you a second day here.’
Hope dawned in her green eyes, and her mouth softened, almost in a smile. She said, ‘As you guessed earlier, I wasn’t always a governess. My father was a baron.’
‘Then why would you seek employment?’
‘The desire to eat,’ she admitted. ‘My father disappeared one afternoon with his mistress. I never saw him again, and he left us destitute.’ She took a sip of water and said, ‘My sisters were already married, and I had no wish to be pitied and live with them. I had a good education, and so I decided to put it to use.’
‘What of your mother?’ he asked. ‘Why not go and live with her?’
Her expression tightened. ‘Suffice it to say, I preferred supporting myself without relying upon anyone else. I might have been arrested for murder, had I stayed with my mother.’
He could understand her desire for independence and respected it. If she were sent home, it would make her feel like a failure, though it was through no fault of her own.
‘One more day then,’ he repeated. ‘And I will have the coach take you wherever you wish to go, after that.’
She paused a moment and said, ‘Whether you believe it or not, I can help you. Especially in understanding the complexities of the London ton. It’s very different from Scotland.’
He was well aware of that, though he cared little about London mannerisms. ‘And you know this by being here a matter of hours?’
She nodded. ‘Indeed. Scotland is breathtaking. Whereas in London, I prefer to hold my breath.’ A spark of humour creased her mouth with a smile. ‘But all that aside, I am going to prove to you that I can be the most useful governess you’ve ever had.’
‘You’re the only governess I’ve ever had,’ he pointed out. But in Miss Goodson’s face he saw a stubbornness that revealed an inner strength. This was not a woman who would falter in the face of adversity. And though she was young, he found that he respected her mettle.
‘I look forward to our lessons.’ Her eyes were bright with interest, and he felt the need to correct her.
‘I’ve offered you one day. But I’m no’ going to spend hours learning about forks or God forbid, dancing.’
There was a gleam in her eyes as if she’d accepted the challenge. ‘One day, Locharr. And you’ll see everything I can teach you.’
‘Alban will show you to your room,’ he said. ‘You’ll want to sleep, and I may see you in the morning, after I’ve returned from riding.’
Her face held such wistfulness, as if she wanted to say something but held herself back.
Against his better judgement, he asked, ‘Do you ride?’
‘I do love it,’ she admitted. ‘Though it has been a few years since I’ve had the opportunity.’ From the expression on her face, she was itching for an invitation.
‘If you’re wanting to go riding, I’ve no objection,’ he said.
Although he had no desire for company, he supposed there was no harm in her taking one of the mild-tempered horses and trotting around the castle grounds. It would make it that much easier to say farewell the next day, knowing that he’d given her that consolation.
‘I am so grateful, Locharr,’ she breathed, a light shining in her eyes. ‘Is there someone who could chaperon us?’ she asked. ‘Alban, perhaps?’
Us? He had no intention of riding with her. But he supposed he could ask his footman to accompany Miss Goodson on her ride.
‘I will ask him,’ he promised. ‘Whenever you’re wanting to go on your ride, just ask Alban, and he’ll see to it that you have a horse.’
Her face dimmed slightly. ‘I thought you might accompany me. To show me the surrounding area and tell me about it.’
‘Alban can do the same. I intend to leave at dawn. Alone.’ He preferred riding when it was quiet outside. It gave him the chance to inspect his land and make his plans for the day.
‘A true gentleman would wait upon the lady,’ she chided.
Lachlan shrugged. ‘Then, ’tis a good thing I am no’ a gentleman yet.’


Frances awoke when it was still dark outside. The faint light of dawn illuminated the horizon, and she stretched and yawned. The laird had said he intended to ride at dawn. Well, it was nearly dawn and if she hurried, she could join him on his ride.
She said a silent prayer of thanks for this day. Though he fully intended to send her home tomorrow, Frances was determined to stay. She loved this castle, and the challenge of helping the laird was important, even if he was somewhat intimidating. But more than that, she couldn’t afford to return to her boarding house in London. There was nothing for her there, and she didn’t want to be a failure at something else, once again. Her mother would never stop blaming her for the sins of her past.
And so, she would do everything in her power to protect the future.
Frances lit a candle and set it down on the table. There wasn’t much time, and she had only three gowns to choose from. At least she owned attire that allowed her to dress herself without the services of a maid, even if it had been mended and remade several times.
She walked over to her trunk of belongings, realising that she should have unpacked it last night. Undoubtedly her gowns would be full of wrinkles. Although she had no riding habit, she chose a serviceable blue gown that she could wear and ride side saddle.
A thrill of anticipation soared within her. She adored horses and could not wait to go outside. It was still cool and damp, so she added a warm cloak and a bonnet to her outfit.
While Frances tucked a few escaping curls back into her bonnet, her mind turned over the idea of educating the laird. He was rather…rough around the edges. Truthfully, she could not imagine Lachlan MacKinloch marrying someone like Lady Regina. The shy young woman would be terrified of such a large, brash man.
Frances, in contrast, believed that she could see beneath his fierce exterior. The laird needed softening up, but she felt confident that he would win the heart of Lady Regina with time and effort. The laird was a decent man, though his clothing was quite…vivid. And he would need his hair cut.
As for the scar…she decided that there should be a heroic story to go with it. Something that would make Lady Regina see him differently. Frances would have to think upon it.
She opened the door to leave her room and stepped into the hallway, only to bump into a maid. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Frances apologised. ‘I didn’t see you.’
The woman was elderly and plump, and she wore a grey skirt with a white blouse. A tartan arasaid was clasped beneath her chin with a brooch. The tartan left a small portion of the grey skirt uncovered, and it revealed the blouse in a similar manner of a cloak. The woman gave her a nod and a smile but did not speak.
Frances followed the maid down the hall to the staircase. Alban met her at the bottom of the stairs, and she bid the maid, ‘Have a good morning.’ But again, the elderly woman said nothing but only smiled.
‘Elspeth doesn’t hear verra well,’ the footman explained, ‘but she understands everything you say to her, so long as you shout. She will shout her answer, as well, when she has something to say.’
Frances nodded. ‘I see.’ The older footman was about to escort her outside to the stables, when she asked, ‘Lady Locharr summoned me here, Alban, to help her son. Do you not think I should stay and tutor the laird?’
‘’Tis no’ my place to say, Miss Goodson.’
It was clear that the man was refusing to take sides. Frances considered another alternative. It was an extreme measure, but she might not have a second chance.
‘I truly do wish to help Locharr. He is a good man, and I want him to win Lady Regina’s heart. However, if he arrives in London, he may have some difficulty. He might frighten her.’
‘The laird is a fierce lad with that scar, aye.’ The footman’s gaze narrowed. ‘What did ye have in mind?’
Frances dug into her pocket and found a penny. Though it was hardly anything, it was all she had to offer. ‘Alban, all I am asking for is one week. A single day isn’t enough to help him. Could you…delay the coach? Perhaps tell the laird that the axle is broken. Or something of that nature.’
‘Ye want me to lie?’ The footman stared at her in disbelief.
‘I want you to let me give the laird lessons in etiquette. Allow me to do my job.’ She held the penny closer. ‘Take it. It’s all I have, but I can promise you more, if I ever receive wages.’ She wasn’t certain that would ever happen, but she could dream of it.
The footman sighed and took the penny. ‘I will do what I can, lass.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him and followed the older man outside towards the stables.
Morning rays of sun spilled over the horizon, and the sky was tinted grey and rose. The laird was speaking with the groom, who was bringing a stallion by the reins. Once again, MacKinloch wore a tartan with his shirt and trousers, but this time, Frances took a closer look at his physical form. He had broad shoulders and was so tall, it made her wonder if it was even possible to reach his neck if she stood on tiptoe. For that matter, he appeared strong enough to lift the horse in front of him. The laird’s legs were powerful, his thighs thick as if he were ready to ride out with a conquering barbarian horde. And heaven help her, she could only wonder what it would be like to embrace such a man.
You are his governess, she reminded herself sternly. Stop staring.
Frances swallowed hard and gathered her composure. ‘Good morning, Locharr.’
He gave her a nod in greeting. ‘You’re awake early.’
‘You said dawn. And here I am.’
He had a slight expression of irritation. Oh, she knew full well that he’d wanted to ride alone, for he’d said so. But she wanted to accompany him, both to get a sense of the land and to gauge him.
The groom brought out an older mare for her, and she supposed that was a logical decision, given that he knew nothing of her riding expertise. The poor mare looked as if she would rather be grazing than cantering through a field. But perhaps there was some spark to her, beneath the surface. Frances greeted the horse, giving the animal the chance to learn her scent. ‘There’s a sweet girl.’
‘Pip is a gentle one,’ the laird said. ‘You’ve naught to be afraid of.’
‘I’m not afraid of horses,’ Frances answered. ‘But I would be glad if you could help me up.’
The laird caught her waist, but instead of lifting her up, he held her a moment. His hands were so large, they nearly spanned her waist. She was acutely conscious of his touch, and God help her, it was nearly an embrace.
‘Could you—? That is—’ Her nerves were prickled and, oh, dear, he knew what he was doing. There was a slight smirk at his mouth, and she felt utterly bewildered on what to do now. Should she step backwards? Push his hands back? But then again, she had asked for his help.
Before she could speak, the laird picked her up and plunked her on the side saddle. ‘Er…thank you,’ she said. Frances adjusted her skirts and her cloak as a distraction before she took the reins. Though she understood that he was trying to intimidate her, she refused to acknowledge it. He wanted her to leave Scotland, and she could not do anything to threaten her place here. And so, she pretended that he’d done nothing at all.
‘We will need a chaperon. Shall I ask Alban or Elspeth to join us?’ she suggested.
‘It’s no’ necessary,’ he said. ‘It’s an open field, and everyone can see us.’
She wasn’t so certain if that was a wise idea. True, there were likely a dozen servants watching from the windows, but he also needed to adhere to convention. ‘What about the groom?’
He didn’t answer, but instead mounted his bay stallion and took the lead. Well, then. She would have to speak with him about the etiquette of not leaving the lady behind.
He didn’t want you to come with him, her brain pointed out. True enough. But she was so accustomed to life as a lady instead of a governess. It was hard to remember sometimes that she was naught but a servant.
But better to be a servant than to live with her mother. Frances couldn’t bear to endure Prudence’s constant reproach for the sins of the past. Her stomach twisted, but she forced back the hard memories. That part of her life was in the past and it would only bring back raw grief if she allowed herself to remember it.
She urged her mare into a trot as they followed a path towards the open meadow. Then the laird nudged his horse into a canter, glancing behind to see if she would follow. Frances had the feeling that this was a test of some kind to determine her mettle. She followed at a reasonable pace—nothing too difficult for the mare, though Locharr was leaving her behind.
Instead, she chose to enjoy the brisk air. It was cool and misty, with a breath of rain lingering in the air. In the distance, the loch gleamed silver, and she spoke words of encouragement to Pip. The mare eventually perked up and managed a canter. She closed her eyes, enjoying the morning chill and the joy of being on horseback.
The laird drew his stallion into a gallop, leaving them behind. MacKinloch was a man of fierce independence, she decided. And not one who liked being told what to do. He hadn’t really wanted her to come along, though she’d invited herself.
His strong will didn’t bode well for their first tutoring session. If he allowed her to teach him, that is. Would he trust her knowledge and recognise that her intent was not to order him around but instead, to instruct him? Or perhaps it might be better to take a different approach to teaching him. The laird struck her as an intelligent man with a competitive spirit. She frowned, turning the problem over in her mind.
When the laird rode back towards her, he remarked, ‘Were you too afraid to ride fast, Miss Goodson? Pip wouldna harm you.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t afraid at all.’ She thought up a quick excuse and said, ‘But riding side saddle in this gown makes it impossible to ride fast. I decided to simply enjoy the day without the speed.’ She patted Pip’s back in silent reassurance to the mare.
‘Why not try it astride?’ he suggested. ‘You’d be less likely to fall off.’
Frances shook her head. ‘While that may be practical for a man wearing trousers, it is not possible for me. Not wearing this.’ At least, not without showing her legs to the servants, and that simply would not do.
‘Besides, if you intend to go riding with Lady Regina, she will take a slower pace.’ She nudged the mare into a trot, following the rise and fall of the animal. ‘And…um…you may want to be careful about leaving a lady behind. It’s more dangerous in London.’ She was trying to be tactful without being overly critical.
But her words did get his attention. His expression tightened into a shield, as if he felt embarrassed by his actions. ‘My apologies. I wasna thinking of your safety.’ The gruff response held a hint of remorse.
Frances wanted to lighten his dark mood, for it wasn’t the greatest of catastrophes. ‘It’s all right, really. Nothing happened. I merely wanted to point out that it would not be wise to abandon a lady, should you be riding in Rotten Row or somewhere in town.’
He gave a single nod. When he said nothing else, Frances blurted out, ‘Before we go back, would you give me a tour of the grounds?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never seen a castle of this size before, and while it’s not raining, I should like to see it.’
He hesitated as if he had no wish to do so.
‘Please?’ she asked. ‘Your home is beautiful. Especially the stained-glass windows.’
He let out a sigh and finally agreed. ‘We’ll leave the horses and walk. There’s no’ much to see out in the glen.’
When they reached the stables, he helped her down, and Frances pushed back the thrill of his hands upon her waist. She had an unfortunate weakness for strong men, and it was rather nice to be lifted from a horse as if she weighed no more than a spoon. Immediately, she reminded her wayward brain that the last thing she needed was to be attracted to the laird. He was her employer and was already engaged to another woman. But she could not deny that the wildness of his appearance had caught her eye. She could easily imagine being carried away, as if he were a conquering warlord.
Enough of this foolishness, she chided herself. But there was no denying that he made her nervous. And when she got nervous, she tended to talk too much.
The laird started to walk ahead, and she hurried to keep up. If he did that to Lady Regina, it could be a problem. Frances cleared her throat and called out, ‘Locharr, a moment, please?’
He turned back, uncertain of what she wanted. His expression revealed impatience, of a man who had no intention of being tutored by her. Still, she wanted to help him. With a smile, she put her hand in the crook of his arm. ‘I know I am only a governess, but for today, could we pretend that I am a lady? To practise.’
‘You are a lady,’ he answered. ‘You said your father was a baron.’
Her cheeks flushed as she tried to push back the unwanted memories. ‘He was, yes. But I am well aware that my station has fallen. I can only make the best of my circumstances.’
Frances straightened her posture and smiled as she walked alongside him, her gloved hand tucked in his arm. ‘I have one day, and I intend to make the most of it. Shall we begin with your first lesson?’

Chapter Two (#ueb42403c-49c4-56cc-a03d-af8b1c067127)
Lachlan wasn’t at all certain he wanted any kind of lesson. He decided that if Miss Goodson grew too overbearing, he would return to the house. After all, she was departing in the morning. But as they walked, he saw her marvelling at Locharr. She appeared enchanted by the stone archway that led to the gardens, and he had to admit, it had been some time since he’d viewed the estate through the eyes of a stranger.
The gravel pathway meandered around the green lawn towards a stone fountain of Venus. Miss Goodson had insisted upon a chaperon during their walk, so he had asked Elspeth to follow at a close distance. He deliberately kept his pace slow, so as not to overexert the elderly maid. Even so, he couldn’t understand why his governess found it necessary to be shadowed at all times.
‘How lovely,’ Miss Goodson breathed when she saw the fountain. Water spilled from the hands of Venus into the small pool, and a small frog swam within the fountain. She walked alongside him, her hand pressed against his arm. The slight touch made him feel conscious of Miss Goodson’s every movement, and it was strange to realise that he was enjoying her company.
Her green eyes shone with fascination and she was delighted with the garden, even though naught was blooming. ‘It will be filled with roses, come the summertime.’
‘There are roses, aye.’ He didn’t know what else to say besides that. Miss Goodson waited a moment, as if she were expecting more. When he said nothing, she stopped beside a stone urn and offered an encouraging smile. It was almost a silent battle of wills, as if she expected him to say more and he didn’t want to. He had never been one for long conversations.
‘Is there anything you would like to converse about, Locharr?’
He shrugged. ‘Nay.’ He liked the calm feeling of quiet. But from his governess’s expression, she appeared concerned.
‘When you are in London, be careful about long moments of silence with Lady Regina,’ Miss Goodson said. ‘She is the shyest young woman I’ve ever met, and I fear that if the conversation stops, it could be very uncomfortable for her.’
He didn’t see a problem in that, but he supposed some women might feel that way. ‘What are you wanting me to do?’
‘If you do not know what to say, you can always ask a question. Why don’t you ask me anything?’ Miss Goodson waited, and when Lachlan realised she wasn’t going to relent until he said something, he fumbled for a question. But came up with nothing.
He finally shrugged again and answered, ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Let’s try this. Pretend you are the lady.’ She lowered her voice and said in a growling tone, ‘Lady Regina, how long have you been in London?’
‘That’s a daft question. They come to London every Season.’
She bit back a laugh. ‘Yes, you and I know that, but won’t you play along for the sake of conversation? Just give it a try.’
He raised his voice to a falsetto and said, ‘You already know I come to London every Season.’
Miss Goodson held back her smile, though her eyes shone with mirth. In a low tone, she said, ‘The weather has been very rainy, as of late.’
Honestly, her idea of a conversation was not that interesting. ‘Why should I care about the weather?’ he asked. ‘Why should she?’
Miss Goodson reached out to touch his arm. ‘Patience, Locharr. Just give me a moment longer, won’t you?’
He couldn’t conceive of how this could have any merit at all. And she was making him feel foolish by playing the part of the lady. ‘Fine,’ he gritted out.
‘Let’s try it one more time. Now that we have talked about her travels and the weather, I might venture onto a new topic to get better acquainted.’ She cleared her throat and stared up at him. ‘You should try to make eye contact with the lady when you are speaking to her. So much is revealed in the eyes.’
Then she straightened and said in a deep voice, ‘It has been many years since we have seen one another, Lady Regina. I was wondering how you enjoy spending your time. Do you paint?’
Lachlan understood what she was trying to show him, but he couldn’t resist the urge to make the conversation more interesting. In a falsetto, he said, ‘No, I find painting dull. I prefer hunting.’
Miss Goodson bit her lip hard and shook her head. ‘A lady might not indulge in hunting.’
‘Now you’re wrong in that,’ he countered. ‘Many ladies enjoy hunting. And I thought you were wanting to play along?’
‘Fine,’ she sighed. In her deep voice, she uttered, ‘Fox hunting or deer?’
‘Boar,’ he said in the high-pitched voice. ‘I enjoy gutting pigs.’
At that, Miss Goodson no longer suppressed her laughter. Her eyes filled with mirth, and her hearty laugh brought about his own smile. ‘You are incorrigible, Locharr.’
He knew it, but he hadn’t been able to resist the urge. ‘And now you see that giving me lessons would be impossible.’
She shrugged at that. ‘Actually, I believe it would be very rewarding to help you. I should be glad of the opportunity.’
They walked out of the garden and into the inner bailey of the castle. Miss Goodson glanced up the staircase and asked, ‘Might we walk along the battlements so I can have a look at the sea?’
He saw no reason why not and guided her towards the stone stairs. The castle had been built so long ago, there was a walkway along the parapets where the archers used to keep guard. The wall along the edge was low enough that she could see the expanse of trees below and the sea in the distance. The morning sun was hazy, but it sparkled upon the surface of the water.
Miss Goodson’s face brightened at the sight of the water. ‘You truly have the most beautiful home, Locharr. I should love a view like this. It’s wonderful.’
‘It is verra fine,’ he agreed. ‘But it’s a costly view. And if I mean to keep this castle, I will need those twenty thousand pounds.’
‘Lady Regina is a most fortunate woman,’ Miss Goodson said. ‘I would marry you myself to live in a castle like this.’
Though her words were light-hearted, his imagination conjured the vivid image of Miss Goodson walking along these parapets as Lady of Locharr. Her blonde curls framed a lovely face, and her green eyes warmed at the sight of his home. He wondered how she would look after being thoroughly kissed. Would a soft moan escape that mouth while she surrendered to his touch? Was there more to Miss Goodson beneath those prim and proper ways? A darker side of him thought about unravelling her sensibilities, tempting her into sin.
It led him to wonder why she had not married after her father had left them. Her sisters had done so. What had caused her to seek employment on her own instead of seeking help from her family? He studied the young woman, wondering what secrets she was hiding. Though Miss Goodson was cheerful and seemed glad to be teaching him, he suspected that there was more beneath the surface. Her eyes gleamed with enthusiasm as he’d shown her Locharr. It was a sharp contrast to his own weary view of the world.
‘Would you like to walk a little further?’ he suggested. ‘There’s a glasshouse in the gardens on the opposite side of the grounds.’
She brightened and took his arm again. ‘I would love to continue our walk.’
He guided her through the gardens towards the structure that was inspired by a birdcage. The maid was falling further behind, but it seemed that Miss Goodson was either unaware or didn’t seem to mind. As long as there was a chaperon within a certain distance, that was all she cared about.
His grandfather had built the glasshouse for his wife, and it contained some of the more exotic plants and trees that were too fragile for Scottish weather.
Miss Goodson appeared in awe of the building, and for a moment, she was quiet as she explored the plants. When she reached one of the trees, she asked, ‘Is this a banana tree?’
‘Aye. My mother had it brought over from the Caribbean.’
She reached up to touch the tiny green bananas as if she could not believe they were real. ‘I’ve never seen a banana tree before. It’s smaller than I thought it would be.’
‘This one is,’ he agreed. ‘But they can grow much larger. We have to keep it inside the glasshouse.’
‘I wonder what else your mother will bring back from her travels?’ Miss Goodson mused. ‘It sounds fascinating.’
‘Ever since my father died, she has spent most of her time in different countries. She tries to bring me a gift from each country she visits.’ It was part of the truth. Catrina had been devastated at Tavin’s death. While Lachlan had shut himself away from the outside world, his mother had consoled herself by running away. The travel expenses were very dear, but Lachlan didn’t have the heart to cut her off. It was her way of managing her own grief.
‘How wonderful. She sounds like an adventurous lady.’
Adventurous was one way of describing his mother. But Catrina reminded him of a gust of wind, moving wherever she chose, heedless of whoever she knocked over along the way. It was more peaceful when she was gone. But when she returned, he intended to have words with her about her decision to hire a governess.
‘When I thought you had a daughter, I imagined teaching her about botany in an environment just like this,’ Miss Goodson said. ‘Only there are so many plants I’ve never seen; your mother would likely know more than I.’ She drew closer to a flower and leaned in to inhale the fragrance. ‘Any child who would grow up in a home like this would be very fortunate.’
‘Then you understand why I must do anything to protect it,’ he said quietly.
Miss Goodson nodded. ‘I do understand.’ With a smile, she added, ‘And I am positive that Lady Regina will be delighted to marry you.’ She softened her tone and said, ‘I know that you don’t want me here, Locharr. But please trust that I have your best intentions in mind. I want to help you.’
‘In other words, you want to tell me what to do.’
‘Only to guide you. And because of it, you will become the most desirable bachelor in London.’
‘You have only today,’ he reminded her. ‘What could you possibly teach me in that time?’
Her green eyes warmed with interest. ‘Wait and see.’


Frances knew she would have to use unconventional lessons to attract the interest of the laird. He had no faith in her, and she had to prove her usefulness. She sensed that Locharr was a man of a competitive nature. And she thought of a way to win a third day at the castle.
‘Do you play cards, Locharr?’ she asked.
‘Only when I’m planning to win money.’ His gaze narrowed, and his scar stood out on his face, reminding her of a pirate. Which made her imagine being stolen away by a handsome buccaneer. Her brain really needed to stop thinking of such things.
But she squared her shoulders and forced herself to concentrate. ‘I was thinking we could make a wager. What do you think?’
His expression grew interested, his pirate smile making her imagination conjure up more inappropriate visions of conquest. ‘For what stakes?’
‘If I win, you will complete a lesson and allow me to stay another day. If you win, I shall help you with anything you desire.’
‘Anything?’ he mused, and her face reddened at the sudden innuendo.
Not that. But she pretended as if there was nothing untoward about her words. ‘Within reason,’ she corrected.
He eyed her with interest and shrugged. ‘I suppose we could play whist.’
‘Where shall we have our game?’ she asked. ‘Elspeth can come and chaperon again.’
‘In the parlour,’ he said. ‘But Elspeth may be tired from her walk this afternoon. She may wish to rest in her room instead.’
No. Being unchaperoned and alone with a pirate was a Very Bad Idea. ‘Or Elspeth might also welcome the chance to sit for an hour,’ Frances countered.
‘I don’t ken why we need a chaperon. I’m no’ about to try and seduce you.’
She blinked at that. Well, then. He’d made his opinion quite clear. Frances cleared her throat and said, ‘It’s merely a habit you must acquire, Locharr. In London, you may not go anywhere without a chaperon. Whether your intention is seduction or not.’
He frowned at that. ‘It seems like a waste of time.’
It was clear that he didn’t understand what she meant. ‘It is always necessary to have a chaperon. It’s protection for you, or else you might find yourself the target of another young lady’s interest. And unless you wish to wed her, you’d best never be alone with her.’ Her tone came out sharper than she’d intended, but he needed to understand the gravity of the situation. For a moment, he stared at her in a silent war of wills. Frances crossed her arms, refusing to yield.
Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought she detected a faint note of approval from the laird. And he did call out to Alban, ordering Elspeth to join them in the parlour.
Frances tried not to gape as they walked through the halls. Although she had spent the night here, she could not resist smiling at the white columns that encircled the spiral staircase leading up. Truly, this was a magnificent castle fit for a princess.
The laird stopped in front of a smaller room and led her inside. She paused a moment to admire the parlour. ‘This is lovely.’
And it was. The crimson wallpaper was cheerful, and she liked the cosy hearth, even if there was no fire in the grate.
‘There are too many paintings,’ Lachlan countered. ‘Eight landscapes is too much for one wall.’
‘It gives one the opportunity to study a different painting each time,’ she said tactfully, though privately she agreed that it was indeed a lot of art for one room. A large portrait of an older nobleman hung over the fireplace, and Frances rather thought the man was leering at her.
MacKinloch led her to a smaller gaming table, and then he went to find a deck of playing cards. Frances shuffled the deck and remarked, ‘We really ought to have two more players for this game. Elspeth could join us. Or possibly Alban.’
‘She may not want to play,’ he pointed out. ‘And Alban has his duties to attend.’
‘Well, we can offer.’ She felt badly that the older woman had been required to traipse around the castle grounds and now had to sit in a chair.
‘She’s as deaf as a fence post. And I’m no’ in the mood to be shouting.’
‘You needn’t be rude or insensitive,’ Frances countered. ‘She cannot help her inability to hear.’
‘She’s lucky to be employed,’ he muttered, and Frances pretended not to notice.
When the elderly woman arrived in the parlour, Lachlan motioned for Elspeth to sit on the far side of the room. She sank gratefully into a chair, leaning back. ‘Thank you, Locharr!’ she shouted.
Frances was taken aback by the woman’s bellowing, but she approached Elspeth. In a loud voice, she asked the maid, ‘Would you care to play whist?’
The woman shook her head and put her hand to her ear. ‘What was that?’ she bellowed.
‘Cards!’ Frances shouted in return. ‘Do you wish to play?’
Elspeth shook her head and waved her hand. ‘Nay, lass! But thankee!’
She nodded and stepped back. To Lachlan, she said, ‘I suppose if Elspeth has no wish to play, we’ll just lay out the other hands after I deal them.’
Frances dealt out the cards and sorted her hand. She arranged her cards, trying not to think of how close his legs were to hers. He was staring at his cards as if he didn’t like what he saw. The frown made his scar more defined, but instead of frightening her, it made him appear wild and untamed. His blue eyes narrowed a moment before he fixed his attention on her again. Was he trying to distract her by flirting? There was a slight smile playing at his mouth.
Frances took a deep breath and focused on her cards again. ‘I will take the hand across from me, and you do the same. That way we will keep taking turns, and neither of us has an advantage.’
‘Or we could lay the opposite hand down,’ he suggested.
‘If we do that, there won’t be any element of surprise. I’ll know what card you’ll play next, and I’ll know where the trump cards are.’ She thought a moment. ‘We could stand up and change chairs. That could be amusing.’
He looked doubtful and then shook his head. ‘We’ll stay where we are and switch hands.’
‘Very well.’ Frances examined her hand and was pleased that there were several trump cards. ‘I shall lead.’
With that, she laid down the ace of hearts. The laird countered by throwing away his lowest heart, giving her the trick. She claimed a second trick, but on the third, he trumped her.
‘This one is mine.’ His hand brushed against hers as he collected the cards. His touch was bold, and she tried not to think of what those hands could do to a woman.
Concentrate, Frances, she warned herself. He was trying to distract her so he could win.
As the game progressed, it soon became clear that Lachlan MacKinloch was quite competitive. He delighted in winning and grimaced at the lost tricks. They each won a game. In the corner, Elspeth was quietly snoring, her mouth open as she dozed. So much for a chaperon, Frances thought. And then she wondered if Lachlan had deliberately chosen the old woman for that reason.
‘Do you think you can win?’ he asked, his voice rough and deep. His expression taunted her, as if he held a secret.
‘I know I can. But you can give up, if you wish.’ Her last card was an ace. There was no doubt in her mind that she would take the game and his forfeit. She smiled at him.
‘I never give up.’ He tapped the card against the back of his hand. ‘Ladies first.’
Frances responded by laying down the ace, smiling broadly. ‘The game is mine.’ Triumph spread across her face, and she was glad of the victory.
And yet, the laird had a gleam in his eyes. With that, he laid down a two, the lowliest of cards—but it was the trump suit.
‘No!’ Frances expelled a groan and shook her head with exasperation. ‘I thought it had already been played. I must have miscounted.’
MacKinloch took the trick and leaned back in his chair, quite satisfied by the outcome. It made her wonder exactly what he wanted from her now. Her wicked brain conjured up the idea of him kissing her, though she knew the very idea was ridiculous. But she forced herself to ask, ‘Well, what is my forfeit? Is there something you need help with?’
He stood from the table and drew closer until he towered over her. ‘Oh, aye. There are a great many things I need help with.’
His voice was low and resonant, causing her mind to think of even more scandalous thoughts. But she pretended as if his request was ordinary. ‘What do you need, Locharr?’
Oh, heavens, her voice sounded breathless, as if she was glad that their chaperon was fast asleep. When the truth was, her nerves had gathered, causing her heart to pound rapidly.
‘I need you to come with me,’ he said.
Into a darkened corner where he would press her back, his warm mouth against her cheek? Her imagination went wild, and she tried to push back the scandalous visions in her mind.
Her face flamed, but she asked, ‘Locharr, what is it?’
MacKinloch finally said, ‘It’s a task that I loathe and despise, but it must be done. My father left the estate ledgers in a terrible state. For your forfeit, I want you to help me sort through the papers.’ With a wry smile, he added, ‘Afterwards, you’ll be wanting to flee back to London. It’s horrifying.’
Relief soared through her, and her expression turned sympathetic. ‘Of course, I will be glad to help you.’ Without thinking, she touched his hand with her own. His eyes darkened, but not with anger. No, there was a flash of heat that rose up, tempting her towards more. Frances snatched back her hand, feeling like an idiot.
She had been burned by temptation once before, and she had sworn never to let it happen again. The mistakes of her past would remain there. And no matter how handsome and strong this man was, she would never let down her guard for a single moment.
Her future depended on it.


Lachlan opened the door to the study, steeling himself for what lay ahead. Even after the past few years, it had become a Herculean task to sort through his father’s ledgers. He and his clansmen had loved Tavin, though the man was impossibly disorganised. The loss of their laird had left a hole in everyone’s lives.
Lachlan had shut himself away from everyone after his father’s death. Not only to heal from his wounds, but to come to terms with his guilt. He hadn’t saved Tavin’s life, and he blamed himself. But there was no choice except to move on. He intended to take care of the people and the estate, but first, he had to unravel where all the money had gone.
‘We forgot about Elspeth,’ Miss Goodson reminded him. ‘She’s still asleep in the parlour.’
He wouldn’t say that ‘forgot’ was the right word. Deliberately left behind, perhaps. ‘We won’t need her for this. And I’ll leave the door open, if it makes you feel better.’
Lachlan led her into the study, and Miss Goodson could hardly conceal her horror at the sight. ‘Dear God.’
Although the room had once been Lachlan’s favourite, with polished wooden panelling and rows of bookcases, there were papers on every surface. Stacks of ledgers remained on the large desk, while papers were stuffed inside books, stacked on the floor—even crammed behind a brass sconce upon the wall. He’d done his best to organise it as best he could. His father had saved every last scrap of paper, and Lachlan didn’t know which ones were necessary and which could be burned.
‘Oh, my,’ she breathed. ‘How long has it been like this?’
‘Two years,’ Lachlan answered. ‘When I first took my father’s place, there were papers so deep in places, they were up to my knees. At least I can see the floor now.’
‘Did he…keep everything?’
It certainly seemed that way, though he hadn’t known it at the time. ‘My father stopped recording the information in the ledgers some time ago. He simply kept the bills and wrote down the amounts on scraps of paper.’
‘And your mother simply allowed him to keep his books in this way?’ She appeared aghast at the idea, and Lachlan privately agreed with her. Tavin had clearly been in over his head. ‘Why did no one intervene?’
‘He kept the room locked,’ Lachlan answered. ‘I believe he was ashamed and wanted no one to know about it.’ And that was no surprise, for the study was a disaster. He felt slightly guilty that he had asked for her help in this, but then again, if the intent was to drive her away, this would do it.
Miss Goodson, however, didn’t seem deterred at all. Instead, she rolled up her sleeves and let out a slow breath of air, turning over the problem in her mind. ‘Well, I suppose we should begin by sorting the papers by date.’
‘Not all of them are dated,’ he pointed out.
‘Then we shall make a stack of those papers with no date and see if we can’t make sense of them, in time.’ She paused a moment. ‘When was the last time he used a ledger to record anything at all?’
‘1802.’
Miss Goodson blinked at that. Unfortunately, they were looking through at least eight years of papers. There was no way around it, except to go piece by piece.
‘All right.’ She steadied herself a moment and said, ‘I suggest that we purchase eight ledgers. One for each year. We can sort the papers and put them inside the ledgers to be recorded later. What do you think?’
‘I’ve already begun sorting them by year. This is 1803.’ He pointed towards the stack of papers on the floor beside the desk. ‘And this is 1804.’ He gestured at the brass sconce. It was the best semblance of order he could achieve amid the chaos.
‘Where is the pile left to be sorted?’ she enquired. He didn’t miss the slight note of alarm in her tone.
‘In the bookcase. Behind portraits. Inside every possible hiding place you’d imagine.’
Her complexion turned sickly at his statement. ‘Oh, dear.’
‘Aye. I won’t be asking you to sort all of it. We’ll try it for an hour. That will be forfeit enough.’
Even so, he intended to speak with Alban about the extra ledgers. It was a good idea, and it would make it easier to organise the materials. The truth was, he’d been avoiding this task. A part of him thought it would be just as easy to lock the door and walk away. But he had to learn how Tavin had lost so much money over the years.
‘Shall I begin gathering the papers?’ Miss Goodson suggested. ‘I could go through the bookcase and find them. Since you already know where your stacks are, you could put them where they belong.’
Lachlan shrugged. ‘If you like.’ It was as good a place to start as any. He took three pages and placed one behind the sconce and a second on the pile for 1808.
Miss Goodson glanced outside. ‘What time is it, Locharr?’
He flipped open his pocket watch and answered, ‘It’s half past three.’ He didn’t know why she had asked, but he supposed it was growing later in the day.
‘Should I ring for tea to be served here?’
‘Aye. If you’re hungry.’ Now that she mentioned it, food did sound good right now.
She rang for Alban, and Lachlan ordered sandwiches and tea for her to drink, though he personally would have preferred whisky. Miss Goodson pulled out a slim volume from the bookshelf and found it stuffed with papers. Her eyes narrowed at his father’s handwriting, but she managed to find a date. ‘This one is 1805.’ She passed it to him, and he stacked it beside the window.
They found a rhythm of working together that was effective. Miss Goodson went through the papers, calling out each date before she passed it to him. One date was particularly difficult, and she squinted. ‘I’m terribly sorry, but I have no idea what these numbers are.’ She held it out and he studied it closely with no luck.
‘I’m thinking he was half-tippled when he wrote it.’ But he placed it in the 1806 pile nonetheless.
‘One might need to be deep in his cups to make sense of all this,’ she muttered beneath her breath.
Lachlan hid a smile at that. ‘In an hour, we can have a wee nip, if you’re wanting something.’
‘No, thank you.’ Her lips pursed together in the manner of a prim governess, and he rather wondered what she would be like with her hair loosened around her shoulders, her mouth softened.
When Alban arrived with the tea, Lachlan directed him to put the refreshments on the table by the window. Before the footman could leave, Miss Goodson cleared her throat.
‘Pardon me, Locharr, but do you think Alban could acquire the ledgers you need to sort through all of your father’s papers?’
The elderly footman turned back with a pained look. ‘How many would you be wanting, do you think?’ His gaze passed over the papers as if he wanted to set them on fire.
‘I should think that eight would be sufficient, don’t you?’ She looked back at him for confirmation.
Lachlan only shrugged. ‘It doesna matter to me. Bring eight, and if we’re needing more, I’ll send for them.’
Miss Goodson brightened at his support. ‘Good. That will help you put away what you’ve already sorted.’ Once the footman had departed, she tucked a wayward curl behind one ear.
‘Eat,’ he commanded. ‘You could stand to be fattened up a bit.’
She gaped and then said, ‘Please don’t speak to a lady about her figure, Locharr. If you mean to offer a sandwich, then do so, but say nothing about fattening her up. I am not a pig about to be roasted for supper.’
He knew that, but he hadn’t been able to resist teasing her. With a shrug, he said, ‘I meant no harm.’ He’d only wanted to watch her indignant reaction. Her cheeks flushed, and when she corrected him, she tended to straighten her shoulders, revealing the outline of her bosom.
Miss Goodson walked towards the window and picked up the plate. ‘Well, be that as it may, it is easy enough to simply offer a sandwich.’
He took one and devoured it with a single bite. Aye, he knew it was barbaric, but he was enjoying tweaking her. ‘It’s no’ bad. Ye should try one.’
She raised an eyebrow at him, and her expression turned into that of a prim schoolteacher. ‘Were you a difficult boy in school?’
‘Very. My friends and I were always avoiding our classes.’ He expected her to chastise him, but there was a gleam in her eyes as if she thought it an adventure instead.
‘I suppose your teachers grew frustrated,’ she teased. ‘You are quite a challenge. But I believe I can succeed in helping you, Locharr.’
‘Why?’ He set down the plate, deliberately wanting to challenge her. ‘Are you forgetting that you’re no’ my governess, Miss Goodson? And that you’re leaving tomorrow?’
Her expression dimmed at that. ‘I haven’t forgotten. But I want to help you as much as I am able, in whatever time I have remaining.’
‘Because you believe you can change my mind about keeping you here?’ He reached for another sandwich. ‘It willna happen. The last thing I need is someone telling me what to do and how to do it.’
Her face flushed, and she didn’t move. Those river-green eyes turned the colour of a storm cloud. ‘That wasn’t my intention.’
Oh, but it was. And he wanted to be quite clear that he would not allow her to give him commands.
‘You’re no’ going to stay,’ he responded. ‘No matter what you say or do.’
‘We’ll see about that.’ Her challenge brightened those cheeks, and she glared at him. It intrigued him further, and he wondered if she would keep her temper.
‘Are you wanting a sandwich, Miss Goodson?’ he asked. He deliberately spoke with exaggerated politeness as he pressed the bread to her mouth.
The colour deepened in her face, and she turned away. ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘I am.’ He took the sandwich and ate half in a single bite. Miss Goodson’s expression appeared pained, but she did not correct him.
‘Do you want the other half?’ He held it out, knowing that she wanted to say something. But she didn’t dare, knowing how that her place was tenuous.
Instead, she turned her attention to another distraction, and she poured a cup of tea for each of them. ‘Do you take milk or sugar in your tea?’
‘You’re ignoring my question, aren’t you?’
She gave no acknowledgment but held out the cup. ‘Take a small sip. If you don’t care for the taste, I will add milk or sugar, however you please.’
‘I take whisky,’ he answered. ‘Without the tea.’
She eyed him and then said, ‘Let me fix it for you.’ He handed the cup back, and she added milk and a few nips of sugar, stirring it. ‘Try it now.’
‘I’ve never liked tea,’ he told her. ‘It’s hardly more than boiled water.’ He took a small taste. It still reminded him of water, only it was sweeter now. ‘Is that how you take your tea?’
She nodded. Then, with a faint smile, she admitted, ‘I don’t really like tea, either. But I can tolerate it this way, if I must.’
He set it aside and suggested, ‘You should try whisky. At least if you dinna care for the taste, you won’t remember that after a few glasses.’
She bit her lip. ‘I will keep that in mind.’
He knew he was baiting her, but at least she wasn’t being so priggish now. He mimicked a proper voice again. ‘Are you certain you don’t want a sandwich, Miss Goodson?’
A mischievous gleam caught her eye. ‘I believe I’ve changed my mind. Thank you.’ He handed her the plate, and she stuffed the entire sandwich in her mouth, puffing out her cheeks as she did.
An unexpected burst of laughter caught him, but he suppressed it, coughing instead. His governess was shaking with her own mirth as she tried to chew. When she finally swallowed, she was still beaming. ‘That’s what you looked like, Locharr. Trust me when I say it would not be attractive to Lady Regina.’
When she stopped laughing, he offered her a napkin, and their fingers brushed together.
She froze instantly at his touch. The look on her face was of a woman caught in an illicit embrace, and she took the napkin before she jerked her hand back. Her cheeks flushed, and Lachlan wondered if she had ever had a suitor. Had a man ever kissed those full lips, tangling his hands in her curls?
For a moment, he found himself wanting to push back her boundaries and discover if there was any wildness beneath the propriety of his governess. He gritted his teeth to force back the flare of unexpected need.
‘Please don’t touch me,’ she whispered, her face flaming.
He shrugged and lied. ‘You had a few crumbs on your face. I didna think you’d want to be walking about with them.’
Her shoulders lowered in relief. ‘Oh. Well, if that happens again, simply tell me and I’ll get my own napkin.’
Miss Goodson dabbed at her mouth and cheeks. He noticed that she was staring at him, and he couldn’t think why.
‘Have I crumbs on my face, then?’ he asked.
She shook her head. Her gaze passed over his clothing, and she winced slightly. He saw naught wrong with his tartan, but it bothered her in some way. For a moment, he saw her pondering him, her eyes studying him as if she didn’t quite know how to broach the subject troubling her.
Then at last, Miss Goodson asked, ‘When was the last time you were in London, Locharr?’ She reached for another sheet of paper under her chair and read aloud, ‘1807.’
He took the paper and filed it with the others. ‘It’s been nearly four years since I’ve travelled there. I had no wish to go.’
‘Are you not required to take your seat in Parliament?’
‘My father was no’ one of the landowners who had a seat, by the grace of God.’ He was thankful for that, for he had no wish to be part of government.
Lachlan sat back for a moment, still aware that she was stealing glances at him while pretending to search for more papers. Was she concerned about his scar? After the fire, he rarely looked at himself any more. He knew it could frighten Lady Regina, but there was naught he could do about it. Or was there another reason Miss Goodson was staring?
She handed him two more papers. ‘These are 1804.’ Then she bit her lip and blurted out, ‘Whether or not you allow me to stay, there is one thing you ought to consider.’
He waited for her to finish, and she added, ‘Before you travel to London, we should have you fitted for new clothing. Do you have a tailor you prefer?’
Lachlan frowned at that. He had no need of new clothes. What he had suited him well enough. ‘Nay, I am fine as I am.’
‘You cannot wear such clothing in London.’
‘Why not?’ He needed to save his coins, not spend them on wasteful attire.
‘Because it will draw too much attention to you. It’s quite different from what the other gentlemen wear.’
He knew that, but he hardly cared about what anyone else thought. The last time he’d been in London, he had remained out of the public eye, as a guest in the Worthingstone household. They hadn’t cared what he wore, and it bothered him to think that he would be judged on his attire.
The truth was, he saw no reason to spend money on himself. He had no right to worry about clothes—not when his people could go hungry this winter because of his father’s debts. And it wasn’t as if he intended to hide his Scottish heritage. What did it matter if he wore a tartan to a gathering?
Miss Goodson’s expression turned soft with sympathy. ‘Some of the men will be unkind to you, because you are courting Lady Regina. They will look for any excuse to make you into a laughingstock. I don’t want that to happen.’
Lachlan shrugged. He squeezed his fists together and said, ‘Then I’ll be having words with them. What I wear is my business.’
‘You’re wrong.’ She stiffened and lifted her chin. ‘In Scotland, I suppose your tartan is common enough. But for a shy lady such as Regina, you must try to blend in among the other gentlemen.’
Why should he care about that? Lachlan crossed his arms and glared at her. ‘I’m no’ going to blend in. I am a Scot, and there’s nae need for me to pretend to be anything else.’ He was already taller and stronger than most men. Blending in was impossible, given his size—or even the vicious scar on his cheek.
Miss Goodson’s face softened with sympathy. ‘Forgive me. I was not implying that you should try to be someone you’re not. It’s only that, Lady Regina is very shy, and she may feel uncomfortable if everyone is…staring at you.’
He shielded his thoughts, for her opinion was clear. She did not like his clothing at all, and it irritated him to think that he would have to be fitted for attire he wouldn’t need. He had better ways of spending that money.
Miss Goodson offered, ‘I can send for a tailor to take your measurements. It shouldn’t take more than a week or two to have an appropriate wardrobe.’
‘I see no reason for spending good coins when I already own clothes.’ He set down another paper and leaned back. ‘It seems you’re wanting me to spend money I canna spare in order to wear what the other gentlemen do.’
‘As you’ve said, there are twenty thousand pounds at stake. Is that not worth a new jacket and breeches, if it means winning Lady Regina’s hand in marriage?’
He hesitated, pondering the matter. She did have a good point that there was a great deal to consider. It wasn’t worth the risk of displeasing Lady Regina over something as trivial as clothing.
‘Try it,’ she insisted. ‘I will hire a tailor, and you need only buy one set of clothes. Consider it an investment.’
He set down the papers and regarded Miss Goodson with all seriousness. ‘It may be an investment, but once I have wedded Lady Regina, she must accept my family’s traditions. I wear the tartan to show my clan that I will support them until the day I die. She must ken that and accept it.’
Miss Goodson smiled. ‘Of course. But know that when you go to London, you are also supporting your clan. You are winning a wealthy heiress as your wife and bringing back twenty thousand pounds to them.’ She took a step closer and pleaded, ‘Set aside your pride for a few weeks, and Lady Regina will not mind if you wear the tartan when you return home.’


The laird drew closer, and Frances tried to calm the stutter of her heartbeat. His masculine scent reminded her of pine trees and rain. Careful, she warned herself. She was on borrowed time as the laird’s governess, and she could not let her admiration lead her down the wrong path. Even so, her heartbeat only quickened at his nearness.
‘Was there something else you wanted, Locharr?’
‘Aye.’ He took another step closer, causing her to lean back to look at him. ‘There was indeed something I wanted.’
Her brain turned into cotton while her pulse pounded beneath her skin. ‘W-what was it?’ Her face was burning as her imagination conjured up the vision of him pressing her against the bookshelves, kissing her until she could no longer stand. And she had no doubt that his husky innuendo had been spoken on purpose, simply to ruffle her feathers.
A slow smile curved across his mouth. ‘I’m wanting more food.’
Oh, he was enjoying this, wasn’t he? She knew he had teased her to get under her skin. And yet, for a moment, his eyes had stared at her as if he desired her. The very thought unravelled her composure, and she struggled to shore up her weakening defences.
As a distraction, Frances chose a slice of bread, delicately smearing it with raspberry jam. ‘H-here you are.’ She held it out to him, well aware that for a man of his size, there wasn’t nearly enough food on the tray. He could have devoured everything by himself.
The laird broke off a piece and ate it. Frances tried not to stare, but as she watched him, she grew transfixed by the sight of his mouth.
Stop it, she warned herself. Right now, she ought to knock her head against the wall if that would bring back common sense. She already knew what would happen if she let a handsome man turn her head. It would only result in heartache.
Locharr reached for another slice of bread and this time broke off a small piece before he buttered it. ‘What would you have chosen as your forfeit, if you’d won the game?’
‘Dancing,’ she confessed. ‘It is a necessary skill that you must learn, whether you want to or not.’
He suppressed a grimace. ‘I ken how to dance. I’ve no need for instruction.’
She wondered if he felt clumsy or awkward. Or worse, if anyone had ever teased him. ‘If you are engaged to Lady Regina, dancing will be expected of you.’
‘I dinna care what they expect.’
‘No, but it will make it easier on her if you behave as other gentlemen do.’ Frances took a sip of the tea she didn’t want and studied him, her mood softening. ‘In time, she may even fall in love with you.’
‘Love isna necessary,’ he pointed out.
‘No, but it will convince her to marry you. If a woman loves a man, she is glad to follow him anywhere.’ Once, she had been willing to do just that. A bitter pain caught her heart, and she locked it away.
The expression on his face was knowing, but he didn’t ask. She had come to Scotland to forget the past, and there was no sense in talking over matters that were over and done with. The price had been paid ten times over for her folly, and she found it easier to bury the devastating memories.
‘Did you ever love someone?’ he asked quietly.
The air in the room seemed to grow stifling, and she felt a tightness expand in her chest. Yes, she had loved someone, more than life itself. Emotion gathered up inside her, threatening to spill into tears. But she held it back and answered, ‘A long time ago I did. But it’s over now.’ She had no desire to even think of the past, much less converse about it. Instead, she rang for Alban to take the tray away.
‘Locharr, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take a walk around the grounds. By myself, that is.’
‘Are you wanting an escort?’
‘No, I will remain in the gardens for a time, that’s all. I don’t think any of your servants will harm me, and I will be visible from the windows, should I need help.’ She had met his staff and thus far, she felt quite safe.
‘I must caution you about London, though. Do not ever be alone with a young lady at a gathering without a suitable chaperon,’ she warned. ‘You would be forced to wed her.’ He might know that already, but she felt compelled to warn him.
‘And what of Lady Regina?’ he suggested. ‘Is that no’ the point? Her father wishes us to marry.’
‘True, but she would be ruined in the sight of her friends and would resent you for it.’ Frances knew from personal experience, exactly what that was like. Even now, years later, it still stung to realise that her friends had turned their backs on her. Which meant they had never truly been her friends.
She stood as Alban entered the study. The footman cleared away the tray, and the laird waited until the man had gone before he spoke.
‘You may go, Miss Goodson.’ He escorted her from the study and closed the door behind them. Frances was quite happy to leave the papers behind. ‘Thank you for your help this afternoon.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She added, ‘And…if I am being overbearing, please forgive me. I mean only to help you win the heart of Lady Regina.’
The laird accompanied her as they walked down the hallway. ‘Good day, Miss Goodson. Be sure to pack your belongings. The coach will be here in the morning.’
Not likely, if Alban managed to delay it.
But she shrugged as if it were inevitable. ‘There are still some etiquette rules we can discuss tonight at supper.’
‘Because if I don’t use the right fork, Lady Regina willna marry me, is that it?’ His dry sarcasm and roguish expression made her knees turn liquid. It made her imagine his handsome face leaning in closer to steal a kiss.
Have you no shame? she warned herself. Your imagination has gone wanton.
‘Or the proper spoon,’ she shot back with her own insolence. ‘One never knows the importance of cutlery.’
She flushed at his nearness, realising that it was her loneliness that caused the idle dreams. She had trained at the agency for a year, surrounded only by women. She had lived alone, without so much as a cat for company. This was the reason why she was so sensitive to a casual touch. It would go away, she was certain.
‘Would you mind very much if I asked Alban for a basket and shears?’ she enquired. ‘Could I choose some flowers for the house?’ A good walk would clear her head and remind her of her purpose.
‘There’s naught blooming just now, but you can ask him, if you wish.’
‘Thank you, Locharr.’ She bobbed a slight curtsy and then hurried down the hall towards the retreating footman. It was only an excuse to leave, and they both knew it.
She needed to be careful when she was around Lachlan MacKinloch. He was a handsome man with a fierce smile that made her willpower crumble. Frances reminded herself that she needed to encase her heart in steel and lock it away, along with her wayward desires. He belonged to another woman, and even if he did keep her as his governess, it was only temporary. Eventually, she would never see him again.

Chapter Three (#ueb42403c-49c4-56cc-a03d-af8b1c067127)
Frances returned to the house with an empty basket, for the laird had been right. The only blooming flowers were a few brave crocuses pushing through the ground, and daffodil shoots that had emerged. She hadn’t minded the brisk walk, despite the misting rain. It had been wonderful to stroll through the gardens, exploring the beds. She had no doubt that the landscape would be a magnificent rainbow of colours, come the spring.
You won’t be here to see it, a voice reminded her. The thought dimmed her mood, for she adored this castle. She knew that she was treading on dangerous ground already. The laird was a good man, though stubborn. And heavens, he was attractive. When he had drawn so close to her, she had imagined kissing him, pressing her hands against his broad shoulders. The very thought sent a tremor of forbidden desire within her.
Frances shoved it back and locked it away. She could not let herself imagine something that would never be. But she would enjoy every moment of whatever time she had left, even if it was only today. For the next few hours, she could pretend that this was a new life, a new beginning. The grief of the past would fade away, and she would forget it in time.
When she reached the stairs, she saw the footman, Alban, struggling. His leg appeared to be troubling him, and he lifted it to the stair tread before stepping with his other foot.
‘Are you all right, Alban?’ she asked quietly. ‘Is your leg bothering you?’
He reddened, as if he didn’t want to answer. ‘It’s naught of any concern, Miss Goodson.’
‘Is it arthritis?’ she probed. ‘My grandmother suffered badly from it, but one of our maids made a poultice that helped. I could give you the ingredients to try it.’
He stopped and turned back to face her. ‘I’m not needing your help, thank you. I can manage on my own.’
It was his pride talking. She suddenly thought about it and realised that all the laird’s servants were elderly, save herself. And there weren’t very many of them.
‘How many servants are there at Locharr?’ she enquired.
Alban straightened. ‘Eight, Miss Goodson.’
She barely stopped herself from gaping at him. Eight? In a castle of this size? It was little wonder that the footman was struggling up the stairs. The man likely held three positions instead of one. She suddenly realised that the laird’s betrothal was more than simply trying to make a good match. The livelihood of his people depended on it.
‘And how many people live in the village?’ She wondered how many others would be affected by the marriage.
‘Seventy or so,’ Alban admitted. ‘They’ve no’ been able to pay their rents this year. ’twas a hard winter, and the laird hasna asked them for aught.’
She sobered at that. ‘Do they have enough to feed their families?’
‘Barely.’ The footman paused, leaning against the bannister. ‘I dinna think he should be paying you.’
‘He’s not,’ she answered honestly, though she hoped he would change his mind about keeping her. Despite her circumstances, she intended to make the most of each day. Living in this castle quenched her thirst for beauty, and every time she stopped to look around, she caught another detail she hadn’t noticed before.
‘Locharr is already betrothed,’ the footman pointed out. ‘He has no need for a governess to teach him.’
‘I understand that,’ Frances answered. Lowering her voice, she added, ‘But I want the laird to be successful in London. It is nothing like Scotland. His clothes, his manner of speaking, none of it is the same.’
There was a moment of silence before Alban said, ‘He shouldna have to change who he is.’
Frances understood his meaning, but clarified, ‘He doesn’t have to change anything on the inside. He only has to blend in for a few weeks.’ She tried to explain it better. ‘A man like Locharr could terrify some of the younger ladies. He’s strong and fierce, and he takes what he wants. But if he wants to win Lady Regina’s hand in marriage, he needs to…soften his manners like the other gentlemen. And on that note, could you send a tailor to the house in the morning? It must be someone who knows how to sew his lordship a wardrobe fit for London.’

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