Enraptured (15 page)

“Let's look downstairs.” Coll turned away. They went first to the study, where Coll picked up a few of the papers
that had been scattered across the floor. “This looks like a deed. A will.”

“The sort of important papers one might keep in a safe.” Violet glanced around the room. A squat safe stood against one wall. Its door was closed, but it opened easily at Coll's touch. He muttered a curse as he stared into the empty interior.

“Do you know what was in here?” Coll looked at Mrs. Ferguson.

She shook her head. “I've no idea.”

“What about the estate money?” Violet asked. “The rents and such?”

“That's in the safe down at the gatehouse. Nobody's tried to break in there. I think Damon kept some jewelry in here, but they might have taken that with them to London.”

“The silver! The butler's pantry!” Mrs. Ferguson whirled and headed toward the servants' hall almost at a run. Opening a door, she hurried through a narrow room to the door on the opposite end. She sagged with relief. “It's not been opened.”

“Let's check it in any case,” Coll decided. “You can tell if aught's missing here, can't you?”

“Oh, aye.” Mrs. Ferguson's voice was grim. “Let me get the key.”

As they waited for the housekeeper to return, Sally turned to Violet. “You look fair knackered, lass. You shouldna be standing aboot. Bed's the place for you.”

“I'm not sure I could sleep.”

“Weel, hot chocolate will take care of your nerves. I'll whip you up a cup.” Sally bustled off toward the kitchen, harrying the maids and the footman before her.

“She's right. You should sleep.” Coll steered Violet along the hall to a bench. “Dinna worry. No one will get into Duncally again. I'll be here till dawn; I intend to look through every room in the house. I'll make sure all the windows and doors are locked as well.”

When Sally returned bearing two cups of steaming chocolate, Coll took the tray, saying, “Ah, Sally, you brought a cup for me as well? You are the woman of my dreams.”

“Aye, weel, you maun remember that the next time I want more money for the kitchen.”

Coll sat down next to Violet, taking a sip of the rich, hot liquid. Violet let out a sigh and leaned against the wall, stretching her feet out in front of her. When Mrs. Ferguson returned with the key, Coll went with her to inspect the butler's safe, but it seemed too much effort to Violet. She stayed on the bench, nursing her drink and letting her mind drift. Why would a thief break in and not take any of the expensive things lying about the house? Why . . .

“Och, lass, you're about to spill chocolate all over you.”

Violet's eyes flew open as Coll plucked the cup from her hands. “Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't realize.” She shook her head. “Was anything missing from the butler's pantry?”

“Nary a spoon.” He set the half-empty cup down on the bench and pulled her to her feet. “Now, let's get you to bed.”

“I am a bit sleepy.” She covered an enormous yawn.

“Is that what you call it? Dead on your feet is more like it.”

“Coll!” she shrieked as he swept her up and started for the stairs. “There's no need to carry me. I am perfectly capable of walking on my own.”

“Aye, I ken you are indomitable.” He started up the stairs. “But this once you dinna need to prove it.”

Violet sighed. She should argue with him, but instead she leaned her head against his shoulder. It was wonderfully warm and pleasant here in his arms. She could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat, and her own pulse seemed to fall into rhythm with his. It was so easy, so right, to let her eyes close and her mind relax.

Her eyes opened again when he laid her down on her bed. Coll leaned over her, bracing his hands against the mattress. She could not read his expression in the darkness.

“Violet . . .”

She smiled sleepily, putting her hands on his forearms. “Thank you.”

He remained still for a moment longer, then straightened. “Good night.”

He pulled the covers over her, and Violet turned onto her side, snuggling into the down mattress. As she sank into sleep, she thought she felt his hand glide over her hair.

B
loody hell! What was he
doing? Coll strode down the hall to the stairs. He paused at the top, aching to turn around and go back to Violet. He thought of the way her mouth curved up when she opened her eyes and saw him, of how warm and soft and inviting she looked lying there, her hair spilling across the pillow. It was the sort of image that could torment a man.

He forced himself to continue down the stairs. A woman like Violet Thornhill was not for him.
Lady
Violet. He could not forget that she was titled and he was so many things that would repel an aristocrat that it hardly bore counting.

It did not matter how soft and sweet she had felt in his arms or how the sight of her in that almost transparent nightgown had set his blood pounding. It did not matter that she had run to him. Most of all, it did not matter that when he'd kissed her the other night, she had turned to flame in his hands. She had been drinking; it meant nothing. Ever since then she had been like ice to him.

Violet had avoided him so assiduously—never coming down to the library no matter how many evenings he'd loitered there, leaving Duncally at dawn's light—that he had finally been reduced to visiting her at the ruins. That scene had been as awkward as he'd feared, with her workers watching, and he had felt a proper fool. It had been impossible to thrash the thing out with her. Could she really believe that he did not want her? She had sounded not just angry but hurt.

Maybe she had felt the same roaring burst of passion he did. Maybe tonight when he was tending to her, she had felt the same lick of desire. He remembered the glide of the cloth over her, the feel of her satiny skin. That something so mundane as washing her feet should light every nerve in his body was absurd, but it had. And when he'd raised his head, the soft, dreamy-eyed look on Violet's face had tempted him almost beyond bearing. He had wanted in that moment to pull her to the floor and sink into her, his need so fierce, so fiery, that it had taken all his strength to turn away.

Coll realized that he had again come to a dead halt and was standing at the door to the terrace, hardly aware of anything along the way. He let out a low growl of frustration and twisted the bolt on the door. Unlocked, of course. Probably half the doors in the house were. No one would dare to break into Duncally.

Except someone had. That was what he should be thinking about, not wandering around brooding over a lass. Could it have been MacRae? The man had left auld widow Stewart's, but he could have gone somewhere else—though Coll could not imagine who would have taken MacRae in, even for money, and the idea of MacRae setting up camp
outdoors was ludicrous even if it hadn't been cold. More likely the intruder had been a local. Still, Coll rather hoped it was MacRae. He'd pound the bloody bastard into dust if he had hit Violet. Hell, he'd want to thrash any man who'd struck her.

Here he was, thinking about Violet again. He was behaving like a fool. He was concocting hunger in her out of his own pounding desire. Even if by chance Violet did feel as he did, he could not act upon it. He had been raised around Isobel and her brother Andrew; he knew how much a lady of quality was sheltered from the cruder facts of life.

She was a guest here. He was supposed to protect her, not ravage her. And if those things were not enough to restrain him, Violet Thornhill was also the most contrary woman who ever lived. Every day with her would be a battle. That was all very well for the excitement of the moment, but a man could not live like that.

He continued his inspection of the house, cursing each unlocked window and door. By the time he had finished, the sun was up and the kitchen staff was bustling about. He cadged a plate of breakfast and a cup of tea from Sally. After that, he sat down to wait for Violet to come downstairs, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.

“Coll?”

His eyes flew open and he jumped to his feet. Violet stood at the bottom of the stairs, as tidy and contained as always. Nothing like the wild, flushed woman with the unbound hair who had come running to him last night. “Lady Violet.”

“Did you find that anything else was stolen? Or where he broke into the house?”

He shook his head. “There was nothing obvious missing. If a knickknack here or there is gone, I wouldna know. The place is full of them. He would not have had to break in. Only one of the doors was locked. There are too many windows to count, and many of them were also unlocked. I locked them, and I can make the rounds of the house each night to make sure they stay that way. But even then, it would be easy enough to get in. So I intend to move in here.”

She blinked, momentarily silenced.

“If there is another intruder, I'll be here to stop him. I can make sure everything is locked up, patrol the house before I go to sleep.”

“It, um, sounds like a very sensible plan.”

He drew a breath. “You must return to England.”

Her brows sailed upward. “I beg your pardon? I told you when I got here that I had no intention of leaving.”

“Things are different now. I cannot guarantee your safety.”

“I have not asked you to.”

“That does not change the fact that I am responsible for your welfare as well as for this house.”

“No, you are not.”

“If anything happened to you, I would be the one who did not stop it.”

“Oh, twaddle! I am responsible for my welfare. Besides, I thought your purpose in staying here was to protect Duncally.”

“Yes, of course, but . . .”

“Then I won't come to harm.”

The simple trust in her voice warmed him as much as it astonished him. “I appreciate your confidence. But there are
more ways to be harmed than just physically. What about your reputation? I will be living in the same house with you.”

She cocked one eyebrow. “Do you intend to ravish me?”

Coll felt the heat rush into his cheeks. He wasn't sure if it was anger, embarrassment, or arousal. “Devil take it! You know I would never—”

“Yes, yes, I am aware of how unlikely that is. So there is no need to be alarmed for my virtue.”

“We will be alone. I will sleep right down the corridor.” And
that
was a thing that was better not to consider.

“Mrs. Ferguson is here. The other servants.”

“Tucked away in the servants' hall. That's no chaperonage. Your reputation would be in tatters if people knew you spent weeks under the same roof alone with a man. Particularly a man such as me.”

“A man such as you? Hardheaded, you mean? Autocratic?”

“Not of your class,” he growled. “A bastard, to boot.”

“I don't see what your parentage has to do with anything,” she said coolly. “But if that's so, it is a good thing I don't care about my reputation.”

“Easy to say, but reality is a different matter altogether.”

“The
reality
of it is that I do not care. I am already an embarrassment to my family. They do their best not to acknowledge my existence. I have no intention of marrying, so I needn't worry about losing a future husband.”

He snorted. “That is what Meg used to say. Then she met Damon. You may think you dinna care now, but what about when you meet a man whom you want to . . . to be with?”

“I do not have to marry a man to ‘be with him.' ”

Every nerve in Coll's body sprang into fierce, sizzling
life. He could not speak—or indeed even think—for the lust suddenly choking him.

“I am a modern woman,” Violet went on calmly. “I do not believe in the shackles of marriage. I intend to pursue my career, not become someone's shadow, without even a name of my own. People find it acceptable for a man to live without a wife. Nor do they expect him to be celibate because he does not marry. Why should it be any different for a woman? Now, if you will excuse me, I must get started with my day.” With a cool smile, she turned and walked away.

Coll stood, watching the sway of her hips, struggling not to run after her and kiss her until that cool challenge on her face gave way to heat and desire. Somewhat shakily he swiped his hands over his face and through his hair. Good Lord. For the sake of his own sanity, he'd better find this intruder quickly.