Lion of Caledonia(18)

“Yes.” She finally cut the connection that drew him in. Glancing away, she inspected the mess that was his bedroom. The loss of her gaze made him realize where they were.

In his bedroom.

With an abrupt movement, he pushed her out of his arms, holding onto her only until she’d steadied on her feet. “You’re all right?”

“I’ve recovered.” A flush rose up her neck, coloring her porcelain skin. She swept her plain hands down the simple green jumper she wore and then stuck them into her jean pockets. “The attacks come and go quickly.”

He didn’t stand because he didn’t want to get near her again. Her crisis had apparently been averted, so it was time to get back to the inquisition. “Since you’re fine now, ye can answer my question.”

The mouse sucked in a breath and for a moment his own held in his throat, but then she let out a hesitant sigh. “I was only looking around.”

He knew immediately—she lied. The way she looked at everything except him, the way the muscles of her face tightened, the way her hands fisted in her pockets. With a shock, he realized he was even angrier at this point than he’d been before.

“You’re not a very good liar, Ms. Douglas.” He placed his elbows on the mattress, lying in a negligent sprawl, trying to cover the anger in a layer of blasé detachment. “I’d advise ye not to try it anymore. Especially with me.”

That average mouth of hers fell open and her gaze met his. What he saw in them didn’t make sense. It was as if he’d hit on something far deeper than his casual comment deserved.

The something wrong he’d sensed before leapt back into his awareness, crouching in the depth of his mind, just out of reach. Leaning forward and clasping his hands before him, he narrowed his eyes at her. “Come on then. Tell me the truth.”

A sharp knock on the door startled both of them. The mouse jumped and swung around. Cam found himself bemused because the noise had jerked him out of this scene in the same way a sudden interruption during his dictation always jerked him out of a story.

He never liked that.

He didn’t like it now.

“Go away,” he barked at the door.

“Mr. Steward.” His housekeeper’s voice was firm. “You’re needed.”

His boy. Something was wrong with the boy.

He jerked to his feet, all thoughts of interrogation swept away by the need to get Ms. Douglas away from the second floor and far from his son. Striding past her, he yanked the door open.

Mrs. Rivers’ eyes widened when she saw the mouse.

“You’ll escort Ms. Douglas to her room,” he ordered. “I’ll take care of the problem.”

“Yes, Mr. Steward.” His housekeeper’s eyes returned to their usual bland gaze. “Come along, Miss.”

He didn’t waste his time making sure the mouse had left his bedroom. He had more important people to deal with.



She did not want to be here.

Jen stared at the wooden face of the jester set in the library door.

Yesterday had been a disaster of monumental proportions and she’d barely escaped. Only the unlikely appearance of Mrs. Rivers had saved her from spilling her guts.

A close escape.

Because she’d wanted to. She’d desperately wanted to tell Cameron Steward why she was really here and beg him to give her the ring.

Please give me the ring.

Not until she’d dived into her cozy little nest on the third floor had reality snapped her back into sanity. Her grandfather had begged. He’d written letter after letter to Mr. Steward’s literary agent with no response. He’d called this very house time and time again—and been rejected.

Just as she would have been.

No, she’d been seduced by those big arms holding her in their tender grasp. Seduced by the kindness in his odd eyes and the concern in his rich voice. Seduced into thinking she was safe with him.

Safe with Cameron Steward.

Jen snorted at the jester and at her thoughts. There was no such thing as safe. She’d learned that lesson in a hard and permanent way when she’d been only five years old. It was a lesson she’d never forget.

“Time to get to it,” she whispered to herself before putting her fist to the door.

Her knock went unanswered.

She hit the door again.

Again, nothing.

Mr. Steward. You’re needed.

Needed for what? She’d spent the night wrestling with that question, along with banishing any lingering need for seductive safety. What or who needed him? Was he still attending to that need, even now?

Jen gave the door another tentative knock.

Silence.

Though she dreaded the confrontation, now, when it appeared there’d be none, her heart sank. Her stupid, stupid addiction to him.