The Highlander And The Governess

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.’