Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

The piano fell silent. Finally.

“Go to bed,” he shouted from his office.

Gabriel glanced at the clock. It was well past ten in the evening. How the girls managed to be awake and continuing their reign of terror was beyond him. He had hired Miss Bancroft to handle them, and yet she allowed them to run wild.

And he hadn’t the time to manage everything.

Nor did he wish to contend with her. Like earlier that afternoon when he discovered her bathing in the river, looking far too beautiful than a woman should. He had lived all over the continent after London and considered himself well traveled. And never had he met a woman who crawled under his skin the way she did.

Since her arrival, everything felt off-kilter. He was only one man trying to do the impossible it seemed, and no one wished to help. Especially Miss Bancroft.

And yet he had turned around this afternoon to discover her sitting on the rocky path, her long black hair draping over her bare shoulders to her waist and her cheeks so pink, worrying over a bumblebee. The way the sun washed over her on the perfect September afternoon, the way her voice cracked when she discovered the bee was missing its wing. Every minute detail about her finally clicked into place, and he was sure he couldn’t stand her.

Not even a little bit.

Certainly not when he heaved a sigh and pushed back from his desk and strode into the music room to discover Miss Bancroft there on the bench instead of the girls.

“They’ve been in bed for two hours.” She smoothed her hands over her lap. “I’m not a complete failure.”

The room, once a battery, now had ivory-barreled ceilings and cracked plaster walls of clover green. “That was ye playing?”

“Do you have a ghost in residence I do not know about?”

“There is a story of a woman dressed in white named Sophie. Died in the turret. Though, late one evening, my mother told me the dress was actually green.”

Miss Bancroft nodded. “Of course. Every eerie Scottish castle needs a ghost.”

“Eerie? This…” He paused, leaning against the doorway. “It is, isna it?”

She shrugged. “A little. I apologize for the noise. Excuse me, I will return to my?—”

“Nae noise,” he said softly. Yes, it had in fact been terrible, but he was certain that was not how he would win over her trust. If they were to be partners in righting his family’s legacy, she must trust him. “And ye didna bother me, Miss Bancroft.”

“I believe that’s all I do, Mr. MacInnes.”

“Gabriel, please.”

She looked down at her lap and bit back a small grin. Something within his chest tightened at the mere sight of it.

“If the girls are in bed, then why are ye playing piano at this time of day?”

She rose. “I…” She glanced at his mouth, then slowly up to his eyes. “If you must know, I was practicing so I could teach the girls that song tomorrow.”

“That would explain the horrible playing. ”

She scoffed, then brushed past him. “Just because we swam alone today does not mean you can address me in such a…”

He remained still, watching, with a quirked eyebrow.

“Familiar way.”

“It hasna been my experience for ye to be so miss-ish.”

She strode down the hallway, glancing over her shoulder. “Nor has it been mine for you to do anything beyond grunt and grumble.”

He followed. “I’m good at grunting and grumbling.”

She spun on her feet and then waved her finger out at him. “Don’t you dare be charming… Gabriel !”

Perhaps it was the late hour, or the way she had hummed before her set. She was always humming. “It’s late, I apologize.”

“It’s late,” she agreed, her shoulders sagging. “And I’d like some tea. Would you like some or are you planning to retire soon?”

“I would. I will accompany ye to the kitchen.”

“No need.”

“What if ye encounter Sophie? One moment.” He ducked into his office and grabbed a candle.

“You’ll be there merely for protection?” she asked when he rejoined her in the dark hallway.

“I’ve never met her before. She could be a terror.”

“Worse than Lorna and Maisie?”

“That’s debatable.”

Silence fell between them as he led her to the kitchens, and she hummed to herself quietly. He had never met anyone who moved as if they floated. She was all legs and grace, and he was ashamed to admit how he had thought of her legs this afternoon after he accidentally caught a glimpse of her in her wet chemise.

He hadn’t returned to Scotland to take a wife. And he hadn’t employed a governess so he could have some questionable tryst. He was there to save the distillery and restore the inn so he could recover his investment.

But Miss Katherine Bancroft was temptation.

And damn it all if he didn’t want one taste.

They stepped into the kitchen, full of shadows and drafts, and he saw to the kettle. He pointed toward the table, inviting her to sit, which she did, but not before pulling her shawl over her shoulders.

“Sorry, the fire is out.” Gabriel stopped himself from rambling about chopping firewood was on his list of things to accomplish.

“What are you doing up at this hour?” she asked.

He searched the larder, finding an apple, cheese, and a crusty heel of bread. “It’s nae matter.”

When she leaned forward, eager to listen, he paused. It was something she did often, whether she realized it or not. The governess gave space to those around her.

“I’m sorting out my late brother’s estate. He dismissed the last land steward three years ago and never hired a new one. And then between vendors and the fire at the inn, and the repairs needed at the house…”

“And the distillery.”

“My family’s illicit whisky was well-kent. But the operations would never have been approved now, given the Excise Act. I want to see the girls have a future, and that means I must handle what I can.”

“But the whisky?”

“It is a decent business. It could be far better if I legitimize the operation. But there are a lot of people who dinna wish to see that change.”

“Like Mr. Wallace.”

“Yes, among others.”

Namely Duncan McQuarrie, who had profited well as Tavish’s health declined. He didn’t much care for Gabriel’s return, as it meant more competition and fewer profits.

The kettle hissed, so he removed it from the fire, then poured the hot water over the tea, and brought the cups over to the table. He removed a pocketknife from his vest, sliced the apple, and broke off a piece of bread for Miss Bancroft.

“Do you have honey?”

He nodded, searching the shelves in the kitchen before finding the small ceramic pot.

Miss Bancroft didn’t add the honey to her tea. Instead, she laid the sliced apple and cheese over the bread and drizzled honey on top. She took a bite and closed her eyes as if savoring the taste.

“It’s delicious this way. You should try it,” she urged, pushing the honey pot across the small table toward him. “This honey is spectacular. I feel as if I’m eating sunshine.”

He laughed to himself, amused at the way everything was a small wonder to her. When he took a bite, he was forced to admit that she was correct.

“Do ye enjoy cooking?” he asked.

“I was never allowed in the kitchen.” She stirred her tea, leaning her elbow on the table. “Not that you inquired during our short correspondence, but I speak several languages, play the pianoforte… even if not well, and am well versed in drawing and dancing. I was raised to be the perfect lady.”

He swallowed, staring at his teacup. “I never doubted yer qualifications. Ye came highly recommended.”

“Given the scandal, I doubt that. But thank you for the confidence boost, nevertheless.”

He glanced up, meeting her eyes with his. His voice was raspy and low. “I dinna follow the London news.”

She chuckled, pushing back in her chair. He thought for a moment she might leave, but instead, she folded her leg up and hugged it close with one arm, holding her teacup in the other.

It was such an unguarded, intimate way to sit. He swallowed his surprise, quickly noting how sitting as she did only drew his attention to her long legs. The fabric from her plain navy-colored dress pooled onto the floor, revealing the toe of her worn boot.

“You wish for me to remain around the girls. You don’t believe I will bring about another scandal?”

He shook his head, worrying his lip between his teeth. He was sure this woman was the most frustrating creature he had ever met, but there was something so delicate about her, magical almost. Which only frustrated him further.

She quickly rubbed at her eyes, then waved her cup in the air, tea sloshing over the side. “Well, I didn’t love him anyhow.” When he didn’t say anything, she continued, “You can go back to grumbling. I don’t wish to take up the rest of your night.”

“The ledgers might get jealous.”

Miss Bancroft smiled at him over the edge of her teacup, her big gray eyes bright and shining. “There you go again, Mr. MacInnes.”

“Gabriel.”

“Only if you call me Kate.”

“Of course.”

“Very well.”

They sat there in silence, studying one another in the eerie kitchen. Exhaustion pulled at his bones, yet he didn’t wish to leave. Didn’t wish to leave her.

“I have a plan,” he said, more out loud for himself than for Kate. It was a reminder that he had far too much to handle to further complicate matters.

She rested her chin on top of her bent knee and grinned. “Of course.”

“I only ask ye to trust me.”

“I think it’s the girls with the most to lose right now.”

“Aye, I agree. They shouldn’t be burdened with the weight of their father’s mistakes.”

“What about you?”

“My brother didn’t give a damn about anyone in his life. I left Scotland to prove him wrong, and still, I’m back here, picking up what he left behind.”

“My brothers won’t speak to me any longer.”

He drummed his fingers over the tabletop. “That might change with time.”

“My parents won’t either.”

He settled the weight of his arms on the table. “It’s growing late,” he said, attempting to change the topic.

“And now that you’ve returned to rescue what you can to help your family, you see an opportunity to create a brighter future for them as well. ”

“Dinna miss my meaning. I’m a wealthy man because I take risks, and this is a verra big risk. My drive is purely selfish.”

Even as he admitted as much, it didn’t feel right any longer. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to prove something to his dead brother or more to himself now. Or to the echoes of his father, long past gone.

She set her empty teacup on the table and stretched. “They love you, Gabriel. I think they miss their uncle, and now you’ve to step in and act as their father.”

That was the problem, wasn’t it? His brother loved his family, but never himself, and in the end, he destroyed both.

“I’ll walk ye upstairs,” he said instead. Gabriel stood and cleared the table, placing the dirty dishes in the sink for the morning, and watched as Miss Bancroft unfolded her long legs and stretched, sleep washing over her features. She wrapped her shawl around her and waited in the middle of the kitchen for him.

Waiting.

Instead of walking up and taking her in his arms as he wished, he turned and headed for the door, knowing she would follow.

For now.