Page 10 of A Stranger’s Promise

Chapter Four

Alistair paced the length of his room, restless and unbearably hot. The overly eager-to-please innkeeper had stoked the fire beyond what he could withstand—or at least, that was the prevailing theory. He’d promptly divested himself of his waistcoat. His loose-linen shirt had followed. It hadn’t helped. He’d finally cracked open the window for a breath of fresh, cold air, and stood there for a time, letting his thoughts wander where they really wished to go: Miss Charlotte Atchenson.

He’d made the most dreadful mistake in hiring her.

The lass could bring him to his knees. He’d already seen enough flashes of that lively, fierce spirit, simmering just below the surface, to intrigue him. And her warm, hazel eyes? So very expressive. Her lips, so very kissable. When he’d awakened her in the carriage, she’d jumped straight into his arms. Aye, he’d been so distracted by those so very kissable lips he’d struggled to let her go.

Suddenly aware of himself grinning like a fool, he frowned and stepped back from the window. He expelled a deep breath, uncertain at the intensity of his attraction to her. Most likely, he’d been so distracted with estate affairs, he had simply forgone female company for far too long. What else could it be? She provoked an unusually strong response deep within him, something he couldn’t recall experiencing the like of before.

Never had he met a woman who could make his blood boil in the space of a single day. He hadn’t thought such an attraction possible. It most likely wasn’t. His reaction had to be due to something else. But whatever the cause, he had two weeks yet to go before they reached Culzean Castle. The thought concerned him. If the strength of the attraction continued, traveling in such close quarters would be nothing short of a nightmare.

A scratching sound at the window intruded on his thoughts and he looked over to see fingers curling around the frame. The window began to lift. He frowned. A drunkard? A mischief maker? He took three long strides, then caught sight of her face and the soft brown curls, and halted. It couldn’t be. But it was. The governess, Charlotte. He watched, astonished, as she tossed a wet rag onto the floor and then swung one leg over the window ledge. Her skirt rode up to expose a slender, elegant leg. He raked his gaze over the exposed flesh. Such a lovely leg.

Her skirt caught on something outside the window. “Deuce take it,” she swore, and yanked to free her dress.

Alistair grasped her slender waist and yanked her inside. She fell against him hard enough to cause him to stumble back a few paces. He caught himself. Her head snapped up and she gave a small gasp that sent a message directly to his manhood. He swallowed, startled how swiftly his body responded to her softness and the spill of her hair against his bare skin. By Jove, a man wasn’t safe removing his shirt in the privacy of his own bedchambers.

Charlotte’s jaw dropped open in shock. “My lord! Whatever are you doing here?”

Alistair released her, then hurriedly retrieved his linen shirt even as a wicked grin of amusement curled his lips. Shrugging into his shirt-sleeves, he faced her, then began fastening the buttons.

“Why, Miss Atchenson, where else did you expect me to be?”

Her eyes grew round. “The children? Where are the children?”

Her alarmed expression startled him. Alistair paused in buttoning his shirt. “They should be asleep in their room.”

Her brows dove downward and she cast a quick glance around the room. Before he could say more, her cheeks colored with a blush and the truth hit him. She had thought this room was theirs.

“Sacre-bleu,” she exclaimed.

Alistair blinked, then the devil possessed him, and he said, “Pray tell, Miss Atchenson, do you make a habit of wandering in the snow and entering through strange windows in the dead of night?”

She scooped up the wet rag and displayed what he realized was a little girl’s dress. “I had to wash this, my lord. Pardon the intrusion. I didn’t mean to disturb you. If you’ll excuse me, I will go now.”

She turned and took a step toward the window, but he caught her by the wrist. He merely meant to offer the use of the door, but the moment his skin touched hers, an exquisite wave of torment left him struggling for air like a drowning man. She stared up at him. What man could resist a woman so obviously unaware of her effect on him?

Reluctantly, he released her and let his hand fall to his side. “The hellion locked you out, didn’t he?”

Uncertainty shone in her eyes, then he smiled. She shook her head and an answering grin teased the corner of her mouth. His gaze fixed on her soft, pink lips.

“It’s of no concern, my lord,” she said. “Your children do not yet know me.”

Your children. The words hit like a bucket of cold water. Och, she thought him a wayward father, a cad who didn’t even know the names of his own offspring. He’d meant to correct her in the carriage, but the lad’s expression had struck him to the quick. He knew that look, the exact same expression he’d worn himself at precisely that age and for entirely the same reason. An angry—yet hopeful—expression. Let the lad believe him to be the man responsible for his suffering. That was preferable to letting his anger fester and rot his soul as he searched for his father behind every man’s face. In the meantime, if the world thought Alistair a wayward, scoundrel of a man—then so be it.

Still, he couldn’t let the children run wild. “The lad and lassie should treat their governess with respect.” He turned and started toward the door.

“My lord.” Charlotte dashed forward and laid a restraining hand on his arm. “They are simply being children.”

He paused and peered down at her. Did she think him a violent man? “And?” He noticed her touch and dropped his gaze to her fingers still resting on his arm.

Her eyes snapped to his arm and she snatched her hand back. “They must learn to trust me,” she said.

As he would have her trust him. Might she trust him one day? He shook off the thought and started forward again. “Undoubtedly, you will earn their trust, but I must teach them discipline.” Something their ne’er-do-well father should have done long ago.

Moments later, he stood before her door, the lady beside him. Alistair raised a hand to knock, then paused. Might it be possible…? He grasped the knob and twisted.

The knob turned and the door swung back easily.