Page 28 of A Stranger’s Promise

Lady Cassilis began to fan her face. “It is the dinner hour, I see.” Looking at the young lady by her side, she added, “Shall we, my dear?”

As she lifted her chin and headed for the descending stairs, Charlotte heaved a breath of relief and grasped Oliver by the arm, intending to make a run for the nursery.

“Miss Atchenson,” Lord Cassilis called. “If you will join me in the library?”

Charlotte glanced over to find his gaze already locked on her.

Lady Cassilis paused and looked over her shoulder at him. “It is the dinner hour, Alistair. Polite society requires that one not keep guests waiting.”

He lifted a cool brow. “I daresay you look well-fed enough to wait another quarter of an hour, Lady Cassilis. If ye feel faint, please have tea and biscuits served in the drawing room.”

Her mouth dropped open.

He nodded to Oliver. “And I’ll see you as well, lad. Come, the both of you.”

He strode down the hall, leaving Charlotte and Oliver to hurry after him. A moment later, Charlotte stood with Oliver before the library fire. She laid a hand on the boy’s thin shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze as his father crossed to the sideboard. When he reached for the flask of whisky, she winced.

She dropped a curtsey. “My lord, I fear I have offended Lady Cassilis—”

“Don’t give the woman one scrap of attention, Charlotte,” he interjected quietly as he poured the whisky into a glass. “I would be far more concerned if she should like you.”

Charlotte blinked.

He turned, glass of whisky in hand, and extended it toward her. She frowned, then glimpsed the gleam of amusement lurking in his expressive eyes.

“Care for a drink?” A trace of a smile edged his mouth.

She narrowed her eyes. “Not tonight, my lord.”

With a wink, he leaned a hip against the sideboard and looked at Oliver. “I was of a mind to thrash you soundly, lad,” he began in a deep, solemn tone, “for your mischief in the stables.”

“I’m sorry,” Oliver squeaked.

“Aye,” his father replied. “But being sorry doesn’t prevent someone from being hurt.”

The boy ducked his head and nodded.

“You must show respect,” Alistair continued in a firm voice. “You’ve no cause to insult a lady, even one as venomous as Lady Cassilis, and you ignored Miss Atchenson. Did she not ask you to apologize?”

Oliver’s head bowed lower.

“However, you stood up for your mother’s good name, and against an old harridan of a witch as well, lad. That takes courage.”

Charlotte blinked. Oliver’s head snapped up.

“A man must protect those in his care.” Alistair’s stern features relaxed. “As a man of the Cassilis clan, I’ll see you look after your mother’s good name and your governess as well. But if you get into such mischief again, I’ll thrash you soundly—then lock you in with Lady Cassilis for a week.”

The boy turned white.

Charlotte suppressed a smile. Perhaps the man wasn’t a bad father, after all. He sipped his whisky and her gaze snagged on the way his coat went taut across his shoulders. Her mouth went dry. How was it possible for a man to be so handsome?

“How is your Latin?” he asked.

Charlotte jarred.

Oliver’s eyes widened and, when he didn’t reply, Charlotte said, “He is laboring faithfully, my lord.”

His eyes slicked to the boy’s ink-stained cuffs. “I see. Then you may go, Oliver. Goodnight.”