The Wallflower's Wicked Wager (The Wallflower Wins Book 2) Read online

  Eradicating any sinful thought he might have for Miss Highbury from his mind.

  Chapter 4

  Helena stared at her manuscript and groaned.

  She had made little progress.

  She was supposed to have a three-volume novel almost done by now!

  She had assumed she’d be able to do it in but a few weeks, considering all the free time she was going to have when the boys were resting or sleeping or being looked after by their nursemaid.

  Now, she wanted to laugh maniacally at her own imaginings. The boys almost never went to sleep before nine o’clock, for the sun shone quite late in the Highlands at this time of year. They woke up with the first rays of the sun, which rose quite early at this time of the year. They ran like wild creatures all day long, and she was put upon to keep up with them.

  Most interesting of all, she was reticent to leave them. Oh, she could have left them to their maid for many hours in the morning or the evening, but she preferred to care for them herself.

  The simple truth was that she enjoyed them and cared about their happiness. They’d suffered so much. Helena longed to see them smile.

  She enjoyed the adventures they had, whether it be the games they played upon the lawn, the streams they forged, the mountains they climbed, the ponies they rode, or the beaches they traversed. But their great outings left her most exhausted by the time she had tucked them up into bed, and she refused to allow the night nurse to do such things for them.

  No, she was a governess, and it was her job to show them attention and be there for them. Every night, she read or told them stories and sat with them until the candle sputtered and their eyes drifted shut. She made certain that they had the care that she had had from her own mother when she was small. Her governess had done her very best to make her feel safe when her mother had gone.

  Given their precarious past and the loss of their parents, she particularly wanted them to feel some stability. Having lost her parents at a young age, she knew the importance of it.

  But that did mean that she often did not return to her own chamber until almost nine thirty in the evening.

  And well, she fell into her bed fully exhausted, only to wake up to do it again the next day.

  In the time she had spent in the Highlands, she had only gathered bits of time here and there to write. It was quite the conundrum that she had run away from her family believing that getting away from them would allow her to finally write all the pages that she knew she could. But, in fact, it seemed that quite the opposite was true.

  Her job had become the center of her life and she adored playing with the boys, so she could not regret it, and she had convinced herself that, in truth, this particular life that she was leading was giving her great fodder for her novel or future novels.

  Yes, she would write something truly remarkable based upon the experiences that she was having, and there had been that portrait hanging in the hall of Gideon MacAlister to spur her on.

  It had set her mind on fire with the perfect infuriating hero.

  Then she had met the blighter.

  Good lord, he was beautiful.

  Laird MacAlister had looked upon her as if she were some sort of thing that he had found upon his shoe. Of course, she had come across him at a particularly awkward moment.

  She had never seen a naked man before, and Helena was quite certain that his person would not disappoint if she were to compare it to any other male physique.

  My goodness, if she had to see a man naked, she was really quite glad it had been him. For she’d been struck by his masculine beauty.

  There was no denying it.

  She had seen his face, of course, but barely given it a glance because she had never seen a naked man before. Involuntarily, her gaze had been drawn to his chest and towards his hips, and to his limbs and to, well. . . Helena’s cheeks flushed.

  She pressed a cool hand to her cheek.

  My goodness, his sex, she supposed she should call it. She knew, as a writer, she should be more bold, but it was difficult when one was in her particular circumstance.

  She stared at her manuscript, determined to at least scribble out a few paragraphs. As her pen began to move, the nib scratched along the parchment. Much to her astonishment, she realized that she was describing a hero who did indeed look very much like Laird MacAlister.

  “Damn and blast,” she exclaimed and threw her quill down. The man had invaded her thoughts.

  It was deeply troublesome.

  Why should he?

  He was good looking, to be sure, but that was not a point to make her swoon.

  She had seen many a good-looking fellow before and, in her experience, good-looking fellows were nothing but trouble.

  London was full of them. Rakes and roues, the lot of them.

  They all knew they were good-looking, and they knew the power of their looks. None of them had paid any attention to her, of course.

  They’d not even known she existed.

  But here in this circumstance, she and Laird MacAlister would come into contact. He would not be able to ignore her entirely, but likely he would never even see her as a real person, just as a servant, and she was glad of it.

  She did not wish him to be bothering her.

  Truly, not at all.

  And she was not interested in looks.

  Beauty alone was not something which intrigued her about men, but he had been remarkable-looking without his clothes. There was no escaping that.

  Helena bit down on her lower lip lightly. She had a strange feeling that he was one of the most singular representations of the male form, for his body did appear hard and sculpted, just like the drawings she’d seen in the books of the statues from ancient Rome and Greece.

  She shook her head and picked up her quill again, beginning to write. But just as she was about to set forth in the next part of her plot, she realized that she needed to dress for dinner.

  Blazes, she thought to herself.

  She was accustomed to eating with the boys, going upstairs and writing a few words, and then doing their bedtime stories and tucking them in.

  But not tonight. He had requested her company at dinner. Dinner for adults, of course, being much later than dinner for the children.

  She let out a sigh, forced herself to relinquish her quill, and stood. Her room was small but suitable. It was very comfortable, with a fire that was always well-tended.

  She was actually rather glad her room wasn’t too large. She found that large chambers and cold climates could be absolutely frigid. She did not have to worry about being surrounded by cold air in her cozy chamber.

  No, the small fire was lovely and inviting, though it was summertime.

  She headed to her small trunk and opened the thick leather lid. Peering inside, Helena placed her hands upon her hips and let out a beleaguered sigh. She had not brought anything worthy of a particularly good evening. Her gowns were all plain and serviceable and meant for a governess.

  She had three of them, and that was more than enough.

  She had brought one gown which would be suitable in case she was required to attend an event with her charges. It was a simple pearl silk gown that was extremely modest. Just the right sort of thing for a young lady of prim nature.

  She pulled it out and placed it upon the bed.

  It was not creased, thank goodness.

  A lady, of course, would have had a maid to take it down and press it. She had no such luxury. It was a gown that was capable of being put on by one person. All her gowns were. She’d ensured that before she left.

  Getting those gowns made had been most tricky. Her aunt would have been deeply suspicious if she had requested a gown that one could put on oneself. But as a governess, she absolutely could not have or rely on a maid.

  It had been a most liberating sensation, dressing herself. She’d never done it before, and it had taken a little bit of time and doing to figure it out.

  Luckily, one of the servants
in her house had been kind enough to show her how to do it, quite secretly of course, and with payment for her secrecy.

  Easily now, Helena took off her day gown. Standing in her chemise, she took up the pearl silk frock. She shimmied it on, grateful that it was actually quite simple.

  Hurriedly, she took care of the few ties and buttons in the front that needed to be done up.

  And when she turned and looked in her small mirror, she thought she looked quite satisfactory. She’d never be a grand lady, nor would she be an even particularly fine lady. But she didn’t need to be, especially as a governess.

  So, she gave herself a nod, put her shoulders back, and headed out the door.

  As she rushed down the long hall and took the stairs towards the grander part of the house, she realized that servants were rushing about everywhere to and fro.

  There was a general air of excitement in the house, and she realized, of course, this had to do with the arrival of their master, Gideon MacAlister.

  It wasn’t a frightened sort of rushing; it was a rushing of joy.

  They all seemed to look delighted at the fact that he had returned, as if they were all eager to serve him. It was the most interesting prospect. Some servants did not like their masters at all, but it appeared to her that they all looked quite pleased that Gideon had returned.

  She wondered at it.

  Now, she also wondered if his mother would be joining them for dinner. She had dined with his mother almost every night since her position had begun because his mother had insisted upon it.

  They had had many delightful conversations over the last several weeks. She really rather hoped his mother would join them. She didn’t like the idea of being alone with Gideon McAlistair, not because she was daunted by his god-like presence but because of their inequality in status.

  Simply put, she was his employee, and she did not know if, like his mother, he would make her at ease or if he would make certain she knew her place.

  Helena strolled into the dining room, realizing she might be a trifle late. Not a particularly positive thing for a governess who was meant to teach timeliness to her young charges. But it was empty, and she sighed with relief and headed towards the small drawing room, which was where she and Gideon’s mother usually waited before dinner commenced.

  He stood by the fire, a glass of some dark-hued liquor in his crystal snifter. He stared into the flames as if they held the answer to the entire world in them.

  Helena cleared her throat, not wishing to linger without his awareness of her presence.

  He lifted his head and gazed upon her.

  His lips turned in a friendly smile.

  She was astounded by the reality of Laird MacAlister versus the one caught in paint.

  She had expected some sort of cold, reclusive person, or the hard nature of a rake. Someone who was dissipated and used to pleasure. But since she had met him sans clothes, he had disproved all her imaginings.

  In life, he seemed kind and playfully charming.

  It was most confusing.

  His smile broadened as his gaze traveled with surprising slowness over her person. “You look very fine, Miss Highbury.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her breath catching in her throat from the feel of his eyes lingering over her person.

  “Come join me,” he urged, beckoning her with his broad hand. “I’m certain you should like to feel the warmth of the fire, even though it’s summer here in Scotland. No doubt, being a southerner yourself, you are not used to the frigid temperatures of the north.”

  “I have grown accustomed to it,” she assured firmly. She took a few more steps into the room and lifted her chin, so that he might not think she was not daunted. “And I find it’s best, actually, to take in as much of the cold as possible. You see, if I do not, the winter shall be quite a shock.”

  He laughed and it was a full, bold sound which filled the room. “Och, well said, Miss Highbury. Well said. You’re quite correct in your hypothesis. If one does not grow accustomed to the cold, one will not be able to tolerate it when the real cold comes.”

  “So I shall stay in this part of the room,” she said. “Away from the fire.”

  “Afraid of me, are you?” he asked, his voice a delicious, low rumble.

  “Of course not,” she huffed.

  He took a sip from his snifter, the liquor leaving the slightest sheen on his lower lip. “I promise I shall not devour you whole. I am not in the habit of doing so to governesses or employees of my family. In fact, if you ask, I think you shall hear that I’m actually quite a good employer.”

  “I’m sure you are,” she said, trying not to stare at his mouth.

  “Oh, then perhaps it is my personage which keeps you on the other side of the room. Am I overwhelming for you? Or are you not accustomed to gentlemen?”

  “I am most accustomed to the presence of gentlemen,” she said, very nearly chastising him. She’d become far too used to speaking to the boys! “In the past, I have been around them a great deal. And do not think so highly of yourself, sir, to assume that I am frightened of you.”

  He laughed that evocative laugh of his. “You do not seem as if you would be frightened of anyone, Miss Highbury. And I take my hat off to you for it. I don’t care for a squeamish miss. You don’t seem to be one at all. As a matter of fact, your quality seems to be showing itself by the hour.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’d like to think that I’m capable of rising to almost any occasion. Will your mother be joining us?”

  “No, she will not. I think that I overtired her this afternoon with our conversation, and she said that she would take a tray in bed.”

  “She must be very happy to have seen you,” Helena observed, rather admiring their relationship. “I shall visit your mother after dinner to make certain that she is well.”

  “How very kind of you. I would venture to say that you’re as friendly as an employer and employee can possibly be.” A strange smile played over his lips. “I can see why she would like you and why you two would get along. She likes bold young women.”

  Bold was not usually a compliment for a servant like a governess, she realized, but he did not seem to mean it as an insult.

  “Are you certain you wish me to join you,” she said, “without your mother present?”

  His brows rose. “Do you think that you are in danger of being ruined?”

  “No,” she said strongly. “I am made of sterner stuff than that.”

  He lifted his glass in salute. “I am glad to hear it.”

  She scowled. “I certainly don’t think you’re the sort of fellow who would do a mischief to a young woman. And I have a good head upon my shoulders, thank you very much.”

  He leaned against the fireplace mantel, a casual yet fascinating stance. “You’re correct in your summation, and I think you’re also warning me that you could not succumb to rakish ways. I appreciate your blunt candor.”

  “Good,” she said. “I cannot be turned by a pretty face.”

  “You think my face is pretty,” he drawled.

  “You know it is, sir.” Helena cleared her throat. “Do not prevaricate.”

  He lifted his hand, relenting. “Yes, my face is indeed pretty. I cannot help the fact that my pretty face has been passed down generation to generation, but let us not discuss it. I actually find it quite tiring. People have a tendency to be, well, absorbed by the way we MacAlisters look, and people are not interested in who I am.”

  “Truly,” she piped, her voice much higher than she’d intended in her surprise.

  “Truly,” he confirmed, taking another drink, this one deeper.

  “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “That must be difficult, but I suppose there are many positive things that come with being an attractive person.”

  “That’s true,” he concurred, though he didn’t look very appeased. “There are certain things, but I can also tell you that it means that people are seldom interested in who you really
are. So one never knows if someone is your friend because you are pleasant-looking, and wealthy and powerful, or because they are genuinely interested in getting to know you.”

  “My goodness,” she breathed. “You do reveal a great deal about yourself.”

  He blinked, apparently surprised himself. “So I do. How astounding! It must be something about you, Miss Highbury. You have made words flow with the ease of water from a fountain.”

  “I do not think it can be me, sir.” She smoothed her hands along her skirts. “Surely, it is your happiness at being home which has put you at ease.”

  “Perhaps it is,” he said. “Perhaps it is.”

  With that, the butler, MacTavish, entered. “Dinner is served,” he announced with his rich burr.

  “Will you take my arm then, Miss Highbury?” Laird MacAlister asked.

  “Of course I shall,” she said boldly. She straightened her shoulders, preparing for him to take her in.

  He crossed the room to her, offering his forearm. She gazed at it for a single moment, at the perfectly tailored black fabric and the perfectly pressed white linen teasing his wrist. Then, boldly, she placed her hand upon his. The very moment her hand met his arm, a charge of energy shocked between them.

  It surprised her so greatly that she almost pulled herself back.

  But that was absurd!

  She could not imagine that she had truly felt such a thing. It was just her imagination.

  A fantasy.

  But the warmth of his hand beneath hers, the feel of his hard body against her more delicate one, was indeed shocking. She was used to taking gentlemen’s hands before going into dinner.

  She never reacted to one like this and it was quite a revelation. Helena forced herself not to look up at him, to act as if nothing had happened. But from the slight tension in his arm, she wondered if he had felt something too.

  She dashed the idea from her thoughts.

  How foolish!

  A man like that would never even think of a girl like her. So it was best to keep her attention fixed where it needed to be, and that was on pleasing her employer as far as needed, and that was all.