She looked at him directly, unblinking, the faintest of smiles turning up the corners of her almost too wide mouth. In fact, Justine's mouth was a feature well worth a great deal of consideration. Naturally pink, the lower lip was full and the upper graced by definite points. Parted, those lips revealed the edges of small, straight, exceedingly white teeth. A man's tongue would pass easily along the moist skin that glistened just inside that mouth, would find pleasure in the sharp edges of those teeth, would thrust beyond with such exquisite enjoyment while other parts of him leaped in readiness to echo the small, sweet preludes to release.
“Struan? Are you angry with me for being direct?”
“Angry?” He shifted, conscious that his unruly brain had sent signals that must not be noted by this lady. “Absolutely not, my dear. You could not possibly make me angry.” Damned uncomfortable, but never angry.
“Good.” Her right hand went to her cheek and she smoothed back an errant strand of hair. “Is there … That is, have you perhaps met some lady who appeals to your higher senses?”
Struan stared at her, narrowed his eyes, and concentrated. “I beg your pardon?” His mind was truly suffering.
“A lady,” she said. “Is there someone who has spoken to your heart, perhaps?”
Oh, good God. She assumed he had somehow managed to find a mate in the middle of the disaster that was his life. “No, Justine. No—no lady has spoken to my heart.”
Other than you and I cannot have you.
“Surely you must be considering the advisability of marrying again for the sake of your motherless children.”
Naturally it was time for yet another of his damnable lies to surface—albeit a lie that began with the most honorable of intentions and which protected the children. “Actually, I had not been considering that particular matter.”
“But you must,” Justine said, moving forward in her earnestness. She set aside his cloak and undid her own. “You build a fine fire, Struan. I declare I grow exceeding warm. It is essential for Ella and Max to be schooled in those areas that will ready them for the life of a viscount's offspring.”
Struan felt suddenly truculent—and trapped. “They do well enough as they are.”
“You have a tutor for them?”
“No.”
“A nanny?”
“No.”
“A dancing instructor for Ella?”
“No.”
“You take them to church yourself?”
He shuddered. “No.”
Justine shrugged free of her cloak and leaned even closer. “Struan, Ella is sixteen?”
He began to feel particularly bloody. “When last I checked, yes, she was. Just.”
“And Max must be eleven.”
“Eleven follows ten. So you must be correct.”
“Sin's ears.
This is worse than I had imagined!” The neck of Justine's black gown was demure, but the faintest hint of her breasts, trembling with ire now, showed above pleated velvet trim. “Get the children from their beds.”
“Get the …” His mouth remained open, but he couldn't recall the rest of what he'd intended to say.
Justine swept wide her arms to take in the gaudy room with its collection of outrageous furnishings from every country Struan's grandfather had ever visited. “I wish to see Ella and Max and assess the exact scope of the task that lies before me.”
Struan glanced from her glittering eyes, to her moist and parted lips, to the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. Outrage did wonderful things for the cool Lady Justine. It made her absolutely irresistible—particularly to a man who hungered for emotion from a woman he admired. He truly admired Justine.
And he must send her back to Calum and Cornwall before the entire Franchot clan—together with his own egotistical, judgmental brother—descended like an army with sabers drawn. If he set a hand on this woman, they'd draw lots for the honor of running him through.
“Get them!”
“I can't … I mean, absolutely not, Justine. I would not consider disturbing their rest. Let that be the last I hear of such an irresponsible suggestion.”
“Oh.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth, and for an awful moment her eyes seemed to brim with tears. “Forgive me.” She blinked rapidly, loading her lashes with moisture but blessedly saving the tears.
Struan ignored the battering of his own heart and patted the hand that rested on her knee. “You're tired, dear one. And a little overwrought, I shouldn't be surprised. You'll see the children soon enough.”
“There are things I want,” she said, sounding strangled and entirely unlike herself.
There were things
he
wanted—the devil take it. “You must rest, and then we'll see about getting you on your way wherever you're going.”
“I'm going to write a treatise for young women.”
Now he was puzzled.
She went on. “Do you realize that everything that has been written about women—about women and men
together,
that is—has been written
by
men?”
Oh, the hour grew very late. “That does not seem particularly surprising to me.”
“No, no, of course it wouldn't. Well, that is to change, and I am the one to change it. I have already begun a volume intended to revolutionize the lot of young females faced with the terrifying prospect of marriage to creatures so entirely different from themselves, creatures about whom they know absolutely nothing.”
“How … I mean
why
would you undertake such an unnecessary venture?”
Justine's fingers tightened around his on her knee. “Struan, because I know you are merely a product of what you have been taught by unfeeling men, I shall forgive you that question. I know you well enough to be certain that when I have explained my project to you, you will not be able to wait to assist me.”
She would benefit from being taken in his arms and soothed—and kissed soundly. “Hmm.
Assist
you, Justine? I fear I—”
“It is too complicated to clarify entirely tonight. I simply hope that you will agree to help me explain certain elements of the male-female—urn—experience, in such a way as to make the entire process sound pleasant to prospective brides. It is my intention that every young woman who reads my work will go to her marriage bed with alacrity! After reading the revelations I intend to set out,
my
girls will enter their bridal chambers triumphant in the knowledge that they are their new husbands’ equals in the matters about to unfold.”
Struan's head had gradually bowed while he watched, her mouth form words. He shook himself slightly and said, “Unbelievable.” Surely she could know almost nothing of what she spoke. And she wanted him to help her remedy that situation?
He must send her home. At once. “I'd help you if I could, Justine. You know that. Unfortunately, the matter of running Kirkcaldy is weighty. Perhaps at some other time. Meanwhile, I'll ensure that you are well rested before you continue your journey.”
“Absolutely not,” she said, straightening. “Do you think I would shirk my duty to a friend?”
Struan looked at the rising color in her face. “I fear I don't follow you.”
“You are a man besieged.”
He was tired. And she could not possibly know just how besieged. “Thank you for your concern, my friend. I cope well with my lot.”
“You are too brave.”
I am a monster in retreat.
“I do what I must.”
“And you no longer must at all.”
“Justine?”
“It is decided.” She smiled, but there was the faintest tremble about her mouth. “I shall take the children in hand and attend to their training.”
No, no, no.
“I could not possibly allow you to undertake such a burden.”
“I will not listen to your selfless protests.”
Dear God. “I will not listen to your selfless offer.”
“Sin's ears, what posh!”
“Sin's … Does Calum approve of your colorful language, my dear?”
“I don't care a fig for Calum's approval. I simply decided to design my own means for venting irritation. Resourceful, I think. And satisfying. I plan to suggest the measure in my book.”
Extraordinary. “Quite so” was the only response that came to mind. “You cannot give your valuable time to the training of my children.”
She squared her shoulders. “My hitherto useless time will become meaningful while I coach and teach Ella and Max. And you will provide me with a sanctuary in which to write my instruction manual for young women. And—if you agree—you will instruct me in those matters so difficult to ascertain from the male viewpoint.”
Never.
“It will never do. Your reputation—”
“Because I will be spending time alone with you? My dear Struan. Your reputation as a gentleman and my age—I am thirty-five, a year older than you, remember—the facts will overcome any obstacle.”
Her age did nothing to stop his increasingly pounding desire. Neither would her age stop her brother, or his own, from killing him if he did not treat Justine's reputation like a crystal egg. Then there was the question of his reputation. He'd laugh about that, if he didn't feel laughter might choke him.
“We shall speak no more of this, Justine,” he said at last. “I'll return you to the castle.”
“No.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said no. I must be completely honest with you, just as you have always been completely honest with me. My main reason for coming here was to look after your motherless children. I
need
to be needed. There. I have told you the way of things.”
Involuntarily, he touched her cheek. “You are needed.” He stroked that soft skin and saw the tears spring again. This time they did not trouble him. “Your grandmother—”
“My grandmother, pah!” Justine said of the formidable Dowager Duchess of Franchot. Tears overflowed and coursed downward. The tip of her tongue darted out to catch one.
Struan watched her tongue and felt something close to a blow in his gut. “Yes, your grandmother needs you.”
“That is not the kind of need I require.” She turned her face away. In profile, the moisture on her cheek shone silver in the firelight. “I shall never have children of my own—a source of great disappointment I've been forced to accept. But in the short time I spent with them, I fell in love with Ella and Max. And they need a female's care, do they not?” She turned back and stared hard at him. “A gentle guiding hand in all things?”
“Well …”
“Do they not?”
“I suppose …”
“Of course they do. And I shall be the provider of that care until you marry again. We'll send for my things in the morning. I shall be living here with you.”
S
louched in a chair near her side, Struan watched Justine sleep.
With her legs once more stretched out on the daybed and her head turned so that her chin rested on her shoulder, she looked very young—and very vulnerable.
He got up from the deep leather wing chair he'd pulled close as soon as her eyes had shut, and piled more wood on the fire. Beyond the circle of its warmth, the big room was chilly. Outside the lodge, the storm raged.
Struan eased down into his chair, rested his elbows on its worn old arms, and steepled his fingers. The woman who slept on could not begin to guess the dilemma she'd presented him—or the battle she forced him to wage with his own selfish desires.
Her thick lashes rested, quite still, upon her cheeks. Although fatigue had made her pale, there was a bloom on her skin. In repose, her features were soft, the tumble of hair curly about her face. He'd already pulled his cloak up to her neck. She'd said, finally too sleepy to be quite clear, that she would “wait exactly here until the children got up.”
She deserved to know the truth. All of it. But if he told her, she'd flee and never want to set eyes upon him again. Perhaps, since there could never be anything deeper between them, at least that much—the truth—would be best.
But if he could only find a palatable way to reveal the small … no, the
huge
misconceptions she'd harbored about him since they'd met, there might be a chance … No, there was no chance.
Ella and Max were not his children. True, they were brother and sister—but they were not related to him. They were not his offspring by a very early marriage that ended with the death of an uncultured, anonymous young wife. There had been no early marriage—no children—no tragic death. Arran and Grace knew. A fiery disagreement with Arran had been the result of that discussion, and Arran continued to be enraged by the dilemma Struan could not decide how to resolve. Calum and Pippa also knew the real story. They had encouraged the original fabrication as a means to secure the children's acceptance at Franchot Castle. But the truth had been kept from Justine, who so abhorred dishonesty of any kind.
Oh, in Cornwall he'd intended to tell her exactly how he'd come by the orphans. Many times. But on every possible occasion something had intervened and, finally, he'd been forced to leave … No, not true. He hadn't been forced to leave Franchot Castle at the time of his good friend's marriage to Lady Philipa Chauncey. He'd left because although he could probably have explained the children to Justine, the rest was beyond him. Not even his own brother knew that story.
Justine thought him honorable!
She shifted, slipped a hand beneath her cheek, and nestled deeper. Her lovely mouth curved slightly upward at the corners as if some pleasant thought had found her in sleep.
Struan rubbed his brow slowly, repeatedly.
I cannot have you. If you truly knew me, you would not want to stay any-where near me.
The goblet of hock he'd poured stood on a brass-studded Indian table beside his chair. Struan took a long swallow and let his own eyes close as the liquor seared his throat. Liquor had seared his throat many times before, but there had been one night, one hateful night, when it burned, then boiled—then turned him to fire beyond his control. The wine had been the beginning.
In the pocket of his waistcoat rested the latest letter. Setting down the glass, he assured himself that Justine slept deeply, then removed the thin envelope with its dramatic seal.
The devil who had sent it, and all the others—by a messenger who was never seen—thought he could intimidate with cheap dramatics. Struan was not intimated. He was afraid for those he loved—which was why Ella and Max would not be rising to greet Justine in the morning. They were not here. He made certain they were never with him unless he was fully awake and on guard. True, by day they ran free on the estates among tenants and castle staff who also believed what Justine believed, that the two young ones were Struan's. But in those daylight hours he had loyal and keen eyes forever on watch. And the children were never left alone after dark.