Once a Wallflower, Always a Wallflower (The Inheritance Clause Book 3) Page 4

  “Indeed.” His voice was gravelly. He did not release her hands nor the bowl. His gaze searched hers for what might have been endless moments, it could have been mere seconds. All she knew was that her heart was pounding rapidly in her ears. What on earth was going on? She could not look away nor could she move. Minerva was rooted, held captive, and she had never felt anything like this before.

  “So…” He blinked and took the bowl from her, moving past to place it on the shelf. Her heart had yet to slow, and him brushing past her, towering over her, did nothing to help the matter. If he did not work on a farm every day, there had to be some reason for his physique. She had never been one to think about men’s physiques before, but she was certainly thinking about it now.

  “So, all of your family are off doing these tasks, all for some inheritance.”

  She nodded. “It all sounds a little odd, I know.”

  He chuckled. “Lass, ‘tis the oddest thing I have ever heard. And that’s saying something. Here in Scotland, we have people who are able to weave the most incredible of tales, but I have never heard something like that.”

  Minerva giggled. She supposed it was bizarre. Saying it aloud made it seem even more strange. “You know, I always thought of my family as rather normal. I suppose we are not now.”

  He looked at her. “There’s nothing normal about you, lass. Nothing at all.”

  Any response remained trapped in her throat. She supposed it could have been an insult, but with the way he was looking at her, she did not think so.

  Chapter Five

  ““Mr. Sinclair!”

  By the twist of his stomach, as though a fist had been punched deep then turned, Lachlan could not decide whether the words were welcome or not. Who knew his name could have so much power? But from her lips, those three syllables had more impact than any of the trite declarations of love that had been thrown at him over the years.

  He turned slowly, muscles tense. It’d been a long, sleepless night, his thoughts filled with her, aware of her footsteps padding about the hallway. This English lady was quite unlike anyone he had ever met. What woman in their right mind travelled across the breadth of the country, practically alone, as part of some inheritance scheme? A brave one indeed, he would give her that.

  He cursed under his breath when he met her gaze. He should have ignored her, or pretended he was in a hurry to see the animals. Something, anything. So long as he had not had to set eyes on her in such a state. A state that sent heat rolling through his muscles and pooling in his gut.

  Hair loose, and curved around one shoulder, her lids were hooded, and there was a crease on one cheek, as though she had fallen asleep awkwardly on it. A robe was tightly cinched around her slender waist, drawing his attention up to her curves. Though the diaphanous nightgown had a high neck, the flimsy fabric gave away hints of pink and flesh. It was the last thing he needed. It had been his hope that his usual early morning start would mean avoiding her for a while—at least until he had drawn in some fresh air and gained control of himself. Anyone would think he was a damned welp who had never set eyes on a woman before.

  Her gaze skimmed him, dropping down to his scruffy boots and up to his open shirt and rolled shirtsleeves. He had yet to put on his jacket or do his shirt up properly. Everything about this encounter was thoroughly scandalous, and he could not force himself to move.

  “Call me Lachlan,” he said gruffly. Not that he minded the formality, but he needed something to fill the silence.

  “Of course… Lachlan.” She bit down on her lip

  He groaned inwardly. That had been a mistake. She could have little idea the picture she made, biting down on her lip and turning it glossy and plump, after uttering his name. Her cultured accent and sweet tones made a man imagine the words being whispered across his bare skin.

  Lord, it was far too early in the morning to be thinking such thoughts. Particularly about a woman who was now under his protection. Whoever her brother was, he was no doubt powerful and rich. Lachlan daren’t think what might happen should he ruin this woman. Not that he had any such intention. Nor did he need the threat of a powerful, older brother to keep him from misbehaving. Many might not think him a gentleman because of his humble beginnings, but he was determined he would prove to anyone and everyone that a man’s birth meant nothing.

  “How is Mary? Hopefully, your man shall return with the doctor today.”

  “She had a restless night, but her temperature is still not as severe as it was.”

  “I have to see to the animals before making the morning meal. Why do you not try to rest a little before joining me?”

  “I could make the morning meal,” she suggested. “Then it can be on the table, ready for you when you return.”

  “There is no need—”

  “I really would like to.” She took a step closer, those innocent eyes drawing him in much like they did yesterday.

  How could he deny the woman anything? Even when he doubted she knew anything about cooking. He was now in a position to have chefs and servants, but in his younger years, he had to cook for all the family. He imagined Minerva never had such an opportunity.

  Nevertheless, he nodded. He marched down the corridor and stomped down the steps into the kitchen. Snatching up his jacket, he thrust his arms into it and did up his shirt, then pushed a hand through his hair and donned a floppy hat. Though he missed the luxurious fabrics of his finer clothes, he did not much miss having to wear cravat and breeches all the time.

  Lachlan stepped outside, pausing to shut the door and draw a long breath of fresh air. The previous night’s rain had cleared the air, leaving it slightly scented with heather. He filled his lungs as though he could replace the air in them that had been tinged with the sweet fragrance of Minerva. There was a reason he had offered to come and look after the farm.

  And it had certainly not been to run into a strange lass who occupied his thoughts far too much for someone he had only just met and knew nothing of.

  He fed the pigs and the chickens, checking the eggs, before walking out to the border of Mr. Stewart’s land. One of the walls needed tending to, but he was pleased to note that it could wait a little while longer. If he had time today, he would start restacking some of the stones that were crumbled. In fact, even if he did not have time today, he might try to make time for it. At least then he would not have to be in the house with her.

  He glanced back at the farmhouse, imagining her bustling around the kitchen. The image made him smile. Her in her finery, buttering toast and cooking meat. It had a strange sort of warming effect on him. Odd indeed since his whole purpose in coming here had been to have some solitude. Being surrounded by servants and the clamor of people constantly wanting his company was something he was still not used to. As the eldest of his family, there had been many a day and night when he had been alone, slaving to ensure none of them starved. There was little chance of that now, but he almost missed those times alone.

  He headed back to the gray stone building. Melmuir Valley farm was not one of the largest farms on his land, but it was one of which he was most fond, and he had known Mr. Stewart since he was a lad. Minerva might have been surprised that he was no farmer given that he likely looked the very picture of one, and farming was in his blood, so he did not begrudge the image.

  He paused outside the front door, bracing himself. He wanted her gone. And yet he did not. He needed his undisturbed solitude back, but he had this horrible inkling that once she left, he would miss her. He removed his hat, shoved a hand through his hair, and sighed. There was something distinctly awry with him getting so worked up over a strange lass.

  When he shoved open the door, a cloud of smoke greeted him, swirling about him and clogging his lungs. He coughed and waved a hand in front of his face, squinting into the kitchen.

  “Oh dear. Oh no.” Minerva rushed from the sink to the open fire from which whatever it was burning was being cooked. She went to grab the pan and squealed, snatching a
hand swiftly back.

  Lachlan rushed over and took her hand at the same time as grabbing a cloth to put around the handle of the metal pan. He dunked the pan into the sink and dragged her to a pitcher of cold water. He plunged her hand into the cold water, and she squealed again. Though she wriggled against his hold, he kept his grip firm.

  “If you’ve burnt yourself, lass, you’ll need it to calm down. Now cease wriggling.”

  She stilled and pushed a strand of hair from her face. Now that the smoke cleared, he could see she was in the same dress as yesterday, which was looking a little crumpled and tired. He supposed without aid to help her, she could not look as neat and pressed as usual. But Minerva was the sort of woman who did not need to look neat and pressed. With her golden hair pulled up into some haphazard style, and her cheeks flushed, she could almost look like a farmer’s wife.

  At least if it were not for the tears in the corners of her eyes.

  He grimaced. “Is it very painful?”

  She sniffled. “It is not that. I am just…” She blew out a breath. “I am just annoyed. You have helped us greatly, and I was hoping to repay the favor. And to try something new.” She murmured the last part under her breath.

  “Try something new?”

  She sighed. “Well, that is why my grandpa wanted me to do this journey. Not just to travel again but to do new things. I think he was right. So, I am trying my best to do things I have never done before.” She gave a little shrug. “I thought I might try my hand at cooking. You made it look easy yesterday.”

  “I have had a lot of experience cooking,” he explained. “I imagine you have not.”

  “You must think I am very pampered,” she said sheepishly.

  “Not at all. I know lasses like yourself are not afforded opportunities to be independent very often.”

  She tilted her head and eyed him. “I do not think my brothers would be able to cook as you do either. So, how is it a man who must have vast wealth is able to cook a simple stew?”

  He removed her hand from the water and blew on it, turning it this way and that in the light of the window to inspect it. A small red mark lingered on her palm, but it would not scar, he did not think. He dried her hand carefully and released it.

  “I have not always been a wealthy landowner.” He waited for the judgement, the pursed lips. Yet, somehow he knew it would not come from her, and he was right. For the past five years, he had been pretending his past did not exist. Sometimes, he wished to stand up in the middle of a ballroom and declare that he was no more than a son of a coward with the blood of a pauper running through his veins. To admit as much to her sent a rush of relief through him.

  He nodded toward the table. “Why do you not sit down, and I will ready some food?” He looked at the charred remains of what he suspected was once a slab of gammon. “I’ll make it simple, I think,” he said with a smile.

  “I think that is a fine idea indeed.” She sat with a grin.

  He laid out some bread and jam on the table and joined her. She tucked into the food, slathering her bread with a thick layer of jam that smeared across her upper lip when she took a bite. Though he could not claim the tension in his gut had unwound, there was something pleasant about sharing breakfast across the table from Minerva.

  “So,” she said between bites, “did you inherit your land? Or come about it some other way?”

  He eyed the scarred table, the lines on it telling the history of its use over decades and decades. Sometimes, he felt a little like this table. The scars on his face would never be erased, and his story would always be there for everyone to see. On days like today, he did not feel as though that was such a bad thing, though.

  “I bought the land. I have a successful business dealing in wool. I wanted to expand, so it seemed logical to purchase the land when it became available.”

  “So, you are a self-made man,” she mused.

  “Indeed.” He gave her a tilted smile. “A dirty title indeed. At least in your world.”

  Minerva shook her head vigorously. “You would be surprised how many self-made men there are in London now. New money is no longer something our grandmothers can tut about. Especially not when they are trying to marry their granddaughters to self-made men.” She looked up at him through her lashes. “I imagine there are many Scottish grandmothers who wish you to marry their granddaughters.”

  “There are a few,” he admitted.

  “And before you were a self-made man? What did you do?”

  “I worked a farm.”

  Her lips curved. “No wonder you look so at home here.”

  “Are you trying to say I do not look like a gentleman, lass?” he teased.

  She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh goodness, no. It is just that you… Well, you…”

  “I take no offence, I swear. The truth is, I am likely far more at home here than in a ballroom.”

  She sighed. “I think I understand that. Though I think I have proved that I do not belong on a farm either.” She motioned to the sink in which her burnt offerings remained.

  “I would not say that. I think given time you would fit in perfectly here.” Lachlan didn’t know why he said such a thing, but it made her smile, so it was worth it. It was no lie either. Aye, the lass would likely burn many more breakfasts, but given her desire to improve herself, he could imagine she would end up fitting in anywhere in no time. As a man who had been determined to change his future, he could not help but admire that in her.

  He could not help but admire her.

  Chapter Six

  Minerva slipped out of Mary’s room to find Lachlan waiting outside for her.

  “How is she doing?” he asked.

  “Much better. But the doctor said she must rest for a few more days.”

  “At least you should be able to get some rest tonight.” He gestured toward the room that she now knew was next to his. “There is clean linen on the bed for you.”

  She eyed him, a soft smile on her face. “Thank you. I am looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed. Unfortunately, your rocking chair is not that comfortable. But I think Mary does not need me by her side now.”

  Lachlan nodded. “Yes, the doctor seemed to think she would recover quickly enough. I am glad it is nothing worse.”

  “The tincture he gave her seems to have worked well, though she is still fatigued.”

  Which put to mind the question as to what she would do about their journey. Though Lachlan had not complained of their presence, she could not help think they were invading his solitude. He had gone from being one man to gaining a sick maid, her groomsman, a driver who would eat the man out of house and home, and a woman who burned breakfasts. He seemed to take it very much in his stride, however. She imagined it was that sort of attitude that had made him the man he was today. Though he downplayed his wealth, she knew land such as this was worth a great deal. If he owned several farms, he must have significant acreage. How strangely humble he was. How wonderfully appealing that was.

  “Well, I shall leave you to rest.” He dipped his head and turned toward his bedroom.

  “Lachlan—”

  He turned, his gaze expectant. “Aye?”

  “I… I just want to say thank you for your help. I know we are a burden, and I gave you little choice but to take us in, but I appreciate it greatly. As does Mary, I’m sure.”

  He gave a quick smile. “You are no burden at all, lass. Be assured of that. Sleep well.”

  He headed into his room before she could say anything else. Not that she was certain what she could possibly say. Perhaps it would have been to ask why he looked at her so intently at times when he thought she was not looking? Or to ponder as to why her skin tingled whenever he was in her proximity? But, of course, she could not say such things to him. To read into such things was folly indeed.

  Regardless of the acknowledgement of this folly, she could not ignore the tight band of excitement twisting around her stomach as she considered the past two da
ys at Lachlan’s side. She would miss him once she began her journey again.

  Minerva undressed quickly. Though a fire had been lit in the small room, the windows rattled from the wind and little gusts swirled about her skin. She washed with haste and donned her nightgown before jumping into the bed and burrowing under the sheets.

  As promised, the sheets were clean and scented with soap. They reminded her a little of Lachlan, who apparently did not wear cologne or pomade and always smelled fresh and simple. Really, she should not have even gotten so close as to know what he smelled like, but in this farmhouse, there was no avoiding one another. The cramped kitchen and small rooms lent themselves to being close to one another. If her mother or brothers saw what she had been doing the past few days, regardless of having chaperones around, they would be scandalized indeed.

  She blew out the candle and closed her eyes, pulling the sheets up tight around her neck. Having had little sleep the previous night, nor the night before that, fatigue weighted her eyelids. She would not complain, however. Being so tired and concerned for Mary had made her forget any worries about the rest of the journey. Goodness, in Lachlan’s company, and with being so busy, she could almost feel like a normal person.

  The door thrust open, slamming against the wall and making her scream. She jolted up right, blinking to focus on the silhouette in the doorway. Her cheeks were wet, and her heart raced. It was only then that she realized she was back in the farmhouse, that she had been dreaming… dreaming of that awful night.

  Lachlan barreled into the room, his broad shoulders lit from behind by the lamp in the hallway. “Lass?” Before she could respond, he came to her side and bundled her into his arms.

  Minerva scarcely had a moment to fathom what was happening, but tears sprung from her eyes as memories of her nightmare flooded her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her tight to him, using his hand to press her head against his chest.

  Sobs racked her. She tried drawing breaths through her tight throat, but they were painful. For the briefest moment between him waking her and her realizing where she was, she had been back there, locked in a small room, surrounded by men who wanted to kill her. She thought she was going to die.