Unlacing the Innocent Miss. Margaret McPhee
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her spine. ‘Where did you work prior to taking up this position? Mr Stewart said it was Edinburgh.’
‘I did indeed work for a household in Edinburgh.’
‘Anyone we would have heard of?’
‘No one you would have heard of,’ she replied quickly, not wishing to drag her old school friend and her family into this any more than was necessary. It had been good of Louisa to take her in after her flight from London, especially given that she knew the truth of Rosalind’s father. It had also been Louisa’s idea to say that Rosalind had spent the last years as her housekeeper and to write her a glowing character in response to the advertisement that she had taken from Lady Evedon’s chamber that terrible night. Even so, she had not told Louisa the truth of that night, just that there had been a disagreement and she wished to find paid employment.
‘Where exactly did you work, ma’am, if you do not mind me asking?’
Rosalind’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Oh.’ She forced a smile and tried to sound as if everything was perfectly normal. ‘Ainslie Place. A fairly small household.’
‘Ainslie Place?’ Wolf turned his face to hers and she was struck anew at its strength and harsh handsomeness, and the cold cynical light in his eyes that he made no pretence of disguising. ‘Interesting.’
And the thought that pulsed in her brain was that this Wolf might prove to be a very dangerous man to her, although in quite what way she did not know. ‘I am glad that you think so,’ she said with careful politeness and glanced away, desperate to think of some way of steering him on to a safer topic.
‘What made you wish to leave?’
‘I read Mr Stewart’s advertisement in The Times and thought the position exactly suited to my purposes.’ That much, at least, was true.
‘You were not happy where you were?’
‘I was very happy, but I am a little tired of the city. Benmore House’s rural location attracted me greatly.’ Indeed, it was Benmore’s isolated location and distance from London as well as Mr Stewart’s self-confessed hermit tendencies that had made it the perfect place for Rosalind. She could remain hidden in the safety of such obscurity and earn a living.
‘What of you, sir?’ she said, determined to draw him away from pursuing the matter any further. ‘Yours does not sound to be a local accent.’
‘I am a Yorkshire man.’ There was a ruggedness to his voice.
‘And have you worked at Benmore House for long?’
‘Long enough,’ he said and glanced round at her with that harsh unsmiling demeanour, and again she felt the faint shimmer of something ripple down her spine, something that she could not quite place. A warning—or excitement. More like foolishness and fatigue, she told herself firmly.
‘Come straight over from Edinburgh have you?’
She gave a small nod of her head.
The man Wolf gave no comment, and Rosalind made no further attempt at conversation with a man who was more interested in asking his own questions rather than answering hers. Better an awkward silence than another awkward question, she thought. Perhaps this was going to be harder than she had anticipated. Perhaps her own lies would trip herself up in the first week. She closed her eyes against the thought. It was late and she was tired. Everything would be better once she reached Benmore House.
The horse’s hooves clattered against the road’s surface, the cart wheels rumbled as they turned, and all around was the whisper of the cool night breeze through the leaves of hedges and trees. They turned off the main road, taking first one country track before criss-crossing to another and another, until Rosalind lost all sense of direction. On and on, for what seemed like miles; Rosalind thought they would never reach their destination. Mr Stewart’s advertisement had described Benmore House as a country house with a staff of twenty servants situated on the moorland some few miles from the Blairadie inn. To Rosalind, who was both nervous and weary, a few miles had never seemed so long.
Eventually he guided the horse and cart off the track, to follow a narrow path into some woodland. Through the trees to where they were heading, Rosalind saw a spiral of smoke curling pale against the darkness of the night sky. Benmore House, she thought, and a spurt of both relief and excitement surged through her. Soon she would be safe from Evedon. Soon she would start her new life. The horse rounded a corner, and she saw from where the smoke was coming.
A tiny woodsman’s cottage stood in a clearing; two horses were tethered in its small lean-to stable.
Rosalind stared as the man brought the cart to a stop before it. She turned to him in confusion and looked up into his face.
‘But this is not Benmore House.’
‘No, it is not,’ he said.
‘I do not understand.’
‘You will soon enough.’ His lips curved ever so slightly emphasizing the mockery in his face.
Realization hit her hard, landing like a punch in her stomach. She reacted quickly, springing to her feet, ready to leap the distance to the ground, but a strong arm hooked around her, pulling her back against him.
‘Oh, no, you do not,’ he growled. He held her firm. ‘Do not think to try to escape me, Miss Rosalind Meadowfield. I would fetch you back in the blink of an eye, and tan your backside, lady or not. Do I make myself clear?’
Her heart was thumping, fit to leap from within her ribcage.
‘I did not hear your answer, miss,’ he said in a voice that, for all its quietness, was unmistakable in its threat.
She swallowed hard and, not daring to look round at him, gave a small nod.
‘I am glad we understand each other.’
Chapter Two
Rosalind’s gaze moved to the cottage door as it creaked open. Two men, both dressed in jackets and loose working trousers, came out.
‘You’re back then?’ said the bigger man of the two, in a broad Scottish accent.
From Wolf’s knowledge of her name, Rosalind knew that this was no opportunistic spur of the moment abduction, but one that had been planned.
Her eyes flicked over the smaller man in the background and her stomach jolted. A planned abduction indeed, for Rosalind recognized the man as Pete Kempster, one of Lord Evedon’s footmen.
Wolf lowered her from the edge of the cart. Even before her feet touched the ground, the big man was there before her, his hand firm around her elbow as he led her towards the cottage.
She tried to resist, pulling against the insistence of his grip and kicking out at him, but the man laughed at her attempts and moved his hands to hold her by both arms.
‘Quite the wee wildcat.’ He was so big that he merely lifted her through the doorway that waited open to the interior of the cottage.
She was so frightened, so determined to escape, that she turned her face and tried to bite one the hands that restrained her.
The big man avoided her teeth and shouted at Wolf, ‘I thought you said she was a lady.’
She heard Wolf laugh somewhere behind her. ‘My mistake, Struan.’
The cottage comprised a single room. Wooden shutters were closed across the narrow windows, one in each of the front and back walls of the cottage. A fire burned on the hearth, casting dancing golden lights around the room and throwing out a warmth to chase away the night’s dampness. Beneath the rear window, there was a small square wooden table under which were tucked three stools. In front of the fire were three large wooden spindle chairs with a wooden box in between that served as a table.
‘You found her?’ Kempster asked as the big man released her into the room. She heard the faint hint of surprise that