Wild (Regency Scandal 2), Carole Mortimer [novels for teenagers .TXT] 📗

currently knew for certain was that Elena’s death meant it was far too late for him to ever be reconciled with his sister.

Catriona McGregor seemed as unprepared to forgive him for that as he was himself.

“Malcolm is perfectly healthy now, though?” he prompted.

She smiled warmly at thoughts of her nephew. “Apart from being a little small for his age, as you have mentioned, he is as you see him. Full of life, and equally as audacious.”

Andrew nodded. “Then I will happily accept your kind offer to stay here for the night. Then I shall be on my way to Inverness to see your great-uncle.”

A grudging respect entered her eyes at his having turned the situation around on her. “I am sure Mrs. Munro will be happy to provide an extra bowl of parridge in the morning.” The challenge in Catriona’s eyes said she was well aware that, in all likelihood, Andrew had never eaten porridge in his life before.

Nor, if he was honest, did he wish to eat it tomorrow either. But he would do so rather than give Catriona the satisfaction of knowing how much he hated the idea. His breakfast in London usually consisted of a lightly poached egg on toast, accompanied by a pot of tea and, as he was always alone, a read of the newspaper.

But he was not currently in London.

Nor would he be again until after he had resolved this current situation to his satisfaction.

And to Catriona McGregor’s?

Andrew already knew that one of them was going to be disappointed by the outcome.

Just as he knew Catriona McGregor intended to ensure it was not her.

Chapter Four

“So, the gentleman who arrived here earlier is my uncle because he was Mama’s brother?” Malcolm wrinkled his freckle-covered nose as he absorbed the information Cat had just given him.

Having eaten his tea and then been bathed, Malcolm was now snuggled beneath his bedcovers. The ideal time, Cat had thought, to tell him about his uncle.

She’d had no choice but to do so after the brief conversation with Andrew Belgrade earlier had told her that the man’s immense sense of duty necessitated he do whatever was required of him in regard to securing Malcolm’s future. Whether or not those actions were approved of by anyone but himself.

Cat was equally as determined that Malcolm’s life should remain exactly as it was.

Malcolm was only four, and he was happy and secure here in the Highlands.

Even so, because Andrew Belgrade would be present when she and Malcolm ate breakfast downstairs together in the morning, she had decided that her nephew needed to be made aware of their visitor’s full identity.

“He is, yes,” she confirmed with a forced smile.

Malcolm frowned. “Are you sure?” He looked unconvinced. “He’s so much older than Mama.”

The remark was so unexpected that Cat couldn’t stop herself from chuckling. “He is, isn’t he,” she allowed.

“Not too old he cannot appreciate the merit of listening to a good story before bedtime.”

Cat spun around at the sound of Andrew Belgrade’s derisive voice, even more taken aback to see him watching them from the open doorway of Malcolm’s bedchamber. This time not, as seemed to be the duke’s habit, through that single eyeglass. The dampness of his dark hair said he had bathed before changing from his dusty clothes of earlier into more of the black, gray, and white clothing he seemed to favor.

Cat had heard his ducal carriage arrive earlier. It carried his luggage and valet. Although the latter, she had heard from Mrs. Murray, was looking decidedly green in the face from traveling over the rough terrain and had immediately taken to his bed.

Whether Essex’s valet had been well enough to assist him with his bath and into his clean clothing, the duke looked neatly attired and austerely handsome.

Making Cat very aware that she was looking less than pristine after bathing Malcolm. Loose whisps of her hair had escaped their pins and now lay against her nape and temple. Her cheeks felt hot. The front of her gown was wet and, she realized after glancing down at herself, the thin material clung revealingly to the rounded curve of her breasts. Her cheeks began to burn even hotter.

It had never really mattered what she looked like, as their visitors were few and far between. But with the haughty duke in the household—however briefly—Cat knew she would have to take more care with her appearance.

“You said earlier that Malcolm’s bedtime is seven thirty.” Essex now explained his presence.

Except it didn’t. Telling him when Malcolm went to bed and having Essex actually seek out Malcolm’s bedchamber in this way were two entirely different things.

He stepped farther into the room. “Mrs. Munro directed me to where I might find Malcolm’s room. I trust I am not too late for the story?”

“Not at all.” Malcolm was the one to answer him eagerly. “Come and sit here beside me.” The boy shifted over to make room for his uncle on the other side of the bed from where Cat sat. “Aunt Cat tells the best stories,” he confided.

Essex, having made himself comfortable beside Malcolm, now glanced across the bed at her. “I am sure she does.”

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to ascertain whether or not he was referring to the bedtime tales she read to Malcolm every night or to something else. As far as she was aware, she had not told Andrew Belgrade anything less than the truth in any of their dealings.

Her wariness faded to be replaced with another emotion as she became aware of just how near Andrew Belgrade now was to her. It had been a long time since she had been in close proximity to any man, let alone one who disturbed her as much as this one did. So near, in fact, Cat could breathe in the sandalwood of his cologne. Beneath it, more insidious still, was the heady spice of a clean and virile man in his prime.

“What is the story to be tonight, Miss McGregor?” he enquired