Page 26 of A Stranger’s Promise

Suddenly, Charlotte became aware of the rugged planes of his chest and the weight of his body. Her breath caught. His lashes lowered. Time slowed and the hectic voices around them faded. Slowly, he lifted a hand and traced the outline of her jaw with the pad of his thumb. Each gentle sweep sent fire coursing through her. She shifted her gaze to his mouth and the sensual dent of his chiseled chin. With his heavily fringed lashes riding low over his eyes, he bent his head until his lips hovered above hers.

A man’s urgent voice shattered the spell.

“My lord! My lord!”

Charlotte froze. As Lord Cassilis began to rose, a soft moan of loss escaped her lips before she could bite it back. He hesitated and pinned her with a hungry look that stole her breath. He abruptly pushed to his feet, pulling her up with him. He put a finger to his lips and motioned for her to remain out of view in the stall, then stepped into the walkway, half within her view.

“Ah, my lord,” said a voice she recognized as the same man who had called for Lord Cassilis. “It appears as if someone unlatched every one of the stall doors.”

“Indeed.” Alistair looked at the rafter where Oliver sat, hugging his knees, white-faced.

Lord Cassilis returned his gaze to the man. “And the horses?”

“Och, they’ve not gone far, my lord, even the stallion,” the man replied. “We’ll have them back soon enough.”

“Very well,” Alistair dismissed the man with a nod. Bootfalls receded as Lord Cassilis strode to where Oliver perched over the stall opposite Charlotte. He pointed at the stable floor. “Down. Now.”

The boy dropped down at once.

“You could very well have gotten Miss Atchenson killed,” Alistair said in a quiet voice.

The boy’s face crumpled.

“This very morning, I treated you with kindness,” Alistair’s deep baritone continued. “Perhaps you would understand a whip better?”

Oliver paled.

A tense silence descended. Charlotte hurried from the stall to join them.

Alistair glanced at her, then pointed to the door and said to the boy, “Off with you to the nursery. I will discuss your punishment after supper, but you may start by adding another chapter of Latin to this morning’s task. Go.”

Oliver ran.

Alistair faced her. “Charlotte, what were you doing in the line? Did Lady Cassilis bid you stand with the servants?”

She started at the unexpected question as well as the casual use of her name. He stood too close. So close, she felt the heat radiating from his body.

She dropped her gaze to the ground and replied, “I fear I have upset her, my lor—”

“Hush.” He pressed a finger to her lips.

She froze.

His dark lashes dipped as his gaze locked on her mouth, then his hand fell away. “I weary of curtsies and ‘my lords’.” His eyes met hers and she started at the stark honesty. “You asked me once if you could call me Alistair. Indeed, I would prefer it.”

Images collided in her head—the conversation in the library, the whisky, her moan on the stable floor.

“I-I must go.” She gathered her skirts and fled.

He didn’t follow. For that, Charlotte was grateful. Minutes later, she burst into the nursery, startling Meg where she sat at the table with the children.

“Losh, Miss, what’s happened?” The jolly, freckle-faced maid jumped to her feet.

In an effort to regain her composure, Charlotte slowly closed the door then turned to face her. “Nothing’s happened, Meg.”

A speculative light leapt into Meg’s eyes, but Charlotte ignored it and joined Oliver at the table, a broken quill in his hand and ink-blotted paper before him. She sat in the chair to his right.

“I have been trying to teach him his letters,” Meg said as she left the table. “But you will do better, Miss. Charlotte and I are on our way to the kitchens.”