Lion of Caledonia: International Billionaires VII: The Scots by Caro LaFever Page A

found the place too depressing. His mother had assured him dark colors would soothe his son. That the windows should always be covered so as not to let in any germs or pollen.
    Cam eased the door open.
    Robert lay in the middle of his oversized bed, his bright hair tangled on his forehead, his fragile lashes lying on his white cheeks. The boy had lashed out in the night; his bedcovers were twisted around the end of his legs.
    An ugly, bitter anguish zigzagged inside Cam. He’d wanted to be a father. Martine’s surprise announcement had meant he had to get married, but getting a son, becoming a father, had been worth being tied down. When he’d held Robert in his hands for the first time, there hadn’t been a better moment in his life.
    Sighing, he crossed the room with a light tread. He eased the boy under the covers.
    Robert didn’t respond.
    Which was probably a good thing. If the boy awakened, he’d be told he wasn’t needed as a father. He’d be told again, for the thousandth time, he should take off on another trip. Then Mrs. Rivers would bustle in and tell him he was upsetting his son and the disease might flare.
    The boy was asleep, though, and the housekeeper wasn’t here.
    So for a moment, Cam imagined he and his boy were tight, a team. He let the old dream of having his son as his companion, as the joy of his life, come back into his heart. He took a chance and let his hand lift to touch the soft curls on his boy’s head. One finger drifted along the ridge of the small forehead and across the line of his brow.
    He’d been incredibly proud. Brilliantly happy.
    But then Martine had descended into madness and his mother had come to live with them. His boy had turned into a sickly child. And Cam had eventually run.
    His hand slid over one bony shoulder. So thin, so sick. No matter what the mouse said, this child would never join him on a flight across the water in a sailboat. He’d never be able to climb the nearest mountain. He’d never be the son he’d wanted.
    The thought made him nauseated. At himself. At his greed.
    Robert’s eyes suddenly popped open.
    Cam jerked his hand back.
    His son’s gaze went blank. “I don’t need ye.” His young voice rose in a screech. “Go away.”
    So his father did.

Chapter 7
    B y the time the next morning had arrived, Jen had herself back together. She’d banished any thoughts of heat and desire. She’d bandaged her courage. She’d also decided to let well enough alone.
    Robbie was her friend. She’d done the best she could for him. It was up to father and son to figure themselves out.
    Her job was to find the ring. Her job was to tend to her own family.
    Her job was not to try and bring these two males together.
    Pulling on a heavy wool jumper, she prepared herself for work. During the past few days, without him around, she realized how much she’d come to love watching Cameron Steward pace the library: his long, powerful legs eating up the area, the way he swung his arms as he walked, the beauty of his body. She’d missed the beauty of his voice too: the rugged touch of its burred accent, the rolling rhythm of the words, the passionate delivery.
    She also wanted to know the rest of the story.
    Over the last few days as she’d come to realize the ties slowly binding her to this man, she’d realized she needed to leave as quickly as possible. Before she was totally in the thrall of her employer.
    Find the ring.
    Leave.
    Clicking open the door to her bedroom, she stepped into the dusty hall.
    “Hi.” Robbie stood at the top of the stairs. His head was covered by a medieval chainmail coif, and he held a scary-looking sword in his hand. “He’s home.”
    The ache in the young boy’s words matched the ache she’d heard last night in a man’s deep voice. She swallowed her own aching desire to make this right between them. “Yes. He is.”
    “Not that I care.” The sword quivered as he lifted it and swung it in front of him.
    “That’s a big