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

sword.” She’d learned during the last few days not to question Robbie’s ability to do anything manly. He had inherited his fierce pride, she’d bet. “Can I hold it?”
    “No.” The boy swung it to his side. “Only a man can hold it.”
    She could point out how sexist that was. She could also point out he wasn’t a man. Not yet. But picking a fight with her new friend, so early in the morning, wasn’t on her agenda. “I have to get to work.”
    “He’s waiting for ye.” He turned and stomped down the stairs, the sword clattering behind him. “He’s been in the library since six a.m.”
    How could his father think this boy spent all his time being sick in his bedroom? How could he have not noticed this fierce little creature observing everything he did?
    Jen followed him until they reached the ground floor.
    He turned, the chain clanking around his head, pushing his glasses askew. “I’ll see ye in the garden, then? We can have a picnic for lunch.”
    Glancing out the circular window set into the side wall, she looked back at him with disbelief.
    The boy gave her a grin. “Don’t worry. The rain will clear.”
    It probably would. The child had a preternatural instinct about the weather. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact he spent most of his time outdoors. “All right. A picnic it is.”
    “Ye bring the food.” He danced down the hall, the grin still on his face. “I’ll bring myself.”
    She shook her finger at him. “You’re the one who invited me.”
    “Okay. Okay. I’ll bring the food.” He laughed before racing off.
    Jen strode through the clutter of the great hall with a lingering smile on her face and arrived at the open library door right on the stroke of eight.
    “You’re late.” A ferocious scowl covered her employer’s face.
    The last of her smile disappeared. Yet she wasn’t going to take the bait. A promise had been made last night in her warm, small bed—to herself and to her family. She would not engage in any conversation with this man that could lead to any kind of intimate connection. No arguing. No pointing out he was wrong. No introducing any personal subjects. “I’m here.”
    Cameron Steward stood, as usual, in the window bay. His armor of choice, black jumper and black jeans, outlined him in stark contrast to the muted light of the rain-drenched gloom. His hair, as she’d come to expect, lay in rumpled disarray.
    He jerked his predator gaze back to looking outside without responding.
    Sucking in her breath, she marched to the desk to sit in the high-backed chair. She opened the computer and the program, then placed her fingers on the keyboard to wait in passive silence.
    A rustle of movement from the door brought her head up.
    “Mr. Steward.” The housekeeper peered into the room from the doorway. “You wanted to see me?”
    “Yes.” With a restless shrug of his shoulders, he turned to confront them both. “I’m going to have a party.”
    Jen straightened in her chair, surprise spinning in her head.
    Surprise was not what blanketed Mrs. Rivers’ face. Horror would be a more accurate term. “A party?”
    “Yes.” He slid his phone from his pocket and skated a finger across the screen. “I’m counting twelve altogether.”
    “Twelve what?” the older woman’s voice quavered.
    “Twelve people.” An impatient frown drew his tawny brows down. “In a couple of weeks.”
    A couple of weeks? Jen’s mind strolled through the dirty great hall, the dusty rooms, the barren garden. Her brain toured the line of empty bedrooms on the third floor, with their ancient mattresses, uncleaned bathrooms, and musty smells.
    She giggled.
    He swung around to stare at her, his brows now lifted in wonder. “Did I hear a cheerful noise coming from ye, Ms. Douglas?”
    At least he’d used her title. She should be pleased. Instead, a pang ran through her.
    Her mouth tightened.
    “Or maybe not.” With a grimace of his own, he swung back to his housekeeper.