Patricia Rice by All a Woman Wants Page B

without seeing her? Mac swallowed a surge of grief at the
thought.
    “Where’s Buddy?” He sounded surly, but Miss
Cavendish was concentrating on Bitsy. She had a remarkable way of
ignoring him when he was at his worst.
    “With Aunt Constance. I left the two of them
chattering away. She’s never had children of her own, and she dotes on
them. I’m sure he’s spilling all your secrets by now.” Bitsy fell down a
little closer, and Beatrice reached over to haul the toddler into her
arms, hugging her as she glanced up at him. “Did you sell the hounds?”
    Mac dropped the pouch of coins on her skirts. “He
still owes a sum he’s persuading out of his big brother. Expect a call
from Lord Carstairs and don’t let the dogs go until he pays up.”
    That sounded too much as if he were planning to
leave, and from her puzzled frown, he could tell the question had
crossed her mind. Fortunately for him, she wasn’t the type to nag or
interrogate. If he had time to think about it, he’d appreciate her calm
acceptance of his abrupt manners.
    But her mention of Lady Taubee prying at secrets
increased his anxiety. He prayed four-year-olds didn’t know how to tell
secrets. “I’ll check on Buddy.”
    “I was about to take Bitsy in. I’ll check on him.
The thatcher had a question I couldn’t answer. Could you...” She
gestured in the direction of the barn.
    Heart thumping oddly out of kilter, Mac reluctantly
turned away to see what the thatcher needed. He couldn’t let Miss C’s
soft brown eyes distract him for long.
    Hurriedly, he checked at the barn, answered the
thatcher’s question, verified that the pony cart had working wheels, and
retraced his steps to the house. Miss C was nowhere in sight, and with
relief, he headed inside. If he could retrieve the children...
    Hearing Buddy’s rambunctious shouts from the nursery
as he entered, he started toward the stairs. An icy voice from the hall
stopped him in his tracks.
    “I think, Mr. MacTavish, we might have a word in private.”
    At this use of his full name, Mac heard the door of a dungeon cell clanging closed. He swung around to face the source of doom.
    Lady Taubee stood imperiously outside the study, her
dark eyes snapping, daring him to run. He’d never run from adversity in
his life, but he considered it now. Unfortunately, the children were
upstairs, and he didn’t have the cart hitched to the pony. Not that one
could outrace pursuers in a pony cart.
    He was trapped.
    With arrogance, Mac nodded his head and changed direction to follow Lady Taubee into the study.
    The aristocratic old woman gestured toward a
straight-backed chair across from her. Mac waited until she was seated
on the love seat, then usurped the desk chair.
    “You don’t deny your true name, then?” she demanded.
    “Do I stand charged of that? I didn’t know it was a crime,” he retorted.
    Oddly enough, Lady Taubee smiled. “I can remember
your mother denying she flirted with my beau on the grounds that she’d
kissed him, not flirted with him.” The smile disappeared. “My niece is
not sophisticated enough to understand such refinements on truth. You
have lied to her, Mr. MacTavish.”
    “For good reason, my lady.” Mac waited impatiently
for the boom to fall. He needed to know which way to dodge, and so far
they only danced around the subject.
    Above them, Buddy’s shouts escalated into hysterical
screams. Mac didn’t wait for the lady, but, leaping from his chair, he
dashed into the hall, taking the stairs two at a time. Vaguely, he was
aware by the first landing that Miss C followed, but he didn’t question
her appearance. Somehow he’d known a child’s cry would bring her
running.
    As Mac charged into the nursery, panting from his
race to the third floor, he looked desperately for spilled blood and
broken teeth.
    “I was merely teaching them their numbers,” Mary cried from the window seat.
    Bitsy sat sniffing and hiccuping in the