“The girl’s willfulness is a worry, to be sure.” Mrs. Taylor approached Leana in the corridor beyond the library.

“Isla is strong-willed, just as her father is. But I cannot say that is a problem.” Leana opened the door to the room, lit a lamp, and drew the drapes to keep out the evening chill. “She’s experienced a great loss. It’s evident the girl still mourns her mother.”

Mrs. Taylor’s mouth puckered into a pinched bow. “My own mother died when I was a wee girl. I missed her. But I did not go about concocting grim stories of ghouls and specters.”

Leana took in the cook’s words. Was no one in the house able to see what seemed so obvious—the girl was in pain, grieving a profound loss she’d been far too young to fully accept?

Still, the child’s belief that a ghost had killed her mother was troubling. What had happened to create such an image in her young mind?

“You mentioned the girls’ mother died after a fall. Do you know the circumstances?”

Mrs. Taylor shook her head. “I wasna in the house that awful night. My sister had taken ill. She lives in a village near Loch Ness, and I’d gone to stay with her through her convalescence.”

“Do you know if Isla was present when her mother died?”

“She was in the house. But the accident—if that’s what it was—occurred late at night. After midnight, or so I’m told. Captain MacArron arrived home not long after.”

“Who else was in the house?”

“Of course, Bridget was sleeping in her nursery. Mrs. Davidson and the chambermaid were asleep in their quarters. They claimed not to have heard a sound until afterward. And Rory was here. He found her. But it was too late.”

“Pity no one knows exactly what happened. Isla may have seen something…such a terrible memory to carry with her.”

Mrs. Taylor made a little scoffing sound. “For years, the girl has been coddled by her da. If it weren’t for that, she’d be a far more manageable lass.”

Leana took a step back as her gaze lit on the cook’s pinched mouth. “Manageable? The girl has a strong spirit, a strength to be nurtured.”

“She’s a defiant one, nothing like her mother. She’s her father’s daughter, through and through. He sees it. That’s why he won’t lay a hand on her. My da—he would’ve taken a switch to me if I’d have carried on in such a way.”

A wave of anger rippled through her, but Leana bit back her tart words. “Isla’s spirit should be encouraged. The girl is troubled, and I need to find out why.”

The cook’s brows hiked. “Ye know what the Good Book says about sparing the rod. If ye ask me, the girl would be all the better for it if her da made good use of a birch switch.”

“As I recall, I did not ask your opinion. The girl needs understanding, not punishment.”

Mrs. Taylor heaved a sigh. “Ah, ye’re just like the others. She’ll have ye running out the door within the week.”

“Not a week. Did you forget—I have eight more days?”

“If ye last that long.” The cook turned on her heel. “Good night, Miss Fraser.”

“Sleep well, Mrs. Taylor.”

The cook stormed off, the tap of her heels against the polished wood floor echoing against the walls of the narrow passage. Leana sighed. She’d hoped to find an ally in the matron, another female in the house who might help with Isla’s guidance. She’d been so encouraging of Isla’s efforts in the kitchen. Hopefully, Mrs. Taylor would not take out her disagreement with Leana on the girl.

With another sigh, Leana sank into a chair. The quiet of the room washed over her, and she drank in the momentary peace. The pendulum of the grandfather clock in the corner swished in a steady rhythm, calming her thoughts.

It wouldn’t do to doze off quite this early in the evening. She needed to stay awake at least a while longer. When she was sure the girls were sleeping peacefully, she could take her own rest.

Forcing herself to leave the comfort of the chair, she wandered to the bookshelves. Hundreds of tomes filled the floor-to-ceiling shelves. A novel boasting a lurid title fit for a penny dreadful caught her eye. Standing on her tiptoes, she strained to reach the thick volume. Her fingers brushed the spine, but she could not quite grasp it.

Drat the luck. She looked about the room, spying a ladder on the opposite wall.

The muffled sound of footsteps neared the room. Leana looked up as James MacArron entered.

His hair was mussed, as if he’d plowed his fingers through it, and dark stubble edged the contours of his face and jaw, emphasizing his precisely carved features. If a sculptor had sought to bring a fallen angel to life with chisel and granite, he might’ve chosen MacArron as his model.

“I thought ye might be in here,” he said, his voice low and husky.

Leana did not attempt to conceal her surprise. “You were looking for me?”

He pulled the door closed behind him. “I wanted a word with ye. Alone.”

Her pulse sped. Was he attempting to scandalize her—to drive her away with fear for her reputation…or worse?

He raked long fingers through his hair. Rays of gaslight danced over the silky tones of gold and brown.

“What is the meaning of this?” The words came out soft and calm, even as her heart raced.

His eyes gleamed in the dim light. The corners of his mouth lifted, not quite a smile. “Ah, ye think the devil has come to have his wicked way with the beauty?”

“Wicked way? My, how very dramatic.”

He hiked a brow. “What good is a name like Devil of the Highlands if ye cannot frighten a lass or two with it, eh?”

The trace of humor in his tone lightened the weight on her chest, and she let out a little breath in relief.

“It will take far more than that,” she said. Her words were not a lie. Not really. Despite his height and restrained power, she felt no fear of him. Far from it. Rather, a primitive awareness rushed through her veins, a rush of excitement at his nearness.

And that truth alarmed her all the more.

He studied her, his eyes darkened to the deep, rich hues of a forest canopy. “How is it a lass like ye has had cause to be acquainted with fear?”

The raspy notes of his voice rippled a fresh wave of awareness through her, like an electric current speeding to every nerve ending, to every cell. Drawing in a calming breath, she glanced away, if only to stop herself from looking at his full mouth, to distract herself from the mad, scandalous notion he might kiss her and she would like it all too much.

“If you must know, I’m concerned we might set tongues to wagging.” She sounded quite reasonable to her own ears, and she’d spoken the truth, though certainly not all of it.

“That is not what ye fear.” Somehow, his words seemed a challenge.

“I’ve no taste for scandal,” she replied. “A mar to one’s good name cannot be erased.”

With a slow shake of his head, he took a step closer. Then another. “I believe ye, but there’s more. I can see it in yer eyes.”

“Why, Captain MacArron, you certainly do not lack for imagination.”

This close, he might’ve touched her, but he folded his arms casually and leaned back against the settee.

“Ye canna deceive me, lass.”

In her mind’s eye, Leana pictured her purloined reference. Perhaps you overestimate your abilities at ferreting out untruths, Captain MacArron. If only she were bold enough to speak those words to the all-too-confident pirate.

“We all have our secrets now, don’t we?” Her voice sounded as prim as a schoolmarm.

Intrigue flashed in his eyes. “Why is it ye make no attempt to draw my favor? I’d think a lass looking to stay on as a governess under my roof, with the care of my bairns in her hands, might make an effort to appeal to my better nature with a bit of compliance to my wishes. Instead, ye challenge me at every turn.”

“I do not challenge you. I only set out to do what’s right for your daughters.”

“Do you, now?”

“Of course. How else am I to prove myself to you?” She hiked her chin and firmed her mouth, determined to hold his gaze. “I prefer to believe a man like you is not interested in idle flattery or fawning obedience.”

“I take yer meaning. But I have to admit—fawning obedience with some flattery thrown in for good measure would be a pleasant surprise.”

She smiled to herself. Damn the man, making her like him. Wasn’t it bad enough she couldn’t look at him without wondering about the taste of his mouth and the feel of his touch? Wasn’t a pirate supposed to be a growling beast of a man? Somehow, that would be far easier.

“I don’t believe I’m capable of mustering obedience…not to any man, Captain.”

“I suspected as much,” he said, nodding his understanding. “Very well, Miss Fraser. I have seen the way ye care for my daughters. The girls are takin’ to ye quickly, which is in itself a miracle.”

“The girls need guidance from a teacher who genuinely likes them, not from some tight-laced paragon of virtue determined to extinguish their spirit.”

His expression grew solemn. “Well, Miss Fraser, that presents a problem—ye see, I’d intended my daughters to receive instruction from a paragon of somethin’ or other.”

“Well, then, you may consider me a paragon of polite defiance.”

“I’d be lyin’ if I said it doesna seem that way.” He chuckled under his breath. “What did ye do to get Mrs. Taylor in a stir? She was mutterin’ to herself in the kitchen—high-and-mighty spinster was one of the kinder things she said.”

Oh, dear. Leana smoothed her palms against her skirts, then stilled. Surely by now he’d noticed she was nervous. She’d no intention of showing more weakness.

“Perhaps she was not speaking of me.”

“Nay, lass, she was definitely talkin’ about ye.”

“I am not a spinster.”

“Ye are unmarried, are ye not?”

“Yes. But I am certainly not on the shelf. I’ll take a husband…when I’m ready.”

One brow lifted. “When ye’re ready, is it?”

“Of course. Isn’t that the way it should be? Isn’t that what you wish for your daughters?”

To her surprise, the amusement faded from his expression. “Aye. ’Tis my prayer.”

“As it should be,” she said. “Is it hard for a man like you…raising daughters?”

The smile touched his mouth again. “Aye, I’ve commandeered ships with less trouble than it takes to get Bridget to eat her bluidy vegetables.”

She smiled. “Those girls have your spirit.”

“Ye believe so?”

“Indeed.”

His forehead furrowed. “I thought ye did not trade in idle flattery, Miss Fraser.”

“I assure you, I do not. I meant every word. Isla is so very much like you. I can see it in her eyes. She has your expressions, your smile. And your scowl.”

The furrows deepened. “You’ve observed that so quickly?”

“It doesn’t take long to see the truth.”

He seemed uneasy, and his gaze darted to the hearth. “Would ye like me to build ye a fire?”

“No, thank you. I’ll be retiring to my chamber in a few minutes. I wanted to take time to be sure Bridget and Isla were settled in for the night.”

“Aye.” He closed the distance between them until they stood nearly toe to toe. The crisp notes of his soap drifted to her nostrils, filling her senses with the aroma of bergamot and a male in his prime.

She lifted her gaze expectantly—though she didn’t know precisely what it was she wanted to see. Their eyes met. Held.

He lowered his head, his lips tantalizingly, scandalously close.

I should not allow him to kiss me.

If he dares to be so bold, I will push him away. Or will I?

As his mouth nearly brushed hers. Leana’s breath hung in her throat. Her heart stuttered.

And then he spoke, his voice a deliciously husky rasp. “Well, Miss Fraser, I’d advise ye to steer clear of Mrs. Taylor. I’ve no intention of breakin’ up a brawl between a cook and a governess, of all people.”

Leana stood very still, unsure whether she was more stunned by his words or her own all-too-hopeful reaction to the prospect of his kiss.

With another deep breath, she squared her shoulders. She would not betray the twinge of disappointment. After all, it wasn’t as if she’d have allowed him to take such a liberty. She would’ve rebuffed him. Absolutely. Positively.

Maybe.

His low laugh revealed the truth—he’d seen through her response to his nearness.

The scoundrel had been teasing her. He’d known full well what she’d been thinking. s

What she’d been hoping.

Dratted pirate.

Pity he doesn’t look anything like some pirate of old. A black-toothed, black-hearted buccaneer with a peg leg and foul, stale-whisky breath would certainly not present a temptation.

Meeting his eyes, she settled on her retaliation. If he thought to toy with her and emerge unscathed…well, he’d have another think coming!

“Good night, Miss Fraser.” His words were edged with gravel. Despite his hint of a grin, he’d been affected by his sly little game. Turning away, he opened the door.

“Good night, Captain,” she murmured, summoning a throaty voice. “Before you go…there’s just one thing.”

He pivoted on his heel to face her. “And what might that be?”

She crooked a finger, motioning him to come closer. Her boldness surprising even herself, she fashioned a teasing smile. “There’s something I would ask of you. You see, I am in need of your…services.”

Goodness, her attempt at playing the coquette was wretched. To her own ears, she sounded more daft than seductive. His eyes narrowed as intrigue flashed in their depths. Perhaps she hadn’t been as unconvincing as she’d thought.

He returned to her, near enough to touch. Near enough to drink in the tempting essence of clean, healthy male and shaving soap. The subtle aroma filled her senses, but she steadied herself. Summoning more brashness than she’d ever dreamt she possessed, she allowed her gaze to rake over him. Slowly. Deliberately.

Something about this man unleashed a side of her she hadn’t known existed.

“A man like you has certain advantages. Strength. Power.” She took a step back, hoping the small distance would help keep her thinking clear. “You’re quite tall. Rather imposing, really.”

“I’ve neither the time nor the interest for games, lass.”

She trailed her gaze over the breadth of his shoulders, dipping down to the vee of golden-hued skin where he’d left the top buttons on his shirt undone. “I’m well aware of that.”

“What is it ye want of me?” His voice had gone lower, even huskier than before, and he studied her intently, as if she were a puzzle to be solved.

“It’s quite simple, really,” she said, her voice a near whisper now. She arched her back ever so slightly, thrusting her fully covered bosom a bit higher for emphasis. “I require your assistance.”

He reached out as if to touch her, but pulled back, seeming to reconsider at the last moment. His nostrils flared, as if he were a predator who’d caught her scent, and he raked a hand through his hair.

“If ye think to curry my favor—”

Flashing a little scowl, she took a step in retreat. “Really, Captain, what is it you think I’m after?”

He regarded her for a long moment. “Truth be told, I have no bluidy idea.”

“Why, I’d think it would be obvious. A man like you…so tall and strong.” Shifting her gaze from his face to the bookcase, she sauntered to the shelf where the novel sat, slightly out of reach. “As I told you, I would appreciate your assistance.”

His scowl looked as though he’d fashioned it deliberately. “All ye want is a book?”

She plastered on a look of innocence. “What else could I possibly need?”

“Ah, I could give ye an answer, lass.” He marched to the shelf. “Which one is it?”

She stretched her arm, nearly touching the volume. “The one about the intrepid investigator.”

As he reached for the book, his hand brushed hers.

Sensation rippled through her, warm and inviting, and somehow, electrifying.

He felt it too. Of that, Leana was quite certain. He stilled, holding the contact a heartbeat longer than necessary. Her amusement at teasing him dissolved into a wave of sudden, unanticipated awareness.

Of him.

Of the man who’d made her heart race with the slightest touch.

A strange longing unlike anything she’d ever felt pierced her heart.

Until the spell broke.

Leana retreated a step, then another. He retrieved the novel and extended it to her, his expression unreadable.

She took the book from his hands. Her fingers brushed against his, taking in the slightly rough texture of his skin, so very different from her own.

“Next time, ye dinna need to be coy. Simply tell me what ye need.”

“Thank you,” she said, swallowing against a rush of emotion she didn’t understand.

Simply tell me what ye need.

How was it possible to express the hunger deep in her heart, a longing she couldn’t begin to put into words?

He held her gaze a moment longer than necessary. A flash of emotion—hunger? or something more?—darkened his green irises.

“Sleep well, Miss Fraser.”

As the door closed behind him, Leana stared down at the volume in her hand. Nothing of consequence had happened between them. A few teasing words. Little more.

And yet, as the clock behind her chimed in the midnight hour, somehow… everything had changed.

Giving her head a brisk shake, she brought herself back to reality. It wasn’t like her to be so fanciful. She’d never been prone to girlish dreams of tall, dark, handsome princes and costume balls—let alone fantasies of devilish pirates who were much too handsome for her own good.

And yet, try as she might, she could not banish the image of his enigmatic eyes, rich with intrigue and emotion, from her thoughts.

She flopped into the chair and thumbed open the book. She would banish James MacArron from her thoughts. In the future, she’d know better than to let her defenses down.

The pirate provoked no fear, no sense of intimidation. No matter his ruthless reputation, he would never hurt her. Or any woman, for that matter. Mrs. Taylor had bemoaned the fact he would not lay a hand on his daughter in anger. Rather, he’d shown tenderness to his children when they were in distress. His deep-seated caring for his bairns had taken her by surprise.

And when he’d peered down at her, she’d seen a keen hunger in his eyes, a longing he kept well in check.

In her heart, she knew the truth—his gentleness might be the most dangerous weapon of all. She’d do well to protect herself against it.

Or else she’d face a danger more profound than she’d ever faced with Lord Gilford.

If she wasn’t careful, she might well lose her heart to the Devil of the Highlands.