“Here, sweetheart.” Rafe pulled out a chair, and the child climbed onto it. She was not quite tall enough to reach the table comfortably.
Rafe stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Hmmm. That won’t do, will it? Can’t reach the muffins.”
The girl stretched out a hand, trying to grasp the imaginary muffins, further demonstrating his point that she was too short.
“Well, I suppose you could eat on the floor . . .” That earned a little giggle from the far too serious child. “No, that won’t do either. Ah! I have it!” He strode to a small settee that was backed against the wall overlooking the gardens and plucked two plush pillows from it. Isla slid out of the chair so Rafe could set the cushions down, and he hoisted her back onto the chair.
“Better?”
She grinned and nodded.
Satisfied, he pushed his little charge’s chair close to the table and sat down beside her. A footman soon brought in the first wave of food. Muffins, kippers, hard-boiled eggs, toast, and a pot of marmalade were among the offerings.
He helped Isla prepare a heaping plate.
“Isla,” he said once she began to eat, “would you mind if I asked about your family?”
She shook her head.
“You mentioned that your papa is gone. Do you know if he’s still alive?”
“He’s passed,” Isla replied. “Fever.”
“Oh.” He had feared the father had simply abandoned his wife and child, though he wasn’t sure which outcome was more tragic.
“Your mother . . . ?”
“Fever too. She wouldn’t wake up. I . . .” Isla set the muffin down on her plate. “I was crying, and I went downstairs to find help. They heard me, and when I told them my mama wasn’t moving, they came and took her away.”
“They?”
“The men who took my mama.”
Rafe frowned. “Was your mama still breathing when they took her?”
Isla shook her head. “She made a terrible sound, like a rattle, and then she was very quiet. I was so scared.”
“Do you know who these men are?”
“They stay at the inn sometimes. They are bad men.”
“That they are,” Rafe agreed. He wished he had met them last evening. He had no deep-seated objections to grave robbing, per se. The dead didn’t need any of their mortal baubles, and doctors made far better use of their corpses than the worms.
But Lydia had heard these men say that they intended to silence the girl to both cover their sins and line their pockets. And for that, he would have killed them.
Rafe put a hand on the child’s head, brushing her hair back in an attempt to soothe her. “That’s all I needed to know. I’m sorry, my dear. Finish your breakfast.” He moved her plate closer in encouragement. After a moment, she reached for her muffin again.
Poor thing, Rafe thought. But the child was safe now. Brodie and Lydia would not let her go uncared for. But when those two parted ways, he wondered if there would be a battle for who would take the child. Brodie may bluster and growl as all Scots do, but he had a soft spot for helpless creatures as much as his brother Aiden did.
“Isla, have you ever had chocolate to drink?” Rafe asked.
“No,” the girl replied.
Rafe chuckled and prepared her a cup of hot chocolate. “Well then, you are in for a treat.” He added two scoops of sugar to it.
When Isla took a sip, her eyes widened and she licked her lips before she beamed up at him.
“Like it?”
She nodded vigorously.
“Then drink up and I might let you have a second cup.” He felt he’d already proven himself to be an excellent uncle-in-training, but he wasn’t sure what to do to keep her occupied after breakfast.
“Do you know how to play whist, by any chance?”
Isla shook her head, and he grinned wickedly.
“Excellent, I shall tutor you to fleece the richest men in His Majesty’s kingdom without them ever knowing, through a simple game of cards.”
Jane Russell barely had time to think as she rushed out of her bedchamber in nothing more than a chemise and a dressing gown, clutching the letter her maid had given her to her chest. She burst into the room next to hers, and in her surprise, the letter fluttered down to the floor.
Jackson Hunt stood facing a gilded mirror as he shaved himself, while his valet set out clothes on the bed. Both men paused in their activities to look at her, curious and surprised by her entrance.
But Jane’s attention was solely on Jackson and the fact that he was bare-chested. He wore only a pair of lean, buff colored trousers, which clung to his narrow hips but displayed far too clearly his muscular thighs and bottom.
“Good heavens. I’m so sorry.” Jane wasn’t entirely sure she had said that aloud until Jackson nodded to his valet, who hastily slipped past Jane and left the room.
“I . . . should come back later,” Jane murmured, yet she didn’t move from the doorway.
Jackson finished shaving and wiped his face clean before he turned to face her. His hazel eyes looked at her intensely, and her body responded in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. Heat filled her face, as well as other parts of her.
“You dropped something,” he said, nodding at her feet.
Jane looked down at her slippers and saw the item she had thought so important a moment ago.
“Oh . . . Right . . . Yes, how silly of me.” She retrieved the letter and opened it. “The butler from the Lennox house has written to us.”
“Oh?” Jackson came over, and she had to force herself to stare at the page, in order to not stare at Jackson’s chest. The man looked fit enough to rival any of her sons in any sort of physical competition. It was enough to make a woman reach for the nearest bottle of smelling salts.
“He said that Mr. Lennox, Mr. Kincade, and their female guest spent last night at the townhouse but left before dawn. They have no plans to return to Edinburgh and are bound for the Isle of Skye to the enclosed address.”
“The Isle of Skye?” Jackson groaned. “What the devil takes them all the way up there?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea, but it is a rather pretty place. I went there once with my husband.”
“I’ve never been,” Jackson admitted. “I spent my younger years building a life and trade. It didn’t lend much to traveling. At least, not to places that were pretty.”
Jane folded the letter and finally looked his way again. There were faint lines around his eyes as he offered her a smile. Her heart gave a traitorous leap within her chest.
“So, we are bound for Skye?”
“It seems so.” Jackson’s deep chuckle melted through her.
“Well then, I should leave you to dress and . . .”
Lord, she was staring at his chest again, wasn’t she? Since when had she become a blushing bride on her wedding night? A bare chest should not affect her so.
“You can touch me, Jane. I am not made of stone,” Jackson teased.
“You could have fooled me—you look as hard as marble.” She frowned. “How are you so sun-kissed?”
He laughed again. “By working in the gardens. I work alongside my gardener. He’s an older fellow who I won’t ever terminate, and he needs help with lifting and digging and so forth. I could hire one of the young lads to do it, but it feels good to stay active.”