countered by throwing away his lowest heart, giving her the trick. She claimed a second trick, but on the third, he trumped her.
‘This one is mine.’ His hand brushed against hers as he collected the cards. His touch was bold, and she tried not to think of what those hands could do to a woman.
Concentrate, Frances, she warned herself. He was trying to distract her so he could win.
As the game progressed, it soon became clear that Lachlan MacKinloch was quite competitive. He delighted in winning and grimaced at the lost tricks. They each won a game. In the corner, Elspeth was quietly snoring, her mouth open as she dozed. So much for a chaperon, Frances thought. And then she wondered if Lachlan had deliberately chosen the old woman for that reason.
‘Do you think you can win?’ he asked, his voice rough and deep. His expression taunted her, as if he held a secret.
‘I know I can. But you can give up, if you wish.’ Her last card was an ace. There was no doubt in her mind that she would take the game and his forfeit. She smiled at him.
‘I never give up.’ He tapped the card against the back of his hand. ‘Ladies first.’
Frances responded by laying down the ace, smiling broadly. ‘The game is mine.’ Triumph spread across her face, and she was glad of the victory.
And yet, the laird had a gleam in his eyes. With that, he laid down a two, the lowliest of cards—but it was the trump suit.
‘No!’ Frances expelled a groan and shook her head with exasperation. ‘I thought it had already been played. I must have miscounted.’
MacKinloch took the trick and leaned back in his chair, quite satisfied by the outcome. It made her wonder exactly what he wanted from her now. Her wicked brain conjured up the idea of him kissing her, though she knew the very idea was ridiculous. But she forced herself to ask, ‘Well, what is my forfeit? Is there something you need help with?’
He stood from the table and drew closer until he towered over her. ‘Oh, aye. There are a great many things I need help with.’
His voice was low and resonant, causing her mind to think of even more scandalous thoughts. But she pretended as if his request was ordinary. ‘What do you need, Locharr?’
Oh, heavens, her voice sounded breathless, as if she was glad that their chaperon was fast asleep. When the truth was, her nerves had gathered, causing her heart to pound rapidly.
‘I need you to come with me,’ he said.
Into a darkened corner where he would press her back, his warm mouth against her cheek? Her imagination went wild, and she tried to push back the scandalous visions in her mind.
Her face flamed, but she asked, ‘Locharr, what is it?’
MacKinloch finally said, ‘It’s a task that I loathe and despise, but it must be done. My father left the estate ledgers in a terrible state. For your forfeit, I want you to help me sort through the papers.’ With a wry smile, he added, ‘Afterwards, you’ll be wanting to flee back to London. It’s horrifying.’
Relief soared through her, and her expression turned sympathetic. ‘Of course, I will be glad to help you.’ Without thinking, she touched his hand with her own. His eyes darkened, but not with anger. No, there was a flash of heat that rose up, tempting her towards more. Frances snatched back her hand, feeling like an idiot.
She had been burned by temptation once before, and she had sworn never to let it happen again. The mistakes of her past would remain there. And no matter how handsome and strong this man was, she would never let down her guard for a single moment.
Her future depended on it.
Lachlan opened the door to the study, steeling himself for what lay ahead. Even after the past few years, it had become a Herculean task to sort through his father’s ledgers. He and his clansmen had loved Tavin, though the man was impossibly disorganised. The loss of their laird had left a hole in everyone’s lives.
Lachlan had shut himself away from everyone after his father’s death. Not only to heal from his wounds, but to come to terms with his guilt. He hadn’t saved Tavin’s life, and he blamed himself. But there was no choice except to move on. He intended to take care of the people and the estate, but first, he had to unravel where all the money had gone.
‘We forgot about Elspeth,’ Miss Goodson reminded him. ‘She’s still asleep in the parlour.’
He wouldn’t say that ‘forgot’ was the right word. Deliberately left behind, perhaps. ‘We won’t need her for this. And I’ll leave the door open, if it makes you feel better.’
Lachlan led her into the study, and Miss Goodson could hardly conceal her horror at the sight. ‘Dear God.’
Although the room had once been Lachlan’s favourite, with polished wooden panelling and rows of bookcases, there were papers on every surface. Stacks of ledgers remained on the large desk, while papers were stuffed inside books, stacked on the floor—even crammed behind a brass sconce upon the wall. He’d done his best to organise it as best he could. His father had saved every last scrap of paper, and Lachlan didn’t know which ones were necessary and which could be burned.
‘Oh, my,’ she breathed. ‘How long has it been like this?’
‘Two years,’ Lachlan answered. ‘When I first took my father’s place, there were papers so deep in places, they were up to my knees. At least I can see the floor now.’
‘Did he…keep everything?’
It certainly seemed that way, though he hadn’t known it at the time. ‘My father stopped recording the information in the ledgers some time ago. He simply kept the bills and wrote down the amounts on scraps of paper.’
‘And your mother simply allowed him to keep his books in this way?’ She appeared aghast at the idea, and Lachlan privately agreed with her. Tavin had clearly been in over his head. ‘Why did no one intervene?’
‘He kept the room locked,’ Lachlan answered. ‘I believe he was ashamed and wanted no one to know about it.’ And that was no surprise, for the study was a disaster. He felt slightly guilty that he had asked for her help in this, but then again, if the intent was to drive her away, this would do it.
Miss Goodson, however, didn’t seem deterred at all. Instead, she rolled up her sleeves and let out a slow breath of air, turning over the problem in her mind. ‘Well, I suppose we should begin by sorting the papers by date.’
‘Not all of them are dated,’ he pointed out.
‘Then we shall make a stack of those papers with no date and see if we can’t make sense of them, in time.’ She paused a moment. ‘When was the last time he used a ledger to record anything at all?’
‘1802.’
Miss Goodson blinked at that. Unfortunately, they were looking through at least eight years of papers. There was no way around it, except to go piece by piece.
‘All right.’ She steadied herself a moment and said, ‘I suggest that we purchase
