Sizzle All Day (19 page)

"You are afraid you will fall in love with him."

Gillian shut her eyes. "Aye. Exactly. It is what I fear the most. That's all I need, to fall in love with yet another man who will leave me. God's truth, Flora, were it not for Lord Harrington's pending arrival, I would give Jake that document he wants so badly and send him on his way."

Her sister pondered the problem for a moment, then said, "Maybe he will fall in love with you, too. Maybe he won't leave."

Gillian gave a short, bitter laugh. "And did I not think David would return to me until the very day we received his wedding announcement? I can't go through that again, I won't go through it again." She pressed another kiss to the infant's forehead, inhaled his sweet scent, and was soothed.

Flora removed the other child from her breast and lifted him to her shoulder. Patting the babe's back, she gazed at her sister with concern. "Then don't. You are a strong woman, Gilly. You can resist him."

"Aye, that I can. I hope." Gillian sighed. "Oh, Flora. 'Twould be a much easier task if I did not like him so much and were he not such a bonny braw man."

The babe in Gillian's arms began to cry and the two women switched infants. Flora adopted the maternal tone she'd been practicing of late and lectured. "Aye, Mr. Delaney is a fine one, but he is certainly not the only fine man in Scotland. Perhaps you are making too much of this, Gilly. After all, he is the first man who has engaged your interest since That One cried off. Perhaps your reaction does not have as much to do with the Texan as it does with what is happening inside of you. Maybe you have finally healed. Maybe once this situation with Rowanclere is settled, you will find another man who attracts you in the same way as does Mr. Delaney."

As she considered her sister's words, a spark of hope lit inside Gillian. Maybe Flora was right. Maybe this wasn't about Jake Delaney at all. Maybe it was all about David Maclean and the fact that she was finally over the man. Maybe she was ready to fall in love again.

With somebody other than Jake Delaney, that is.

* * *

Jake stood in the Great Hall watching with interest as the howdie carried both Dunbar babies into the room. The infants both wore white dresses twice as long as their little bodies. Jake was tempted to make a comment about training boys young to wear these Scottish skirts, but in good conscience he couldn't. His mother had proudly displayed Jakes own baptismal gown upon occasion, and it was even frillier than these boys' dresses.

In all honesty, Jake felt honored to have been invited to the baptism this morning. Everyone else in attendance could claim family ties of one sort or another to the Rosses or the Dunbars.

The reverend waited in the center of the hall beside a table draped in a snowy white cloth. Alasdair Dunbar and his beautiful wife stood next to the churchman, their eyes glowing with pride and emotion as they watched their sons. Jake couldn't help but note the differences in the kilt the Scotsman wore and the plaid Gillian had so enticingly wrapped around him yesterday. His was longer, thank God, and less fussy. And did these men truly need to wear knives in their stockings to a private christening?

Gillian stood beside her sister, misty-eyed and wearing an expression of such loving tenderness as she gazed at the babies that Jake had to look away. A sudden, uninvited picture flashed through his mind of that woman wearing that expression while watching another baby, his baby. Their baby.

Jake's knees went a little weak. Where the hell had that come from?

Maybe it was a leftover from the nightmares that had plagued him during the night.

He'd dreamed of missing his boat. Half the night he'd spent running, riding, and even swimming toward the ship that would carry him off on his adventures. Never once had he made it. Each time he'd been delayed by a wraith who wrapped chains around his legs. A wraith with long golden hair and bluebonnet eyes and a kiss as sweet as cane sugar, straight from the field.

Not too hard to analyze those nightmares. Gillian Ross posed a threat to his real-life dreams.

Only if you do something extraordinarily stupid. You're smarter than that.

That's what his best friend Cole used to think, too. Right before he bedded Jake's sister, Chrissy, and found himself posing that leg-shackling question.

With that unpleasant thought haunting his mind, Jake forced his attention back to the baptismal proceedings.

The howdie approached the table where a water-filled basin sat next to a Bible and the papers certifying the children's births. The midwife stopped in front of Flora and handed her the infant she'd carried in her right arm. Flora looked the child over closely, then, cradling the babe in her arms, faced her husband. Alasdair reached into his right jacket pocket and removed a slip of paper and a pin.

Jake spotted a tremor in the man's hands as he pinned the paper to his son's gown. Jake wondered what the paper signified and became especially curious when the process was repeated with the second child, only this time Alasdair withdrew a paper from his left pocket.

The minister began the service with a prayer, giving thanks for a living mother and living bairns. He followed that up with a few passages from Scripture. Jake took the opportunity to make his way toward Gillian, telling himself he was moving closer to the children to spy what was written on the notes, not because the woman drew him like a frosty glass of lemonade on a hot summer day.

He caught a whiff of jasmine just as the minister began to ask Dunbar a series of questions. As the man answered "Aye" to each of them, Jake angled his head closer to Gillian, pretending that he was trying to get a good look at the babies. Mainly he wanted to lose himself in her scent.

"Present your child for baptism," said the minister.

Alasdair took one of the children from Flora's arms and held his head over the basin. The churchman dipped his hand into the water and sprinkled the child. While the baby puckered up to fuss, the minister frowned over the slip of paper pinned to the dress below the infant's feet. "'Twa ells and a half o' plaiding? Wha ever heard o' such a name for a bairn?"

Gillian gasped. Alasdair choked and turned red as his tartan and Flora slapped her husband on the shoulder. "That is the merchant's account, you fool." She dug into his pocket, removed a second square of paper, checked it, then shoved it toward the minister.

"The child's name is Duncan," he stated, looking relieved as he spoke to the assembly. He then made the sign of the cross saying, "Duncan, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, One God blessed forever. Amen."

Without pause, the minister repeated the procedure with Duncan's twin, sprinkling the water, then saying, "The child's name is Douglas."

This time the baby didn't cry, a situation promptly remedied when his father gave him a quick pinch. Jake just shook his head while the minister continued on with the blessing. Never in his life had he run across such a superstitious bunch of people. Just the ones involving infants were enough to make his head spin.

Gillian had run through some of them when Jake had the audacity to question what names the babies had been given the day they were born. You'd have thought he'd threatened their poor little heads the way Angus and Alasdair reacted. Those two had all but drawn their dirks as Gillian hastened to soothe waters. Later, she'd explained why. Apparently, one of the seemingly thousands of superstitions these Highlanders held dear to their hearts included a ban on saying a child's name aloud before his christening.

Jake would bet his favorite shirt that the pinch he just witnessed involved another one. He wondered what foolishness they believed might happen to the babe if he didn't cry when he was baptized.

However, both Duncan and Douglas Dunbar had successfully squealed while being sprinkled, and no one dared to speak their name before the minister said it. Judging by the collective sigh of relief from the small congregation, all must be well in the superstition department.

With the ceremony concluded, bread and cheese were set before the guests, along with a glass of whisky. Each person present raised the drink in toast to the children. As the turn worked around to him, Jake tried to search his brain for pretty words with which to salute the infant's long life and good health. He kept losing his train of thought because Gillian distracted him. First with the sparkle in her eyes, then the light music of her laughter, and finally, when she lifted her glass and spoke with the burr of Scotland thicker in her voice than he'd previously heard. "Wissin the company's gueede health and grace and growan to m'nephews Duncan and Douglas." Then she leaned over, kissed her brother-in-law on his cheek, and added, "And givin' a special thanks to Reverend Gregor that the bairns dinna end up with the name of 'Twa ells' and 'half o' plaiding.'"

Jake thought a laughing, teasing Gillian Ross was one of the prettiest sights he'd ever seen. Absently, he wondered if the sun-kissed beaches of Tahiti could compare. At that moment, he wasn't particularly anxious to find out.

The realization stopped him. Shocked him. What the hell was the matter with him?

Before he could put his finger on it, his turn for saluting the Dunbar boys came round. Distracted, he offered the first salute that came to mind. "Here's hoping your lives are gooder'n grits."

The people in Rowanclere's Great Hall all smiled politely, though Jake could tell the Southern saying didn't quite make the translation to Scots. He didn't care. All his attention was once again focused on Gillian. She was playing with one of the babies, nuzzling his chin, her expression tender and brimming with love.

Gillian with a babe in her arms. So beautiful. So right.

Imagine how she'd look playing with her own child. His child. Their child.

Damn. He'd done it again. Hell, better he imagine her lying naked beneath him on a Bora Bora beach than this. Gillian Ross didn't need to dress in a filmy gown and carry a wooden head to haunt a man. The woman did it just by existing.

"I've gotta get out of here," he murmured.

Standing beside him, young Robbie heard him and asked, "What's the matter, Mr. Jake?"

"Uh, I need to check on Scooter. I left her shut up in my room and I imagine it's time she went out."

"I'll go with you." The girl slipped her hand in Jake's. "I haven't seen her all day and besides, I have an idea I want to talk to you about. You know the chair with wheels that Alasdair bought for Uncle Angus that he is too proud to use? Well, I've been thinking about it and I think we could make something like that for Scooter. What do you think?"

What he thought was that he was damned glad that his mother wasn't here to see his reaction to Gillian. "I'd find myself hog-tied before sunset," he grumbled.

"Hog tied?" Robbie repeated. "What does that have to do with Scooter?"

His mother would like Gillian. Of course, Elizabeth Delaney was so anxious to get him married that she'd like anything in skirts in whom Jake showed an interest.

At that point he realized Robyn was tugging on his arm. "... Jake... Mr. Jake... Please. Can we make one? It will give you something to do between the hoaxes you play on the ghost hunter. Gilly says you have to stay hidden, so you will be restless. I have been thinking about Scooter. I don't think she needs to stay hidden away too since you are not using her in your haunts. She and I can still play together each day, can we not? We shall both be so sad not to take our walks in the woods. She does so love to bark at the squirrels."

"Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you want." Jake responded absently, his attention drawn to movement out on the drive. A carriage approached drawn by two of the finest matched bays he had ever seen. As the conveyance drew closer, he spied a crest on the door. He'd seen enough of these in London to know what it meant. "Gillian? Could you come here a minute, please?"

She met his gaze for the first time all day. "Yes?"

"Looks like it's time for me to adjourn to my grave. Looks like your guest has arrived a bit early."

She followed the path of his gaze, then said, "Guid fegs. Aye, it is the Earl of Harrington." She cleared her throat, and spoke loudly, "Excuse me, everyone. I'm afraid our merriment must draw to a close. Harrington is arriving now."

After a moment's calm, chaos reigned as servants fled to their place of duty. Alasdair all but pushed Reverend Gregor along his way back to his church, and Flora instructed the howdie to return the bairns to the nursery. Angus shuffled over to the window to peer outside. "Fine looking horseflesh, there."

Jake agreed. Behind him, he heard Flora wish her sister luck as her husband attempted to hurry her back to her bedchamber.

Gillian pulled on his sleeve. "Come away from the window, Jake. They might see you. You need to enter the passages now."

"In a minute," he replied. He figured the chances of being seen were slim, and besides, he wanted to get a look at the man who would be his main target that evening.

He watched as the coach's door opened and a male figure descended to the ground. "Anybody got a spyglass on them?" he asked.

Damned if Angus didn't slap one against his shoulder. "It's my habit to carry it. Use it often up in the Crow's Nest."

Grinning, Jake extended the scope and held it up to his eye. The dapper earl was speaking to someone inside the coach. He held up his hand as though to offer assistance, and sure enough, a slipper and the hem of a bright yellow skirt came into view. "Looks like the earl brought—"

Jake broke off abruptly.
Oh God, I'm dead.

"Mother?"

Chapter 9