It seemed her instincts had been right about Mr. MacNab. As he’d promised when they entered the hut, he made no attempt to touch her or bully her. Which didn’t mean she missed the tact and skill he’d employed to coax her story out of her.
How could she resent that, when he placed himself so firmly on her side? He proclaimed himself her champion. When she heard him say that, her heart had risen with sudden hope that she might make it out of this tangle in the end.
Mr. MacNab rose and crossed to the door. The wind was still roaring around the hut. When he managed to heave the door open, the sudden blast of cold made Kit wrap her arms around herself.
The door only stayed open a few seconds before Mr. MacNab battled to close it again. “It’s a white hell out there.”
“Everyone will be afraid for us.”
“There’s nothing we can do about it.” As he came back to the fire to pile on some more peat, he looked troubled. “It’s getting colder, too.”
It was. “Do you think we’ll be here all night?”
Another nonsensical question, but she found that deep voice so soothing, she didn’t really care whether he was speaking calming platitudes.
He rested one elbow on the rustic mantel and cast her a searching glance. “I hope not.”
In an odd way, she felt safer here in this primitive hut than she had since she’d run away. If Neil was looking for her, and she had no doubt he was, the dreadful weather would keep him away. She wasn’t even afraid of an unmasking anymore, because Mr. MacNab now knew all her secrets – apart perhaps from the foolish penchant she harbored for him.
“Do you trust me, Kit?”
Startled, she looked up, wondering if he’d read her mind. “Aye.”
“Thank you.” A smile creased his face. “I know you don’t trust easily.”
“No.” She had once, but life had taught her that evil could lurk under an amiable manner, and greed and cruelty didn’t always come announced.
“Will you trust me to keep you alive through this snowstorm?”
“Do you want to try and get back to Lyon House?”
His short laugh was dismissive. “Good God, no. We wouldn’t make two yards out there.”
“Then what?”
“I want to pull the bed near the fire and I want you and I to share it, purely for body warmth. You have my word as a gentleman and a MacNab that I won’t take liberties.” He paused as if waiting for her to protest. When she didn’t speak, he went on. “It’s the only way we’ll survive this.”
Kit waited for her instincts to scream a denial. After all, Belmont Sinclair, Neil’s slimy friend, had schemed to winkle his way into her bed. But it seemed she really did trust Quentin MacNab not to try to seduce her and make a claim on her inheritance.
The embarrassing truth was that some wicked part of her might even like it if he did. In the narrow room in the stables, where for a few hours each day she became Christabel instead of Kit, she’d spent too many nights dreaming of his kisses.
“I think that’s very sensible,” she said calmly and saw his relief at her cooperation. Despite their predicament, a smile tugged at her lips. “I’ll spare you a fit of maidenly hysterics. I don’t want to die in this hut either. I want to live to kick Neil Maxwell out of my home and watch him scuttle away like the cockroach he is.”
Admiration brightened Mr. MacNab’s hazel eyes. While she might warn herself to be careful, it was difficult not to bask in his approval. “It would be a tragedy to miss that by a mere week.”
“I agree.” She rose on legs that felt ridiculously wobbly at the prospect of lying beside Mr. MacNab. It seemed here she was more Christabel than Kit, too. And for weeks, Christabel had concealed a silly tendre for this dashing young man. “Shall I help you with the bed?”
“I can manage.”
She released a hiss of impatience. “Just because I’m a girl, it doesn’t mean you have to treat me like a porcelain figurine. You didn’t when you thought I was a stableboy.”
“I never thought you were a stableboy,” he said quietly.
“Oh,” she said, blushing for no reason she could think of.
He sent her another searching look, and she wondered if her weakness for him was quite as much of a secret as she hoped. “Two sets of hands will definitely help with the bed, so thank you, my lady.”
She winced. “Seeing we’re about to become much better acquainted, you should go back to calling me Kit.”
He smiled. “Then you should call me Quentin.”
“Oh, I couldn’t. Remember I’m officially a servant until Christmas Eve. What would the other servants say if I was suddenly on such terms with the laird’s nephew?”
“Fair point. But nonetheless, Mr. MacNab is a little too formal for present circumstances.”
She found herself smiling. “Then Quentin you shall be.”
The bed was made of solid pine and took a bit of lifting, but they soon had it positioned in front of the roaring fire. Quentin tossed in some more peat before he fetched his now-dry greatcoat and laid it across the straw mattress. “I’m afraid there might be fleas.”
“It’s too cold for fleas,” Kit said, unable to help noting how fine he looked in his shirtsleeves after he removed his green coat.
He gave a grunt of laughter and pointed to her concealing jacket. “Take that off. If we put it over us and wrap my coats around us, we’ll preserve more heat.”
She regarded him uncertainly. Although he knew who she was, the thick jacket was the main engine of her disguise. Taking it off in another person’s presence seemed dangerous.
He smiled and held out his hand. “Come on, Kit.”
What a henwit she was. He already knew she was female. Quickly she shrugged off the shapeless jacket and passed it to him. Then before her nerves got the better of her, she lay down on top of his greatcoat.
He took his place behind her so she was closest to the fire. She was painfully aware of him as a large, masculine presence mere inches away from her. He arranged their coverings and settled against the mattress.
Kit told herself to go to sleep, but it was no good. She was too tense, and it still wasn’t warm enough. After a short while, she started to shiver.
“I think…I think we’ll have to be in contact,” she said through chattering teeth.
“Will you mind?”
“I don’t want to freeze to death.”
“Very well.”
He drew her into his arms and back against his chest. She was stiff and awkward, even as a creeping warmth thawed the chill in her blood. She’d never been held by a man before or shared a bed with one, however innocently. Telling herself she could bear this, she closed her eyes and felt Quentin rearrange their makeshift blankets.
“Kit, if you rest flush against me, it will be better.”
“Aye,” she muttered, scooting across until her back pressed along his front. Already she was warmer. She snuggled closer and tucked her jacket around them more securely.
“Are you comfortable?”
No. She was too aware of his fresh male scent and how he was so much bigger than she was. “It’s warmer.”
“Aye.” He wrapped his arms around her more tightly, and she felt the heat build. “You know you’re safe, don’t you?”