The Scottish Bride - Catherine Coulter [4]
He just didn’t want her to be like her mother, Melinda Beatrice. He immediately closed his eyes against such a wicked, disloyal thought. No, Melinda Beatrice had been a sainted woman, perhaps just a bit on the unctuous side, but that wasn’t something to bring despair, perhaps just an occasional sigh when a parishioner’s face tightened after she’d offered well-meant advice. He shook his head and looked down into his own Sherbrooke blue eyes, Sinjun’s Sherbrooke blue eyes as well, and touched his fingers gently to Meggie’s soft, Sherbrooke light hair. “Why, Meggie, do you believe I need you?”
She looked at him straight on and said, “You are far too nice, Papa. You are too good. You don’t see the wickedness in people. Sometimes you don’t really see people at all. Your thoughts are too elevated, perhaps too refined and aloof. You need me because I will keep bad people away from you. I will keep females away from you who would try to make you love them and marry them. I will—”
He laid his finger on her lips. He didn’t see wickedness? His thoughts were too elevated? Too refined? Was that truly what she believed? He supposed that when he’d asked her why he needed her he’d expected her to fold her tent somewhat, at least retreat to embrace another argument. He shook his head at her, bemused. He didn’t recognize wickedness? He was too nice? Blessed heaven, he was easy prey to females who would try to trap him into marriage? He said, with just a touch of irony in his voice, “I appreciate your belief in me, Meggie, although I do not know what I have done to make you believe me such a weakling. As for the ladies, I promise you that I am always on my guard.”
“But Miss Strapthorpe nearly nabbed you, I heard her talking of it to one of her friends. She said she was this close to having you. Just one kiss, she said, and you would feel bound to marry her. Then there was that time she trapped you in the vestry.”
“But I didn’t kiss Miss Strapthorpe, and I managed to escape the vestry with my clerical collar still around my neck.”
“Papa, was that a jest?”
“Certainly not, Meggie.”
“I didn’t think it could be, since you don’t waste your time in anything frivolous. Now, Papa, I know you didn’t kiss Miss Strapthorpe—if you had, she would be my stepmother now, and let me tell you, Papa, that would have made even Max turn green around his collar. As for Leo, I’ll wager he would have run away from home.”
“Enough about Miss Strapthorpe. I am a grown man, Meggie. I can see to myself. I promise not to bring back a stepmama to you and the boys.”
“But—”
He touched his finger to her mouth again. “Now, sweetheart, for the last time, you will not accompany me. You will remain here. I swear to you that I will be on the alert for wicked men and for females out to nab me. No, don’t say anything more. You will not strain my patience. It is not appropriate for a man of God to yell at his child. It would cause consternation if it got out.”
Meggie grabbed his hand. “Papa, take me with you, please. Wicked people do abound. One man alone cannot see all of them or hear them creeping up on him. And ladies in particular know how to creep, I—”
He marveled at her determination, her seemingly endless string of arguments.
Her small hand was now on his sleeve, tugging. A beautiful hand, he thought inconsequentially, long fingers, graceful. Sinjun’s hands, not her mother’s. “I haven’t seen Aunt Sinjun and Uncle Colin for three years, not since they came to London and we traveled there to visit them. I want to see Phillip and Dahling. I don’t really care about Jocelyn and Fletcher. They’re still just babies.”
Tysen just shook his head again, seamed his mouth tight so he wouldn’t say something that could hurt her feelings, and made for the door. He said over his shoulder, “Mrs. Priddie will help you and your