She blinked, trying to understand why he’d stopped asking her questions. She gave a nod, however, and allowed him to lead her down to the ladder. She’d told Matt a great deal more than she’d shared with anyone for a long time. Had she just made a terrible mistake?
* * *
Matt led Bridget down the ladder and to her room. Something odd was happening to him. He’d had the distinct urge to fold her into his arms and shelter her from the wind, the cold, life in general.
Which was ridiculous. She’d given him a great deal of trouble the night before. She was a woman who could take care of herself.
They reached her door and gave her a nod. “Sleep well, Bridget.”
Her hand rested on the knob at she looked up at him, biting at her lip. “Captain Sinclair,” she started. Her other hand rested at the base of her throat. “I hope I didn’t put you out by sharing so much. My apologies for—”
“There are no apologies necessary.” He didn’t mean to but he grasped her shoulder again. The fabric of her dress was stiff with sea water. It flitted through his thoughts that she was a woman who should be clad in silk. “Knowing your situation helps me to make a sound decision.” He let his hand fall away. “Good night.”
“Good night,” she replied as she opened the door and slipped into her room.
For some odd reason, he wanted to call her back, to ask her more questions. Hell, he wanted to touch her again. He remembered the feel of those curves against his body. She fit against him in the most satisfying way.
Yesterday, he could hardly stand the sight of her. Today? Well, she’d invoked some sympathy. She was, for all intents and purposes, an orphan. He’d lost his parents ten years ago but he hadn’t forgotten the pain. And he’d had his brothers to stand him back up on his feet. Even when he’d lost Reginald. His family had pulled him through. From the sounds of it, everyone was relying on Bridget.
She’d appeared spoiled, but perhaps she was just tough. In a crisis, she stood strong rather than crumbling. Or she was an excellent liar. While her words seemed sincere there was the distinct possibility she was lying to garner his sympathy.
He frowned as he reached his own room. He’d honestly be surprised if she was. Still, he had to explore every possibility. With that in mind, he knew what his next course of action should be. They’d pass North Berwick in the early morning hours. Matt was going to pay a visit to Lord McDougal.
He’d told her they’d stop on the way back to London but he wanted to know sooner. Was Bridget telling the truth?
Chapter Five
As the ship docked, Matt lowered the plank and walked down to the dock. The town was quiet, which suited him just fine.
It was an early hour to pay a house call, he knew that. The lord of the manor might keep him waiting for some time, but he’d take the chance. If he could keep this stop short, he might reach his brother only being a day behind. If they loaded and unloaded in the same day, he could still make his scheduled London stop.
With that in mind, he started up the hill on the long winding path to Lord McDougal’s home. He had a difficult time believing Bridget was even the man’s child. Her features were lovely and refined with creamy skin and sparkling eyes. McDougal had flaming re
d hair and a rather bulbous nose. The two couldn’t look any less alike.
Reaching the front door, he raised the knocker and let it fall back on its iron rest. It clanged metal against metal, echoing about him.
After a few minutes, an ancient-looking man opened the door. “May I help ye?”
“I’m here to see the lord of the manor?” Matt straightened his shoulders. “It’s urgent.”
“Urgent?” the man asked, squinting his already wrinkled eyes. “What may I tell him specifically?”
Matt drew in a breath. “I’ve rescued his daughter from a shipwreck.”
That made the stooped man straighten. “Lady Bridget?” Then he stepped back to allow Matt entrance.
Matt was shown into a waiting room. Blessedly, after a few short minutes, the door opened. But it wasn’t Lord McDougal who answered. Rather, a woman popped her head in, giving him a gapped-tooth smile. Her reddish blonde hair hung down one shoulder. “Are ye ‘im? Did ye rescue Bridget?” she asked as she stepped into the room wearing her night rail with an open robe. Bloody hell. What was the woman doing?
Matt stood. “I did. Where is his lord?”
“Never mind ‘im.” She gave him a large smile which showed off more crooked teeth. “I want to hear more about ye.” Then she stepped closer, her hand touching his chest. He straightened, his mouth drawing tight. “Ye’re a handsome one.”
“Fiona,” a voice bellowed behind her. “What the bloody hell are ye doin’?”
“He rescued Bridget,” she pouted, her bottom lip jutting out. “I was just saying thanks.”
In response, McDougal grabbed her hair and yanked, sending her careening toward the door. Without thought, Matt grabbed her arm to keep her from slamming into the frame. Then he quickly let her go, ready to fend off an attack. McDougal gave a low grunt, lowering is head. “How dare ye.”