How to Treat a Lady

by Karen Hawkins

  His jaw tightened. “You and your family have a lot riding on this venture with the sheep and I thought, since I didn’t have anything better to do, that I’d stay for a day or two.”

  “And then you were going to disappear.” It wasn’t a question. She knew his intentions as plainly as if he’d spoken them aloud. “You don’t want to leave England, do you?”

  His gaze went past her, to the gently rolling hills and the sway of the green grass. “No.”

  Harriet’s throat tightened at his expression. Whatever he had done, he felt it was unforgivable. She tried to imagine what it could possibly be, but looking at him, the sun shining on his broad shoulders, knowing that he possessed enough heart to stay to help her family even when his own problems seemed large and painful…

  Harriet bit her lip, her eyes moist. She simply couldn’t imagine him committing any crime so serious that it would be necessary for him to banish himself from his own home.

  Chase caught her expression. Damn it! He didn’t want anyone’s pity, especially not Harriet Ward’s. “Now that the game is up, you will wish me to leave. I’ll go this evening and—”

  “You can’t.”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “You can’t leave. Lady Cabot-Wells is to come this evening. What would you have us tell her?”

  “That I was called back to sea.”

  “Then the bank would immediately demand payment. We need you, Mr. St. John. You cannot leave.”

  “Cannot?” he asked softly.

  “You cannot leave,” she repeated. “Not yet.”

  Chase absently rubbed his neck where it had begun to ache. If he had any sense, he’d be gone with the first ray of dawn.

  That was what a sane man would do. But apparently Chase was no longer sane. Charading as the captain and working knee-deep in sheep muck had turned his brain to mush. “I suppose I could continue to be the captain for another week or so—”

  “I knew you would do it!” She beamed at him, her earlier irritation melting away like snow before the sun. “That would be so lovely.”

  Yes, he realized with some surprise. It could be lovely indeed. Or it would have been, if he wasn’t aware that he was going to have to leave, and soon. A pang shot through him.

  “I don’t know what to say except…thank you.” Her brown eyes met his, warmth and light shining through.

  Light that would disappear the instant she discovered his sins. “I will stay one more week but no more.”

  “Excellent! And while you are here, perhaps you should think things through. I can’t help but wonder if—”

  “I have thought things through. I cannot go back to London.”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  She sighed. “I could help if you’d tell me more.”

  No one could help. This time, Chase was going to have to help himself. “You are not responsible for me, Harriet Ward.”

  “You are just like Stephen. He won’t listen to a word I say, either.” Exasperation tinged her voice.

  Chase almost smiled. “You have never met a problem you couldn’t solve, have you?”

  “Never.” She regarded him for a long moment. “I suppose we are even, you and I, for our first meeting. A deception for a deception.”

  “We are indeed even, thou and I.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “And well matched, too.”

  A faint flash of color touched her skin. And he was aware of an instant thrum of desire. Of all the beauties he’d met in London, he’d never beheld one who was as beautiful inside as she was outside. The combination was heady and he wished with all his heart that things had been different. But they weren’t.

  “There you are!” Derrick ambled up, Max hard on his heels.

  The dog came to a sudden halt, lifted his head, sniffed, blew through his nose, then turned back the way he’d just come, though at a much faster pace.

  “Max!” Derrick scowled. “Max! Come back here!”

  The dog’s ears and tail lowered, but he kept going.

  Derrick blew out his breath in disgust and turned to walk back toward Harriet and the wagon. “I don’t know about that dog. He’s a wonder at herding, but at everything else, he—” Derrick slid to a stop, slapped a hand over his nose, and said in a strangled voice, “Good God, which sheep needed ointment?”

  Chase started abruptly. “Sheep?” He glared down at his hands. “That was sheep ointment?”

  “It works on people, too,” Harriet said defensively. “Ask Derrick.”

  But Derrick was already walking briskly back the way he’d come, his shoulders shaking as if he was laughing too hard to speak.

  “Wonderful,” Chase muttered. “I’m taking a bath as soon as I get back to Garrett Park.”

  “Please do. You smell atrocious, and I don’t think we could stand having you at the table at dinner.”

  “You were the one who—” Chase clamped his mouth closed at her grin. Beautiful inside and out she might be, but she was also a mischievous tease. “Should we tell your family of my real identity?”

  “They deserve to know. But never fear, they will keep your secret, especially once I explain how you so graciously agreed to be Captain Frakenham for another week.” She bit her lip. “I—I must admit that I was feeling somewhat bad.”

  “About what?”

  “About making you work so hard.”

  “You should feel guilty about that. It has been intolerable.”

  Her guilty look disappeared. “You haven’t worked any harder than the rest of us.”

  “Yes, but you benefit from my work. I don’t benefit from it at all.” He looked down at his blistered hands, now oily from the smelly balm she’d applied to them.

  “Haven’t we housed you and fed you and tended your wounds?”

  “With sheep ointment!”

  “With good sheep ointment.”

  “I don’t think there is such a thing as good sheep ointment.”

  Derrick yelled something from across the field to Harriet. Something about the last railing on the fence he and the hands had just fixed. Harriet shouted back an answer while Chase waited.

  She turned to face him. “We should be able to begin the shearing tomorrow.”

  “It’s about time.”

  “So we think, too. We’ve never done this before, though Stephen and I have concocted a system.”

  She was always the practical one, except for that streak of passion that shimmered just below the surface. Chase wondered what she’d do if he kissed her once more. He stepped a little closer, but yet another shout sounded from across the field.

  Harriet leaned over the fence and shouted back an answer. Frustrated at the interruption, Chase had to constrain himself from yelling an answer himself—something rather unworthy.

  Finally, Harriet glanced back at Chase. “What were we—oh, yes. Our shearing system.” She tossed her head slightly, a tendril of brown hair escaping over one ear. “We built some narrow pens that will only hold one sheep. You just have to loop a rope about its neck and it will be held in place so you can shear it. It should be ridiculously easy.”

  “One can only hope,” Chase replied, though he had his doubts. “So far, nothing about the sheep business has been what I’d call ‘easy.’”

  Her chin seemed to jut a bit at that. But after a moment, she said in a rather genteel voice, “You are right. Mr. St. John, you have been most helpful this week. Please accept our thanks for your assistance.”

  Her tone was almost warm. Chase was impressed. It must have cost her pride plenty to be able to pull that off. “You are quite welcome, Miss Ward.”

  “It was no problem, I assure you.” She peered up at him, all wide brown eyes and thick, curling brown lashes. A faint scattering of freckles decorated her nose. “I assume that since you will continue being the captain, you will also continue to help us with the shearing.”

  Chase almost choked. “Isn’t it enough that I am willing to play the part for your nosy
neighbors?”

  “It’s only for a week and since you, yourself, said you weren’t on a schedule—” She met his gaze with a hopeful look.

  But for the first time, Chase saw a flicker of uncertainty. “Miss Ward—Harriet, if you need money for the bank payment, I could—”

  Harriet’s shoulders stiffened. “No. I already had to pay back the bank; I will not owe money again.”

  Blast it all, who said anything about a loan? “Wait a moment! You don’t understand. You won’t owe me a thing—”

  “I don’t take charity, either, if that’s what you are going to suggest.”

  Bloody, stiff-necked fool. Chase’s temper began to simmer. “Look, it’s not as if—”

  “It’s not as if we need it.” Her mouth thinned with displeasure. “Do you think we are not capable of making the final payment? For I assure you that we can and—”

  A jangling sound made Harriet turn. Ophelia rode up on one of the farm horses, the old animal plodding along.

  Chase gritted his teeth. Yet another interruption. Bloody hell, could no one in the family do anything without turning to Harriet for advice? It made private speech with the woman almost impossible.

  Ophelia pulled the horse to when she reached the wagon. “There you are, Harri. I was looking all over for you.”

  “And now you’ve found me. What do you need?”

  Chase scowled. They were in the middle of a field, for chrissakes. How could they get interrupted so oft?

  “Something’s wrong with Stephen. Mother asked him to accompany Sophia to Colonel Parker’s to visit the colonel’s wife, and he refused quite rudely, then stomped off to the library.”

  “That doesn’t sound like him.”

  “No, it doesn’t. I asked him what was wrong, but he will not say. Mother wants you to speak with him when you come home. Are you almost done?”

  “Almost.” Harriet appeared concerned. “I could leave now, I suppose. I really should see what’s amiss—”

  “Nonsense,” Chase said. “Your brother is a grown man. Leave him be.”

  Harriet appeared offended. “Even grown men need comfort at times.”

  “When you’ve made a mull of things, it’s your responsibility to fix them. Your responsibility and no one else’s.”

  “You, sir, are wrong. If I made an error, I would think nothing of asking my family for help.”

  Chase met her gaze with a flat look. “We never know what we’ll do until the circumstances arise.”

  “I know what I would do under any circumstances. And anyone who keeps secrets from his own family is a selfish wretch.”

  Chase stiffened, a thousand rejoinders burning a way to his lips, though they remained stubbornly closed.

  “Uhm, Harriet?” Ophelia said, looking interestedly from one to the other. “Shall I tell Mother you are on your way?”

  “Please do,” Harriet said shortly, her gaze still locked with Chase’s.

  “Very well.” Ophelia waited a moment more, but when nothing else was said, she gave a sigh and kicked the horse into a lumpy trot.

  Chase wrenched his gaze from Harriet to see if Ophelia was yet out of range. When he turned back, Harriet was already gracing the seat of the cart, her gaze fixed straight ahead, the reins in her hands.

  “I’m off to the house,” she said, without looking at him. “If you wish a ride, climb on.”

  She said the words as if they had been wrenched from her.

  Chase planted his hat more firmly on his head. “I’ll walk.”

  “All the way to the house?” She started to say something, then stopped and shrugged. “Very well. I will see you at dinner. Don’t forget Lady Cabot-Wells is coming to make an inspection of Captain Frakenham this evening. It won’t do for you to arrive smelling like sheep ointment.”

  The harridan, ordering him about as if she owned him. “It won’t do for her to see you in that gown, either,” he retorted. “It’s hideous.”

  She turned slowly and eyed him from head to foot, stopping to gaze at his sagging boots, faded breeches, and ragged hat. “It’s a good thing I have such a qualified fashion advisor.” She smirked and then turned away to set the farm horses into motion.

  Chase watched, fuming, as she drove to the opposite field, picked up Derrick and the two hired hands and, without so much as a glance his way, headed the cart down the path toward Garrett Park.

  Chase was left, standing by the mended fence, reeking of sheep ointment, and facing a long, long walk back to the house. Teeth clenched against a stream of scathing invectives, he began walking.

  Chapter 18

  Never let it be said that I don’t enjoy a good bottle of brandy now and again. I don’t usually remember enjoying it, of course, but I must, for I keep returning for more.

  Edmund Valmont to Anthony Elliot, the Earl of Greyley, while sitting at White’s, enjoying a bottle

  Selfish? How dared she? Chase threw open the door of the house, his boots ringing loudly on the polished wood floor. It had taken him almost two hours to reach the house on foot. He was tired, sore, dirty, and far too aware of the odiferous waft of sheep salve to be comfortable.

  Damn Harriet and her narrow view of things. He wasn’t selfish. Why, how many times had he come to the rescue of his own brothers and friends? Not that many of his friends required much in the way of rescuing—except Harry Annesley, of course. Chase paused in the hallway at the thought of Harry, but he quickly shook it off. He was not selfish. The entire idea was ludicrous.

  Leave it to Harriet Ward, the most obstinate, outlandish, prone-to-exaggeration female of his acquaintance to toss off an ill-conceived word like “selfish” without so much as a second’s worth of consideration for his feelings.

  The faint sound of girlish voices reached his ears—Sophia and Ophelia deep in conversation. Chase paused, glancing up the stairwell.

  He didn’t like to think of bringing anyone pain, but God knew he’d already caused far more than his fair share of it. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the white face of the woman his carriage had run down, hear the clack of the hooves on the cobblestones, feel his own rising panic as he realized she could not have escaped.

  The memory of that pain held him in place at the foot of the stairs. The voices from upstairs settled into a low murmur, while golden dust motes floated through the air. The hall was silent but for those voices, a faint scent of beeswax and plaster filling his senses.

  The library door swung open and out stepped Harriet dressed in a gown of cool blue muslin. She’d had time to bathe and change, and pin her hair atop her head. Except for the telltale pink of her cheeks from being in the sun and the fact that her arms and nose were sadly tanned, she looked as if she belonged in a drawing room and not a pasture.

  She was closing the door, but she stopped as she caught sight of him, a guilty expression crossing her face, followed quickly by a mulish jutting of her chin.

  “I made it back,” he said grimly, aware that he looked and smelled atrociously. “In case you were concerned for my safety.”

  “I wasn’t.” She snapped the door closed behind her. “Even a braying ass can walk a fathom without falling in a ditch.”

  The little minx. Chase closed the space between them, pinning her to the door with only an inch of space between her fresh skirts and his muddied breeches.

  Her nose curled. “You smell like—”

  “I know exactly what I smell like. I haven’t had time for my bath. Not yet.”

  “Pray feel free to rinse in the trough by the barn until your bath is ready.”

  “You are incorrigible.”

  “Do you ever say anything nice about people?”

  That hurt. “I was only trying to make a point. Your family leans on you far too much.”

  “They do no such thing. Doesn’t your family mean anything to you?”

  Of course it meant something to him. He had a family—a very close one, in fact. He couldn’t imagine life without them. But he was
beginning to be aware that part of his problem was that they had taken perhaps too good care of him. Their motives had been pure, of course—love and concern. But their actions hadn’t always turned things for the better.

  Now that he thought about it, whenever things went wrong, his brothers were always there and not just to support him, but often actively fixing things so that Chase didn’t have to. Perhaps that was why he’d been unable to face his problem—until that one instant, he’d never had to.

  He shook his head. “You aren’t doing your brothers or sisters a favor when you run around correcting every difficulty they might face.”

  She pressed her hand against his chest. “I hate to be rude, but could you step back a little. The smell…”

  “If I have to smell the sheep ointment, then you should have to smell the sheep ointment. After all, you’re the one who slathered it all over me.”

  “Piffle! You had blisters. What else was I to do?”

  “Not a damn thing. Fortunately for you, I’m too tired to argue with you more.” He stepped back and allowed her room to escape.

  She moved in a rustle of fresh muslin. “I’ll ask Jane to have a bath drawn for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. Mother will expect you at dinner since Lady Cabot-Wells is on her way. Besides, I, for one, have no desire to sit next to you while you smell like a sick sheep.” With that, she turned to the stairs and made her way up.

  Chase watched her go, her trim backside perfectly outlined under her skirts. His body, tired and aching as it was, reacted instantly. Bloody hell, what was it about her that heated him as flame to tinder? He’d had so many women…more than he cared to count. But Harriet Ward, prim and proper and totally unlike any woman he had ever met, inflamed him to uncomfortable heights just by the simple act of walking up a flight of stairs. Damn it, he would not think about that. Not now.

  Meanwhile, he’d slip into the library and retrieve the tome he’d been reading about the sea captain. He’d need some fresh “memories” of life at sea if he was to feed the rumor mill yet again.

  Besides, it would be a while before his bath was ready, and it would be nice to relax with a book before he had to don his official Captain Frakenham garb and entertain the community. Chase turned to the library door through which Harriet had come, and pushed it open.