“I mean had Nathanial not shown some spine for once, you could have been killed because I was too busy convincing your brother to help me hide your father’s collection.”
“Hide them? Where?” The hopeful hand she lay on his arm had him wishing he could always make her this happy.
“Safe from the British, that much is certain. I will draw you a map when I have parchment and a quill, and I am not so bone weary,” he said, leaning his head back against the bale and closing his eyes.
A rooster crowed in a far off barnyard, reminding him she had perhaps an hour to sleep before the occupants of the farm began to stir. They would need to be on their way before anyone came to milk the cow or collect eggs from the coop behind the barn.
“Thank you,” Alex said, in a breathy voice, throwing her arms about his neck and kissing him on the cheek.
When she did not pull away, he turned to look into her dark brown eyes. She could have no idea how those eyes of hers melted him inside.
His tiredness lifted, replaced with a spark of desire warming his blood. For weeks, she had been near to him—in his thoughts and even a couple of times in his bed. For weeks, he had fought his attraction to her. He lacked the will to fight it any longer.
He lay his palm against her satin cheek and brought his mouth to hers. “Ma bichette,” he murmured against her lips, and she melted into his arms.
His tongue teased her lips, and she opened her mouth to his, allowing him access to her inner warmth. The flickering flame roared to life.
Her hands found their way to his cravat. She gave a tug and discarded the fine silk garment with a flick of her wrist. He would have smiled had his mouth not been otherwise occupied.
He held her back by the shoulders and motioned with his finger that she should give him a moment. Then he tugged off his coat and spread it out on the moldy hay.
Sitting down on it, he scooped her up in his arms and settled her in his lap, groaning as her backside pressed against his hardening body.
She giggled before going to work on the side of his neck, nibbling and tasting her way up to his ear. When she got to his ear lobe, she lathed it with her tongue, her sweet breath bathing his ear.
He reached up and untied her cloak, letting it slip from her shoulders. She did not need it anymore. He would keep her warm.
He brought his hand to her breast. Her nipple hardened under the thin muslin. He stroked it with his thumb, and her breathing grew heavier. He fumbled for the pins that fastened the bodice of the simple dress, groaning in frustration when they weren’t where he supposed them to be.
He grimaced. He was not used to undoing the bodice of a woman’s gown at all, unless he were the one wearing it.
“Alex,” he whispered hoarsely, lifting her from his lap. Supporting her in his arms, he sunk to the ground and leaned on one elbow as he hovered over her and lost himself in her eyes. “My sweet, Alexandra, you have no idea what you do to me.”
He cradled her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. They were wide, and although he could read the desire in them, he detected something else, uncertainty. He had yet to earn his doe’s complete trust.
He sighed and sat up, resting the back of his head against a bale of hay.
She knelt before him, searching his face. “What is wrong?”
“Not here,” he said, afraid to look into her eyes for fear he would lose all restraint. “Soon, mon amour, but not here. Not like this.”
“But—”
He stopped her with the tips of his fingers to her lips. She deserved better than a tumble in moldy hay, and he would make sure she had it. He wanted more too.
“Alexandra, I…Would you…”
Having held his emotions in check for so long, he had no idea where to begin.
A voice from the stables below saved him from his own incoherence.
“All right, Johnson, I know you’re up there. C’mon down here before I fill you full of holes, ya damn traitor.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Alex tugged the folds of her bodice over her breasts and refastened the pins. When had he unpinned her gown?
Mont Trignon had already stepped off the last rung of the ladder by the time she made herself presentable. Through the rectangular opening to the loft, she caught sight of an old lady pointing a musket at his chest. She took the ladder two rungs at a time and came to stand beside him.
“You ain’t Johnson,” the old woman declared, sounding disappointed. Apparently, whoever this Johnson was, she had relished the idea of filling him full of holes.
“No ma’am,” Alex said, speaking up before the woman could decide a chevalier filled with holes made a fitting substitute. “I’m Alex T—”
“Mont Trignon, Madame,” he said, interrupting her. “I am the Chevalier de Mont Trignon, and this is my wife, Alexandra.”
“A Frenchie, eh?” The woman smiled, showing a mouth two-thirds full of teeth.
“Oui, Madame,” Mont Trignon replied, bowing at the waist, his manner out of place in the old barn.
Alex smiled. Always quick to pick up on a stranger’s reaction to his nationality, he reserved his thickest accents for those with an open bias toward the French. And women, even old crones, succumbed to his best court manners.
The woman dropped the butt of her musket so the muzzle pointed toward the sky, and her eyes narrowed to slits in her wrinkled cheeks as she smiled.
“There was a nice young man by here recently. Lafayette, I believe he said his name was. He a friend of yours?”
“Indeed he is. We journeyed from France together.”
“He was such a gentleman,” she said, staring off into the distance. “And such a man. If only I were younger.” She turned back to Mont Trignon. “Well any friend of his is a friend of mine. Especially if he’s an enemy of them damn Brits.”
“Then I believe, Madame, you may count us among your friends.” Mont Trignon flashed a smile that would have melted the heart of any woman.
A shuffle sounded overhead, and flecks of straw and dust sifted through the boards and floated to the ground.
“That you, Johnson?” the woman said, reaching for her musket again.
Mont Trignon removed the weapon from her hands. “The other two hiding in your loft are my wife’s brother and a cousin. I can assure you, they hate the British as much as we do.”
“We aren’t hiding,” Reid said, descending the ladder and then reaching up to help Angelina.
He had her around the waist before she was halfway down. Plucking her from the ladder, he swung her to the ground.
She giggled and slapped his hands away. “Stop that, cousin!”
“We thank you for the use of your barn last night, Madame—”
“Sadie,” she said, grinning from ear to ear.
“Is that your first or last name?” Angelina asked, brushing hay from her skirts.
“Only,” she replied. “I had a last name once. Actually, I’ve had four altogether. I don’t rightly remember the first one, and I didn’t want to choose from the other three because it just don’t seem loyal.”
Alex glanced at Mont Trignon. From the way his patrician eyebrows knitted together, she guessed he found the answer as puzzling as she did.
“How long ya been married?” Sadie inquired, before anyone could ask for further explanation regarding her quandary over last names.
“Only a few hours,” Mont Trignon replied. “We had planned a more elaborate wedding ceremony, but I am afraid the English hurried us along.”
“And you spent your weddin’ night in my barn?” Sadie’s jaw dropped.
“No, Madame Sadie, I regret to tell you we spent our wedding night fleeing Philadelphia on the back of my horse. We only spent the last hour in your barn.”
“Well c’mon inside. Least I can do is fix ya a weddin’ breakfast. Then you can have my guest bedroom for as long as you like. Damn Brits think I’m a witch, so they don’t bother me none.” She chuckled and winked at Mont Trignon. “I’m afraid I might
a done a few things to help them along in that opinion.”
The travelers followed Sadie through a side door into the kitchen. Early morning light streamed through grimy windows, allowing Alex a good look at the aging kitchen, a perfect reflection of its owner.
Yellowed, moth-eaten curtains hung from the windows. Battered pots hung above a small hearth. A chipped wax sealer jar on top of the mantel held a faded pink rose. The crumbling brown edges of its petals told of its rescue from an early frost.
She smiled at a ginger hound snoozing on a rag rug in front of the fire. He raised his heavy head to stare back at her with drooping, bloodshot eyes. His grayed jowls flapped when he gave a low woof that sounded more like a burst of air than a bark.
“Down, Rufus,” Sadie said.
The dog plopped his head back on his two front paws and blew out a tired breath that resettled his cheeks.
Sadie led them through a doorway set slightly askew to the surrounding wall and into a dining room holding little more than a wooden table with four chairs and a small corner china cabinet with a few mismatched odds and ends.
The dining table had the look of being hand-built. The rough pine planks forming the top were of uneven lengths, and the legs were thick stumps stripped of bark. Alex took a seat in the chair Sadie indicated and caught herself as it wobbled to one side and threatened to pitch her to the floor.
“Now you wait right there,” Sadie said. “I was makin’ some biscuits this mornin’, and they ought to be just about done.”
She disappeared through the door and came back in less than five minutes with a plate of steaming biscuits, the sweet smell of buttermilk filling the air. Reid reached for one as soon as Sadie disappeared again, only to have his hand slapped away by Angelina.
Sadie returned, this time with a stack of dented pewter plates and two small pots, each about the size of a sugar bowl.
“Well, help yourself. Watcha waitin’ for?” she said.
Reid grinned at Angelina as he helped himself to a biscuit, popping the entire lump into his mouth so his cheek bulged like a chipmunk’s as he chewed.
“There’s butter and some honey in the pots,” Sadie added, lifting the lid of the one nearest her and peering inside. “I’m afraid I don’t have much butter though. Gert’s getting old, but then so am I, so I ‘spose I don’t need her to last much longer.”
Alex bit into a biscuit. For all that couldn’t be said about Sadie’s homemaking, her baking skills were superb. Simple concoctions of flour and milk, her biscuits rivaled anything she had ever tasted, including Mont Trignon’s croissants.
“These are wonderful, Sadie!” Alex said.
“I’m glad ya like ‘em. I’ll teach ya ta make ‘em for your man, if ya like.”
Alex blushed, while Angelina and Reid snickered. She shot them a silencing glance, but they ignored her.
“Oh, my goodness, the tea!” Sadie said, jumping to her feet. Moments later, she came in carrying a battered tin teapot and a stack of four mismatched teacups.
Alex wrinkled her nose as Sadie poured out the tea. Flecks of darker debris hung suspended in the murky brown liquid. Alex sipped and then fought the reflex to gag.
“C’mon. Drink up! It’ll put hair on your chest.” She eyed Alex and Angelina. “Although, I don’t suppose the two of you would be wantin’ that. And I notice your man already has quite a nice growth there,” she said, nodding to a patch of golden curls peeking through the v-shaped neck of the chevalier’s shirt where he had not yet retied his cravat.
“Well, I best be gittin’ your room ready for ya,” she said. “You two are welcome ta stay too. I only have one spare bedroom, and that belongs to the newlyweds, but I can find ya some blankets for the front of the hearth. It’s better than a cold barn anyhow.”
“That’s all right, Ma’am,” Reid said. “We thank you for your kindness, but we’re going to be moving on.”
“Well, suit yourselves,” she said, before turning toward the stairs.
Alex watched her go and then listened to the sound of the stairs creak with each step.
She turned to Reid as soon as the creaking faded away. “You’re leaving?”
“‘Fraid so,” Reid said. “We were thinking of heading south and seeing what trouble we could stir up there.”
Her only family…leaving? Her stomach tightened. “But where will you go? How will I ever find you again? What if something happens?”
“Do not worry, Alexandra,” Mont Trignon said, his honeyed voice soothing. “They will be fine, and so will you.”
“Yes, it looks like you have a protector now, little Alex,” Angelina said, with a cat-like smile.
“Speaking of that,” Reid said, all trace of humor gone from his voice, “you have my permission to marry my sister for real, Mont Trignon.”
“Reid!” Alex scolded.
Her brother ignored her scowl. “And if you plan to finish what you started in the loft, you had better be plannin’ to marry her.”
Alex wished she could crawl under the table. She would not, could not, look at Mont Trignon. Reid had backed him into a corner just when Alex had begun to hope he might have feelings for her. Reid had picked a fine time to turn all brotherly on her.
“Merci,” Mont Trignon said, with a grin.
“You never insisted on marrying me!” Angelina protested.
“It’s not like I didn’t ask—repeatedly. And since when did insisting ever get me anywhere with you? Besides, you could never be faithful to your vows.”
Angelina stood and put her hands on her hips. “Reid Turner, I have never, ever slept with another man, and you know it.”
Reid reached up and pulled her into his lap. “I wasn’t talking about that vow, sweetheart. I was referring to the one about obeying your husband,” he said, with a grin.
“Oh, that one,” Angelina said, an impish gleam in her dark eyes. “I suppose you are right about that.”
“Seriously, Mont Trignon,” Reid said, patting Angelina’s hip as she nibbled his ear. “Take care of my baby sister.”
“I will guard her with my life.” Mont Trignon reached under the table, grasped Alex’s hand, and gave it a squeeze.
Reid lifted Angelina from his lap as he stood, and she followed him toward the door. Without warning, she ran in a flurry of skirts back to Alex and threw her arms around her.
“You know, I always did think of you as a sister. For as long as I can remember.” She gave Alex a peck on the cheek. “We’ll see each other again soon. I promise.”
Blinking back tears, Alex followed Angelina and Reid out the door. Mont Trignon stood behind her, but she didn’t turn to look at him, even when Reid and Angelina disappeared behind the barn to retrieve Reid’s horse.
Mont Trignon chuckled as they reappeared a minute later, leading both horses.
He set a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “I would not worry about those two. They know how to take care of themselves.”
Tears spilled onto Alex’s cheeks as Reid and Angelina mounted the horses and rode away. She waved until they disappeared over the ridge and her arm ached. Then, she continued to stare off into the distance, long after hot tears had obscured her vision.
When Sadie’s voice broke the silence, she wished she could have disappeared with them.
“C’mon. I got your room ready for ya,” Sadie called from the house. “You two have a weddin’ night to catch up on!”
Sadie led the way up the stairs with Alex following behind her. The stairs groaned under Mont Trignon’s heavier weight as he brought up the rear.
Alex’s mind raced for an excuse to sleep in front of the hearth. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to sleep with the chevalier. She did. Her entire body hummed with his slightest touch, and she ached for more.
She just didn’t like the feeling Reid had backed him into a corner. She didn’t doubt he would live up to his pledge to protect her with his life. However, it wasn’t fair to force him to marry her in the bargain.
Of course, Reid had only given his permission. Not that she needed it, she reminded herself. And even if there had been a note of warning in his voice, she had no idea when she’d see him again, if ever. Reid was not in a position to force Mont Trignon to do anything.
Alex stumbled on an uneven step, and Mont Trignon grasped her about the waist to steady her, the heat of his strong hands seeping through the fabric of her gown and sending tingles of awareness along her hips.
Mont Trignon had thanked Reid, but that didn’t imply agreement. He had suggested marriage once, but as a means to protect her from charges of treason.
He had started to say something in the loft, but given he had his hand on her breast with only the thin fabric of her chemise separating skin from skin, she doubted he had a marriage proposal on his mind.
Alex trudged up the steps leading to the landing at the top of the stairs like she were ascending to the executioner’s platform. A voice spoke in her head. Alex Turner, you have been convicted of the crime of endeavoring to trap a man into marriage.
The voice didn’t specify the penalty for her crime, but as Sadie led the way into a small bedroom dominated by an old four-poster bed with a faded blue crocheted coverlet, she cringed. If she had to sleep next to Mont Trignon and not touch him, it might as well be a death sentence.
There were no chairs in the room, so Alex sat down on the edge of the bed. Her bones ached, and she hoped her weariness would allow her to get some sleep. Doubts plagued her when Mont Trignon strode in after them. His cravat still untied and his blond hair in need of a comb, his rugged handsomeness set her heart to racing.
“I’ll bring in the tub, but I’m afraid you’re gonna have to haul the water.” Sadie put a hand on the small of her back. “I’ve had to bathe at the well for years now. ‘Course I ‘spose that cold water over this naked old body in the mornin’ is what keeps me goin’.” She gave them a mischievous smile before turning to go.
Alex offered to help, but Mont Trignon insisted she lie down and get some sleep while he filled the tub. She shut her eyes, but she could not shut out the sound of his labors: the groan of the stairs as he descended, the creak of the kitchen door, and the squeak of the well as he pumped water into the pail. After a few moments of heating water in the kitchen, the stairs groaned again as he climbed back up to dump hot water into the old oak tub. Then the cycle started over again.
Le Chevalier Page 27
