by Shana Galen
It wasn’t the first time that day. If he had any sense at all, he’d forbid her any and all chocolate while he was in residence at Tanglewilde. He’d nearly ravished her in the parlor when she’d inadvertently smudged chocolate from one of the tarts on her lush lower lip.
He hadn’t been able to take his eyes from that smudge or from her. The need, the desire, to kiss her lips and taste that chocolate on them had driven him half-mad.
The smudge was gone now, and Ethan wished his attraction could be wiped away as easily. It might have been, if she didn’t insist on swinging her hips so seductively as she walked in front of him.
He averted his eyes and was relieved to find that the large stable complex loomed before them. He corralled his thoughts, bringing them back to the matter at hand. While she looked in on Skerrit’s horse, he could question the grooms.
“Miss Dashing!”
Ethan recognized the grizzled man who’d braved Brigham’s majordomo the night before emerging from the stable.
“I didn’t expect to see you this morning. Are you certain you’re well enough to be out and about?”
“I’m wonderful, Alfred.” Francesca waved and smiled. “Thanks to you.” They stopped beside the stable’s entrance, and she gave the man a quick hug. The old servant blushed with pleasure. She had Tanglewilde’s staff wrapped around her little finger, and she’d do the same to him if he wasn’t careful.
“I owe you my life,” Francesca said.
“Anyone would have done the same, miss.”
“No they wouldn’t, Alfred. Don’t try to be modest. You’re a hero, and I would see my father reward you as you deserve.”
“No, miss. I don’t want anything, except to see that you’re well. Oh, and to catch the bastard—pardon my language, miss—who hurt you.”
The man met Ethan’s eyes. Francesca followed his gaze, and said, “Lord Winterbourne, this is Mr. Shepherd.”
“We met last night.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “Then you must already know Alfred is our head coachman.”
Ethan nodded.
She smiled at the old man again. “He’s also the best animal caretaker in all of Hampshire.” As if offering proof, she gestured to a nearby paddock where a groom exercised two gleaming geldings in their prime.
“Miss Dashing has a tendency to exaggerate, your lordship.”
To Ethan’s amazement, the coachman blushed—again. Ethan propped a shoulder against the stable wall. “I doubt it, Mr. Shepherd.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“From what I understand, we owe you our gratitude for rescuing Miss Dashing last night.”
“I happened to be in the right place, my lord, and I did what I could. Wasn’t able to catch the bastard, unfortunately—pardon my language again, miss. Miss Dashing made sure he didn’t escape without something to remember her by, though.”
Francesca’s cheeks colored to strawberry. “I think I’ll go in and check on Thunder,” she murmured. Putting a hand to her cheeks, she scooted past the man and disappeared into the stable. Ethan watched her go, tempted to follow.
“Kneed him in the balls, she did,” Shepherd said. “He all but crawled away, tail between his legs.”
“Good.”
Shepherd nodded to the stable. “She’ll be all right inside, your lordship. Peter and Joe are there and won’t allow any harm to come to her.”
“Can you trust them?”
“They’ve been here for the last couple of years. I assure you neither of them attacked her. They’d protect her with their lives.”
From what Ethan had seen thus far of the staff’s loyalty to their young mistress, he didn’t doubt that statement. “You were there, Mr. Shepherd. Do you know who attacked her?”
“No, my lord. The coward wore a hood, and I couldn’t see his face. But he also wore a greatcoat, and even in the dark, it looked far finer than most in these parts can afford.”
Ethan nodded. “Is that the only reason you don’t believe it was anyone at Tanglewilde?”
The coachman stiffened. “No one here would harm a hair on Miss Dashing’s head.”
Ethan nodded again. He would examine every possibility. His gut told him the murder of Skerrit and the attack on Francesca were related, but he wasn’t ready to rule out other suspects yet. “What about someone from the village?” He glanced at the surrounding estate, his mind turning. “Does Miss Dashing have any enemies?”
“Hardly, my lord.” Shepherd huffed. “His Lordship and the family are well liked in these parts, especially the Miss Dashings.”
Ethan caught himself before he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Shepherd had just ruled out the staff at Tanglewilde, vagrants, and the whole of Selborne village.
Again, all signs pointed to the smugglers, but he could hardly mention those men to Shepherd.
“You intend to find the man, my lord?” He stuck a piece of hay between his teeth and clamped shut on it.
“I will find him, Mr. Shepherd.” Ethan straightened away from the stable wall. “And when I do, you can be sure he’ll suffer.”
The coachman deftly slid the hay from one side of his mouth to the other. “You let me know if you need any assistance, your lordship.”
“I do. I have half a dozen more questions for you, and I need to question the stable hands. Send them up to the house later and—”
“Mr. Shepherd! Mr. Shepherd!” A hefty young man in groom’s clothing hurled himself at the coachman, a small bundle wrapped in a gray horse’s blanket in his arms.
Shepherd moved swiftly to meet the youth, and Ethan followed. “What is it, Nat? What have you got there?”
“An injured rabbit, sir.” The boy was red-faced and huffing from exertion. “I was out walking and heard her screams. Got herself caught in a poacher’s trap and wasn’t dead. I got her out, but her leg’s mangled.”
“Let me see.”
Ethan stepped closer and peered over the coachman's shoulder as the boy opened the bundle to reveal a large brown rabbit. The animal trembled, obviously in shock. Its rear leg was an ugly mass of raw, mangled flesh, the exposed pink and red muscles barely resembling a limb. Ethan knew what came next. The poor youth would be heartbroken, but at least the animal’s suffering would end.
It might even make a good stew.
Ethan moved discreetly aside and waited for Shepherd’s dire pronouncement.
“Go fetch Miss Dashing.” Shepherd took the rabbit from the boy, who darted into the stable.
Ethan frowned, the coachman’s words failing to sink in. “You don’t intend to show this poor creature to Miss Dashing, do you?”
The hay lifted as the coachman frowned. “Of course, your lordship. She’d have my head if I didn’t.”
Before Ethan could object further, Francesca rushed toward them, her puppy in her arms and two grooms close on her heels.
Without a word, she deposited the white ball of fur in Ethan’s arms and ran to examine the bundle. Ethan waited for her to gasp or turn away, but she did neither. Peering inside the blanket, she stroked the paralyzed rabbit. She and Shepherd exchanged a look.
“Take her to my hospital, Nat, and put her on the table.” Her voice was calm and steady.
The boy who had found the rabbit took the bundle and arrowed for the hospital. She then turned to the red-haired boy beside her, whom Ethan recognized as the under footman who’d served the tea yesterday.
“Peter, tell Cook we need hot boiling water. Bring it to me as soon as you can.”
She started for the white-washed building, and Shepherd called after her, “Miss, is there anything Joe or I can do to help?”
“Thank you, but not right now,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll send for you if I need you.”
A moment later she disappeared inside the hospital and Ethan, Shepherd, and the remaining groom were left standing in her dust.
“Damn poachers,” Shepherd groused. “I’ll have a word with Lord Brigham this evening. He won�
��t like this, especially after what happened to Miss Dashing last night.”
Poachers. That was a new avenue. He’d have to consider it.
“If anyone can save that rabbit, she can,” the groom remarked.
Ethan looked from Shepherd to the groom and finally found his voice. “Are you saying she will try to heal that rabbit?”
Both Shepherd and the stable hand gave him curious glances. “She won’t try, my lord,” Shepherd answered. “She will.”
“Why not just take it to the kitchen? The cook can make short work of it.”
The groom’s eyes widened. “Oh, Miss Dashing wouldn’t like that, your lordship. If we find an injured animal on the property, we’re to bring it to her.”
“To heal?” Ethan asked again.
“See for yourself.” Shepherd gestured to the hospital.
He would have rather retreated to the house, but he was supposed to be her shadow. Something squirmed in his arms, and he glanced down. The ball of white fuzz licked his hand.
“Would you like me to take him, your lordship?”
Ethan felt the puppy’s wet tongue lap at his wrist. “No, Mr. Shepherd. I’ll take him with me.”
Francesca didn’t look up when he opened the door to the hospital. The red-haired boy had just arrived with the hot water, and the stocky Nat held the bunny motionless while she cleaned the dirt and blood from its injured leg.
She dipped a clean strip of cloth into the steaming bowl of water and drizzled the liquid over the wounded leg. Rivulets of red flowed onto the table, dripping onto the floor and staining it as well as her shoes and dress. She didn’t seem to care.
“Peter, hand me the alcohol and a clean strip of muslin.” Her voice was full of authority.
The footman went directly to one of the cabinets, withdrew a bottle of liquid, and placed it on the table within her reach. Next he pulled a few strips of cloth from a neat pile on the shelf behind him and put those on the table as well.
“Do you want your needle and thread, miss?” the boy asked.
“Not yet, Peter. Let me see what needs to be stitched first.” Her voice was muffled as she leaned close to the injured rabbit, inspecting the crushed limb.
Ethan set the dog he was carrying down, and the puppy, seeming to sense the mood of those in the hospital, curled up in a corner next to the hearth. Ethan stood awkwardly in front of the door and tried to stay out of the way.
He watched Francesca’s efficient movements as she reached for the bottle of alcohol, pressed a strip of cloth over the top, thoroughly wetted it with what smelled like whisky, and began to dab it over the animal’s wound. The animal bucked then lapsed back into shock.
“That woke her for a moment,” Francesca commented, keeping her attention focused on the wound. Silenced hovered as Francesca worked over the rabbit, Nat holding the creature still, and Peter building a fire in the hearth. Ethan wished he’d thought to do so. Instead, he stood rooted to his place, watching in awe as Francesca worked.
He couldn’t imagine why she would go to so much trouble for a rabbit. He would have thought the animal past hope—someone’s dinner. But in the space of a few moments, he’d seen that, in Francesca’s capable hands, the rabbit just might survive.
She was quick and experienced. She was also frenzied. Beneath her calm veneer, he could sense a current of desperation, as though she needed to save the rabbit. As though something more than just the animal’s life depended on it.
The fire was just beginning to warm the tidy room when a knock sounded behind him.
“Could you answer that, Winterbourne?”
Francesca didn’t even look up, and he opened the door before realizing that she had just issued him an order and—even more surprising—he’d obeyed.
Her eyes flicked to the door then back to her patient. “What is it, Curtis?” Francesca said to the liveried servant in the doorway.
“Begging your pardon, miss, but Norton needs Nat inside. Lady Brigham wants the furniture in the drawing room reorganized.”
“Reorganized?” For the first time Francesca paused in her ministrations. “Again?”
“Yes, miss. On account of your betrothal.” He glanced at Ethan skeptically. “By the way, felicitations, miss.”
Ethan thought he heard a note of disapproval in the footman’s tone. Apparently, he hadn’t met the staff’s high standards quite yet.
Francesca pushed a lock of hair from her eyes with the back of her wrist. “What does my betrothal have to do with—” She shook her head. “Never mind. I guess you’d better go, Nat. Lord knows my mother doesn’t have much patience once she has an idea.”
“Yes, miss,” Nat answered.
“Peter, can you hold this baby while I sew her up?” Though the rabbit was still in shock, Francesca rested her hands firmly on the creature’s body.
“Oh, miss, that’s another thing,” the servant in the doorway said.
Francesca closed her eyes, head dipping. “Don’t tell me they need Peter too.”
“Yes, miss. With all the noise and goings-on, Mrs. Priggers needs Peter to help in the house.”
“Oh, good Lord!” Francesca said in exasperation. “Well, Mrs. Priggers will have to wait.”
“Yes, miss.” The servant sounded doubtful.
“I’ll help.” The words were out of Ethan’s mouth before he could stop them.
“You will?” Four voices chimed in unison.
Ethan scowled at them all. Even the damn dog gave him a dubious stare.
“Yes.”
Annoyed, Ethan strode to the table across from Francesca and took Nat’s place. The rabbit was cool to his touch, but beneath his hands he felt the animal’s tiny heart beating a frantic pace. His fingers, so large on top of the small creature, rose and fell with the animal’s rapid intake of breath.
The servants shuffled awkwardly, and Francesca stared at him. He raised a brow, and she cleared her throat.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can, Miss Dashing.” The red-haired footman eyed Ethan. “Quarter of an hour at most.”
“I’ll be fine, Peter. Thank you. All of you.” Clearly she’d dismissed them, but they took their time shuffling out.
The door closed, and only Ethan and Francesca remained. Ethan stared at his fingers again, enmeshed in the soft brown fur of the rabbit, but Francesca didn’t resume her ministrations.
He looked up. “What’s wrong?”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” She gave him an uncertain look. “I can probably ask Lucia to help me, if my mother hasn’t commandeered her as well.”
“I’m already here. On with it.”
She frowned. “You might stain your clothes. Do you want to remove your coat before we begin?”
Ethan opened his mouth to tell her he’d sullied his clothing with much worse, but then remembered that Pocket had arrived at Tanglewilde with a flourish that morning, stuffy demeanor and Ethan’s valise in tow.
“Fine,” he said. Francesca put her hands next to his on the rabbit’s body. It was a small body and their fingers overlapped. For a moment, the little creature’s heartbeat flowed through both of them, but the heat pulsing from their joined hands through his body had nothing to do with the animal.
He glanced at Francesca and she blushed, averting her eyes. Beneath his fingers, her hands began to tremble.
She cleared her throat. “My lord—” Her voice was thready.
Reluctantly, he broke the connection between them. “One moment.” Ethan removed his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his lawn shirt. He moved to put his hands over hers again, but she pulled away.
“Hold her still, my lord,” she said, voice still as unsteady as her shaky hands. But within minutes her discomfort was forgotten and her adept hands had sewn the torn muscles and skin of the rabbit’s leg back together, splint the animal’s leg, and wrapped it with muslin.
Moments before, the limb resembled the crushed pulp of a strawberry, but under her dexterous fingers, the leg was
whole again. He marveled at her—an enchantress with the magic of healing. It might have been his imagination, but he could have sworn the rabbit felt warmer, more alive under his fingers.
“There. All done.”
Though she spoke aloud, he knew the words weren’t for him. She stroked the rabbit’s fur, soothing the animal.
“You will be just fine, baby,” she murmured to the creature. “Here, let me take her.”
She put her hands over Ethan’s again, obviously meaning to lift the rabbit.
“Be careful,” Ethan ordered. “If it wakes, it might bite you.”
She picked the animal up and cradled it. “No. We have an understanding now, don’t we, bunny? Besides—” She placed the rabbit in one of the cages near the fire and covered it with a blanket. “She’s still in shock.”
She fluffed the straw to make the cage more comfortable, and the dog ambled over to investigate. “No, Lino.” She shook a finger at the puppy in admonishment. A tap at the door broke the quiet and Peter, the red-haired footman, stuck his head inside.
“I’m back, miss. Do you need anything?”
“No, Peter—”
“Yes.” Ethan interrupted. “Stay with Miss Dashing. I have work to do, and I don’t want her here alone.”
“Of course, my lord.” The servant straightened and brushed at his livery.
Picking up his coat, Ethan crossed to the door. “Do not, under any circumstances, leave her alone. Is that understood?”
The footman nodded, expression solemn.
Ethan looked at Francesca. “I’ll check on you later, Miss Dashing.”
She fluffed the rabbit’s straw again but didn’t meet his eyes. “Lord Winterbourne?” she said in a quiet voice. “Would you take Lino back to the stable for me? Give him to Alfred.”
Ethan had the dog in his arms and was halfway to the stable before he realized she’d done it again. Given him an order. Him! A marquess who didn’t take orders from anyone save royalty, and he’d even ignored a few of those. And here he was, rushing to obey a petite country girl from Hampshire.
