by Diane Gaston
If he could look at her hands, he might learn more. Were they rough from work? They were tucked beneath the blanket. Her hair was pulled back in a simple knot such as any woman might wear on a walk to the village. It would never dry that way.
He reached over and pulled the pins from her dark hair and unwound it from its knot. He spread it over the pillow as best he could. He leaned back.
Good God, now she looked like some classical goddess. Aphrodite, perhaps. Goddess of love, beauty, pleasure.
When she woke, would she wish for pleasure? His blood raced.
It did more to warm him than the fire.
* * *
Tess woke to the crash of a thunderclap and the constant keen of rain. She remembered walking. She remembered the rain soaking into her clothing.
Her clothing!
She sat upright. She was covered by a blanket, nothing more.
‘You are awake,’ a man’s voice said.
He sat on a nearby chair. That was right—a man on a horse. She’d really seen him, then.
‘Where am I?’ she rasped. Her throat was dry. ‘Where are my clothes?’
‘I fashioned a clothes line and hung them.’ He pointed behind her.
She turned and saw her cloak, her dress, her corset and her shift hanging from a rope strung across the room. Next to her clothes were a man’s greatcoat, coat and waistcoat.
He continued talking. ‘We are in a cabin somewhere in Lincolnshire, but blast if I know where. You fell victim to the cold. I had to get you dry and warm or...’ He ended with a shrug of a shoulder.
‘You brought me here?’ And removed her clothing? Her cheeks burned at the thought.
‘It was shelter. It was dry and stocked with firewood and coal.’
Tess blinked and gazed about her. It was a small cabin with what looked like a scullery in one corner. It was furnished with a table and chairs, the chair he sat upon, and a bed pulled close to the fire.
She was warm, she realised.
The man shifted position and his face was lit by the firelight. His hair was as dark as a raven’s wing, with thick brows to match and the shadow of a beard. In contrast, his eyes were a piercing blue. She had never seen a man quite like him and he was dressed in only his shirt and breeches. Even his feet were bare.
A breath caught in her throat. ‘Who are you?’ The blanket slipped off her shoulder and she pulled it about her again.
He stood. He was taller than her half-brother and Edmund reached six feet. ‘I am Marc Glenville.’ He bowed. ‘At your service.’ His thick brows rose. ‘And you are?’
Tess swallowed. ‘I am Miss Tess Summerfield.’ She frowned. She ought to have introduced herself as Miss Summerfield. Lorene was Lady Tinmore now, so Tess had become the eldest unmarried sister.
She touched her hair. It was loose! What had happened to her hair?
‘I took out your hairpins.’ The man—Mr Glenville—sat again. ‘I did undress you, Miss Summerfield, but only because you were suffering from the cold. I give you my word as a gentleman, it was necessary. A person can die from the cold.’
He was a gentleman. His accent, his bearing, were that of a gentleman.
‘I do not remember any of it.’ She shook her head.
‘A function of the cold. An indication that there was some urgency in getting you warm.’ His voice was deep and smooth and soothing.
She ought to be more frightened, to be in a strange place, with a strange man. Naked. But it had been far more frightening to be wandering for hours in the chilling rain.
‘I must thank you, sir,’ she murmured. ‘It seems I owe you my life.’
He glanced away as if fending off her words. ‘It was luck. I found this cabin by luck. A groundskeeper’s cabin, I suspect, used only when he works this part of the property.’
She looked around the cabin once more.
He stood again. ‘Are you hungry? I have a kettle ready to make tea.’
She nodded. ‘Tea would be lovely.’
He hung the kettle above the fire and reached over to pick up what looked like a saddlebag near his chair.
‘Your horse!’ She remembered a horse.
He smiled again. ‘Apollo.’
Was the animal out in the rain? ‘You must bring him in here.’
He made a calming gesture with his hand. ‘Do not fear. Apollo is warm and dry in a stable, with plenty of water and hay. I’ve checked on him. He was quite content. I will check on him again in a few minutes.’ He carried the saddle-bags over to the table, searched inside them and pulled out a tin and an oilskin package.
When he walked to the scullery and his back was turned, Tess rose from the bed and, careful to keep the blankets around her, went to check her clothing. Her dress was still very wet, but her shift was almost dry.
‘Mr Glenville?’ She pulled her shift from the line.
He turned. ‘Yes?’
She clutched her shift to her chest. ‘Will you please keep your back turned? I—I wish to don my shift.’
Without saying a word, he turned his back again and faced the window.
* * *
Marc watched her reflection in the window. Not very well done of him, but he was unable to resist. Her figure was every bit as tantalising from the back as from the front.
No harm in looking.
Except he could feel his body stir in response. He resumed his search for teacups and a teapot. He found the pot, but had to settle for two Toby jugs.
‘You can look now.’ Her voice turned low. Did she know how seductive it was?
‘Is your shift dry?’ he asked, trying to sound matter-of-fact rather than like a man battling his baser urges.
‘It is a little damp, but I feel better wearing it.’ She was still wrapped up in the blanket.
He lifted the jugs for her to see. ‘These will have to do for tea. Who the devil knows why they are here?’ He placed them on the table. ‘Do you mind waiting for tea? I should check on my horse.’
‘Apollo?’ She remembered the name. ‘Of course I do not mind. I should feel terrible if your horse suffered because of me.’
Was this sarcasm? He peered at her, but saw only concern on her face.
Consideration of his horse’s well-being was nearly as seductive as her naked reflection and her lowered voice.
He took his greatcoat off the rope and threw it over his shoulders. ‘I will only be a moment. I’ll tend to the tea when I return.’ He stepped outside.
The mud beneath his bare feet felt painfully cold, but that was preferable to wearing his sodden boots even if he were able to get his feet into them. The rain had slowed, but the sun was low in the sky. Even if the rain stopped, the roads would not improve before dark.
He and Miss Summerfield would spend the night together.
It would be a long, painful night. No matter what his body demanded, he would not take advantage of her. Besides, he well knew a man must keep his passions in check.
On the other hand, if she approached him...?
Apollo whinnied.
‘How are you faring, old fellow? Are you warm enough?’ He ran his hand down the length of the horse’s neck.
He and Apollo had been through adventures more dangerous than this one, but Marc was sorry to have subjected the stallion to one more hardship.
He found a blanket to put over Apollo. ‘This will keep you warm.’ He mucked out the stable and replenished the hay and water before returning to the cabin.
When he opened the door Miss Summerfield handed him a towel. ‘I found this. You can dry your feet.’
The cabin was brighter. ‘You lit lamps.’
‘Only two, so I could see to fix the tea.’ She walked to the table. ‘It has been steeping. It should be ready.’
She fixed the tea?
‘Come, we can sit.’ She walked over to the table.
She still wore a blanket, but she’d fashioned it like a tunic and belted it with a rope. ‘You’ve made yourself a garment.’
&
nbsp; She turned and smiled, making her face even lovelier. ‘I devised a way that the blanket will not fall off me if I wish to use my arms. I suppose I should leave a coin to pay for cutting holes in the blanket for my head and for the belt.’
He hung up his greatcoat. ‘I would say you are resourceful.’
She smiled again. ‘Thank you.’
He sat at the table and she poured him a Toby jug of tea.
‘I could not find any sugar,’ she said.
‘No matter.’ His fingers grazed hers as he reached for the jug. He glanced at her hands and saw no evidence of hard work in them.
She sat and poured herself some tea. ‘I have never drunk tea from jugs like this. I have never drunk anything from Toby jugs. I have seen some like them in the village shop, though.’
He frowned. A well-bred young lady might not have used a Toby jug. Perhaps a woman in service would not have used a Toby jug either.
Who was this Miss Tess Summerfield?
He took a sip of tea and tapped his jug with his fingers. ‘You said something about Tinmore Hall when I picked you up. Are you employed there?’
‘Employed there?’ She looked puzzled. ‘No, I live there. Now, that is. We—my sisters and I—recently moved there.’ She paused as if trying to decide to say more. ‘My sister Lorene is the new Lady Tinmore.’
But this made no sense. ‘I thought the old lord was still alive. He had a grandson?’
She met his eye. ‘Lord Tinmore is still alive and he has no grandson. My sister married the old lord.’
His brows shot up. ‘The old lord? The man must be in his seventies.’
‘He is nearly eighty.’ She lifted her chin. ‘How do you know Lord Tinmore?’
He took a sip of tea. ‘I do not know him. I know of him. My father went to school with his son and I remember my father mentioning the son’s death. It was sudden, as I recall.’ He stared at her. ‘Your sister married a man in his seventies?’
‘Yes.’ Her gaze did not waver.
She was sister to Lord Tinmore’s wife? Well, she certainly was not a housemaid, then.
He’d wager the old earl did not marry below his station—most men of his social stature did not. Most gentlemen were wiser than that.
‘Who is Tess Summerfield that an earl would marry your sister?’ he asked.
She met his eye. ‘I am the second daughter of the late Sir Hollis Summerfield of Yardney.’
Sir Hollis?
Ah, yes. Sir Hollis. He’d heard of him. Or rather, he’d heard of his wife. It was said his wife had had so many lovers her daughters were sired by different men and none of them her husband.
Even so, they must have been reared as respectable young ladies and now were under the protection of the Earl of Tinmore.
He rubbed his forehead. ‘This changes matters. We must be very careful not to be discovered together.’
She sat up straighter. ‘I have no intention of being found with you! I assure you I hope to be gone as soon as the rain stops.’
He did not have the heart to tell her that it would likely be dark before then.
She took another sip of tea. ‘I am sorry, Mr Glenville. I did not mean to sound so ungrateful. You might have left me in the road.’
He opened his eyes and gazed at her. Her expression was soft and lovely.
‘You did not sound ungrateful, Miss Tess Summerfield.’ He savoured the sound of her name.
She blushed, as though she had read his thoughts. ‘I know what you did for me,’ she said quietly. ‘You rescued me. And I do realise that being alone with you in this cabin, especially in my state of undress, is a very compromising situation.’
She was direct; he appreciated that.
‘I have no wish to see you ruined,’ he explained. ‘That is all I meant.’
She faced him again. ‘All I need is to reach the road back to Tinmore Hall. I will tell no one where I’ve been or who I’ve been with. If you can help me get that far, you can trust that I will say nothing of this. Ever.’
‘I will see you to safety.’ He’d always intended to do so. ‘And I, also, will say nothing of this.’
She extended her hand across the table. ‘Let us shake on it.’
He placed his large, rough hand in her smaller, smooth one. ‘We have a bargain, Miss Summerfield.’
Chapter Three
Up so close, Mr Glenville’s blue eyes shone with such intensity Tess could not look away. Nor could she move her hand from his strong grasp. Her face grew warm.
‘Are you hungry, Miss Summerfield?’ he asked, releasing her.
‘A little,’ she managed. She was famished.
He pulled the oilskin package towards him. ‘I have some bread and cheese here.’ He untied the string and unfolded the oilskin. Inside was a small loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese. He tore the bread in half and handed her a piece.
It was damp, but she did not care. She took an eager bite.
He broke off a piece of the cheese for her.
It was all she could do not to gobble it down.
‘Do not eat too fast,’ he warned, taking a bite of the cheese.
His manner had changed in a way she did not quite understand, but his gaze warmed her as effectively as the fire.
He’d shown her nothing but kindness. Indeed, he’d saved her life. How awful it would be to have someone discover them here. Some women might use such a situation to trap a man into marriage.
It would be dreadful to base a marriage on an accidental mishap. Even Lorene’s marriage made more sense than that.
She took sips of tea between bites and held the doughy taste of the flour and the sharp tang of the cheese in her mouth as long as she could. If she had been served wet bread and cheese at someone’s dinner table or at an inn, she would have been outraged.
‘How can I thank you, Mr Glenville?’ she murmured. ‘This is ambrosia.’
He glanced at her and his eyes still filled her with heat.
He quickly looked away. ‘Tell me why you were out walking in a rainstorm.’ It was said conversationally.
She waved a dismissive hand. ‘I had an errand in the village.’
‘It must have been important.’
It had not been. It had been foolish. She’d hoped to see Mr Welton. And to buy ribbons.
Her ribbons! ‘I had a parcel... Was I carrying a parcel when you found me?’
He lifted a finger and leaned down to pull something out of his saddlebags. He held it up to her. ‘A parcel.’
She took it.
‘The reason for your walk to the village?’ He inclined his head towards the parcel.
She felt her cheeks burn. ‘Ribbons and lace.’
He responded with surprise.
She shrugged. ‘It may not seem important to you, but it was to me.’ Even more important had been learning about Mr Welton. ‘Besides, I thought the rain would hold off until later in the day.’
He took another bite of cheese.
She pulled off a piece of bread and rolled it into a ball in her fingers. ‘So why were you out in the rain?’
He swallowed. ‘I am travelling to London.’
She kept up the challenge. ‘And set off even though there was threat of rain?’
He lifted his Toby jug, as if in a toast, and smiled. ‘Point taken.’
If his eyes had power, so much more did that smile.
Tess lowered her voice. ‘I am glad you set off even though there was a threat of rain. What would have happened to me had you been wiser?’
‘Someone else would have found you,’ he said.
She shook her head. ‘I walked for hours. I saw no one else on the road.’
He held her gaze with those riveting eyes.
She glanced away. ‘Why were you bound for London?’
‘I finished my business in Scotland.’ He lifted his Toby jug. ‘So I am returning to London.’
‘Do you have business in London?’
He sipped his tea. ‘Of a sort.’<
br />
A sort of which he obviously did not want to discuss.
‘I shall be travelling to London soon,’ she said, trying to cover her sudden discomfort. ‘For the Season. Will you be attending the Season’s entertainments?’
His face turned serious. ‘I am not certain.’
She felt as though he had withdrawn from her completely, but she did not know why. Perhaps he’d tired of her conversation. She felt suddenly as lonely as she had been when wandering in the storm. She missed her sisters. They would think she was in Tinmore. Tess hoped they would presume she was safe. If only she could get back to them soon.
She finished her piece of bread and cheese, and he wrapped up the rest of his food.
It turned deadly quiet.
‘The rain!’ she cried. ‘I think the rain has stopped!’
She jumped from her chair at the same time as he and they hurried to the door. Both stood there for a moment staring at it.
He reached over and opened it.
The rain had stopped, but it was black outside.
She looked over at him. ‘There is no chance we can leave now, is there?’
‘None,’ he responded. ‘It is too wet and too dark. I am afraid we are here all night.’
All night.
* * *
Marc wished he could erase the disappointment on her face.
To her credit she said not one word of complaint, even though their situation was now clearly worse than before. Instead she busied herself pouring more hot water from the kettle into the teapot. She did not complain, but, then, she did not say anything.
A cold wind soon rattled the windows and put even more chill into the cabin. Marc rooted through the room again. He found two more blankets, stored in a chest tucked in a far corner. One for her; one for him. He handed her one and they pulled chairs from the table to be near the fire. They wrapped themselves in their blankets, sipped weak, but hot, tea and stared into the fire.
He felt as if he’d lost her company.
He wanted it back. ‘Do you go to London for the marriage mart, then?’ he asked.
She jumped. He’d startled her.
‘I would not choose those words, precisely.’ Her voice was hesitant. ‘My younger sister and I will come out. We might even be presented to the queen, if Lord Tinmore requests it.’
