The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  Normally it would be another round of back slapping and tattoo-showing all around, except that they were all away on their various travels.

  Still, he had obviously come a long way, the weather was growing more and more inclement, and the poor man was soaked, weary-looking and blind.

  Sarah took one last glimpse at the furious storm outside. What she saw decided her in an instant. She would order Jenny to prepare a guest room.

  Sarah firmly ignored the voice of propriety reminding her that it was completely unsuitable to invite the man to stay now that she was living alone in the vicarage for the summer.

  "Please come in, sir. My name is Sarah. I wasn't expecting anyone to stay. But if you're willing to take us as you find us here, you're more than welcome, Mr. er-"

  "Deveril. I've told you. Jonathan Deveril."

  She was not going to argue with him when lightning was already streaking the almost black sky, and the smell of sulphur choked the air.

  She clutched his saturated sleeve and led him over the threshold carefully. "Please, sir, do hurry. The storm is bringing such cold air with it, I fear you will take a chill."

  She sensed his embarrassment, but also relief. "Thank you so much. I don't wish to be a bother but--" "It's no bother. We have people to stay often. It's a busy parish," she told him as she started to lead him slowly towards the front parlor. "This way. Mind that small step." "Thank you. It's so difficult not being able to see. Often people try to take advantage, cheat you. I've found that out the hard way."

  "I'm so sorry to hear that," she said sincerely. "A man like yourself, who's obviously fought for his country, shouldn't be treated with such rudeness and contempt."

  She led him into the fine Wedgwood sitting room and over to a simple wooden settle by the fire which Jenny often used when she was sitting with her shelling peas or peeling potatoes.

  "You'll forgive the lack of comfort, but you're rather mired from your travels. I'll ask the servants to prepare a bath, if I may."

  "A bath! In a tub?"

  "Well, yes, a full bathtub. You're not one of those people who think it's a dangerous thing, are you?" she asked with a small frown.

  The man smiled for the first time, and his handsome face became even more breathtaking. "Not at all. I was just thinking I can't recall the last time I had a bath in a proper tub, only sponge baths as and when I could make do. What luxury. It's been well, weeks, months, I suppose."

  "You've had a long journey, but you're welcome here," she reassured him, trying not to stare at his incredible face and physique. "Anything the servants and I can do for your comfort, you have only to ask."

  "A bath would be remarkable, but I would not wish to put anyone to such trouble-"

  "Nay, no trouble at all," she hastened to reassure him. "The bathing chamber is here on the first floor, so no one has to run up and down, and in fact, we have hot and cold running water thanks to a fresh stream on the property, and a large copper boiler."

  "Do you indeed." She could seeing him digesting this information, assessing anew his situation. "How very modern."

  "Er, yes. We have a most generous patron, who fitted out the vicarage for my brother when he took his orders a few years ago. It's a old building, but sound. It just needed a bit of re-decorating and new fittings."

  "I see." Obviously what he concluded about her and her hospitality was favorable, for he visibly relaxed and stretched out his hands and feet to soak up the warmth of the fire.

  "Take off your coat and jacket and hang them on the back of this wooden settle. I'll just go tell the servants to fill the boiler. I shall bring you a basin to wash your hands, and a light repast to tide you over until supper. If I'm not mistaken, judging from our call at the butcher's and the smell, it will be roast beef and Yorkshire pudding this evening."

  "It sounds wonderful," he said with a sigh. "I will place myself in your hands. Thank you so much."

  She smiled back at him, then recollected that he could not see her. She ventured to touch his shoulder. "You're very welcome."

  She studied his remarkable face once more, hoping for a clue as to his identity, but was sure they had never met.

  She went into the kitchen at the back of the house, where Jenny was just starting to prepare the Yorkshire pudding batter.

  "Sorry I didn't come into you sooner. I was letting the tea steep."

  "Oh, thank you. But that's not why I'm here. How long until the meal is ready, Jenny?"

  "You said regular time, so about another hour, Miss."

  She took two cups from the Welsh dresser and poured out a drop of the tea, sipped, and put the other cup on the table. She added milk and sugar to the second one. "You and Caleb can have the rest of the pot."

  "Why, thank you, Miss," she said with a smile. "You're far too generous and good-hearted. Folk do say tea be worth its weight in gold."

  "In some parts of the world, yes, I suppose it is. It's expensive enough here, but there is nothing quite like a cup to lift the spirits, and Caleb will be freezing when he comes back in. So when he does get back, can you tell him that there will be another person for dinner, one of Mr. Jonathan's friends. He looks like he's had a very hard time in the war."

  The older woman sighed heavily. "Oh, dear. Not another one with an arm or leg off, is he? Dratted waste."

  Sarah shook her head. "No, but he's blind, and appears quite poor. People appear to have taken advantage of his disability."

  "What a dashed shame," she declared, looking most indignant on the stranger's behalf. "What is the world coming to, taking advantage of a blind former soldier."

  "What, indeed. But he is safe here with us now, so let's keep him that way, shall we?"

  "What can I do to help?" Jenny asked without a moment's hesitation.

  "He's soaked through from the storm and it is far too dreadful a night to try to find him accommodation at any inn. He'll need to spend the night. If you could make up a guest room for him that would most kind. The blue one will be fine."

  "Very good, Miss. Glad to."

  If Jenny were surprised or worried at this turn of events, she did not show it. So far as she and her husband were concerned, a less flighty woman than Sarah Deveril had never breathed.

  "And he'll need a hot bath, and to borrow some of my brother's things."

  The older woman nodded. "I'll put the fire under the boiler now. I'll have Caleb keep an eye on supper while I go up to get the chamber ready."

  "Thank you, Jenny. You're an angel."

  "Hardly that," the older woman said gruffly, but she looked pleased all the same. "Is there anything else, Miss?"

  "An ewer of warm water and a basin, a towel and soap, and some bread and cheese to tide him over until the meal is ready," she requested.

  The elderly housekeeper poured the hot water from a kettle always kept boiling on the back of the stove, and added some cold, while Sarah fetched a drying cloth, a stiff nail-brush, and some finely-milled lavender soap.

  "I'll be back for the bread and cheese in a minute."

  "It will be ready, Miss. The poor man." The sharp-featured woman sniffed and beat the batter harder to vent her feelings.

  Sarah certainly knew how she felt. The war had been nothing but waste. If she ever had the chance to give one in the eye to Bonaparte, she would take it gladly.

  Then she laughed at the fanciful notion. She was only a woman. She had been enough of a hoyden trailing around after her adored older brother, hunting, fishing, even fencing and shooting until her mother had found out. She would have made as good a soldier as her brother, she was sure. But while she was the wrong gender to be allowed to go to war, she satisfied herself with the notion that every person she helped was building a better world than the one Napoleon craved for himself. And here was her chance to help a soldier in need.

  She re-entered the sitting room, and handed the stranger the tea cup and saucer. "Here you are. That will warm you up."

  He put his hands around it cautiously and
sniffed. "Ah, tea. Splendid. I can't recall the last time I had a cup."

  Sarah returned a moment later with a basin of warm water, which she placed on the table. She slipped in the soap and brush, and hung the drying cloth on the back of the chair.

  "I've brought the hot water and so on. Can you manage?"

  "If you speak to me, and there are no obstacles in the way."

  "Oh, wait. Footstool." She cleared a path, took his sleeve gently and led him to the table. She placed his hand in the water, but soon realized that she should have made him take his jacket off first.

  "Here, let me roll up your cuffs," she offered, wondering why her normal levelheaded common sense seemed to have deserted her, and she felt as though she were all thumbs.

  "You should have taken off the jacket. It's soaked through as well as your coat."

  "I didn't want to offend, to be too informal." "No offence would be taken. The last thing we need is for you to fall ill with a cold because you are standing on ceremony. There, all done."

  "Thank you."

  She was startled at how intimate is seemed to assist him, undoing his buttons and rolling back the cheap cotton fabric to reveal strong brown wrists covered with a smattering of silky dark hair.

  "Here's the soap," she said, placing it in his huge hands.

  He accepted it with thanks, and proceeded to do the best he could washing, considering he was so very dirty and couldn't see. After a time he held out his hands for her inspection.

  "What do you think?"

  "You need more of the nail brush on the right one."

  He applied it vigorously. "Better?" he asked after a time.

  "Good, but still dirty. Do you mind if I touch you?"

  "Not at all," he said almost primly.

  She took his hand and scrubbed the offending soil away, then looked carefully at the other.

  He held still, retaining the deep breath he had taken into his lungs when she had first touched him. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had done anything so intimate. The warmth and slipperiness of the soap and water and her ministrations were a sensual caress which sent shivers up his spine and made his skin sizzle.

  But of course, he reminded himself, he couldn't remember anything at all, which was why he was here with a complete stranger taking pity on him and helping him do something as childishly simple as wash his hands.

  He tried not to let that thought anger him, but he detested feeling so helpless, especially in front of this obviously genteel woman. He had felt the fine linen of her gown, smelt her delicate perfume, like roses and honey, noted her fine accent. It was too shaming to be thus in front of anyone, let alone a lady of her quality.

  But at least she seemed kind, and not terrified of him or his appearance, despite the fact that it must have been exceedingly disreputable.

  And at least he was under a safe roof, out of the storm, and assured of a decent bed and a good meal for one night. It was a miracle after all he had suffered since he had been declared fit enough to travel and had left Spain.

  As Sarah worked, she noticed that his hands were calloused and scarred, clear evidence of hard labor in recent years, though they did not have the often misshapen form that she saw with men who had toiled manually all their lives.

  The contact with his wet soapy fingers was more thrilling that she ever could have imagined. She was glad he could not see her blushing to the roots of her hair, and only hoped he didn't notice her fingers trembling.

  "There, all done," she said in a falsely hearty tone. She handed him a cloth to dry himself off.

  "You might as well take off that jacket now, and give your hands another rinse."

  "Are you sure you don't mind?"

  "We don't stand upon ceremony in this house. The sight of shirt sleeves will not send me running in horror, I assure you."

  He grinned at that and finally did as she had suggested.

  She helped him off with the garment and then helped him find his way back to the basin, their fingers touching once more. She was astonished at her lack of shyness around this complete stranger. She was undressing him as though he were, well, a close relative. A husband, even.

  She had nursed ill people in the past, even if never a blind person before. The physical contact was simply unsettling because he was so handsome, she admitted to herself.

  But she couldn't allow herself to appear skittish. It was important to make the stranger welcome without suffocating him, and to get him comfortable and settled as soon as she could. He had evidently traveled a long way, and had to be exhausted.

  As soon as he was washed, he could eat. As soon as he had eaten, he could have a bath and some clean clothes and a proper shave. He had evidently tried to do it himself, judging from various nicks on his face, and was lucky he had not done himself a permanent injury.

  She seated him on the settle once more, and went back to the kitchen for the cheese and bread. She noted that Jenny had also put some beer and wine on the tray.

  She decided it would not do any harm to permit him some. It would also tell her a lot about the character of the man who had come to see her brother. Soldiers were reputed to be hard drinkers, and very prone to wenching.

  If he were to stay, she would need to know precisely what sort of chap he was. People could fib in response to overt questioning, but habits and mannerisms never lied.

  "Here you are. Bread and cheese. Beer, or wine?"

  "I adore wine, from my time on the Continent. But some good homemade English beer would be most welcome."

  She handed him a glass, and he took a thirsty but by no means eager sip, and then set the beaker back down.

  "Forgive me for asking, but I was wondering at the fact that you don't have any luggage."

  He shook his head. "I had some when I left Spain, but by the time I got to London, I had been pretty much cleaned out."

  "Cleaned out?" she repeated blankly.

  "Thieves stole most of my things. Not that they were very valuable or anything. I mean, I had enough sense to keep my most important possessions about my person. I have some money, which I sewed into the lining of this jacket, and my papers in my breeches, and so on, but the rest of it went."

  Sarah sighed and rested her hand on his shoulder again. "I'm so sorry to hear that."

  He shrugged one shoulder in its ill-fitting frayed coarse shirt. "I don't mind if the things go to poor people who really need them. I'm not so sure that was always the case. Still, I'm well enough off. I have more than many people. And is it not a sin to provoke envy in others?"

  She replied gently, "I'm sure you didn't do it on purpose. And envy is usually the fault of the covetous one, not the one whose possessions are coveted. Moreover, if you don't mind me saying so, it's evident you've suffered a great deal. I'm not sure how you think it is that people would envy a blind man."

  He laughed shortly, a mirthless sound. "If you'd met some of the men I have, you would know. At least I have all of my arms and legs. And I'm still alive. It's more than I can say for a lot of other poor buggers. Excuse my language, but-"

  Sarah patted his shoulder. "No, it's quite all right, I understand. My brother and most of his close friends served in the war. I know exactly what you mean."

  She suppressed a shudder as she recalled the events which had set her brother on his current path, now serving as a vicar in his friend's parish.

  "If you don't mind," her companion said when he had finished swallowing a mouthful of cheese, "for one night I should like not to have to talk about the war, or my blindness, or anything unpleasant."

  "I'll do my best." She looked around the room for inspiration, and then asked, "Do you like music?"

  His face lit up. "I love it."

  "Then I'll play the pianoforte for you whilst you eat, so you won't be obliged to have any conversation at all for the moment."

  He named readily enough the Beethoven piece she chose, Fur Elise, and sat back and closed his eyes, letting the glorious music wash ove
r him. She knew she did not play very well technically, the way her sister-in-law Pamela did, for example. She did play with passion and verve. At the end of her performance, he applauded.

  "That was wonderful."

  "Thank you. You're too kind. And now, I think our meal will be just about ready to serve."

  "It smells delicious," he said, his mouth watering at the prospect of a hot meal, let alone one with meat. Beef, no less.

  "Jenny is an excellent cook. She and Caleb are very kind people too. Anything you need, please don't be shy about asking. My home is your home," she reassured him.