by Tess Byrnes
She went back out to tend to the horse, retrieving the reins and tying them securely to a stout branch near to the door. She found a bucket, and after pumping vigorously was rewarded by the flow of water from the cistern at the well. She removed the horse’s bit, checked that the reigns were secured to a stout post, and set the bucket by the horse. She retrieved a blanket from the supply on the bed, and threw it over the magnificent beast, hoping he would be all right in the relative protection of the house. There was no doubt that this well-bred animal was used to much better lodgings.
Priscilla scanned the now-black sky which was studded with stars, but no moon, and knew it would be to no avail to continue to look for help tonight. Walking in the lane in the pitch black night would be treacherous, and probably result in her own injury. Stifling the anxiety she was feeling, she re-entered the small cottage and stood by the bed, looking down at the sleeping occupant.
In the dark interior of the little cottage Priscilla thought herself lucky to locate a lamp and tinderbox, with which she quickly struck a light. The gentle glow imparted by the lamp allowed Priscilla to note again the pallor on the handsome face. She felt his hands and was alarmed to find them quite chilled. She eyed the stack of firewood behind the pile of kindling and although it did not seem very damp, Priscilla doubted her ability to strike it alight. By now she was thoroughly tired, her nerves stretched to the breaking point with worry for the pale and unconscious man on the pallet. She pulled the remaining blanket on the bed up and tucked it securely around the man, but after a few minutes he seemed no warmer, his hands still chilled. Priscilla rubbed her own arms briskly. The chill of the room seemed to be seeping right through her thin traveling coat into her very bones, and she could not stop shivering. She looked longingly at the dirty grey blanket covering the man on the bed. Making a quick decision, and casting her doubts to the wind, she gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, blew out the lamp, and slipped under the blanket.
Her nose wrinkled involuntarily. It appeared that the blanket may well have been last used by a very warm horse. But within minutes she started to feel warmer, and so she turned onto her side, wrapping her arms around her chilled companion. Praying that he would sleep through the night, Priscilla gave in to the gathering warmth their two bodies were creating, and closed her weary eyes.
Light filtered in through the dirty window panes, rousing Priscilla from her fitful sleep. Reluctant to open her eyes, and enjoying the warmth, she raised a hand automatically to push a strand of hair from her face, and then rested it back down on her pillow. This pillow appeared to be moving gently, rhythmically, up and down. Eyes still shut, Priscilla sleepily patted her hand across the pillow upwards and encountered a scratchy, stubbly chin. Her eyes shot wide open and, as realization of her circumstances broke over her, she squeezed them shut again, as horrified memory returned. She lay painfully still and listened for a moment. The rhythm of breathing beneath under her head was steady and effortless, the breathing of natural sleep. Holding her own breath, Priscilla started to slide her way out of the bed, but suddenly an arm clamped around her side and held her fast. Lying frozen with shock, she steeled herself, and bravely looked up at the face of the man she had assisted in the lane. A sleeping face. She let go of her breath in a soft sigh of relief and her body relaxed. Unfortunately, the motion seemed to rouse the handsome man, and as his hip turned slightly on the narrow, lumpy mattress his other arm slid under her body, and priscilla found herself in a strong male embrace. Gingerly, she brought her hands up and pushed gently against his chest, hoping to loosen his grasp. Still sleeping, the man responded instead by tightening the arm underneath her, and moving his other hand slowly up round of her hip, and cupping her rounded form tightly, his breath exhaling on a low groan. Priscilla froze, then reached around behind herself, taking his and moving slowly, pushed it back down, until it lay safely on his own flank.
“Whatever next?” priscilla thought to herself with a shaky laugh. She subsisted against the mattress for a moment, her heart pounding, the feel of his hand still lingering. In her mind she was wondering how on earth she was going to slip out of the little bed without wakening her partner. Trying once again, she eased herself up onto one elbow, and although the man moaned softly, tightening his hold, still he did not open his eyes. She drew a more determined breath, inhaling the warm musky scent of the man whose arms encircled her and gazed into the face lying not a hands breadth away from her own. It was exactly as she remembered it; quite the most beautiful male face she had ever seen. The straight nose, the fine cheekbones, one with a tiny scar that seemed to highlight its sculpted shape. The eyebrows arching over the impossible lashes, the bruised chin elegant, even when covered with stubble. Asleep his face had a calm, sweet expression that belied his rough tone of the night before. She could not bear to wake the man up, and have that face look at her with disgust at being found in such a compromising position. The effort of trying to come up with an acceptable explanation for joining him on the small cot last night seemed insurmountable.
Once again, Priscilla tried to loosen the man’s hold. This time he groaned aloud, and pulled her tight against his warm, hard body. The arm pinned beneath her moved up around her shoulder, his other hand resuming its upward exploration of her body. It cupped her rounded buttocks, squeezing gently. At the same time, his head lowered, and Priscilla felt his warm breath as he pressed his lips against her neck, just behind her ear. His lips began an exploration of their own, moving slowly over the white skin of her neck to her jaw, her hot, flushed cheek and then her soft mouth.
Priscilla knew she should stop this immediately. Not only was it completely unseemly behavior, but the idea of what would ensue if the gentleman were to come to his senses and find the two of them in this position was unthinkable. She knew this, but the strange sensation caused by the hand that was gently and rhythmically squeezing her buttocks, and the awareness of his insistent lips on her neck, and now on her mouth, was spell-binding.
Without in the least meaning to do so, Priscilla gently pushed her weight into the hand behind her. She allowed her lips to be pressed open, and at the moment that his tongue expertly touched hers, her will was no longer her own.
A soft moan escaped her lips and she slid herself softly up the well-muscled body pressed against her to meet him with a desire that was both involuntary and urgent. She twined her fingers gently in his hair, at the same time turning her head to align better with the firm mouth on hers. As his tongue moved in mesmerizing ways against hers, Priscilla was aware of her body as she never had imagined before. Her nipples tingled and strained against the bodice of clothes that now felt constraining and definitely in the way. An insistent throbbing was beginning between her legs and she moved her hips slowly side to side in response. The fascinating hand that had been steadily massaging her buttocks moved over her hip towards her throbbing center, and the two of them shifted their weight so that Priscilla found herself on her back, opening her legs to that searching hand. As his kiss deepened, a small voice in her head was telling Priscilla to stop, but she couldn’t make herself act on it. The movement of his warm, firm body as he moved against her seemed so natural, so right, that she instinctively responded. His hand was moving infuriatingly slowly, managing to shift aside her petticoats, and after what seemed like ages to Priscilla, found its goal. Priscilla let out a pent up breath as his fingers started slow, skillful, teasing circles over what seemed like the center of her being. She arched her back, pressing into his hand, her own hand reaching up to tug at her neckline, as if she could free her confined, aching breasts from her clothing. Her mouth explored his urgently, pressing her own tongue into his eager mouth. Her breath came more raggedly, and as the sensations built she couldn’t keep still, moving her hips in a circular motion against the persistent fingers that massaged her so intimately.
“Beautiful,” the man’s deep voice whispered against her full lips. Priscilla’s eyes flew open. Her partner’s eyes were still closed, and he se
emed to be acting in a trance. Priscilla tried to calm her frantic breathing, reaching down with her hand to still the fingers that were still causing such incredible sensations. Instead of stopping, he twined his own strong fingers around hers, continuing to build the rapidly increasing sensations that were urging her towards an unknown peak that she wanted desperately to attain. Tapping into a will stronger than she knew she possessed, Priscilla managed to lift his hand away, rolling him onto his back. He eased onto his back, still murmuring, and Priscilla edged herself backwards and fell abruptly off of the narrow cot.
She landed with a thud, her ruffled petticoats up around her hips, her stockinged legs out before her, with her feet still up on the bed. She sat there in the dust, frozen. Incredibly, the handsome man just turned onto his side and remained there, breathing quietly.
One hand pressed against her tingling mouth, Priscilla carefully took one foot off the bed, and then the other. The handsome man sighed deeply, burrowing into the blanket in an attempt to recapture the warmth, mercifully still asleep.
Priscilla rose unsteadily to her feet, her body tingling in ways she had never known existed. She shook her head slowly back and forth.
“Damn and blast,” she whispered in an awed voice.
Running a hand through her disarrayed locks and straightening her clothing, Priscilla took a good look at the man with whom she had passed the night. She judged him to be less than thirty years of age, and acknowledged to herself again that she had never seen a more handsome man. His shirt linen was of a very fine quality, and his buckskin breeches and close fitting riding jacket owed their tailoring to the hand of an expert. No cost had been spared in the cloth or fashioning of those garments. In the soft morning light she noted that his pallor had given way to a more healthy color. He did appear to be in a natural slumber, so Priscilla determined to leave at once, and seek help. It wasn’t running away, she told herself, it was a sensible move. She could furnish someone with his location, and leave before the gentleman could awaken and realize the extent of her indiscretion in passing the night with him, not to mention the unnerving events of this morning. In this way she could get him the assistance in which he was of need, and yet preserve her own reputation, which would certainly not survive the public knowledge of the night's events, she thought, cringing inwardly. Priscilla straightened her dress, brushing off what dust and dirt she could, found her bonnet and reticule, and went out into the morning without a backward glance.
The stallion greeted her with a low whinny and nudged her with his nose as she offered him water from the pump. When he had finished drinking, she led him across to a convenient stump, and pushing aside some brambles, she mounted, seating herself awkwardly in the gentleman’s saddle. She was considered a notable horsewoman, but was accustomed to a side-saddle. Attempting to ride with one leg hooked over the pommel presented her with a challenge. She arranged her skirts as modestly as she was able, thankful that the fashion was for wider skirted traveling dresses, and resumed her journey down the poplar lined lane.
Some miles further along, just as she was beginning to despair of ever finding help, Priscilla arrived at an ornate stone gate. She slid somewhat awkwardly down from the tall horse before calling out to the elderly man whom she could see sitting in the window of the lodge house. The grizzled old man raised his head at her call, a look of surprise on his face as he recognized the stallion standing docilely beside a slightly tousled young woman.
“Here now," he started up angrily. "What do you think you’re doing with that stallion? And where's my master?" He stepped forward in a threatening way, and Priscilla instinctively took a step backwards.
"I fear he has met with an accident," Priscilla returned in a steady voice, but with a heightened color at the lie she was obliged to tell. "I found him lying in a spinney beside this horse, ugh, this morning. I managed to help him to a cottage a few miles down this road, and then rode to fetch him some help." She was reassured by the man's apparent acceptance of her story as his wary look changed to one of concern.
"Hurt, was he?" he asked with real concern. "I told the Master about this devilish stallion." He looked with wonder at the calm beast now standing next to Priscilla, its magnificent head bent to snuffle at her open palm.
"Here now, Miss, you stay here and hold this horse, I'll run up to the stables and fetch one of our useless grooms and a carriage. You'll have to take us to this cottage." Before Priscilla could argue, the old man was running with admirable speed in the direction of the stables which Priscilla could see through the leafy trees. After what seemed like an eternity, the old man returned driving an open carriage, and accompanied by two young grooms, one of whom came forward to take the stallion’s reigns.
“Jump up here, Miss," the old retainer called out as they approached.
“I'm afraid I am already delayed,” Priscilla replied quickly. “Let me direct you to the cottage, and perhaps you will be so kind as to direct me to the Saracen's Head, where I understand I can meet the mail coach."
In his concern to reach his master, the old man did not dissent, but directed her down the lane another few miles where he assured her she could not miss the Inn in question. In return she gave him the direction of the cottage, and, with a last look back towards the cottage, and the man whom she had rescued, Priscilla resolutely turned and began trudging down the lane towards the Saracen's Head.
After walking briskly along the road through the crisp morning air for almost an hour, Priscilla reached the Inn. She was able to obtain a seat on the milk run, and spent the rest of the trip to Bluehaven replaying the scene in the cottage over and over in her mind. When she finally wrenched her mind from that astonishing event, the mail coach was only a few stops from Bluehaven, and Priscilla bent her energies instead on trying to come up with an acceptable explanation for arriving at her new employment several days early and without any luggage.
CHAPTER SIX
“My dear Miss hawksworth, you look little older than my Lucy," was Mrs. Hartfield's immediate response after Priscilla was ushered into her sitting room later that day. Priscilla had taken great pains over the letter she had initially sent to Mrs. Hartfield, and while she had not actually dissembled about her age, she had been apprehensive that her obviously youthful appearance might cast doubts into the mind of her new employer. She was still dressed in the grey alpaca traveling dress that had been part of the mourning clothes purchased after the death of her father. She had hoped that the somber hue, accompanied by the plain grey bonnet would add age to her appearance. These words caused her heart to sink, and she was unable to think of any other reply than, "I am one and twenty, Ma’am."
"Well, no-one would think it to look at you," was Mrs. Hartfield's cheerful rejoinder. Relief flooded through Priscilla as the older woman smiled at her instead of ejecting her from the room. "But as I always say, the young must earn their living as well as the old, sometimes. I like having young people about me, and if you can instill a little learning into my flighty Lucy's head I shall be in your debt! She is quite unprepared to make her debut in the polite world. She has had several governesses in the last year. Her last governess was certainly old enough, and she only lasted a matter of two months, and was absolutely hopeless. Maybe having a younger governess will be more successful."
“If I may ask, ma’am,” Priscilla asked, a little alarmed at this news. “For what reasons did these other governesses leave their posts?”
“Oh, they were obviously quite unsuited to the task,” the lady responded somewhat obscurely. “Lucy is a delightful girl, a little high-spirited, perhaps, but at least she’s not a namby-pamby miss! With a bit of polish, and a little attention to her education, she’ll shine in London. What she needs, my dear Miss Hawksworth, is a guiding hand.”
She paused to inspect an elegant painted candy dish reposing on the gilded, gryphon-legged table beside her. At last she selected a comfit which she popped into her mouth with fat, be-ringed fingers, managing to chew and smile at
the same time. Priscilla had to smile back. She had taken a quick liking to this plump, cheerful matron, but thought privately that she seemed to have spent more time selecting a sweetmeat than she had a governess for her own daughters. No mention of references had been made, and while Priscilla was duly grateful, she did wonder if the lack of applicants for the post had some bearing on her future employer’s forbearance. Still, looking at the middle-aged matron lounging comfortably across from her, Priscilla thought Mrs. Hartfield must have been quite lovely in her youth. Her fair hair still held its blonde color, possibly aided by the hand of artifice, but the bright blue eyes and clear pink complexion were genuine, and her obviously easy-going disposition made it hard not to like her. Her figure had definitely been influenced by an obvious predilection for sweets, but her morning gown was a skillful creation of vertical pink and white stripes which had a most surprising slimming effect. That, and the extremely tightly laced corsets that creaked ominously as my lady reached over to inspect the candy dish again. She caught Priscilla's quizzical look, and returned to the interview.
"As I said, Lucy will be your primary concern, my dear Miss Hawksworth. I put her education completely in your hands. I do not believe in a female being bookish, but my dear Lucy has paid absolutely no attention to her studies. She is not a fit companion for a gentleman, and must be brought to a realization of this. She must improve her skill upon the pianoforte. You wrote that you give instruction upon the instrument," she queried anxiously.
"Yes, indeed," Priscilla smiled reassuringly. “I received instruction upon the pianoforte for eight years and at the hands of a master,” she continued, pleased to be able to tell the complete truth. Her father had insisted on only the most accomplished tutors for her. A common love of music had been another link between father and daughter, and Priscilla played very nicely.
