Cautiously, she approached the closed kitchen door and opened it. Fortunately, this one did not make a sound. Candle held before her so she would not trip, she looked around for the door to the pantry. Pots and pans hanging from a ceiling rack reflected back the flickering flame in little points. The dark-red glow of a banked fire cast shadows over a settle beside it. Part of that shadow shifted.
She stifled a gasp.
‘Mrs Falkner?’ A deep male voice. The shadow loomed upward, blocking the light from the hearth.
Heart thudding, she raised her candle higher to reveal the dark planes of a harsh face and the white linen of a man in his shirtsleeves. ‘Mr Read. What are you doing in here? I thought...’
His expression changed from surprise to careful blankness. ‘I beg your pardon. I merely availed myself of our landlady’s offer of a warm spot by the fire to dry my coats and—’ he raised his hand, which held a goblet ‘—a snifter of brandy before I retire.’
A snifter he’d earlier refused. It was then that she saw his coat hung to dry upon a clothes horse. ‘You have been out in the rain?’
‘I took a walk. I assume you cannot sleep either?’
‘I thought to warm up some milk.’
He gestured with his glass. ‘This might serve you better.’
She made a face. ‘Horrid stuff. Mrs Lane forced me to drink some earlier.’
No doubt thinking her disgruntlement amusing, he flashed a swift smile. A rather naughty-boy smile that made her breath catch in her throat. ‘Come now, it did help, did it not?’ He winked.
An answering smile curved her own lips before she could catch it. ‘How ungentlemanly of you to remind me of finding me asleep in my chair,’ she scolded lightly.
His expression stiffened as if she had said something wrong.
It was all right for him to tease, but not the other way around? How typically male.
‘Would you like some brandy or not?’ he asked gruffly.
‘I suppose it might help,’ she admitted.
‘Please,’ he said. ‘Sit, while I fetch another glass.’
He was gone only a moment and returned bearing a lit branch of candles, giving the kitchen a nice warm glow and chasing away most of the shadows.
He placed a chair for her on the opposite side of the hearth, handed her a glass. He sat and, taking up his drink, raised a brow.
She took a sip of the fiery liquid and forced herself not to cough, though there was nothing she could do about the watering of her eyes. She shuddered and swiped the tears away with the back of her hand. ‘I’ll never get used to it.’
He gave a low ironic chuckle. ‘The more you drink the easier it becomes.’
She tried again, but the smell of it set her off coughing. ‘I honestly don’t think I can.’
‘Then I will warm you some milk.’
‘I can do it.’
‘Please,’ he said softly. ‘Let someone care for you for once. Tonbridge tells me how hard you work for what he calls your ladies, as well as your son.’
The gentleness in his tone surprised her as did the thought that he and his friend had made her a topic of their conversation. Was it possible he had told Lord Tonbridge about their previous meeting? Her blood ran cold at the thought. She’d thought she was safe here in the north of England. Must she move again? Leave everything behind once more? Her heart clenched at the thought of so drastic an action.
But it was Tommy she must think of, not herself. If only she could believe she wasn’t being utterly selfish. That what she was doing really was in his interest. For his future.
Even if he eventually hated her for it?
She raised a hand in defeat. ‘Thank you, you are very kind.’
It was then that she noticed his muddy boots and the damp patches on his pantaloons below the knees. She spoke without thinking, the way she would have spoken to Tommy. ‘Are you mad? You should change out of your wet clothes before you risk contracting lung fever.’
Chapter Four
Blade felt his jaw drop as a vision formed in his mind of them both naked. Together. He couldn’t contain his grin. ‘It is not every day a lovely woman asks me to remove my clothes,’ he said, lightly, teasingly. The way he might have done with one of his flirts.
She gasped and looked away.
He squeezed his eyes shut briefly. He should never have spoken so crudely to such a gently bred female. What the devil was wrong with him? It should not have even crossed his mind. He wasn’t some randy schoolboy without control over his lust. Nor was she the sort of woman who would ever be interested in a dalliance for mutual pleasure.
He softened his tone, kept it devoid of expression. ‘It is kind of you to be concerned. As a soldier I am used to being a bit damp around the edges. My greatcoat kept most of me dry.’
She inclined her head as if in acceptance of his clumsy attempt to recoup, but there was pride in that movement, too, and a faint flush high on her cheekbones.
A faint suspicion crossed his mind. Had she, too, had a vision of him naked? Was that why she had averted her gaze? His body hardened. Blast. He really was losing his mind. He strode into the pantry, forcing himself to think of anything but the woman beside the hearth. The stone room was blessedly chilly. He focused on that cold and thoughts of icy rain trickling down his neck during the long hours of guard duty. Finally he got himself under control, found the milk jug, took a deep breath and returned to the warmth of the kitchen. He filled a small pan from the jug and placed it on the hearth to heat. He added the brandy from her glass. ‘It won’t taste quite so bad this way.’
‘I keep thinking of that poor man. Of facing his wife with the news.’
He’d offer to tell the widow for her, but he already knew she would not accept someone else shouldering her burdens no matter how unpleasant the duty. He liked that about her. Her inner strength. Her quiet pride.
And there was no comfort he could offer that would not sound false.
He sat beside her on the settle and placed his hand over hers, lightly. Her hand was small beneath his and, despite the warmth in the kitchen, icy cold. ‘You can only do your best.’
To his surprise and pleasure, she did not pull her hand free, though she could easily have done so.
A small sigh escaped her lips. ‘It is all anyone can do, I suppose.’
Not anyone. Those with good intentions. There were far too many of the other sort waiting to trap the unwary. He forced himself to rise, before he did something really stupid like putting his arm around her, pulling her close and kissing her soft, pretty lips. Crouching at the hearth, he pressed a palm to the side of the pan. It had warmed up nicely. He filled her glass and handed it to her. ‘Try it now.’
She took a sip and made a face. ‘Not quite as bad.’
‘Drink it quickly and—’
‘Get it over with.’
They both chuckled.
‘Mrs Lane gave me the same advice, but having experienced it once it seems worse than ever.’
‘Everything that does you good tastes bad,’ he said. For the first time in a long time he heard his mother’s voice in his head. Saying those very same words with a catch in her voice. He frowned at the memory. He could not place where it came from. The circumstances. Or even imagine why he would think of it now when he tried never to think of her at all. Shocked by the direction of his thoughts, he rose to his feet.
Oblivious to his reaction, she lifted her glass in a pretend toast and drank it down quickly. She shuddered from head to toe. He poured the last of the milk into her glass, sans brandy. ‘Perhaps this will help take the taste away.’
She drank it down quickly. A residue of the milk clung to her bottom lip. He wanted to lick it away. To taste her. She dabbed at it with the back of her hand, leaving him disappointed.
<
br /> Bah, he was a fool. He turned away. Went to the window to look out, to get his thoughts into some sort of logical order. ‘I informed Lane that we plan to leave for Skepton at first light, if that is all right with you. It will take us a couple of hours given the state of the roads after all this rain.’
He heard the rustle of her clothes as she rose to her feet behind him. As he had intended, she had taken his words as a dismissal.
To his shock, her hand landed on his arm. His left arm. He swung around to face her and found her looking up at him, a smile on her lips and warmth in her eyes that only a fool would pretend not to understand. Gratitude. Kindness.
If she really knew him, she would not look on him so kindly.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘I think I will be able to sleep now. I will be up and ready to leave first thing.’
For a moment, he thought she might rise up on her toes and kiss his cheek, like a sister or a friend, but it was his mouth where her gaze lingered. Heat rushed through him. His blood headed south.
The distance between them was so very slight he could feel the graze of her breath against his throat, see into the warmth in the depths of her melting green-flecked soft brown eyes. Could such a kind gentle creature, such a respectable woman, really want a man like him? One who had been to hell and back.
He swallowed the dryness in his throat. Felt the pound of his blood in his veins. And inhaled the scent of brandy on her breath.
The brandy. She wasn’t used to it. Was likely unaware of its effects. The numbing of reason. In complete command of her senses, a respectable vicar’s daughter would have nothing to do with a man who was only two steps from the gutter.
He stepped back. ‘Then I will bid you goodnight.’ He gestured to the door.
And cursed himself for a quixotic fool when he saw the disappointment on her face.
* * *
The drive back to Skepton was uneventful, though it had bothered Caro greatly that Mr Read had insisted on riding in the rain, instead of joining her in the carriage. She had the feeling that her earlier coldness, her insistence upon the proprieties, had influenced his decision.
She sighed as they pulled up outside the house. Propriety had not been the first thing on her mind the previous evening. It was a good thing he had more of a conscience than most men. She had felt so warm and fuzzy after drinking the brandy she could have sworn she might have kissed him, had he not been too much of a gentleman. If he knew the truth about her, he might not have felt bound by such moralistic sensibilities. Apparently Carothers had said nothing to his friends about the liberties she had allowed in a haze of what she had thought was true love. It eased her mind to know that he had spoken the truth when he had said a gentleman did not kiss, or anything else, and tell, even if he had not kept any of his other promises.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. Shame. Embarrassment at her youthful foolishness.
A footman ran out to open the door and let down the steps. There was nothing she could do about the past. It was the future that mattered. All her focus must be on making sure she did nothing to ruin it for Thomas. She stepped down, pleased to discover that at last it had stopped raining.
Still on horseback, Mr Read was speaking to Lane’s driver. He glanced over as if sensing her gaze.
She made a gesture towards the house. ‘Will you come in for some refreshment?’
He walked his horse closer. ‘Thank you, no. I will have to see to the stabling of Sir Reggie’s cattle and arrange some accommodation for myself. Tonbridge said there were decent rooms above the stables.’ He paused. ‘Would you like me to accompany you to speak with Mrs Garge beforehand?’
Gratitude rushed through her. Some of the tightness left her chest. She ought to say no, but... ‘You might be able to answer her questions better than I.’ She was such a coward. ‘Having spoken with the coroner, I mean.’
He dismounted. ‘We should go right away.’
Before gossip ran rife throughout the house, as it would when she was seen returning in a strange coach.
He handed his horse off to a footman. ‘Walk him. I will not be more than half an hour.’
Side by side they walked past the kitchen towards the arch into the small courtyard at the side of the house, where a side door allowed entry to the stables and where Mrs Garge would be waiting as usual. Once the horses were settled and the carriage put away, it was usual for her and Josiah to walk to their own small cottage on the edge of town.
The closer they drew to the courtyard the more Caro’s stomach tightened.
Mrs Garge rose from the bench the moment they passed beneath the arch, her gaze darting from one face to the other, then past them to see who followed.
Her lined face seemed to collapse. ‘Somat’s happened.’
‘There was an accident,’ Caro said, her voice feeling like sandpaper against her throat. ‘Mr Garge was thrown from the box.’
‘Josiah? No. Is he all reet? Where is he?’ She made to push past them.
‘Mrs Garge,’ Mr Read said, his voice gentle but firm, ‘your husband was killed. Instantly.’ He stepped closer and held out his arms. ‘I am so very sorry.’
The woman stared at his face for a long moment. ‘No.’ Tears ran silently down her face. She collapsed against his chest and he held her while she sobbed. The look on his face startled Caro. Most men did not feel comfortable around a woman in tears and this one was sobbing uncontrollably. But his stoic expression held sympathy and sadness, not discomfort or impatience.
Caro put her arm around the woman’s shoulders and leaned close. ‘I am so sorry. There was nothing we could do for him.’
After a few minutes, Mrs Garge raised her head. ‘An accident, you say? What happened? Never in his life has my Josiah found a team that could take him unawares. Not even those dreadful wild creatures Lord Robert used to drive.’
Garge had been with the family since the twins, Charlie and Robert, had been small children.
‘We think something startled the horses,’ Mr Read said. ‘The wheel struck a rut and shattered. The jolt must have dislodged him from the box.’
Mrs Garge stared at him, eyes wide. ‘Dislodged him?’
‘There was a rock where he landed. He landed hard. I am sorry, Mrs Garge. It was instant.’
Stepping back, she gazed around wildly. ‘I have to go. Tell—’ She swallowed loudly. ‘Tell my family.’
She rushed past them and was gone.
Caro’s knees felt weak. ‘Oh, the poor woman.’
Mr Read took her arm and led her to the bench where Mrs Garge had been sitting. Caro sank onto the hard wood and leaned back against the plank wall. ‘I didn’t even think to tell her we would write to Tonbridge, to ask him to ensure she was cared for. I really meant to do that.’
He put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
‘Give her a bit of time,’ he murmured. ‘I will call round and tell her.’
The sensation of his strength at her side seemed to seep into her bones. She found herself wanting to lean against him. To confide. Terrified of her reaction, she rose to her feet. ‘Thank you, Mr Read.’
She hurried indoors.
Chapter Five
Courtesy of Lord Tonbridge, the mourners fortified themselves after the funeral on ale, roast beef and meat pies in the taproom of the Lamb and Flag. Blade wasn’t surprised at the large turnout of people, despite the rain. The rumour of his lordship’s generosity had spread far and wide. The widow, flanked by her daughter and son, held court in one corner of the room, accepting condolences as each new guest arrived in front of the large wing-backed armchair the innkeeper had placed there for the purpose.
Duty done, the guests milled about, conversing and gossiping and tucking into the feast.
Blade did his best to blend in with the mostly w
orking men and their womenfolk who had come to pay their last respects to a man who was clearly well liked in the community. These were good people and he might well have been one of them had his life turned out differently. As it was, they regarded him with suspicion from the corner of their eyes. The way his fellow officers and members of the ton had regarded him at their gatherings, him being neither fish nor fowl. Recognised, but not legitimate. He let go an exasperated sigh. He should be perfectly used to it by now and didn’t know why he let it bother him.
The thing that should cause him concern was the group of young men at the back of the room, beside the hearth. Young men were rash, easily roused. The dark glances they cast about them and the intensity of their conversation made him idly draw closer, while appearing to focus on the food laid out on the table running the length of the room.
‘We needs to act now,’ one of the lads was saying in a mutter as Blade came within earshot. ‘Let them know we ain’t sheep to the slaughter. Teach them a thing or two with the edge of a sword.’
Blade made sure not to look at the group, but had the impression that it was the tallest of them speaking. He seemed to be their leader. The lad had hair the colour of ripe wheat, a lantern jaw and pale-blue eyes.
‘Aye,’ a couple of the others chorused.
‘A few thousand Yorkshiremen riding through their barracks one dark night would make them think again,’ another said.
‘We need weapons for that.’
‘We could steal ’em from the soldiers.’
‘And keep ’em where, now they have the right to search our houses and barns whenever they feel like it? My ma is terrified for Pa because he was at Peterloo. They’ve already transported half-a-dozen fellows just for being there.’
‘I say we ought to pay a few of them nobs what runs Parliament a visit one dark night,’ their leader said. ‘Throw them out in the cold. Let them know what it’s like to be without a roof over their heads.’
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