Mr. Garrett leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs with his feet on the woodpile. “So you have come up with a way to explain your abduction. One that will answer all questions. That is impressive, Miss Lollie.”
Oh, she thought with impatience, he had the same tone that Lynford used when she wanted to try something different for dinner. Why did they think it would work to pay her a compliment when it was not sincere? Olivia sat up straight and prepared to fight for what she wanted.
“Yes, I have a plan,” she said with as much conviction as she could muster.
Resting his head on the back of the precariously balanced chair, he closed his eyes.
She was not going to discuss it if she did not have his attention. “So, are you sure that Troy is all right outside?”
“She is fine and will call me if there is a problem.” He tolerated the silence for another full minute. “Miss Lollie?”
“Yes?” She kept the chill in her voice and her feet on the floor.
“Are you going to keep your plan a secret? Or do you still think me a villain?”
“That is no longer an issue, Mr. Garrett. What you said made sense. I would never have doubted you if we had stumbled onto any other cottage. It is only that I can see you are very stubborn and will be determined to have your own way.”
He turned his head and opened one eye. “Men are not stubborn. That is the purview of women only. Men are determined.”
“Mulish.”
“Resolute,” he closed his eyes again.
“Pigheaded.”
“Indomitable.”
“Oh, that is a fine word. But here is one more: men can be impossibly obdurate.”
“I do not even know what that means, Lollie, and am impressed with your education. I bow to you.” He turned his head, opened his eyes and nodded to her. “You win. You have proved that you are far more stubborn than I.”
Olivia opened her mouth to protest, then realized they had been playing a game and she had lost.
9
NOW, DO TELL ME what you have in mind.” Michael plunked the chair back on the floor and held his hands out to the warmth, turning his head to watch her.
“I want you to take me to Pennsford.” He nodded and she realized that his eyes were warm brown, the color of coffee.
“To Pennsford,” he encouraged.
She almost forgot what they were talking about as she debated the color further. Perhaps chocolate.
“I expect there is more to your plan than that, Miss Lollie.”
“Yes, I was just trying to organize my thoughts.” The color of his eyes did not matter anyway. “We will part there and I will make my way home. I will tell them that I went hunting for mushrooms and lost my way. I had to stay in the woods all night. That I found a place to shelter in the hollow of an old tree and followed the sun toward home.”
He did not answer right away. She hoped it was because he was impressed. He turned to face her and leaned forward, his hands folded with his arms resting on his thighs. His eyes were more bronze than brown, she decided, and wondered if he was trying to distract her on purpose.
“Will you walk in the parlor naked, Miss Lollie? If not, how will you explain my greatcoat?”
She leaned closer but kept her hands in her lap. “I will sneak into the castle, hide your greatcoat and dress in my own clothes.”
“Altogether a good plan but I do need my greatcoat.”
“That is a detail easily handled. I will ask Big Sam to bring it to you.”
“He will not be jealous?”
“Of course not.” She straightened again.
“And you think all four of your brothers will find that a reasonable explanation?”
“Only two of them are home and Lynford is the only one who matters.”
“How will you explain your hair?”
Oh, her hair. She had forgotten it and raised a hand to finger her new curls. “I will wear a cap and later tell them that it is the latest style. You thought it was.”
He watched her finger her new curls, and she put her hands together in her lap again. “Is it not an excellent plan?”
“Yes, it seems so.”
He stood up and she knew he was going to be difficult.
“The only problem is that I will not let you out of my sight until I am sure you are safe.”
“It is exactly as I thought.” Olivia slapped her hand on her thigh. “You will insist on your way.”
“What if the men who took you are lying in wait for you to waltz up to the door?”
Now she had it. His eyes were the color of dead leaves.
“You have no answer for me. I didn’t believe that was possible.”
Or maybe the color of dog droppings.
“Your suggestion is an excellent one, Lollie, but here is what we will do. I will take you to a friend’s house. A true friend who has your best interests at heart and is not inclined to gossip. We will use most of your story, but we will tell them that you found this place. You stayed the night and I found you as you were beginning to walk home.”
“Will I go naked or wear your greatcoat?” she asked, annoyed that she sounded petulant instead of patronizing.
“Very clever,” he said, though he did not seem to find it amusing. “You will wear my greatcoat. Your own clothes being too wet and the threat of illness too acute. That is a fact no one would question.”
“Why do we not have my clothes with us?”
“Because you ruined your dress and shift when you took them off since you would not allow me to help you.”
“Oh, that is very good.” She nodded. “I will consider it.”
They settled for sleep after a meager meal, sharing Mr. Garrett’s apples and cheese, saving some for breakfast, and argued over who would sleep where. Olivia insisted that Mr. Garrett drink the last of the brandy and, to her surprise, he did not argue.
“If you are not using the bed, Lollie, then I will.”
“You may and are welcome to every bug that will share it with you.” She wrapped his greatcoat around her and pretended that his travel bag was an adequate pillow as she lay on the floor. She would not think about what insects and small animals might be seeking shelter from the weather. As long as they did not eat any of her she could stand it.
The fire cast the only light, most of it shadowy and not the least bit comforting. She closed her eyes and listened to Mr. Garrett’s even breathing.
Now she would have to explain one more night away from home. It was easily done and Lyn would believe her, but she could hardly send a letter to everyone in the village. At least she had a tomorrow to worry about. More than once today she had thought this was to be her last day on earth.
She prayed, thanking the Lord for this day, as awful as it had been. She hoped He appreciated the gesture. By tomorrow her prayers for patience would far exceed her moment of thanks tonight.
Sleep came, a very light sleep, so light that when she heard animals scratching the wood floor she bolted up and shouted, “Rats!”
“Mice,” Mr. Garrett mumbled. “Come lie on the bed. It is plenty big enough for two.”
“In the same bed with you?”
“Unless another bed has miraculously appeared.”
“You could trade places with me. I am sure you have slept on the floor many times.”
“Which is precisely why I prefer a bed when I have the choice. I told you before that I would share it with you and it would be our secret forever.”
“You are not a gentleman.”
“I have my moments, but right now I am an old soldier who needs rest.” He patted the bed as if she was a puppy who needed encouragement.
“You are so small you take up hardly any space. I assure you your virtue is safe. I am too tired to do anything but sleep.” To prove it, he turned on his side, away from her, and pulled the blanket up around his neck. “Or is it that you do not trust yourself around me?”
“Of course not, you arrogant oaf,”
she sputtered, even though that was exactly what she was worried about. She stood up, scooped up the greatcoat and sat on the edge of the mattress.
“Rats can climb, you know,” she said to his back.
“Mice can too, but they will not bother us.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I put some cheese upstairs, as far away from us as possible.”
His voice was slightly muffled by the blanket. She pulled her feet up onto the bed and leaned a little closer to him.
“It will take them all night to work it out of the place I stuffed it. You, Lollie, are the only thing that is keeping us awake.”
“Are you warm enough?” She smiled into the dark. “You can have this side of the bed if you prefer.” Her toes were cold but she sat still to see if he was going to answer her. He wasn’t going to unless a snore counted as an answer. In this case it was. It told her that what she wanted the most he was not going to give. A sheltering arm. A comforting hug. Something more.
How many times had her governess told her that to be too close to a man could awaken needs in him a woman might not be able to deny?
Olivia had listened and been careful but had never before been in a situation as intimate as this. She had never even considered until this moment that needs could be awakened in the woman as well.
Her maid had taken up where her governess had left off. Kendall insisted that Olivia did not know the meaning of self-control.
That was not true. It was just that when she had a good idea she saw no need to equivocate. She was able to control bad ideas, like not hitting one of her brothers when they irritated her beyond reason. Controlling herself was not a problem.
Of course it had never been tested. Everyone treated her like she was their best friend. It would be nice if just once someone, some man, saw her as—she mulled over the choice of words—if a man saw her as desirable. So desirable that despite incredible self-control he could not resist her.
Her eyelids felt like deadweights and she let them close. She drew a deep breath and dropped off to sleep before she could do more than think, “Good night, Mr. Garrett.”
The feel of burlap smothering her and hands around her neck came immediately. The memories were as real as the experience. Olivia jerked herself awake, opened her eyes. She turned to face the fire, away from the one thing she wanted. Mr. Garrett’s arms around her.
She did not cry out loud, but she could not stop the tears that ran down her cheeks or the deep breaths that sounded like silent sobs.
“Tell me.” His voice penetrated the dark even as she felt him turn on his side so he could see her. “Tell me why you are crying.”
She turned onto her back. “I cannot close my eyes without remembering.”
“Tell me,” he said again. “Tell me what you are remembering.”
She swiped at her eyes and put her hand down beside her body and his. Please touch me. I cannot stand feeling so abandoned. He either understood or read her mind because he reached over, smoothed her hair and took her hand in his. It was their only contact, but it was comforting and caring and as intimate as a kiss.
“They forced a burlap sack over my head and threw me on the floor of a carriage. The burlap was rough and poorly woven. It smelled awful, of mildew and rot. The little threads of it clogged my nose and made it hard to breathe.” She drew in a breath and was quiet a moment, determined not to cry. He ran his thumb over her knuckles and waited.
“It made me itch all over. The dark was complete. I could see nothing. Fainting was the only way to escape.”
She turned her head and looked him in the eye. “What a pathetic weakling I am. If I had stayed conscious maybe I could have jumped from the carriage.”
Mr. Garrett raised himself up on one arm with such suddenness that it frightened her. “You are not a weakling, Lollie.” Command replaced comfort. “You are strong and resourceful. You lived through it. You escaped. You are alive.”
What he said was what she wanted, what she needed to hear. She was alive. Why was it not comfort enough?
“You have the pistol on the floor beside you. Troy will let us know if anyone is coming, and I am between you and whoever would come through that door. I will kill them before I let them near you.”
With a deep breath the urge to cry passed. That was better.
She was exhausted but not tired, which made no sense at all. She turned so that they were facing each other with about six inches between their bodies. Olivia could feel his heat. “Would you hold me?”
10
NO.” He closed his eyes. “That is asking too much of me, dear girl.”
“We are miserable. My reputation is in tatters. Is it wrong of me to want to be held, to feel safe?” To feel his warmth against her cheek. Or pressed the length of her body.
“Not wrong, but unwise.”
Olivia turned away from him, wounded by his reasonableness, and now she did cry. Great shaking sobs that were as much anger as pain.
His arms came around her and she started to turn to him. “No, stay just as you are. It is temptation enough.”
Temptation or not, it was almost perfect to lie like this. She lifted his hand and kissed it and smiled when he kissed her head.
“We can do anything we want,” she said, sounding dreamy and anything but. “It does not matter anymore. Everyone will think I am ruined completely.”
He massaged one of her shoulders, which should have made her more relaxed, but even through the wool of his greatcoat she could feel the strength of his fingers. She wanted to move closer but she was afraid he would stop, or worse, move away.
“The truth always matters, Lollie.”
“What if no one believes it?”
His gentle massage stopped. “We would know the truth. We would know and I promised I would see you home safely.” He kissed the nape of her neck. “I keep my word.”
Garrett let go of her and turned on his back. “You have no idea what people are saying. Do not assume the worst and, in the name of all that is holy, we are not going to do anything that would make the worst the truth.”
She turned on her back, too. “All right.”
“If you cannot sleep pick your favorite memory from childhood and tell me about it.”
“Did you do that in the army?”
“No, I would put whatever I wanted to forget in a box and dig a deep hole and bury it. All in my imagination, you understand.”
“Was that not too much like burying the dead?” she asked, turning her face so she could see some of his.
“Precisely.” He did not turn toward her as he spoke. “Most often that is what I was doing. Taking the memories and the pain and putting them away.”
What he must have endured. It twisted her heart so tightly that it was hard to draw a breath. The ceiling was an easier place to put your eyes when you were sharing your soul. Was he looking at the same part of it that she was? Where the beam had a big crack halfway through it?
“Tell me a pleasant story, Lollie. So we can both sleep.”
“All right.” He made it sound like it would be a gift. “I remember a time when the whole family went on a picnic, with food that I had made with Cook. I was ten. We had such a wonderful time. Papa never laughed but that day he was as silly as my brothers were. They had a juggling contest and we played hide-and-seek.”
She smiled at the beam, remembering Gabriel trying to hide by climbing one of the trees.
“Papa kissed Mama in front of us—only on the cheek, but she was as shocked as we were. He said it must have been something in the deviled eggs. That I had a magic touch with food that cast a spell on all of them.” Why should that make her eyes tear up? “I was as happy as I have ever been that day.”
He was quiet but she could tell he was not asleep. “I can picture you, Lollie. Smiling. I have not seen you smile enough yet. But if I close my eyes I can see your ten-year-old smile. That was what cast the spell.”
“How can you know if you hav
e never seen me smile?”
“I have an excellent imagination.”
He said it as though he were imagining something else. Olivia bit her lip and smiled at the beam.
“What is your happiest childhood memory, Mr. Garrett?”
“My childhood was much longer ago than yours, Lollie.”
She glanced at him. Just a glance. He was staring at the ceiling, his hands folded across his middle.
“I can wait, Mr. Garrett. We have all night.”
“Hmmm,” was all he said for awhile.
“I suppose one of my happiest memories is the first time I won an argument with my father.” He laughed softly. “Not an argument, more like a philosophical debate.”
“Will you tell me?” Even as she urged him to continue, Olivia wondered if men considered life nothing more than one contest after another.
“I was home from school, filled with the superiority of a twelve-year-old who has learned one or two things, both in school and after.”
She did not even want to imagine what a twelve-year-old boy learned after school.
“It was after dinner when we were at table. My older brother was at Oxford and not home yet. My mother and sisters had gone to the music room. Father and I could hear the hideous sounds coming from there and were in no hurry to join them, so Father asked me to pick a biblical passage and defend the sinner of the piece.”
“Was your father very religious?”
“Yes. Very.”
There was a long pause, and Olivia hoped he would elaborate. He had a brother and some sisters. He was not the oldest. That was only the bare bones of a family story.
“I chose the parable of the Prodigal Son and, of course, had to defend the son who took his fortune, wasted it and came back home when he realized that his father would forgive him.”
“We hear that every year in church. The vicar has given some fine sermons on it.”
“My contention was that the real sinner of the piece is the son who stayed with his father, the good and dutiful son who complained when his brother was welcomed back.”
“Oh my.” That was hardly the usual approach.
Mr. Garrett laughed. “Yes, my father did not like that at all. But when I explained that if the prodigal son was the one who believed in his father even when he had not seen him for years and knew he would be forgiven, was he not the son with the greater gift of faith. It was the son who lived with the father every day and did not understand him at all. That son was at greater fault.”
Mary Blayney Page 32
