“I prayed for a chance to escape. All the while I could hear them whispering, arguing, I think. They took the gag off, made me drink laudanum. I fell asleep, screaming. Or at least I think I was screaming.”
He wanted to reassure her, tell her that it was what he would have done, but he did not want to interrupt again. As long as he said nothing it was as though she had no audience.
“When I woke up, it was quiet except for the most unbelievable snoring I have ever heard. The ropes were loose, whether by accident or on purpose I don’t know. I fell asleep again and woke up a second time. The snoring man was still asleep. I pulled off the blindfold, but it was dark and I could not make out much.”
Michael heard the sound of the river, swollen with spring runoff. They were closer to town than he’d expected. Lady Olivia did not seem aware of it, her thoughts turned inward, her voice practical in its timbre but her eyes lost and filled with dread.
“I was not thinking very clearly but all I wanted to do was escape. So I did. Even when I tripped over something, the man never woke up. Was the other man outside or had he gone somewhere? I never saw him. It never occurred to me to find something to wear besides my shift.”
“The laudanum would have left you muzzy.”
She looked at him. “When you found me? I think I was almost dead.” The realization took her by surprise. She nodded to herself and closed her eyes as she continued. “I had decided I would go to sleep again. I hardly felt the cold and I could hear my mother singing. She’s been dead for five years.”
Silence filled the space between them. He felt water in his eyes and looked away.
“I think you must have saved my life.” There was amazement in her voice. “Thank you, Mr. Garrett. Thank you. I am sure I am not the first life you have saved, but I do not think any could have been more grateful.”
“Lady Olivia, I am sure yours is a life most worthy of saving.” He could not think of many others who had been as innocent. “You are very welcome.”
“Oh do not say I am worthy of it.” She raised a hand to her heart, her expression showing more alarm than flattery. “I will feel guilty forever if I do not live up to your hopes.”
As if he would ever know.
“To be honest, sir, all I want to do is go home, have some chicken broth and go to sleep. Would it be wrong to pretend it never happened?”
“A question for the ages, my lady. I think you must do whatever will enable you to put the incident behind you. Let your brother worry about finding the perpetrators. He will know a way to keep you safe.”
“Yes, by marrying me off to some man or insisting that I never leave Pennford or that I go to London and forget about cooking.”
What did cooking have to do with it?
“I want to beat those men to a pulp myself. But I do not and could not have the strength. Perhaps I should learn how to shoot.”
“See if you can convince one of your brothers to show you how.” As he spoke he prayed that none of them would. A woman seeking revenge was dangerous enough without a weapon.
They walked on in silence, the sound of the river making quiet conversation impossible.
“I am going to wash my feet!” She abruptly turned Troy toward a large rock and used it to dismount.
“Wait, Olivia, the water will be freezing.” Michael ran after her. “You will wind up ill.”
Either she pretended not to hear him, or the rushing water made it impossible. She put one foot into a pool created by rocks or fairies, the perfect place to wade. Gasping she put her other foot in and sloshed around for a moment, obviously uncomfortable, but equally determined to clean her feet.
Michael fully intended to grab her arm and pull her forcibly from the freezing spring melt, but the moment he was close enough she popped out of the ankle-deep water and grabbed the blanket he had in his hand.
“Dry your feet. Hurry.” He nodded at the blanket as he spoke. She was already beginning to shiver.
She stood on the claylike shale with a rock at hip height.
“Sit down.” He nodded to the rock behind her.
She did sit, most likely because he was so close to her she had no other choice.
“That was a stupid thing to do.”
With a glance of pure irritation she began to dry her feet, the speed of it convincing him she was annoyed that he was right.
As she bent her head over her task, he watched the way the sun glinted off the golden highlights of her hair. Until that moment he had thought it a rather ordinary brown, but now he realized that it was streaked with red and gold and bronze. Even unkempt and ragged, he could see the beauty of it. He reached a hand out to smooth it, but stopped himself.
Securing both his hands behind his back he watched the curls shift as she rubbed her toes with the blanket, trying to warm them. There was a mole near the nape of her neck, exactly the right spot to press a kiss if one was so inclined.
He was not.
16
WHAT WAS HE LOOKING AT? Olivia wondered as she kept on drying her feet. Why was he making her feel so warm when her toes were so cold? “You are not supposed to be watching me dry my feet.”
“What etiquette book says that?”
“It feels risqué.”
He laughed. The throaty sound made her want to laugh too, but she bit her lip instead. She handed him the blanket as she stood up on the rock. It made her almost as tall as he was. “Where is Troy?”
“Right where you left her, my lady. Troy knows to do what she is told.”
“Oh, now you are comparing me to a horse.”
“The finest horse in the world.”
“As well as the ugliest.” Olivia leaned close to whisper it so Troy wouldn’t hear. As she did, Olivia noticed that Garrett’s face was shadowed with whiskers, his eyes had the tiniest creases at the corner. He must be awfully tired.
She knew she could act like a spoiled child. It was sometimes the only way to win out against her brothers. But Mr. Garrett had saved her life. He did not deny it. Her thanks had been to rail at him without ceasing and insult his eyes and anything else she could think of.
Turning her head a little, so that she could see into his eyes, she began an apology. His eyes really were quite lovely, the color of the iridescent pheasant feathers that she used to garnish her favorite poultry dish. Right now they were more gold than brown. “Mr. Garrett, I am so very sorry if I have not been the ideal companion.”
The next words died in her throat at the expression in his eyes. Wild and wonderful at the same time. Before she could respond with more than a smile, he turned and whistled for Troy. Garrett stepped onto the rock, scooped her up and dumped her back into the saddle.
“We will move on, Lady Olivia, or the light will be gone before we reach safety.”
“I just wanted to apologize.”
He still stood on the rock, so their eyes were even. “That’s what you are saying with your lips, Lady Olivia. Your eyes? Well, your eyes are asking for something else entirely.”
“Are you flirting with me, Mr. Garrett?”
“No, my lady, you are flirting with me.” He hoped that was not pleased surprise he heard in her voice.
“I am not flirting!” She straightened and moved her gaze from his lips to his eyes.
“If you are not, why were you looking at my mouth as though you would like to do more than see if I have all my teeth?”
Good, there was the indignation he preferred. Her hand twitched and he leaned back lest she act on her inclination to slap him.
“You, Mr. Garrett, are the one who is making something of a natural curiosity.”
He laughed. He could not help it. Would she ever say what he expected?
“Very natural,” he agreed, and wished he had disagreed. She leaned closer, her eyes holding his with mesmerizing intensity.
“No.” The word was out of his mouth before she could move nearer. “You have been kidnapped, stripped of your clothes, drugged. All you should be worr
ying about is finding home again.”
“When I was kidnapped I thought I was going to die. I could die in the next minute. How awful to leave this life without ever knowing a man’s kiss.” Her eyes turned her wistful words into a seduction. “One kiss would only take a moment, the barest of moments.”
As she spoke she moved so that her mouth was just a little from his. She must have been counting on pure male instinct to close the distance and make him press his lips to hers. Stop! Stop! His rational mind screamed and still her sweet pink mouth drew him inexorably closer.
Their kiss was the lightest touch, hardly a kiss at all. He had that much self-control. Still, he tasted the sweet and sharp of her, the untouched passion, the soft supple lips that were such a perfect reflection of the body he had held once already.
Begging God for self-control, he resisted the urge for more and drew away.
“Mr. Garrett, that was not a kiss.” It wasn’t criticism so much as disappointment. “The reverend’s nephew did better than that.”
“You told me you’d never been kissed before.”
“I said I had never been kissed by a man. He was sixteen years old.”
“That is quite enough, my lady.” Michael jumped down from the rock, annoyed that he had been tricked into playing her game. “How old are you? You act like a child but behave like a tease. It is not at all becoming.”
Michael took the lead and urged Troy into a walk, surprised when she did not answer him. He let the silence linger.
They had gone a good distance before he heard any sound from her. First a deep quivering sigh followed by a sniff. Damnation, he’d hurt her feelings. He reached into his pocket and handed her his handkerchief without looking up.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He would not weaken.
“I said thank you.” Her voice had an edge to it.
“You are welcome for the handkerchief.”
Another long silence.
“I am twenty.”
“You are not.”
“It’s because I am so short that everyone thinks I am younger. And my brothers. They are always treating me like a child, and sometimes it’s easier to act like one.”
“Because you are then able to have what you want.” Another silence. When it persisted he added, “I told you last night. I have sisters, too.”
Her “Humph” was not a very ladylike sound. “Can we not go faster? I am anxious to reach home. All I want to do is drink some of my best tisane for a sore throat, go to sleep. My feet are—” She stopped abruptly.
“Cold.” He finished the sentence for her. “I am sure if you think awhile you can find a way to blame me for that.” He pulled his gloves off and walked back to Troy. Tugging one foot out from under his greatcoat, he covered her toes with his fur-lined glove.
She tried to pull the foot out of his hand. “What are you doing?”
It wasn’t insult he heard but panic. That damn excuse for a kiss had distracted him. She was not his latest flirt, but a woman who had been through hell.
He steadied Troy with a hand to her neck and wished a woman was as easy to comfort. “I apologize, Lady Olivia. I was putting my gloves on your ice cold feet. They may be ill-fitting but they are fur-lined and should help warm them.”
“All right.” The fear left her voice. “I thought you were mad at me.”
“No, my lady, you were mad at me.” He looked at her for the first time since he had swung her onto the horse. Her tear-streaked face made her look even more vulnerable. He had not thought that was possible. He wanted to cuddle her close and comfort her. Like a wounded puppy, he insisted to his more libidinous self.
He walked around and put the other glove on her left foot. It felt like a chunk of ice. He doubted his gloves would do much good, but they were better than nothing. With Troy’s lead in hand, Michael forged on.
“Do you know where we are, Mr. Garrett?” Her voice was stronger and without any annoyance. “I thought I knew this road. I recognized where we were before, but this does not look familiar at all. I suppose I am not feeling myself just now.”
“I think that’s because three of four trees were brought down by the wind.” Michael knew an apology when he heard one. He smiled to himself. “We are not on the road now, but on a deer track running roughly parallel to it.” He looked back at her and she nodded, the worry fading from her face as she noted the downed trees and began to recognize the landscape.
“We should reach Pennsford and the vicarage soon.”
“Exactly.” He examined the sky. “It will grow colder quickly. Add the rain brewing and it will make night travel a misery.”
By setting a vigorous pace they reached the vicar’s home just as the light faded. Still, they were both cold.
Michael worried anew about Olivia’s health. She was shivering again. Despite her healthy weight and annoying determination, he knew lungs were fragile. He’d seen more than one well-built man succumb to an inflammation and to his eyes Olivia did not look well.
He helped her from the horse and swept her into his arms. Without complaint, Olivia snuggled as close to him as she could. He was relieved when a woman, dressed in black, answered his knock without delay. He was not sure if she was a maid or the housekeeper, too old for one, too young for the other.
The woman’s puzzlement lasted only an instant. “Lollie! What happened?” She did not wait for an answer. “Bring her in immediately. I will light the fire in one of the bedrooms. Was she at the river again?”
“Yes,” both he and Olivia chorused. Olivia started to explain but began to cough. The sound struck fear in his heart.
“I beg you, madam, can we save explanations for later?”
The woman nodded and called a younger maid. Her rapid instructions were given to the wide-eyed girl who ran up the stairs even as the housekeeper added her last direction. “Do find a warming pan for the bed.”
An old man and an even older woman tottered into the hall, both with shawls wrapped around their shoulders. The man still held a newspaper. Reverend Drummond and his sister, Michael assumed.
The housekeeper began to climb the stairs and as Michael followed, the older two trailed behind him making worrisome noises. Miss Drummond asked a string of questions, not all of them pertinent. “What is it, Mrs. Blackford? Who is it? Should we call the surgeon? Who is this gentleman? Where did that greatcoat come from? Why do you smell like smoke? Did the windstorm cause a fire? What happened to Big Sam?”
“Hush, sister,” the old man scolded. “Let Mrs. Blackford do her work. We will have the answers soon enough. For now we should thank this Good Samaritan for rescuing our lost sheep.”
It was a mixed metaphor but Michael appreciated an end to the questions and the fact that the vicar had cast him in such a generous light.
The vicar’s sister did as she was asked, but only after one last question: “Where are her shoes and stockings?”
17
MRS. BLACKFORD OPENED a door and turned around sharply, taking in Olivia’s bare feet and legs. With a suspicious glance his way, she stepped back to allow Michael into the room. The fire was alive. The maid had the covers turned back and was hurrying from the room muttering, “Warming pan and some chicken broth.”
When the old woman made to crowd into the room, the vicar stopped her. “Let us wait out here a moment. Mrs. Blackford will have her settled quickly.”
Michael had Olivia on her feet but still held her, as she was swaying. Behind him the door snapped shut, and with a rustle of skirts Mrs. Blackford came to them.
“Close your eyes,” the housekeeper commanded him.
Michael did as told, neither one of them commenting on what he had already seen.
He’d spied a voluminous nightgown on the bed and within a minute of removing his greatcoat Olivia was wearing it, the nightgown covering her fully, dragging on the floor the way his greatcoat had dragged on the ground. The oatmeal color did nothing for her wan complexion. The bruises on
her throat stood out in contrast.
“Lollie, climb into bed. Or do you want the man to lift you in?”
“No, Annie, I can manage.” She slid between the sheets and sighed. “Please, please, where is Big Sam? I am so worried about him.”
“He was upset. When he realized that you had been taken he ran to the castle and told the duke.”
“Did he tell anyone else?”
“I told him not to. I’m so sorry, Lollie, but I had to slap him. It was an emergency and the only thing I could think of to make him calm down so he would listen.”
Olivia nodded and Michael wondered who this poor soul was.
“He understood that it was important that no one but the duke know that you were gone, probably kidnapped. I have not told anyone else. Not even the vicar or Miss Drummond.”
“But where is he?”
“Out searching for you. I’m not sure what that means to him but he would not wait and do nothing.”
Some kind of companion, Michael surmised. Less than bright, but a lifelong friend of some kind.
“Was he out in that storm, last night? Oh, I hope he found shelter.”
“I am sure that he did, dearest.” The housekeeper took Michael’s greatcoat and handed it to him.
Olivia nodded, not fully convinced. Her nod dissolved into a shiver.
“Some broth and a warming pan are coming as quickly as that girl can make it happen.”
“It’s all right, Annie. Truly. We both know speed is a word unknown in this house.”
Mrs. Blackford laughed and patted Olivia’s hair.
These two were friends, despite the disparity in their stations and age. The housekeeper was at least ten years older than Lady Olivia. Big Sam, Mrs. Blackford, the aging vicar, Reverend Drummond, and his addled sister—Lady Olivia collected misfits. He could fit right in.
Before any more questions could be asked or answered, the door was opened without a knock and the maid, Reverend Drummond and his sister pushed into the room, making the small space as crowded as a field tent on a rainy night. Michael backed up against the wall, folded his arms and watched.
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