Samantha moved stealthily down the hallway and quickly opened the door to Viscount Dixon’s study. The curtains were closed and the room was still dark. She took a deep breath in an attempt to slow her racing heartbeat. If her brother-in-law had chosen to come down early for some reason, to be discovered dressed as she was would mean certain disapproval and an end to her plan of temporary escape. Pausing only to put her feet inside the pilfered boots, she walked on tiptoe to the French doors leading out to the rear garden. Moving as soundlessly as possible, she pulled back the curtains, released the latch and stepped outside. After carefully closing the doors behind her, she covertly made her way down the path that led to the stables.
Upon arriving at the building, she nervously opened one of the side doors. She heard the raised voices of several men in an adjacent room arguing about the care and feeding practices for one of the Viscount’s prized horses. She took advantage of the grooms’ distraction and moved quickly to a nearby stall where she knew Mable, a trusty reliable old mare resided.
Mable was languidly chewing on a clump of hay when Samantha entered her domain. The mare turned an indulgent eye on her and stood still as she placed a saddle on Mabel’s back and then tossed the bridle over her neck; adjusting the iron bit in the mare’s mouth.
Samantha led Mable outside to a nearby tree stump. Using this as a platform to stand on in order to gain the necessary height to allow her to put her leg over the horse’s back, she arranged herself in the saddle, secured the reins in her hands and then nudged the mare’s flanks. Mabel ambled away down the path and the sound of the men’s discussion gradually faded away.
After a few minutes, Samantha became accustomed to the singular sensation of riding a horse astride. She liked the feeling of control when one’s legs were hugging both sides of the animal. She took a deep breath of the cool, crisp morning air and was prepared to enjoy herself on this brief respite away from her meddling, busy-body sister.
She’d gone only a short way when a strong, icy-cold wind rustled the bare branches of the nearby trees. Ahead dark gray clouds marred the sky that had been clear a short time before. Minutes later, fluffy white globs of ice began to obliterate her view of the trail ahead and several snowflakes fluttered down to land upon Samantha’s nose.
She studied the frozen slush as it fell against the branches of the stand of trees in front of her. She deliberated whether she should continue on. She reminded herself that the sky had been clear not long ago. The storm would surely pass in short order. She wouldn’t end her ride so soon after all the trouble she had gone to in order to accomplish it. Samantha urged Mabel on with a stern but soothing tone of voice. She was hopeful the snow wouldn’t last and create only a light dusting of powder on the bleak landscape. The mare responded to her commands at first but as the weather worsened, Mable became more and more intractable until she finally wedged her front hooves into the now snow-covered ground and refused to budge. A moment later, she found herself tossed into the cold, wet slush and she watched as Mabel cantered away from her, back to the warm comfort of the horse stables.
As she peered through the now rapidly falling snow flakes, Samantha sighed with relief. Just ahead of her appeared to be a small cottage. She could vaguely make out dark, painted planks of wood and the outline of a tiny window framed with curtains on the side of the rustic building. The most promising feature was a steady stream of white, puffy smoke escaping from a rotund chimney at the front of the cottage. Someone was inside with a fire burning in the hearth. She could imagine how wonderful the warmth from the flames would feel on her chilled skin.
She took a hasty step forward and then paused. The chances were very good that one of the occupants inside the dwelling would be a man. No lady would inhabit such a lonely place on her own. At present, she was a woman dressed in a man’s outfit. Other than the clothing, she had taken no real pains to make herself look like a true gentleman. If the person inside the building was alone, would she be able to make him believe she was a groom who got lost in the woods? Her teeth began to chatter as a swirling cloud of icy snow whistled past her face and the decision was made for her. She lifted her sodden boots and made her way through the slush to the front porch of the cottage.
A loose floor board on the stairs creaked under her shoes and the front door of the building was thrust open.
“Adrian,” a cultured voice rang out, “I asked you to leave me alone for a few hours!”
Samantha stopped moving and stood on the porch as the owner of the voice stuck his head around the open door.
“I promise to return…uh, sorry, you’re not Adrian.”
Samantha gulped and stiffened in shock as she stared at the tall, handsome young man with thick, tousled black hair, firm chin, high cheekbones and long, aristocratic nose who stood peering out at her as she paused with one foot balanced on the edge of the step. It was the same gentleman who had piqued her interest in London! She was too far away to see the color of the man’s eyes but she knew from the previous memorable encounter with him on the crowded ballroom floor that they were a deep blue. Those same beautiful, haunting eyes now focused on Samantha with a kind of intensity that made her feel cautious and uncertain about her reception. The gentleman was not dressed in the formal attire that she was used to seeing him wear in London. Tight-fitting pantaloons hugged his muscular thighs. His feet were covered in muddied, black boots. He wasn’t wearing a coat; his shirt was unbuttoned at the throat and his cravat was untied, hanging loosely across the front of his broad chest. In one hand, he held what appeared to be an open flask.
“Come in, come in. Don’t dawdle…lad. Warm your frozen bones by the fire.”
Samantha hesitated. Was it possible he remembered seeing her in London? Could he have recognized her through her disguise? She convinced herself that the attraction she felt for the gentleman was certainly one-sided. Granted, he had initially joined the crowd wishing to sign her dance card at the Forester ball. But when he had failed to secure a dance, he had left without attempting any further contact with her. Surely he wouldn’t have cause to question the fact that she was not a groom even in her hurriedly-donned costume? Another cold, wet snowflake lodged itself inside her coat’s collar and she shivered. Logs burned in the hearth and she thought of the comfort the fire would bring to her frozen limbs. There was no possible way she could walk away from his invitation.
Chapter Two
Paul took a hasty sip of brandy.
The lady who had so recently occupied many of his dreams stood in front of him dressed provocatively in men’s pants, a coarse white shirt, floppy hat and rumpled jacket. There was no doubt in his mind. It was Lady Samantha Grayson; the woman he had fantasized about from the first evening he had spotted her across the crowded dance floor in London.
He had a gut feeling that if he let her know he knew who she was, dressed in such a manner, it would embarrass her. There was also a real chance she would turn and run away from him to avoid any further humiliation. He couldn’t have her dashing outside with a good prospect of becoming lost in the woods in this weather. He stood back and opened the cottage door wider.
He forced himself to keep his face devoid of all expression as she moved toward him. In her haste, and no doubt hampered by the large boots she wore on her feet, she pitched forward, landing with a thud against his chest.
He reached out and put his free arm across her back to steady her. He could feel his heart begin to race at the close contact. “Careful…boy, we can’t have you coming to harm as well as catching your death in this snow storm. Sit down by the fire and tell me what you’re doing out in this frigid weather.”
He led her forward into the sparsely decorated room. A dilapidated old sofa faced the fireplace. His discarded coat lay on top of one of the cushions. Three wooden chairs were lined up against the back of the sofa. A small table with the remnants of a mince pie and a loaf of bread, and a small cupboard were the only other pieces of furniture occupying the space.
“Take off the coat and your other wet things. Put them on this chair. I’ll draw it up to the fire. We’ll have them dry in no time. Your boots can probably stand a little warmth as well.” He put the flask on the table and held out his hand as he waited for her to do his bidding. It would be interesting to see how she handled the situation.
She started to remove her hat and then suddenly lowered her arms.
“Come on, lad, you’re not getting any warmer standing there in those wet clothes.”
“I…uh, my ears are cold. I want to leave my hat on,” she answered in a forced, gruff voice.
He stood without moving for a moment after she had spoken. He was debating how compelling he should be with her. Hopefully she wouldn’t catch a chill by leaving the sodden garment on her head. But then again, she probably knew if he saw her long hair, he would realize she was a woman. He cleared his throat as an image of long, auburn tresses flowing down across Lady Samantha’s back came to mind. “Uh…suit yourself, boy. Hand me your coat and gloves then.”
Gingerly, she pulled the loose-fitting, wet garment from her shoulders and handed it to him. Then she turned away to yank the gloves off. She dropped them to the floor and stuffed her bare hands into the side pockets of her pants. “My boots are fine.”
Paul looked away from her to hide his sudden grin. He had glimpsed her small, feminine hands just before she tucked them in her pants. He imagined she had stuffed something inside the boots to make them fit better. That explained her refusal to hand them over to him.
He draped the coat over the back of one of the chairs and moved it closer to the fire. Then he picked the gloves up off the floor and tossed them onto the hearth. He placed the other two chairs at the table. He imagined she was hungry. “Sit down, lad and help yourself to what’s left of my mince pie. There’s a piece of bread too.”
She walked toward him, nodding her head in an effort to keep the floppy hat down low on her forehead almost covering her eyes. “No, thank you, sir, I’m not hungry.”
“Have a sip of brandy then. It will warm your insides.” He thrust his open flask under her nose.
She didn’t answer and made no move to touch the container. He assumed she was trying to keep her replies to a minimum as well as continuing to hide her hands from his sight.
“Look, I need to go outside for a moment and check on my horse. He’s in a small, covered shed out back. Help yourself to whatever you want.” He capped the flask and dropped it onto the table. Then he went to retrieve his coat. There was no way she would eat or drink anything as long as he hovered nearby.
“Sh…should I come out and help?”
“No, no, I simply want to make certain he is comfortable. It wasn’t snowing when I arrived. You stay here. Eat something and get those clothes dry.”
The back door squeaked on its hinges as he yanked it open and stepped outside. Cold, wet snowflakes obliterated his view. He made his way to the shed and found his large, black stallion Cornelius munching on a pile of hay.
The horse stopped eating and raised his head to study him with what he imagined was a look bordering on indignation. Cornelius would take him to the ends of the earth with no complaint, but being housed in this rickety outbuilding in the middle of a snowstorm was substantially beneath his horse’s dignity. He spotted an old blanket hanging on a peg in the corner of the room, spread it open and tossed it over Cornelius’ back.
“There, that should keep you warm. The storm shouldn’t last too long.”
The horse snorted and turned his attention back to his food. Paul chuckled and patted the horse’s thick mane before turning back to the cottage.
“Whoa, boy, be careful how much you swallow of that brandy,” he called out from the doorway as he heard Lady Samantha begin to cough. She put the stopper back in and dropped the flask onto the table. She stood and turned her back on him as she continued to choke.
“A couple good wallops should set you to rights.” He couldn’t resist striding across the room and thumping her on her back.
“Th…thank you, sir, I’m fine now,” she replied hoarsely. Her coughing subsided. She wiped her eyes and stuffed her hands back into the pants’ pockets before turning around to face him once again.
“It appears you haven’t been around liquor too often in your life. How old are you, boy?” He was curious to see how she would answer his question.
“Tw…twenty-four,” she mumbled.
“You’re small for your age. I would have guessed you were younger.” He answered her straightforwardly as something told him she had given him her true age. “Look, it’s still snowing outside. We’re going to be here for a while. We might as well keep each other company. Have a seat. What’s your name, lad?”
“Sama…Sam,” she muttered as she sat on the battered sofa.
Paul moved one of the chairs close to her, sat down and faced the fire, inwardly amused by Lady Samantha’s quick-thinking adjustment to her name. “My name is Paul. This is the game keeper’s cottage on my brother’s property Burton Keep. The man has gone away for a few days to visit his sister for the holidays.”
She remembered something he had mentioned earlier. “Is your brother’s name Adrian?”
His eyebrows raised in surprise. “How did you know that, Sam?”
His name was Paul. She could clearly see his deep blue eyes that were framed by thick black lashes. That meant he had a clear view of her face as well. She lowered her head under the floppy hat and spoke in as deep a voice as possible. “You said something about Adrian leaving you alone for a few hours when I arrived.”
“Oh, yes, I had forgotten. When I heard footsteps outside I assumed it was my brother coming to pester me.”
“Why would Adrian want to annoy you?”
He sighed before he spoke.
“My brother is Adrian Russell, Marquess of Burton. Adrian recently married Lady Rebecca Hastings of Amersham. Rebecca was a childhood friend of both myself and my brother. Her father is the Earl of Winton. Our father is the Duke of Haverston. We grew up on neighboring estates.”
The heat from the fire began to warm the skin on her chilled face. She was conscious of the smell of the leather on the boots as the sodden surface began to dry. She scrunched her wedged toes inside of the shoes and was gratified to discover they felt almost normal once more. Even though the brandy had made her cough, it certainly helped to lessen her sense of apprehension. She was relaxed and less concerned about the precariousness of her position. “Your brother and Lady Rebecca are married, Lord Paul?” she asked, peeping out at him from under her hat while still remembering to disguise her voice.
Paul frowned down at her. “Let’s do away with the title, lad. There is no need to be formal in this situation we find ourselves in.” He paused and ran a hand through his hair and pursed his full lips before answering her question. “Yes, they are. That’s why I’m here hiding from Adrian and Rebecca. They were married three years ago right after Christmas and are now expecting their first child. They are both giddy with happiness and want the same bliss for me. Adrian has informed me they intend to host a party soon after the New Year and invite all the eligible ladies and their families from neighboring estates. Adrian and Rebecca are very hopeful I will meet my true love at the event.”
Her heart beat rapidly as his words resonated in her mind. He was in the same situation she herself was in; well-meaning family members were attempting to force him into marriage so that he could hopefully experience the same state of euphoria they themselves had found. Didn’t they understand it wasn’t that easy to stumble upon someone you could fall in love with? That it wasn’t something to be pressured into?
“W…was their betrothal something planned in their youth?” She asked gruffly.
“No, not at all; Adrian and I both looked upon Rebecca with sisterly affection for most of our youth.” The flames from the roaring fire reflected with a golden glow on Paul’s forehead and created shadows on the sculpted, curved angles of his cheek
s. “I believe Adrian fell in love with Rebecca after he spent some time with other young ladies in London. He informed me that no woman could compare to Rebecca before he left for Cambridge that summer.” He paused as a gust of wind rattled the front door. “I should check on the weather.”
He stood up and walked to the front window. He pulled back the curtain and studied the outdoors intently for a few moments. “There are only a few flakes falling at present. We should be able to return soon if the storm is truly over. By the way, Sam, I never asked where you came from. Were you walking? I assume you’re in Viscount Dixon’s employ?”
She didn’t answer him at first while she went over her options in her mind. It was imperative that he not discover her true identity. Should she tell him she worked on another estate? The problem was, she wasn’t familiar with the area and didn’t know other family names. And she must rely on him to see her back to her sister’s home. Without a horse of her own, she had no choice. “Y…yes, I am. I…I was exercising a horse when the storm began. The mare took exception to the weather and dumped me in the snow.”
“Will you be missed? Will someone be sent to search for you?”
She couldn’t help but shiver as a vision of her brother-in-law riding up to the cottage inquiring after her came to mind. How awkward that situation would be! She crossed her fingers inside her pants’ pockets as she answered, “No, no, they will assume I found shelter.”
“What about the horse?”
“The mare is old and very set in her ways. I’m sure she has returned to the stables.”
“Very well,” he placed another log on the fire and then moved toward the table.
She covertly studied him as he picked up the flask. He took a swig of the brandy before turning around and offering the container to her. She lowered her head as she mumbled a refusal.
“We were discussing Adrian and Rebecca’s joyful union. As I mentioned, their own happiness gives them license to wish the same for me. So here I am hiding away from their good intentions. What about you, lad? Do you have any well-meaning family members who are attempting to force you to settle down?”
Better than a Present Page 2
