But, with Lucas struggling to free himself, this was not the moment for such reflections. He must be dealt with at once. Richard did not want him to cause trouble for the Payleys.
“If he has broken anything,” Richard said, holding on while Lucas swung his arms in futile circles, “you may put it on my bill."
Mr. Croft seemed stunned. “Ye needn't pay for anything, Mr. Lint. I'd be dashed before I'd dun the Squire.
“Besides—” he shrugged—"Lucas does the same nearly once a fortnight. Every time Miss Selina pays him a bit."
Richard ignored the last part of Mr. Croft's speech long enough to note his generosity. It was clear that his declining to charge the Payleys stemmed from affection and respect. They might not have been so fortunate, and he found himself comforted by the knowledge that they were.
“Well,” he said, absorbing the last bit of Mr. Croft's speech as well, “if this is a common occurrence, what do you normally do with him?"
“I gets ‘im home. Either me or one of the neighbors."
Richard thought, and quickly decided. “Would you like me to take him?"
Mr. Croft stared with a question behind his eyes, but Richard could see that he welcomed the offer.
“I do not care for the thought of burdening Miss Payley with him at this hour, no matter how often she has been before,” Richard said to explain himself.
Mr. Croft cocked a speculative brow his way. “That's the right of it, sir, as I've been saying to the wife many a time this past two year. It's time Miss Selina had some help about the place. And I mean,” he said in a weighted tone, “some'at more than just another hand.
“She needs a good husband to take the load off her back. And The Grange—” Mr. Croft gave him an ingenuous wink—"you might not think much about it, seeing as how it's looking a bit rough about the edges, but it's a fine piece of property, sir. Them cherries she grows, they'll—"
Getting the drift of Mr. Croft's meaning, Richard decided to cut him off, no matter how well-intentioned his remarks. “That's quite all right. Now, if you will just harness up your gig, I shall unburden myself of this—"
Seeing that Richard meant to throw Lucas over his shoulder, Mr. Croft rushed to hold the door, and Richard was not obliged to finish his sentence. Not that he could have finished it very well with the dead weight of a man on his back.
For, as soon as Richard had heaved him onto his back, all the fight had gone out of Lucas, and Richard's back had screamed in protest.
Grunting, not so much from the weight, as from his aching muscles, Richard strode to the yard, bent nearly in half. Afraid that once he put Lucas down, he might not be able to lift him again, he stood and waited for Mr. Croft to hitch the horse to a cart. No doubt the beast was as resentful as Richard had been to be roused from his bed at this hour. They had both put in enough work for one day, and the beast, unlike Richard, had no ulterior motive in mind.
Or not ulterior, Richard admitted, grinning to himself, for the promise of seeing Selina in her wrapper—a sleepy, grateful Selina—was very much at the forefront of his brain.
And he was not disappointed. When he arrived at The Grange, his loud knocks roused her, and she came rushing down in an ancient négligée clasped about her sleeping garb. Her rich, brown hair hung loose down her back, falling almost to her waist. The anxious expression with which she opened the door vanished from her face as soon as she spied Richard under his burden.
“Richard!” she cried, her voice full of shock.
No “Mr. Lint” this time, he noted with satisfaction. She must have been thinking of him to change her habits so soon.
“What are you doing with Lucas?"
“Retrieving him, like a good hunting dog.” He was beginning to feel like a dog, all bent over at the waist. “Where do you wish me to put him?"
She backed, saying quickly, “His room is on the second floor, but you must not—"
“Show me the way.” Not lingering for her directions, Richard headed for the stairs, eager to make the two flights and drop the corpse.
Making the slow but steady progress of an overloaded cart, Richard could hear Selina skipping nervously in his wake. Her anxious flutterings to left and right behind him brought a smile to his lips, just as the knowledge that he was alone with her heated his blood. He had not disturbed Augustus with his knock, nor was Lucas in any shape to act as chaperon.
“You should put him down. Just put him here on the stairs, and he can waken in the morning and get himself into bed. Richard—” Selina skipped to the other side, but his bulk still blocked her way—"can you hear me? I insist that you put him down at once. I should thrash him—and I shall thrash him soundly for causing you this inconvenience. Lucas, you are worse than Nero!"
This tirade went on until he reached the first landing and interrupted her. “Where are the servants’ stairs?"
“They are down the hall to your left, but you will oblige me very much if you will put him down here at once."
“And litter your stairs?” Richard turned left and proceeded on his way. “Leave him for someone to trip over? I don't think that would be wise."
“And, pray, who would trip over him? I am not running an hotel. Richard, I think you are ignoring me."
“Not at all.” He cast a glance back at her under his arm, but his burden shifted and he nearly lost it. “I am enjoying your company far too much. But you would be even more useful, if you could spring ahead and open his door."
At the second landing, Richard pressed himself aside so Selina could squeeze past him. She did so, muttering under her breath, “...more stubborn than Caesar...."
Selina's grumbling left him grinning from ear to ear, even though he had not found her more docile in the night. He ought to have known better, he told himself. But at least, she had compared him to the bull and not the pig.
And she was doing as he'd requested long enough to push open the rickety door at the end of the corridor and to turn back Lucas's covers.
With a grunt of relief, Richard heaved the dead weight off his shoulder and onto the bed. Lucas's head flopped down onto the pillow. His mouth fell open and he snored.
“Well, I am certainly glad you are getting such a good night's sleep—” Selina's angry voice came from the foot of the bed—"I am sure Mr. Lint would be devastated to think he had disturbed your peace."
Richard straightened his back, taking care not to wrench it with a sudden motion. Finding his aching muscles no better than they should be, he stood very slowly. But, as he turned and found her struggling to take off Lucas's boots, he quickly intervened.
“Why not leave that to me?” he said, taking her by the shoulders and urging her gently towards the door.
“But I always put him to bed when he comes home like this."
Richard could see that she would not relinquish her responsibility unless he gave her something else to do. He refrained from kissing her, which had been his first impulse on touching her thusly, and said regretfully instead, “Why do you not go down to the kitchen and put a kettle on for tea. I find I could use a cup."
“Your poor back,” Selina recalled, a sympathetic look disturbing her lovely face. “Does it hurt too dreadfully?"
“No.” What hurt most at the moment was not his back, but Richard reprimanded himself. He had let a momentary fantasy run away with him. “I find that carrying a snoring corpse up two flights of stairs has done wonders for my spine."
The look of confusion she gave him was almost too much for his resistance, but he turned her towards the stairs and gave her another gentle push. “I shall join you in a moment."
Closing the door with a determined sigh, he reminded himself of his duplicity. It would be the height of dishonor to take advantage of a helpless maid, and Selina, for all her bravery and capability was helpless in that respect. Still, for all his self-confessed hopes, he had not realized that the sight of her in her night-rail would drive him to quite this level of desire.
The smell o
f stale gin recalled him to his present task, and woke him to the squalor of Lucas's room, which was littered with unlaundered garments. It appeared the man was as much a sloth in his personal habits as he was on the job.
Feeling much more fastidious than he had when dealing with Nero, Richard quickly relieved Lucas of his boots, then pulled the coverlets around him. Whether deserved or not, the cold could not be allowed to sicken him.
A few minutes later, Richard found Selina in the kitchen with the fire warmly stoked and a kettle put on to boil. He was not used to drinking tea at this hour and would have preferred a nip of brandy instead, but he hoped he had forestalled the offer of a glass of cherry wine.
Selina had had time to recover from her anger and to let modesty intrude. She greeted him shyly, her long lashes cloaking the embarrassment in her eyes.
If Richard had thought that the sight of Selina aroused to fury was like a blow to his chest, he discovered now how great a kick she could deliver when shy. The warm firelight bathed her in its gentle glow. It was all Richard could do not to cross the room and take her into his arms.
Fighting this improper thought, which must be carefully analyzed before it ruled his behavior, he turned his back to the fire, welcoming its heat on his aching muscles.
“I have some liniment, if you...."
“No—” he nearly choked at the image her words had raised, even though he knew it to be the result of false hopes. Selina was not offering to apply the liniment herself.
“No, thank you, I am perfectly fine,” he said. “I shall not be staying long, just a minute to catch my breath."
“I should thank you, I know, for troubling yourself over Lucas, but you truly should not. Mr. Croft would have taken care of him."
“I know. He was ready to do so until I offered to take his place."
“You did?” Selina whispered softly. “You have been very kind. Much too kind."
“No, I haven't.” As Richard waved her gratitude away, he decided he had best give in to his grievances than to his more pressing desires. “I have done what any gentleman would do when faced with the evidence of your distress.
“I cannot imagine,” he continued irritably, “why you would put up with such a wastrel as Lucas, when you need a much more capable servant."
Selina's chin jerked up. “I put up with him because at least he will do some of what I need, and there is no one else around."
“No one else? You mean, no one better to employ?” He shook his head. “I cannot believe that. I'm afraid you have given in to pity. You keep him on for fear of what will become of him."
“No, you are wrong.” He had truly raised her ire now, as her flashing eyes told him. “The reason I keep him has nothing at all to do with pity. I would abandon him in a trice if I could afford someone else.” The force of her words seemed to take her aback. She lowered her eyes. “Well, perhaps not that quickly. But it is true that I would prefer practically anyone to Lucas.
“You see,” she admitted, with a twist to her lips, “I cannot truly afford to pay anyone at all, although I can feed Lucas and give him a roof over his head, which no one else seems willing to do. And, in exchange, I at least get some work out of him, as well as the appearance of having a servant, which lends us propriety."
The very notion that Lucas might lend propriety to such a fine lady made Richard balk. “You should get far more from him than that. And I doubt that you need his chaperonage, if that is what you mean by propriety, when you have the deep respect of the entire village."
Selina's expression softened. Her eyes filled, and her lips, if Richard could only taste them, plumped like luscious fruit. “The villagers have been kind. They refuse to accept that we have lost whatever respect our family once deserved."
“You mustn't speak like that. Not in my hearing.” Now Richard was angry—with Selina for saying such things, and with himself for being so powerless to help her. “You deserve far more than they give you."
“Why?"
“For going it alone. For facing every day as bravely as a soldier. A most beautiful soldier at that.”
Selina blushed, and he bit back further words. Get a grip on yourself, Richard, he told himself. Stop interjecting worthless compliments.
If he were not careful, he would frighten Selina into silence, and above all, he wanted to know more so he could help her.
Changing the subject abruptly, he said, “Augustus spoke of his hopes of going to Eton and Cambridge."
She turned away and noisily cleared her throat. “Yes, he is a bright student. The vicar insists he will do well as a scholar."
“Yet Augustus tells me there is some impediment to his being accepted."
There. It was better to come out with it directly than to beat about the bush any longer.
Selina had turned a shade paler under his assault, and Richard admitted to himself there had been something confrontational in his tone.
“Yes,” she said, meeting his gaze head on with a proud glance. “My father was accused of cheating at cards when he was at Cambridge.” She waited for his reaction, but when none was forthcoming, she went on, “The matter was never resolved, and, so, he was expelled. Unfortunately, his masters at Eton were informed. Mr. Newman, our vicar, says it will be useless for Augustus to apply under his name."
It had been easy for Richard to keep a bland expression, for he had suspected something as bad as this. All he cared about at the moment was that she had trusted him enough to tell him about her father's disgrace.
Unless, he reminded himself, she simply could not withstand his challenge to her pride, which was more than likely.
“Which is why you applied to take the name Trevelyan,” he remarked.
Selina started. Her eyes grew round. Richard felt a breath of suspicion drifting past the nape of his neck.
“I did not think I had mentioned any name,” she said.
Chapter Seven
Selina stared at Richard, who seemed to have frozen. He blinked once, then twice, before he finally said, “Yes, you did. Though earlier, when I first arrived. You presented yourself as Selina Trevelyan."
His tone was perfectly firm, but Selina could have sworn something had discomfited him. Distracted by more pressing concerns, however, she waved that thought away.
“So I did,” she admitted ruefully. “And it seems I did so very foolishly, as things turn out, for our application was denied."
Richard stared at her silently. Long enough for Selina to fear she had disgusted him with her troubles. She ought never to have blurted them out, but the truth was she had half wondered how he would react to her father's story. Would he be quick to turn his back on them both?
Her heart beat stronger as he took a step nearer. She could feel the comforting warmth of his presence.
“Augustus is a fine chap,” Richard said. His strangely hesitant note seemed to make the air move between them. “Much more deserving than half the boys at Eton. Is there anything I can do to see that he succeeds?”
His offer poured warmth inside her, like a strong cup of tea spreading swiftly through her veins. It weakened her at the knees, making her long to lay all her troubles before him.
But that would be a mistake. She could not inflict all her woes upon a man, even so kind a man as Richard, without running him off.
And, she remembered suddenly, she had forgotten entirely about his tea.
Tossing him a flustered smile, she hurried past him and swept the boiling kettle from the fire. He seemed taken aback, until he saw what she was about, when he insisted upon taking the heavy kettle from her hands as if she did not lift things far bigger every day.
Pouring the water into the pot she held for him, Richard frowned, deep in thought. This shared task brought their heads together. From no more than a foot away, Selina studied the light flickering over his sculpted features, the glint of its reflection in his dark, wavy hair, the strong curve of his lips. A tingling sensation, as if the world were trembling beneath he
r feet, made her rock towards him.
All at once, he seemed aware of her scrutiny. His eyes met hers. The gleam in their blue depths threatened to take her breath away.
His gaze fell to the front of her night-rail. Selina felt a responsive surge before she recalled with a flash of shame, how grossly improper this all was.
She quickly turned away and bustled about the room, noisily fetching cups and saucers and milk. Richard was watching her. She could feel his gaze between her shoulder blades. She could almost imagine the fun that would be in his eyes; but then he cleared his throat—a sound of strangulation, not amusement—and she dared hope he had been as unsettled by their proximity as she had.
“You were about—” he spoke firmly behind her—"to tell me what I could do to help."
She threw him a challenging glance. “I was?"
He grinned and nodded.
Just one look at his grin, and Selina knew the truth. More than anything else on earth, she did want this man to share her troubles.
“I—” she faltered under the enormity of that thought —"You are very kind, but I—"
“Why do you not tell me the basis for your claim?” he suggested gently. “Perhaps, on a legal issue such as that, I might be able to shed some light."
Yes. Of course. Selina wondered that she hadn't thought of this herself. With so little money to support them, she had not dared to seek the advice of a solicitor, but Richard might well know more than she about matters of the law.
He might even be a solicitor, for all she knew.
Dismissing this notion as highly unlikely, she nodded her agreement and stepped over to her mother's chest.
Richard waited in suspense while she searched its contents. At last, he would see what he had come for. He was surprised when she returned with nothing more than a faded scrap of blue paper. Selina handed it to him, and he glanced at it no more than a second before raising his eyes.
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