by Arnette Lamb
“Aye.” She sighed, as forlorn as Hannah at bedtime. “One of us came very close to death last night.”
In the course of the discussion, they had traded roles. Now it was Edward’s turn to bolster her confidence. Her statement about one of them almost dying surely applied to him, for she’d returned to the tower and stayed there, safe with his children and Auntie Loo.
“I feel very much alive today, Agnes, and you are the reason.”
The tether of passion grew taut between them, and with slight effort, he pulled her against his chest. Her lashes were long and golden brown, a perfect contrast to the darker hue of her eyes. But within their depths he saw a battle raging, an all-out war between denial and desire.
She did not pull away, and with a look, he dared her to.
Quietly, she said, “ ’Tis natural to feel confident after an escape with death.”
Entranced and determined to see passion prevail, he leaned down until they were nose to nose. “If this is confidence, the world has gone flat.” Licking his lips, he added, “I feel at harmony.” Then he touched his mouth to hers.
She resisted valiantly until he eased his tongue between her lips and traced the sweet slickness there. Breathing faster, she opened for him, and when he deepened the kiss, her body stiffened with a last attempt to refuse him. But his need for her was greater than her will to resist him, and one blessed moment later, she gave him her slight weight and sent her hands on a mission of their own.
“More,” he whispered.
In a featherlight stroke, she dragged her palms up his arms, only to pause to caress his neck and thread her fingers through his hair; then she splayed her hands and began a slow journey down his chest. Even with a barrier of clothing in the way, her touch started his skin to tingling. Other regions of his body reacted more urgently to her tender touch. A fire raged in his loins, and to cool the heat, he cupped her shapely bottom and undulated against her.
“More, still,” he encouraged her.
Her purring surrender harmonized with his growl of victory. She did want him; her body sang to him in a tone only he could hear. Aching to get closer, he lifted her and wound her legs around his hips. At the first brush of their bodies, his knees grew weak and his head spun with lust.
He must find a place, carry her there, strip off her clothing and his, and drive their demons away. But he couldn’t get enough of kissing and exploring her. He cupped a breast, and the pillowy softness swelled in his palm, the sensitive nipple pebbling at his touch. Wild cravings surged inside him, and she felt those yearnings, too, for she darted her tongue into his mouth and began a seduction that he was tempted to finish here and now.
Breaking the kiss, he peered into her passion-flushed face and thought he might drown in the depths of her need.
Suddenly alert, she tipped her head. “Someone comes.”
“Who?”
“Mrs. Johnson.”
Edward hadn’t expected an answer, he’d asked the question impulsively. He tried to hear the sound of approaching footfalls; only hunger buzzed in his ears.
“Take your hand off my breast and let me go.” Her ragged breathing belied the soft command.
To prove she wanted him still, he lightly rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Her teeth closed over her bottom lip, and her head lolled to her shoulder.
He heard sounds in the hall. Cursing to himself, he moved his hand to her throat. A pretty groan of complaint vibrated against his fingers, and he entertained the idea of bolting the door and tasting Agnes MacKenzie’s every delight.
But she had mastered herself. As agile as a yearling doe, she eased her legs to the floor, righted her clothing, and gave the belt a hard tug. “Wretch.”
“You are not angry at me. You want me, and your belly aches with it.” He reached to touch her there.
“Nay.” She darted back, glanced past him, and smiled. “Mrs. Johnson. Good morning to you.”
Hazel entered the room, a small covered basket in her hands. “ ’Tis the surprise you asked for, my lord. It took a little longer than I thought.”
Thank the saints, she hadn’t come upon them sooner. Taking the basket, he held it above Agnes’s head. “Can you guess what it is?”
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Oatcakes?”
Edward gave her high marks, for she’d recovered her composure quicker than he expected. Certainly quicker than he had.
“You win the prize.” He lowered his arm.
She peeked under the cloth. “Hoots! The farrier and his wife have arrived from Whitburn. You remembered.”
Her joy was contagious, and Edward couldn’t keep himself from smiling. The tightness in his groin eased to a manageable ache. “Yes. He came highly recommended, as did his wife.”
“I’m flattered, my—” She hesitated and reached into the basket. “Thank you, my lord.”
Damn her for a strong-willed wench, and pity him for wanting her so.
Hazel gave a diplomatic cough. “I’ll be off to the market forbye, my lord.” She was dressed for the outing, wearing her best shoes, her frilly bonnet, and the new umbrella hooked over her arm. “The farrier’s wife offered to watch the children this morning. She wasn’t blessed with wee ones of her own.”
Lady Agnes bent to retrieve her pomander from the floor. “I’ll watch them.” In as smooth a retreat as he’d ever seen, she took the basket and eased around him. “I’m certain you have other things to do.”
“Aye,” he grumbled, watching her leave. “ ’Tis a passion of mine, finishing every task I begin.”
“Task?” She stopped and turned. He knew he’d misspoken.
Innocence wreathed her exquisite features. “Task,” she repeated. “Sounds loathsome. I much prefer—”
“My choice of words was poor.”
Unmoved, she went on as if he hadn’t interrupted her. “I much prefer to admit when I’ve overreached myself and try my fortunes elsewhere. Taskmasters can be so tiresome.”
The cryptic words inflamed him. Hazel was absorbed in Lady Agnes’s unusual attire. With more force than was necessary and less than he wanted, Edward said, “Be dressed and ready to leave for the mill at one o’clock.”
She waved with her fingertips. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you waiting.” Louder, she said, “Thank you again, Mrs. Johnson.”
Hazel chuckled. “Didn’t take her ladyship long to know that you put a high price on punctuality. The MacKenzies are also known for their love of a good jest. Fine family, the MacKenzies of Ross.”
His cook had fallen victim to the charming Agnes MacKenzie, a simple task and a bleaker thought.
“I hope you will find that Mrs. Borrowfield,” Hazel said. “She ought to be made to pay for foisting herself off as quality service.”
Edward put aside troublesome thoughts about his houseguest. “We’ll find her.”
Hugging an arm to her waist, she straightened. “Aye, sir.”
He showed her to the door and ushered her out first. “Ask one of the guards to go with you. I’ll entertain no discussion to the contrary.”
As they walked toward the door leading to the carriage house, she shook her head. “Wretched times when a noble gentleman and his house ain’t safe. What’s it come to, my lord?”
“Nothing for you to worry about. ’Tis a puzzle that we’ll solve. Then everything will return to normal, and we’ll lament our ordinary lives.”
She lifted her gaze to the ceiling. “Praise it be so.”
His household had seen their share and more of upheaval since the day Elise had sailed to Boston. Until now, the mourning had been the worst. After that, a string of unacceptable housekeepers and nannies had disrupted the household. But Hazel and Bossy had made every adjustment.
For Edward, Agnes MacKenzie had chased the loneliness from Napier House. Keeping her here was fast becoming a course to consider. He thought of the afternoon to come, and wondered if she would dare to be late.
* * *
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Holding Hannah’s hand and hiding a smile of satisfaction, Agnes took her time descending the stairs. Fashions of the day were unsuited to the narrow doorways in the tower, so she kept her gowns in the room in the new wing that she had first occupied at Napier House. “I hope we haven’t kept you gentlemen waiting?”
Lord Edward reached for the door. “Not at all.”
“But, Father, you said they’d fuss—”
“Not now, Christopher.”
Agnes wanted to laugh, but Hannah, entranced with the new carpet, jumped down the stairs with both feet, one step at a time. “Stop that, Hannah,” she said. “Watch where you’re going or you’ll hurt yourself.”
She stopped but tried to pull her hand away. When Agnes resisted, the girl tugged hard. Agnes winced.
“Hannah!” her father shouted. Dashing up the stairs, he scooped the girl into his arms. “You know that Lady Agnes has a hurt, and you mustn’t pull her arm.”
“I was hurting your arm?” Hannah asked, her eyes round with worry.
Lord Edward hefted the girl to his hip.
“Nay.” Agnes straightened the girl’s dress so it covered her knees. At Hannah’s age, Agnes had had three siblings. As a consequence she’d seldom enjoyed her father’s undivided attention. But she had three wonderful sisters, and her life was rich with love and friendship. “I’m fine, truly.”
Lord Edward didn’t look convinced. “I thought we agreed that you would keep your arm in the sling.”
She’d forgotten it, but wasn’t about to tell him that. If kissing her was a task, she’d make sure he didn’t get close enough to do it again. “None of them matched my dress.”
“I see.”
Had he asked, she would gladly have told him that he couldn’t see past his own nose. “Are we off then?”
He leaned back and gave her a thorough examination. “Your gown, my lady. Would you proclaim that color blue or green?”
Wary of his sly tone, she chose a neutral answer. “Both, my lord. Or either.”
“Her petticoat’s blue,” piped Hannah.
Christopher made a bitter face and huffed in embarrassment. Lord Edward lifted his brows, but the gleam in his eyes boded ill. “Then we can assume that is what took you so long.”
“So long?”
The focus of his attention moved to her breasts, which were only modestly displayed. His smile was pure devilry. “You’re seven minutes tardy, but ’twas certainly worth the wait.”
“We watched the clock,” Christopher said proudly.
Uncomfortable beneath Lord Edward’s scrutiny, she gave him a fake smile. “Then perhaps you should turn your attention to opening the door.”
“How kind of you to remind me.”
He opened the door and waved them out. The guard helped her and Hannah into the carriage; Lord Edward spoke briefly to the driver, then sat with Christopher on the facing seat.
Judging from the high quality of the Napiers’ clothing, Agnes thought Lord Edward must keep the best fabric from the looms for his own family. He wore a jacket and breeches of dove gray linen and black knee boots. His shirt and fancy neckcloth were of white silk. The subdued colors suited perfectly his reputation as a scholar and a statesman; but the bright yellow waistcoat gave him a dashing air. He carried his high-crowned hat, and his hair was unpowdered and clubbed at his nape with a black ribbon.
During that last explosive kiss, Agnes had plunged her hands into his hair and crushed the wavy strands between her fingers. Her stomach still floated at the memory.
To banish the feeling, she smoothed her gloves and broached a congenial subject. “How many people do you employ at the mill?”
“I know,” piped Christopher.
Splendid. She preferred the lad to his despicable father.
“May I tell her, Father?”
“Of course.”
Behaving very much like Agnes’s sister Sarah had as a child, Christopher cleared his throat and lifted his chin. “On any given day, we employ one thousand people.” He spoke with pride and confidence. “And that doesn’t count the carters and the cooks and the chimney sweeps.”
Agnes fought the urge to peek at Lord Edward. The attention belonged to Christopher. “You serve your workers a meal?” she asked.
“Aye.” His voice broke. “We try our utmost to engage the labor of families.”
She did look at Lord Edward. “The children work?”
“Nay,” he said with no small measure of sarcasm. “They go to school”
“I forgot to say that we employ a teacher.”
Agnes felt a grudging respect for Edward Napier, but textile mills were notorious for exploiting laborers and enriching the purses of the owners. However, Lord Edward was held in high regard by academics and nobility alike. She hoped to find proof of his humanity in the mill that bore the family name.
“Christopher,” she said. “Are there modern machines in the mill?”
The boy fairly beamed. “Oh, aye. Mr. Watt visited himself. But soon Papa’s machine will make the Newcomen steam engine look like a plow horse standing beside a racing steed.”
Watt’s invention had revolutionized every industry from coal to textiles. “Will it, my lord?” she asked.
“Those are Mayor Arkwright’s words, not mine.”
“Then how would you phrase it?”
“In less than entertaining terms, to be sure. The new engine is far from perfection.”
He was resisting the subject, which was odd to Agnes. Lord Edward wasn’t shy in the least. “I cannot be sure until I hear the words.”
He stared out the window and nodded to a passerby. “The engine will allow us to spin thread from raw cotton, rather than import ready-wound spools from India.”
Christopher added, “At a substantial savings all the way ’round.”
Agnes had her answer. “So, my lord, greater profit is at the heart of your modernization.”
He didn’t like her conclusion, for his mouth tightened with anger. “ ’Tis better said that independence is the genesis of my efforts. No longer will the Napier mill be dependent on foreign sources. But also my conscience wants to aid the poor Indians who labor under unspeakable conditions to spin the thread.”
The carriage rolled to a stop, and when Agnes realized their destination, she thought Edward Napier a scoundrel. “Oh, the modiste.” She plucked at the lace on her bodice. “Settling a friend’s account?”
“I’ll only be moment,” he murmured ruefully, donning his hat.
Christopher gaped. “A ladies shop? Must I go in there, Father?”
“And leave Lady Agnes unattended? Not the gentlemanly thing to do.”
The boy pressed against the carriage seat and folded his arms over his chest. “I’ll stay and attend Lady Agnes.”
“Will you, lad?”
The boy kept his composure, but his eyes shone with relief. “Aye, Father. I insist on doing the proper thing.”
Lord Edward stepped out and motioned for Hannah to follow him. “Will you come with me, Button?”
Squealing, she nearly flew from the carriage and lunged into his arms. Her whistle clipped his chin.
What mischief was he about? Agnes learned the answer a short time later, when he strolled from the establishment with Hannah perched on his hip. The girl clutched a package in her hands.
Christopher was just finishing his explanation of how his mother had died at sea.
Opening the door, Edward whispered something to Hannah.
“ ’Twill?” she piped.
He put her on the seat beside Agnes. “I’m completely certain of it, Button.”
The girl looked at Agnes, smiled, and handed her the package. “ ’S’for you.”
He was lower than a badger’s belly to use these children to his own selfish ends. But they were innocent and deserved the best that Agnes had to give. She untied the string and opened the package. Folded neatly inside were two lengths of blue silk in a shade suspiciously close t
o that of her petticoat.
As if it were a revelation, Hannah turned up her hands and lifted her shoulders. “ ’S’one for you. One for me.”
His lordship was obviously trying to make amends for his boldness in the music room. It was beautiful cloth, and she had played a role in letting the kiss get out of control. But the feelings he inspired went beyond her experience, and their situation defied convention.
Hannah leaned over and put her face very close to Agnes’s. “ ’S’pretty?”
“Aye, and ’tis very thoughtful of you both.” As she kissed Hannah’s forehead, she stole a glance at Lord Edward. Giving her a challenging look, he touched his finger to his cheek.
Ignoring him, she gave Hannah the smaller length of cloth. “What shall we make of these, bows for our hair?”
“A sling for both of you,” said Lord Edward, taking the smaller of the cloths from Hannah. To Agnes, he said, “You forgot yours.”
Keeping her temper in check, Agnes watched him deftly tie a knot to fashion the sling, then slip it over Hannah’s head. The girl cooed and squirmed with pleasure, which his lordship encouraged with quips about how well the girl behaved and how pretty she was.
“Button,” he said, tucking Hannah’s whistle into the sling. “Tell Lady Agnes what the shopkeeper said to you.”
Hannah concentrated so hard, she grimaced. “I remember! Romance’s afoot at our house.”
Now that he’d finished pretending to minister to his daughter, he turned to Agnes. “Allow me.”
Giving him a fake smile, she stayed where she was. When he’d knotted the cloth, Hannah put another good spell on Agnes’s injury. Agnes returned the favor.
Christopher leaned forward. “My lady, you could carry one of your knives in that sling.”
“Knives will cut me,” Hannah said, admiring her own sling.
Agnes did carry a weapon, a deadly stiletto she’d found in Spain. But that was her secret. “Enough about knives.” Leaning forward, she curled her finger, and Lord Edward moved close. “You’re shameless,” she said.
In a deep and sensual murmur, he said, “Wrapping your legs around me and kissing me hungrily with your tongue was not?”
She gasped, and heat rushed up her face.
Hannah grumbled, “Whispering’s polite.”
