“But why?” she asked as the import of his words struck home. “No, it’s all a mistake.”
“No mistake.” He folded his arms across his chest and slowly circled her. “Definitely you.”
WISH UPON A KISS
CHAPTER THREE
“It isn’t possible.” Winnie would have believed Captain Mariner deranged were it not for those strange dogs that had twice attempted to attack her. “I’ve lived in this quiet village all my life and have no enemies.” She shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “Save Lady Darkwell who never liked me very much, but she doesn’t like anybody so that doesn’t really count.”
She stood in the center of the entry hall and watched as he bolted the front door and began to shutter the windows. “What are you doing? We’ll need light to move about.”
“Use those candles on the table. And here, we’ll use this lamp.” He strode into the cluttered parlor and took one off a smaller table by the faded settee. He withdrew a box of matchsticks from his vest pocket and with a flick of his wrist over the lamp, he mustered a small, golden flame.
She blinked her eyes. “You did that quite efficiently. Are you a lamplighter by trade?”
“I’ll explain who I am later. I fear your visitors will be here soon after nightfall. You’d better have something to eat now. There won’t be time later.”
“This is all ridiculously mysterious. Very well. I’ll go into the kitchen and heat up something for us.” But she didn’t immediately attend to the task. He was still closing shutters and checking windows and doors. She found his actions most disconcerting. Had she misjudged him and was he preparing to trap her inside? She glanced at the carving knife that Mrs. Halloway, the family cook, had left on the dining room table.
Captain Mariner reached it first and took it in his grasp. “Winnie, I’m not going to harm you. I know what I’m doing seems odd, but those dogs today weren’t wild. They were trained. Twice they came at you. Not at me. At you.”
“No, it was just a coincidence. I...” Her voice trailed off as he turned the pointed blade safely away from her and handed her the knife.
“Carry it with you. You’ll need it for protection.” His expression remained grim. “Not from me, of course. I realize you don’t know me, but you’ll have to trust me.”
Without awaiting a response, presumably because he didn’t think any was required, he strode toward the kitchen. “I’ll check the rear doors and windows and then light the fire. What did you say we were having for supper?”
“I didn’t, but it’s lamb stew. Or would you care for something finer? A stuffed pheasant perhaps? Carried in on a large silver platter? Or a roast peacock with candied apricot trimming and decorated with its beautiful tail feathers?”
He cast her an appealingly boyish smile. “Lamb stew will do quite nicely. It’s my favorite. Do you need help to reach the plates?”
“No, they’re right here.” She walked back into the dining room and quickly set the table for two. She placed a decorative tureen in the center of the table into which she’d ladle the stew when it was ready.
Captain Mariner lit the fire in the kitchen hearth and, when their meal was finally heated, assisted her in pouring the bubbling concoction into the tureen. He then carefully doused the fire before carrying the tureen into the dining room. “Better that no one knows you’re home tonight,” he explained, placing it on the table as she directed.
They sat in silence on opposite sides of the dining table. Winnie concentrated her attention on the smoky tendrils wafting up from under the lid of the tureen, but she also dared to glance at her companion from time to time, wanting to trust him and not certain that she could. The stew smelled delicious, and those smoky tendrils teased her nostrils. “Mrs. Halloway is the family cook. She’s quite good.”
Captain Mariner inhaled the tempting aroma. “I have no doubt.”
“She ought to be back at any moment. She and her husband, that is. They’re quite devoted to me.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I have no doubt of that either. You’re the sort of girl who inspires devotion.”
She glanced up, her eyes rounding in surprise. Was he complimenting her? Or just teasing her before he... well, she wasn’t certain what he planned to do, nothing villainous, she hoped. She was heartened that he’d given her the carving knife as protection and had assured her that he did not intend to harm her. That had to count for something, didn’t it?
However, they were seated alone, doors latched and windows now shuttered, and only a lamp and a few candles to spare for light. She didn’t know what to make of his actions or of him. He seemed certain that something dire was about to happen. “Mrs. Halloway will be back soon,” she repeated, knowing it was a lie.
She knew the Kingsley cook was still at the fair. She’d heard her boisterous laughter coming from the makeshift tavern erected beside the maypole and saw her seated at one of the long benches enjoying her ale. The woman was obviously working on her third or fourth pint by the time Winnie had left the fair. An entire pint! No half portions as usually served to the ladies would do for her!
Captain Mariner leaned his elbows on the table. “I hope she will be, but the weather is pleasant and likely to remain that way into the evening. Most of the visitors to the fair did not seem eager to leave. More to the point, servants, when given the day off, will stretch it out as long as possible.”
“You speak from experience.” But was he speaking as a servant or the lord who presided over an estate? He did have a commanding presence. She might have been hasty in dismissing the possibility that he was of the Upper Crust. Yet, he had none of the foppishness or indolence often associated with such men of rank.
“I’m merely an observer of human nature,” he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders.
She shook her head and laughed lightly. “No, Captain. I am merely an observer, spending my days in this quiet village while life passes me by. You are a man of action who obviously enjoys life to the fullest. Nothing escapes your notice, and I have no doubt that you are finding my company dreadfully dull.”
He made to protest, but she stopped him with a dismissive wave of her hand. “However, the possibility that I am in danger intrigues you and that’s what you find irresistible.”
He cast her a tender glance, one also mingled with amusement, but his affectionate regard simply melted her insides. “There is nothing dull about you, Winnie. I’m too much of a gentleman to tell you what I’m really thinking, but words such as simple or boring or dull have not crossed my mind.”
He paused another moment to study her. “You’re blushing.”
“Am I? It’s the lack of air in here.” She fanned herself with the table linen as she rose. “I’m sure it’s quite safe to open a window. A small one, just enough to allow in the breeze.”
He rose along with her and reached across the table to take her hand. His felt warm and protective as it swallowed hers. “No, it isn’t. The sun’s about to go down and all is not well outside this house. Have you not heard the scratching and shuffling sounds just beyond your walls?”
“It’s the wind,” she said, but startled when a sound remarkably like claws scratching against the dining room window reached her ears. “Or perhaps not.”
He gently squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, Winnie. I had hoped I was wrong.”
Her heart was now pounding within her chest. “Is it more of those horrid dogs?”
He tightened his grip on her hand. “Yes, likely. But I’m interested in their master... or masters. There could be more than one person involved in this scheme to harm you. Now is the time to tell me if you suspect anyone in particular.”
Winnie felt as though this were a bad dream or a result of a lump on her head that had thrown her into delirium. “I’d tell you if I knew, but there isn’t anyone. This is all quite confusing and frightening to me, as you can tell by the way my hand is trembling.”
She glanced at the carving knife on the table beside her plat
e. “I can’t use that thing. Unlike you, I’m no warrior. I’ll probably slice my hand at the first swing. However...” Winnie slipped her hand out of his and grabbed the ash shovel from beside the hearth. “I can use this as a weapon. Striking someone over the head doesn’t seem quite as barbaric as plunging a knife into their gut.”
He picked up the knife and stuck it out of sight in one of the cupboard drawers. “Very well. If you don’t intend to use it, then it’s best we hide it away so no one else does.”
She followed him as he then strode to the parlor and picked up the pouch he’d set on the floor beside the sofa. Had he decided not to eat the lamb stew she’d heated? Those scratching noises had distracted them, but their meal was still sitting in the tureen, bubbling hot and untouched.
If he was in no hurry to eat, then neither was she. In truth, she was more scared than hungry.
He reached inside the pouch and withdrew a box containing a pistol and a leather wrapping that held a small blade. He’d earlier taken off his sword and scabbard, but he picked up the scabbard now and secured its belt around his waist and then strapped the leather strings to his thigh. He slipped the sword inside the scabbard.
“How many weapons do you have hidden in there?” Winnie asked, craning her head to peek inside his travel pouch. It was a decent size and could easily hold clothes, weapons, grooming apparel, and who knew what else?
“Unfortunately, only these weapons. Not enough to dispatch whatever will be prowling outside tonight.” He flipped it closed, but not before she’d noticed what appeared to be a silk cravat and vest, and a bright white cloth that she recognized as a shirt of finest lawn, no doubt tailored on London’s Savile Row.
She doubted his name was Mariner or that he was a sea captain, so much was obvious. But was he possibly a lord? If so, why did he feel the need to be so secretive about his true identity?
“Are you certain these fiends are not after you? Who are you really?” She raised the sturdy iron shovel and waved it in front of his face without much diligence or enthusiasm because, in truth, she trusted him. He did not strike her as the sort who would place her life in jeopardy to accommodate himself. Quite the opposite, she sensed that he would have put as much distance between them as possible—for the sake of her safety—if he thought this unknown enemy was after him.
Winnie heard more sharp scratches against the parlor windows and let out a cowardly eek. Her heart was now slamming against her chest, and her every limb trembled. She was no match for those wild dogs. And what if an army of villains stood outside her door along with those beasts? She was useless as a fighter. Could Captain Mariner take all of them on by himself?
He came to her side and tucked a finger under her chin. “I know you’re scared. I know you’re wondering whether I can defeat whatever is waiting outside your door. I give you my oath, here and now, Winnie. I promise to protect you.” He tweaked her chin with a playful confidence he could not possibly feel. “Or die trying.”
Winnie had read stories about valiant knights who’d fallen in love with fair maidens. The valiant knight would then risk his life to save said fair maiden and afterward there were kisses and pledges of love exchanged... and possibly more kisses.
He eyed her curiously.
Was Captain Mariner going to kiss her now?
He chuckled softly. “No, I’m not going to kiss you.”
She gasped. Had he read her mind?
He strode past her and marched back into the dining room. He drew back her chair, all the while gazing at her with lingering amusement. “Well, are you going to sit?”
No kiss?
She shook out of the bumble-headed thought and obediently sank into the chair. What was wrong with her? Goodness, this was a strange day! As strange as the dreams she’d been having lately. “I don’t want you to think that I wanted you to kiss me. How dare you suggest such a thing!”
“I didn’t. You just did.” He walked to the opposite side of the table and sat in the chair across from hers, his manner remarkably calm, as though he was used to women fawning over him. No doubt, he was. “Stew smells good. Here, hand me your plate.”
Although still wary of him, she lifted her plate and held it out. He ladled the concoction of meat, onions, and potatoes onto it and then did the same with his. However, he piled his plate high and did not bother to say grace before digging in.
“How can you eat at a time like this? Aren’t you worried that whatever evil is gathering outside will attack? Or that we’ll be caught unprepared, chewing day-old stew as they leap through the windows?” She winced at the shrewish sound of her own voice, but she was peeved that he hadn’t kissed her... and peeved that she’d wanted him to kiss her... and peeved that she was harboring these ridiculous thoughts when she really didn’t know anything about him.
And peeved that he knew she was hoping for a kiss.
He could be one of them and plotting to murder me as we eat.
He frowned lightly. “Stop muttering to yourself and take a bite of your stew. Murder, indeed! I’ve just told you that I’m here to protect you.”
“From those dogs?” In truth, she was beginning to think she needed protection from her own wanton thoughts. He was too handsome by far. Was fear putting these ridiculous notions in her head? Or was it desire?
She was far too inexperienced with men.
“Yes. Dogs, demons. All manner of evil creatures. There’s no telling who is out there or what is out there or how long it will take for me to be rid of them. It could take all night.”
She took two bites and then set down her fork. “Assuming for the moment you are telling me the truth and not ladling hog swill—”
“I am telling you the truth.” He shoved more stew into his mouth, swallowed it, and was about to take another bite but paused. “If you’re not going to eat, then talk to me. Start at the beginning. Tell me how you came to live with the dotty Merridale sisters.”
“They’re lovable, not dotty... well, sometimes they can be quite... dotty. As for my childhood, it was unexceptional. Why would anyone be interested in me? I’m no one important, just the daughter of a baron and baroness who died long ago. I was shipped off to my maiden aunts... well, I sometimes call them my aunts because I love them, but we’re not related by blood. They’re really my godmothers.”
“I know that part. They love you, too. It was obvious from my little chat with them.”
She set down her fork again and leaned her elbows on the table. “Just how much do you know about me?”
“Not enough, obviously. I’d like to know more... much more.”
Her elbows slipped off the table’s edge. “What do you mean by that?”
He cast her a grin capable of melting any young lady’s resistance. Indeed, capable of melting the thick stone of Hadrian’s Wall. “I’m a gentleman, remember? I can’t tell you what I’m really thinking. It would scald your innocent ears.”
She inhaled sharply.
“Well, you asked.” He was still digging into his stew. Did the man never tire of eating?
She pushed her plate aside, for she had no appetite. “Will you stop shoveling food down your throat long enough to talk to me about serious matters? About the threat outside my door, not my childhood or what I look like without my clothes.”
He choked on his last bite. “Very well.”
It wasn’t much of a concession since his plate was now empty. He’d eaten all the stew.
He pushed back his chair and rose. “Give me a moment. I’ll be right back.”
As she watched him, he strode from the dining room and soon returned with a sack. He poured its contents into his glass and then arched an eyebrow in her direction. “Care for some?”
She’d set out their finest Kingsley crystal, and the amber liquid in his glass now sparkled like a glorious and fiery setting sun. He relaxed back in his chair and was about to drink, but paused to glance at her. “Well?”
“No.” It looked like the honey drink he’d gi
ven her earlier at the fair.
He sighed and shook his head. “I’ll pour you a glass anyway. You’ve hardly touched your food. At least have something to drink.”
She pushed it away. “I’m not thirsty. And how do I know you haven’t poisoned it?”
He rolled his eyes, obviously exasperated with her, and then rose to his full, imposing height. Reaching for his own glass, he drained its contents and then came around to her side of the table, his chest brushing against her shoulder as he reached for her glass. He took a sip and then another. “Here. Now we’ll both die if it’s poisoned.”
She took the offered drink with reluctance. “I hate condescending warriors.” Especially handsome ones with rippling muscles and crystal blue eyes that could see straight into her soul. “Not that I’ve met any but you. I hope there aren’t more like you around.”
“No, none quite like me,” he said in a husky murmur that sent her heart into palpitations as he settled in the chair beside hers and leaned close. Good thing she was seated, for her legs could no longer support her, having melted as swiftly as butter in a hot pan the moment their bodies touched. “There aren’t many eligible young women like you either.”
Had he said eligible? As in courtship? She drained the delicious honeyed concoction, needing the fortification because she was in deep, deep trouble if he intended to court her.
How had the conversation shifted to that when they had been talking about the dangers lurking outside?
Her heart once again beat as fast as a rabbit’s in anticipation, not able to think of anything but the kiss she ought not be thinking about at all.
He frowned lightly and rose once more, no doubt deciding she was not all that appealing when viewed up close and seeking to put more distance between them.
She rose on unsteady feet and poked him in the chest. “Who are you really? If I’m to die tonight, I’d like to know.”
Her hand slid onto his granite-hard arm to keep him from turning away, which was laughable because he was twice her size and too strong to be stopped from doing anything he wished to do. And even though he’d denied it, he could still be intending to kill her.
Once Upon A Regency Page 27
