by Stacy Reid
She swallowed the giggle rising in her throat. “Most assuredly.”
He dismounted, loosely holding his horse’s rein. “We’ll take them to the small church not too far from here. The vicar will see them distributed to the villagers after taking one or two for himself.”
“That is very kind of you.”
“Well, we cannot eat them all, and I am certain the manor’s gamekeeper caught enough fowl today for the kitchens, and hopefully, roasted quail will be on the menu again tonight.” He kissed the top of his fingertips. “Cook always roasts birds which are particularly succulent.”
Another laugh got muffled. Juliana liked this side to him. He seemed so relaxed and easy-going. Something felt different between them as if the bonds of master and servant was severed during their competition. Do not be silly, the earl is not my friend! She knew many lords were more comfortable around their manservants, who were their constant companions through their daily lives, than with their own families and friends. The bond of trust between master and man grew from mutually knowing their strength and vulnerabilities.
The bond wasn’t one of friendship, and she didn’t dare delude herself that more was forming. Not when he made her heart race so, not when she caught herself more than once thinking of what it would be like to dance with him, to be wooed by him. What if she had met him during a fancy ball in town? Would she have captured his regard?
They walked their horses through the forest toward the church, and she did not question why they strolled instead of rode. It felt…peaceful. A dart of a shadow behind some bushes made her falter, and she glanced at the earl to gauge his awareness.
A coiled readiness seemed infused in every line of his body. At this moment, she saw nothing of the easy-going or scholarly gentleman.
“Come out,” he said, harshly authoritative.
The bushes rustled, and a boy of about fifteen years emerged, and in his hands were three dead wild birds. He appeared so frightened, Juliana’s heart jolted.
“Who are you, boy?”
The earl’s voice hadn’t softened, and the tension inside her mounted.
“My…my name is Billy, milord,” he said in a voice that trembled.
Juliana suddenly understood the boy’s fear. This was the earl’s land.
“How old are you, boy?” the earl asked, his expression bland.
“Sev…seventeen, milord!”
Her heart ached with sympathy for the boy. Hunting on someone else's land was legally regarded as thievery and had harsh penalties such as deportation or hanging.
“And you are hunting on my lands.”
The boy looked at the pheasants in his hand, his face crumpling. “Me sisters and mamma…they be hungry milord.”
Juliana’s grip tightened on the rifle. The desperation of the boy had an ache rising in her throat. There were so many pheasants, quails, and woodstock in the massive woods of the earl’s estate. Surely a few birds need not be reported. The boy’s clothes and boots were threadbare with holes in them, and the thin jacket he wore was bare protection against the cold.
“My lord—” Juliana began, only to stop when he held up a hand.
“You are trying to provide for them?”
“Yes, milord.”
“My game warden is Mr. Colby. You’ll let him know that you have my permission to hunt these lands whenever in need.”
Shock slackened the boy’s jaw before his eyes burned bright with hope. “Milord?”
“And you can have these,” Juliana said, shrugging from her shoulder the burlap back with their catch of the day. “Perhaps you have neighbors who might also be in need?”
The boy nodded eagerly. “I do, sir.” He hurried over for the bag, and he kept sending the earl careful stares as if he were in disbelief of his fortune.
“You might also hunt some more today,” the earl offered. “I assume your family is large?”
“Four sisters, my lord, and me mama.”
“It is honorable that you take care of them even with such risky ventures. You seem very able with that slingshot. To have brought down three pheasants with it is no easy feat. Mr. Colby has been looking for a lad of your skill to assist him with his duties. Tell him that I recommend your services, and you are to be hired.”
The boy scrubbed a hand over his face, and when he spoke, his voice was thick. “Yer lordship…I…do not know what to say.”
“Nothing is needed.”
The boy bobbed. “I’ll hurry to tell me ma the news, your lordship.” Then he ran through the woods with nimble speed.
The earl turned to her. “The sky is looking angry, lets—” He faltered and arched a brow. “Why are you smiling at me so? And why in God’s name are there tears in your eyes?”
“You were wonderful,” she said huskily.
“It was a simple matter, not deserving of such attentions.”
“You are wrong, my lord,” she said with quiet earnestness. “Since living in England, I have read in the newspapers of boys as young as twelve being hanged for stealing food or game on private lands. He believed you would have him arrested, but instead, you offered him hope and a chance at a future. I…you were kind, thoughtful, and honorable in a situation where many others before you have acted with anger, and rank disregard for the sufferings of others.”
He stared at her as if he didn’t know what exactly to make of her.
“I—”
Whatever the earl was about to say was lost in a sharp crack of thunder, and the sky opened.
“Your prediction of an hour is woefully wrong,” she cried, immediately shivering under the icy droplets.
The earl hurried over, grabbed her by the waist, and helped her atop the horse.
“There is a recently vacant groundsman’s cottage nearby, we’ll take shelter there,” he said, releasing her and rushing to his horse.
Once he mounted, she urged her horse in the direction the earl went. The strength of the rain was shocking, but not entirely unexpected for October weather.
They cantered through the woods at a brisk pace in the driving icy rain, allowing the horses to pick their way to shelter. Neither beast nor human wanted to be out in this weather any longer than necessary. The scents of damp horses, wet leaves, and the old mulch of the forest permeated her nostrils, exhilarating her. It made her aware of how good it was to be alive and feel with all her senses. Only the crack of lightning and the regular beat of the horses’ hooves broke the silence around her. The denizens of the wood, animal and foul, had sought shelter from the powerful storm.
The rain lashed through her clothes, soaking her hair and running inside her garments to chill and trickle down her skin. Juliana had no thoughts of discovery, only an enjoyment of the freedom of nature around her and her lord’s company. Even the discomfort from the cold, drenching rain could not dent her happiness. The ride seemed unending but only took a few minutes, for time had stopped for Juliana.
They cleared a final cluster of trees, and a clearing became visible through the darkening deluge of rain. In its center stood a picturesque cottage. The thatched roof patterned with care and pride by a true craftsman. The walls whitewashed and part timbered in blackened oak. The cottage was surrounded by a garden and had a mostly barren vegetable patch to one side. Although few flowers bloomed, she imagined in spring and summer it would be a delight. There would be climbing roses creating a bright splash of many-colors that would only add to the beauty of the scene.
It was breathtaking, even suffering the vagaries of the weather with such an intense thunderstorm. The perfumes of wet mint and other herbs drifted on the air while the earl headed to a newer structure behind the cottage. A small barn or stable had been built behind the cottage, and he rode to offer shelter to their steeds first. The earl jumped down, pushing the large doors open to allow the horses room to enter. Juliana followed her master, leading her soaked bay gelding behind the chestnut stallion the earl had ridden.
Inside, the earl had already lit a la
mp and was now unsaddling his horse. Juliana did the same with her own mount. She began to rub him down with some clean straw, for she could not spot brushes or combs to groom him properly. There were three stalls, so she led the horse to one and then looked around for feed or hay. She noticed some hay, although it was not of the best quality, the horse seemed prepared to eat it, given there was nothing better. The earl had dealt with his steed in a like manner, and then he headed from the outhouse with two empty buckets. Juliana watched as he scooped water from a horse trough she had not noticed before. He carried the water to each horse, shutting the stall gates behind them. He then picked up the lit lamp and headed back to the doors, with Juliana following.
The earl secured the doors behind them with a simple large bolt and led the way to the cottage. He located a key that was uninventively hidden beneath a large plant pot. It turned easily in the lock and allowed them to enter. The oil lamp's light showed a moderately sized room with a closed range, rustic wooden table, chairs pleasantly cushioned, and a large fireplace. The fire was already arranged and ready to light, and there was a pile of cut dry firewood neatly stacked beside it.
Juliana helped the earl from his greatcoat and hung it from pegs on the back of the front door. She shucked out of her own coat and put it on another hook, leaving both their hats and riding gloves on a chair beside the door, to drip gently until they could be moved closer to a fire to dry.
She noticed the earl had placed his Manton beside the chair and moved hers beside it. The earl was lighting the fire, so she checked the range, finding it also ready for lighting. She found a tinderbox and carefully using a spill of wood, lit the kindling. It sparked immediately, and she blew on the flame to make sure the fire took. It was soon burning brightly, and she shut the stove’s door and left it to warm.
She noticed a door to the right of the stove and opened it. It revealed a small room almost filled by a large bed already made up with a patchwork quilt, sheets, and pillows. It was very inviting. The earl naked within those sheets, staring into her eyes and stroking her hair, flashed through her mind. She reddened, realizing her vision had not provided a nightdress for herself, and that she had been as naked as her employer.
Then as the fire the earl had lit blazed to life, he began to strip off his sodden clothes, draping them precisely over a wooden chair to dry in front of the fire. Juliana gulped and smothered a gasp as he removed his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt. He sat and pulled off his own boots and wet stockings, then began to undo the fall at the front of his breeches.
Dear heavens, he plans to get naked!
“My lord,” she squeaked, then slapped a hand over her mouth. Had he heard the slip in her tone? She hoped the sleeting rain had covered her cry.
He glanced over at Juliana. “Come on, get out of those wet things and get dried, or you will catch your death of cold,” he said, staring at her with a glint in his eyes, daring her to follow through.
“No, I will be fine, I think we should return to the main house. I am tougher than I look and will survive a little rain…” she said, but her cheeks were heating, and she could see amusement in the earl’s eyes.
His hands went to the front of his riding breeches.
“Your Lordship, do not remove those breeches!”
He froze, his gaze gleaming. “Why not?”
“There is a rat, my lord.” She made a measurement with her hands. “He was behind you just now.”
The earl grinned. “And he was that big, hmm?”
“Yes, and surely should you remove your breeches, he…well, he might attack your backside.”
For a moment, the earl just stared at her, then his shoulder shook with laughter, which rolled from him rich and warm. The sound of it did fluttery things to her heart.
Lips still quirking, he asked, “Tell me, my good lad, have you ever been naked before a man or a woman?”
She gasped. “I…my lord! It is not fitting to ask me that!”
He took a few steps toward her. “And why is that so?”
“I…no, I am…you are being a right rogue!”
Provoking amusement lit in his eyes. “I’ve never been accused of that before, and most certainly did not expect it from a fellow man. How intriguingly novel.”
There was a question in his voice, a challenge, but Juliana was unsure how to respond.
“You will catch a cold if you do not remove more of those sodden clothes. At least remove your waistcoat, jacket, and stockings. As men together…it is entirely proper for us to remain in our trousers.”
Her heart pounding a fierce beat, she stared at him mutely, sodden, and frankly miserable.
“I cannot,” she whispered, an intolerable ache in her throat.
This time his smile was gentle, almost understanding. Yet, she detected tension in his frame. “I suppose I had better redress then and ride back to the house to have a carriage fetched for you?”
“In this storm?”
“Yes. I cannot have you fall ill.”
She could tell that he was most sincere in that regard, and this went far beyond him rattling her composure.
He retrieved his wet clothes and put them back on.
And she could only stand there, staring at him, wondering if she should just blurt out the truth.
He is kind and thoughtful. Perhaps he might listen to her plight, maybe he might forgive her deception.
Or perhaps he’ll have me arrested!
Chapter 8
Wentworth was losing perspective. Now was not the time to be thinking about how pretty and desirable Juliana appeared. Not when they were alone in a secluded cottage with little to no chance of discovery. The possibilities for debauchery were wicked, scandalous, and endless.
He was not a bloody rogue who would take advantage of a lady’s heated and unquestionably aroused state. Wentworth felt shaken on a level he’d never experienced before. “I must leave,” he said. “I’ll be back.”
A gusty sigh of relief left Julian, and she moved toward the rifles in the corner of the door. “I’ll come with you.”
“No!”
Julian’s eyes widened at his vehemence, and a frown creased her forehead.
“It is raining fiercely. To be out in this deluge, you might catch your death of cold. I’ll come back for you with an umbrella or send a footman.”
“If it is not wise for me to be out in the rain, my lord, it cannot be safe for you either!”
“I believe my constitution is sturdier. A stiff wind would blow you over,” he muttered crossly.
He made to walk away, and a hand grabbed him, the force enough to make him turn around.
“You are leaving without your coat and hat!”
“Hang the coat and hat,” he growled.
Julian looked a little anxiously at him. “Do not dare leave me in this creepy cottage alone!”
“By God, are you afraid of the damn rain?”
“No…just a bit of the thunder, and you must admit the sky has darkened rather ominously. We are surrounded by miles of woods, and those branches are swaying rather furiously in the wind. And look at the brambles scraping the windows. They are like long gnarled fingers belonging to something…I don’t know, ghost-like.”
“You are entirely serious,” Wentworth said, considerably astonished.
At least Julian had the grace to look sheepish.
“You are a grown man.” Woman…you are a woman, and I can tell because of how you are staring at me. With such heat and want…yet, you are also skittish. “I must leave,” he said tightly.
“Stay with me,” she whispered, those lovely lavender eyes rounded and imploring.
“No.”
Now a scowl settled on her face. “Why not?”
“Because…” Wentworth swallowed, or tried to past the lump of raw need rising in his throat.
“Because?”
“Because of this.” And he hauled her against his body and took her mouth in a burning kiss.
His valet grippe
d his jacket and simply froze. Not even her chest moved; it was as if she ceased breathing. Wentworth opened his eyes to find hers also open and wide like saucers. He held her gaze, their mouths still pressed together, both so still it was something of a miracle they were able to maintain the position.
He had always asked permission before kissing a lady. Even with his lovers, there had always been an indication he was about to touch or kiss them, as it was a step a gentleman should follow. He was a gentleman; he always thought of a lady’s sensibility as a gentleman should. Except, staring at Julian stirred a passion that felt raw and primitive. Wentworth didn’t want to ask any permission. He wanted to take, wanted to ravish.
“My…My lord,” she said achingly soft. “I…”
“I know…I know you are a lady.”
Breathing was nearly impossible as he waited for her to move, to say something, to deny it, to run from him, to even scream. Anything but this silence. At her shocked, prolonged lack of response, Wentworth spoke. “I just might prove the theory of dying from an internal heat generated by an unexplained force—spontaneous combustion, as proposed by Giuseppe Bianchini. However, the force in my case is not mysterious; it is you. By God, I feel if I do not kiss you…taste you even once, I will expire on the fucking spot.”
Her face flushed a delicate rosy hue at his crudeness, but the delight that entered her eyes sparked his desire like a match to dry kindling.
“You know?”
How husky and soft her voice was.
“Yes.”
“You cannot be sure.”
“I am most certain.”
“How—”
“I can feel it in the ache of want I have for you.”
She stared at him for a few moments, and then rather doubtfully asked, “And you are not angry?”
“I am curious…intrigued.”
Her breath puffed across his lips as she murmured, “An odd reaction to deception. Most would send for the magistrate.”
“I am the kind of gentleman who prefers to see ingenuity, inventiveness, and practicality in life choices that assume many risks. The foundation of any discovery first relies on the risk one is willing to take to prove themselves.”
