When she nodded and murmured an agreement, he took one of a pair of chairs by the hall door and set it in front of Thomas’s cell for her, then he settled into the other chair to wait and watch.
Winnefred, he soon discovered, was a natural teacher—patient and encouraging. And Thomas was an exceptional student—interested, eager, and clever. Very clever, Gideon amended. For having only a handful of lessons under his belt, the boy had an impressive grasp of the written word.
He enjoyed watching the two of them, and because he did, he made no move to hurry her along as the thin beams of light from the windows stretched across the cell floors. It wasn’t until that light begin to grow orange that he reminded Winnefred of the time.
She looked up from her work with Thomas and blinked as if she’d forgotten where they were. “Oh, yes, of course. Just . . . Just one more moment.”
Winnefred handed a small stack of papers and a book back to Thomas and bent her head in the manner of someone about to begin a discussion of considerable import. Gideon listened to her explain her upcoming trip to London. “Please tell me you’ll go to Murdoch House if you’re released in my absence. I’ll make certain the staff expects you. There’s work for you there, Thomas, and a safe place to stay. I’ll be back in the summer and we can begin our lessons again.”
The boy lifted a shoulder, a perfect mimic of Connor’s casual disregard, but even in the dim light of the prison, Gideon could see the flush of pleasure on his face. Murdoch House would have another mouth to feed soon enough.
Winnefred appeared far less sure of it. After trying and failing to gain a promise from Thomas, she walked away from the cell and said her good-byes to Connor and his men with a line of worry across her brow.
Gideon knocked on the hall door and bent to speak softly in Winnefred’s ear. “You needn’t worry over Thomas. He’ll come to Murdoch House.”
She looked both hopeful and skeptical. “Do you think so?”
“Wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”
The heavy door unlocked with a click and swung open. Winnefred held her peace until they were on the other side, following Mr. Holloway through the shadowy halls of the prison once again.
“But why wouldn’t Thomas say so?” she eventually whispered.
“Because he is a boy in the company of men.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” She pondered that for a while before asking, “Do you think Connor will stand in his way?”
He shook his head. “He isn’t dangerous to you, or to Thomas.”
She didn’t look surprised at his change of opinion so much as she did curious and expectant. “Oh, what changed your mind?”
“I think he took his men in out of charity.”
“Gregory and Michael are not charity.”
“They’re certainly not highwaymen,” he countered easily. “Gregory is an old man and Michael Birch looks as if he couldn’t climb atop a horse if his life depended on it.”
“I was hoping you would notice that.” She looked decidedly smug. “Told you they weren’t guilty.”
“Of that particular crime, anyway.”
Winnefred decided to ignore Gideon’s last comment in favor of relishing her small victories as long as possible. Thomas would come to Murdoch House, and Gideon had admitted—more or less—that she’d been right about Connor and his men.
She was smiling to herself as they stepped out of the prison into the dying light of the setting sun, and still smiling when Gideon assisted her into the carriage.
He climbed in behind her, settled himself on the seat, and quite out of the blue, asked, “Did you bring Gregory a knife?”
“What?” She put a hand out to the wall to steady herself as the carriage began to fight its way down the rutted road. “Where did that question come from?”
“Curiosity. Concern. Take your pick. Did you bring him the knife he used to carve that figurine?”
“No, of course not. I did see him with it once, though, and agreed to not say anything if he promised to keep it on his person at all times and only use it for his carvings.” She shrugged. “I bring him the wood, and Lilly and I sell the pieces to Mr. McKeen in Enscrum. He has a small shop on the square.”
“And what does Gregory pay you for your trouble?”
“It isn’t any trouble.”
“I thought so,” he murmured. He studied her, his dark eyes unreadable, until she fairly squirmed in her seat.
“What?” She gave a small, uneasy laugh. “What is it?”
“How is it you came by Claire?”
She couldn’t begin to imagine what Claire had to do with anything. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“You have a goat you neither milk, breed, or show any intention of eating. In essence, a completely useless animal. Why?”
“Claire is not useless,” she retorted. “She . . . grazes on the lawn. Keeps it quite tidy.”
He didn’t bother responding to that bit of nonsense. He just looked at her in silence until she caved.
“Oh, very well. We found her on the road to Enscrum. I imagine she belonged to a farmer passing through on the way to market, but no one returned to claim her so . . .”
“She’s old, isn’t she, no longer capable of breeding?”
“Yes.”
“And yet you keep her.”
“She has value to me.”
She was a little afraid he would poke fun at her for the sentiment, but he merely nodded and said, “You’ve an extraordinary capacity for sympathy.”
It was dizzying the way his mind jumped from topic to topic. “No different than any other’s.”
He tapped a finger against his leg, thinking. “You’re right.”
“I am?” She frowned at him, uncertain if she was pleased or disappointed to have won the argument so easily.
“It isn’t your sympathy that’s unusual,” he explained. “It’s your empathy.”
Suddenly, she regretted having argued against his sympathy theory. “I did not empathize with a goat.”
“The fact she was a goat had nothing to do with it. It was the fact she was lost.”
“I’ve never been lost,” she replied, deliberately misunderstanding his meaning. “I have a superb sense of direction.”
“There are different kinds of lost,” he said gently. “Even a superb sense of direction will get you nowhere if you have nowhere to go.”
She knew he was speaking of her life immediately after her father’s death. She wished he wouldn’t. She was no more comfortable receiving sympathy from him than she was speaking of her own. “I had Murdoch House.”
“Only after my father refused to take you in.” He surprised her by chuckling softly and turning his eyes to the window. “I wonder what it would have been like, had my father kept his promise and cared for you himself.”
“I’m sure the results would not have been the least amusing.”
“A young girl with a penchant for bringing home every stray, wounded, and lost human and beast to cross her path? It would have had its moments.”
“I don’t bring home every stray I come across,” she argued, mostly because she wanted to be done with the subject of being lost.
“Not for lack of wanting.”
She smiled sweetly. “I wanted to drop you in the loch.”
His gaze snapped away from the window. “Beg your pardon?”
“The night we dragged you out of the stable, I suggested to Lilly we drop you into the loch.” Strictly speaking, she’d said it was a pity they’d missed the opportunity to send Lord Gideon Haverston to the bottom of the loch, but that was close enough.
He ran his tongue slowly across his teeth. “I stand corrected.”
“To give your argument due, you weren’t lost, exactly, and you weren’t livestock.”
If he had a comment for that, she would never hear it.
The carriage suddenly jolted violently, knocking her to the floor, and for a split second, it felt as if the whole of
it would tip on its side. But after a few terrifying heartbeats, it slammed back down to the road and came to an abrupt stop.
Gideon’s strong hands wrapped around her arms and pulled her up. “Winnefred. Winnefred, are you hurt?”
“I’m all right.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes. Yes.” Her knees stung a little from hitting the floor, but other than that she felt fine and oddly calm. “You?”
The moment he nodded, she reached for the carriage door and threw it open. “Bess! Peter!”
“Here, miss!”
Bess’s voice came from the other side of the carriage and Winnefred’s calm disappeared in an instant. Bloody hell, the girl had been thrown from the top of the carriage.
“Oh, no.” She scrambled for the door, but Gideon was the first to reach it and Bess.
She was sitting up, which was a relief, but her face was pinched with pain, and her hands gripped her leg above the ankle.
Gideon crouched down in front of her. “Here now, let me see.”
“’Tis nothing,” Bess said between gritted teeth. “Twisted my ankle, is all.”
“I’m sure you’re right, but let me see anyway.” Gideon gently brushed her hands away. Winnefred saw that his own hands were steady, and his voice was reassuring, but his face was pale . . . much too pale.
“Gideon, are you certain you’re unharmed?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t spare her so much as a glance; his attention was focused entirely on Bess. He inspected the ankle carefully, poking and prodding every inch of the injury. “Just a minor sprain,” he finally pronounced, and Winnefred could have sworn she saw the color flow back to his skin. “A very minor sprain. You should be back on your feet in a day, two at most.”
Bess nodded and adjusted her skirts. “Aye, my lord. The pain’s easing already.”
Winnefred blew out a hard breath of relief and took stock of their surroundings. The horses and carriage were still on the road and looked remarkably untouched, as if they’d simply come to a calm and steady stop and were merely awaiting their master’s order to start again.
“What the devil happened?”
Peter gestured at something behind her. She turned and saw a deep, wide rut stretched halfway across the road.
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Peter offered to Gideon. “We were set to miss it, but Samson there threw a shoe, stumbled, and pulled right into it. There weren’t time to stop.”
Gideon stood and gave Peter a quick, hard pat on the shoulder. “There’s no blame in a thrown shoe. Let’s see how he fares.”
Winnefred peered over Gideon’s shoulder as he inspected the horse’s leg. “Is he injured?”
“No. Just has a bit of bruising, I suspect. Bad luck all around, eh, Samson? Free them of the harnesses please, Peter.” Gideon stepped back and looked to Bess. “Can you ride a horse?”
“No, my lord.”
He glanced at Peter, who nodded as he worked. “Aye. Well enough.”
“Good. You’ll take Bess back to the house on Odin, quick as you can.”
“Aye.”
“Miss Blythe and I will walk with Samson.”
Bess’s gaze shot from Peter to Gideon. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but Miss Ilestone is bound to have objections. It’ll be dark before you—”
“Miss Ilestone may lodge her complaints with me upon my return, and after she’s sent for a physician for you.”
“A physician? But it’s only—”
“No arguments.” Gideon finalized the command by walking away to help unhitch the far horse.
Bess stared after him, then sent Winnefred a pleading look. Winnefred shook her head. “You were thrown from a moving carriage, Bess. You’ll have to suffer being idle and spoiled for a few days.”
Bess leaned forward to whisper. “But a physician, miss? It isn’t necessary.”
She was inclined to agree, but since she wasn’t the one who would have to sit through the poking and prodding, it was easy for her to defend the idea. “Lord Gideon seems to think otherwise, and I trust his judgment.”
Bess kept her peace until the horses were freed and she was set before Peter on Odin. She made one last attempt to argue for all of them returning together, but Gideon effectively silenced her by giving the horse a quick swat on the hindquarters, sending it off at a brisk trot.
Chapter 13
Gideon exhaled slowly. Bess would be fine. Her ankle might ache for a time, but she would heal.
There had been a minute when he’d seen Bess on the ground that he had imagined the worst and had imagined himself responsible. A thousand recriminations had run through his mind. He shouldn’t have agreed to take Winnefred to the prison. He shouldn’t have agreed to take Bess along as well. He sure as hell should not have agreed to Bess riding up top.
His reaction was irrational and he knew it. Horses threw shoes. Carriages fell into potholes and ruts. The top of the carriage was made to ride on. He hadn’t even been the one driving, for pity’s sake. But he’d not been able to completely shake his doubts until he’d assessed Bess’s injuries for himself.
Winnefred stepped in his line of sight. “Are you all right, Gideon?”
He forced aside his uneasiness and smiled at her. “Well enough.”
“Is it your leg? Will the walk be too far?”
“I can manage a couple of miles.” His leg would pain him for it later, but that too could be managed.
“It’s only that, just now, you looked . . .”
He grinned at her. “Lost?”
“A bit, yes,” she replied with a smile of her own. “Shall I take you home?”
“I’d be grateful for it.”
He grabbed a lantern from the carriage, took hold of Samson’s lead, and set them off at a leisurely pace.
Gideon had always found long walks to be beneficial for clearing the mind, and with Winnefred for company, the trip to Murdoch House proved to be twice as effective in lifting his spirits. Every time he looked over at her, his mood improved, and so he told himself it was only sensible that he look over as often as possible.
She fit here, he thought. She looked natural strolling along a dusty road in the countryside, swinging her bonnet back and forth by the ribbons like a toy. She brushed at the strands of hair that had fallen from their pins, kicked idly at rocks until her hem and shoes were covered in red dirt, and pointed out plants and birds she recognized until the fields grew dim and silent.
“Where did you learn all that?” he inquired, stopping to light the lantern he’d taken from the carriage.
“From Lilly mostly. And a book we found in the attic.” She took the lantern from him. “We may not need this. There’s to be a full moon tonight.”
He took her by the shoulders, gently turned her about, and pointed to the horizon where the moon was just appearing as a fiery golden orb. “And there it is.”
“Oh, it’s enormous,” Winnefred breathed. “Like the sun rising all over again. Can one see the moon in London?”
He glanced at her in surprise. “Of course.”
“Lilly says the lamps in Mayfair make the stars less vibrant.”
“You can still see them,” he assured her. “And the moon, though not quite so well when it comes up like this.”
“I don’t mind.” She shrugged and turned to resume their walk. “The countryside ought to have its own charms. Although, I should be interested to see what the night sky looks like from Hyde Park.”
He considered that statement for a few minutes. “You do realize this sort of thing has to stop once we reach London?”
“Visiting prisons, do you mean?”
“Well, yes.” He pictured Winnefred in the bowels of Newgate. “Absolutely, yes. But I was referring to midnight strolls with gentlemen.”
She snorted at that, a small sound that was somehow both delicate and brash. “It’s eight o’clock at the latest.”
“It’s dark, and if you
were seen, you’d be ruined.”
“And Lilly by association,” she grumbled. “It wouldn’t matter, I suppose, that we were stranded through no fault of our own.”
“No.”
“It’s very unfair.” She hopped over a rut in the road. “On the other hand, if it’s dark, how would anyone see?”
“The lamps,” he reminded her.
“Then it wouldn’t truly be dark, would it? It . . .” She trailed off as they topped a small rise and Murdoch House came into view. The light of the moon reflected off the stone, and candlelight flickered in the windows. The entire house appeared to glow.
Winnefred stopped and set down the lantern.
“Oh, isn’t it lovely. And mine, because of you.” She turned to face him and smile. “Thank you.”
Because she was there, because there was moonlight lighting her upturned face, and because he thought in that moment she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, he bent his head and kissed her.
He managed, just for the time it took to lean down, to fool himself into thinking it would be a quick and simple thing. A harmless thing. But the second his lips met hers, the kiss became anything but simple and everything but harmless.
Her mouth began to move under his—with the innocence of an untutored girl at first, and then with the irresistible demand of an impatient woman, as if he was a new treat she’d only just discovered. One she was determined to devour in a single bite.
The effect was devastating. Desire, a smoldering ember only moments before, leapt into flame. He let go of Samson’s lead and cupped the back of Winnefred’s neck so he could bring her closer and slant his mouth across hers at the angle of his liking.
He had demands of his own.
He wanted to hear her sigh and feel her yield.
He drew his thumb along the underside of her jaw until he reached her chin. Gently, he pressed until she opened for him and he could slip his tongue inside the warm cavern of her mouth. She tasted like heaven—unbearably sweet, impossible to refuse.
She sighed for him then, a soft feminine sound that fanned the flame into an inferno. It seared through his belly and blistered his skin.
He was only vaguely aware of his own answering growl, of dropping his hand to band an arm around her waist and drag her hard against him. He felt the press of her soft breasts against his chest and the hot puff of her breath against his mouth. But it wasn’t enough.
Nearly a Lady (Haverston Family Trilogy #1) Page 12
