Facts and figures and logic ruled her day-to-day business. To realize something as emotional as her desire for control had driven the path of her life skewed her perception of herself and her motivations. Some of her consternation must have showed on her face.
“You should have no regrets. Although, no one understands more than I do how difficult that advice is to take. It’s a beautiful day, and there’s much to see.” He waved his hand at the milling crowd ahead of them.
He was right on all counts, and Minerva let herself be swept into the excitement of the day. After leaving their horses at the inn, they joined the bustling melee. The first stall housed a woodworker. Tiny wooden soldiers lined up in a regiment, lifelike animals marched and carved flowers graced a wooden vase. Intricate and delicate, the black and white painted pieces of a chess set called to her. She wanted it for Rafe.
Giving the set one last covetous glance, she allowed him to guide her to the next stall. Pretty adornments for ladies hung from pegs—ribbons, bows, bunches of dried flowers.
“Pick some ribbons for yourself. Which do you like? You look lovely in blue.” Rafe pulled a satin cornflower-blue ribbon from the bunch.
“I couldn’t. You mustn’t think you have to buy me anything.” The delicate ribbon incongruously weaved through his fingers.
“Have none of your suitors ever taken you out and bought you something pretty?”
“Suitor?” Her head popped up.
Rafe tensed, seemingly as stunned as Minerva that the word had come out of his mouth. “I didn’t mean… What I meant to say…” He clamped his mouth shut and then muttered, “Oh, bloody hell,” without unlocking his teeth.
Rafe leaned over and chose ribbons of various colors and designs. Handing them to the girl, she packaged them prettily and took his coins with a curtsy. He delivered the package to Minerva with a tip of his head. Pressing the package to her chest, she stammered out thanks. Bouquet after bouquet of flowers had arrived at her townhouse, but never had a man bought her anything so precious.
They stopped to peruse more wares and enjoyed a magician’s show. Food merchants packed the end of the street, delicious scents wafting on the breeze. Her mouth watered, and her stomach growled. Chuckling, he grabbed her hand and pulled her straight toward the meat pies.
“William Watkins. It’s good to see you back this year. How’ve you fared since last fall?” Rafe called out.
William’s hands stayed busy in the pie dough. “Fair enough, my lord. My, but you’re looking much improved since last year. Everything well at Wintermarsh?”
“Indeed. The earl is healed and off giving Scotland hell, last I heard. Lily and Gray got married this spring. They left this morning, but Lily tried most desperately to talk Gray into staying so she could have some of your pies and Miss Beverly’s fruit tarts, of course.” Rafe set a booted foot up on a rock and winked toward an older woman who had sidled over to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“Ack, go on with you,” the old lady cackled. “Such a charmer when you want to be. Who is this, my lord? Is this your lady?” Miss Beverly ingratiated herself in the thick of it, examining Minerva from head to toe.
“Miss Beverly, this is Lady Minerva Bellingham. A friend of Lily’s…and mine.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Beverly, Mr. Watkins,” Minerva said.
“Well, ain’t you a pretty thing. You’d best hang on to this one.” Miss Beverly shook a finger at Rafe, hitched her skirts and scampered back to her tent. “Let me fix you up with some tarts.”
Meat pies and tarts in hand, they retreated to a quiet grove to sit on a log and eat. The first bite of Mr. Watkins’s pie exploded in her mouth, and she threw her head back, moaning. The pork filling along with the unusual spices overloaded her senses. “This is incredible.”
“I know. I keep pestering him for the recipe, but he claims it’s a gypsy secret and won’t reveal it.”
“Is he a gypsy? As a people, I imagined them darker and more mysterious.”
“He was born not ten miles from here to a cobbler,” Rafe replied dryly. “Wait until you try Miss Beverly’s tarts.”
Unable to resist, she bit into one and the berry filling oozed out. The sweet-tart combination hit exactly the right note, and she closed her eyes. The brush of Rafe’s thumb on her bottom lip had her eyes popping open. A daub of berry colored his thumb.
Ever so slowly, he licked it clean. Her thighs clenched, and a flush raced across her chest. If she’d been bolder, more experienced, she might have helped him. Instead, she wet her dry lips and swallowed convulsively. He took a bite of his tart and the moment passed, yet it seemed to leave an indelible mark.
They discussed inconsequential things throughout their impromptu picnic and soaked up the cool sunlight. Rafe settled against the log, crossed his booted feet and laced his fingers behind his head in an attitude of total relaxation. Soon enough, winter’s weary clouds would invade, and the trees would drop their colorful cloaks.
“You love the country, don’t you?” she asked.
He swiveled his head toward her. “I do. London leaves me feeling…boxed in, I suppose. I tried to enjoy the social whirl when I was younger, but at the end of every evening, I longed to be here. You love London, don’t you?”
“I enjoy the bustle and the energy. I hated the country and the empty house when I was a child. As soon as the strings were cut, I moved us to London. Wintermarsh is different though. I’ve enjoyed my time here—mostly.” She tried a teasing smile. Although, he smiled in return, his eyes didn’t crinkle.
He cleared his throat and brushed crumbs off his breeches. “Let’s explore more, shall we?”
Instruments being tuned made her stand tall like a hunting dog, head cocked toward the cacophony of sound. “What is that?”
“Dancing in the field.” He tried to guide her in the opposite direction, back toward the merchants. Ignoring the hand on her waist, she spun away toward the gathering crowd. He followed, but slowly. She pushed her way to stand on the edge of a field that doubled as a dance floor.
The disharmony righted itself, and the band of musicians launched into a boisterous, fast-paced jig. A collective whoop cascaded through the crowd. Couples twirled into the clearing. So different from the staid, controlled ballroom waltzes of London, the pulsing energy set her toes tapping and her hands clapping. Rafe stood behind her with his arms crossed, his legs braced wide, and not a single betraying twitch in time to the music.
As soon as one frolicsome song finished, another began, neither the players nor the dancers tiring. A man whirled close and grabbed her hand. Her willing feet followed his lead, and a reckless laugh burst out of her belly. The man was a Mitchell. There was no doubt about it. From his hooded eyes and charming but sly grin, she’d guess it was Jenny’s rakish, ne’er-do-well brother.
Jenny sent her a little wave when they spun past each other. She danced with a local lad, but Tom Donahue stood on the side, in an almost identical stance to Rafe, looking ready to strangle Jenny’s partner.
As the music trailed off, Jenny’s brother deposited her with Rafe. She curtsied and thanked him prettily. Another jig started, and she tried to pull Rafe into the clearing. She had about as much luck as attempting to shift an elephant.
“Dance with me. What’s wrong? Are you scared?” Minerva grinned.
“Absolutely terrified,” Rafe whispered so low she barely heard him.
This time when she tugged, he followed her, and she was in for another surprise. Although a large man, he was light on his feet and familiar with the steps. She reveled in the touch of his hands on her waist and back. She tried to mimic his quick footwork and laughed all the harder when she couldn’t keep up with him. They danced straight through two more songs. Linking their hands, he led her through the thickening crowd. Several men slapped Rafe on the back as they passed.
�
�You, Rafe Drummond, are a disgustingly good dancer. Is there nothing you can’t do well?” Minerva leaned into his arm. He tipped his head toward hers, his smile warm and genuine, and he fingered the escaped lock of her hair. A few inches and she would be kissing him surrounded by a throng of people.
Vicar Appleby’s sonorous voice shattered her sense of isolation. “Lord Drummond, I’m so pleased to see you here. If I might have a word about the belfry? It requires repairs, and I hoped to replace the bell while we’re already up there. Do you have a moment to spare? Would you care to join me for an ale?”
“Actually—”
“You go along with the vicar. I’m going to find Jenny. I’ll meet you at the stables.” Waggling her fingers, she shooed him away.
As soon as he was out of sight, she made tracks back to the woodworker’s booth, letting out a gusty sigh when she spotted the chess set still on display. Turning away, she cleared her face of all emotion and took several deep breaths before she stepped up to the merchant.
A long, hearty negotiation followed. A small crowd gathered to witness the two combatants finally reach a satisfactory agreement. Minerva clutched the chess set to her chest and hoped Rafe was still busy discussing Lipton’s belfry.
Jenny perched on the wooden fence outside the blacksmith’s, talking with her father and swinging her legs.
“I saw my scoundrel of a brother pull you out for a dance,” Jenny said.
“And you had nothing to do with it?” Minerva asked with raised eyebrows.
Jenny laughed and nearly toppled backwards. “You were practically on your knees begging for a dance, but I knew you’d never get Lord Drummond out there. Somehow, you managed it though. Lady Minerva got him to dance, Papa. Isn’t that amazing?”
Black John hit a metal horseshoe with a hammer, the ring melodious. He paused to wipe his forehead. “Before your time, Jenny, Master Rafe would have been out there dancing all afternoon. He was quite a charming young man. Stole many a kiss from a country lass, I’d guess.”
“He’s still charming,” Minerva said a bit defensively. The speculative looks both father and daughter sent her direction had her biting the inside of her mouth. Her next request would be sure to fan Jenny’s curiosity to inferno-like levels. “Could you take this back to Wintermarsh for me, Jenny?”
“What is it?”
“A chess set.”
“Why not get Lord Drummond to put it in his bag? No one will bother it, I’m sure.”
Minerva scuffed her boots on a rock, unable to meet her eyes. “If you must know, it’s a gift for him, and I want it to be a surprise. As a thank you for dealing with my brother.”
“Of course,” Jenny said with an eye roll.
“Who was the lad you were dancing with? And why was Tom Donahue standing on the edge looking like he wanted to commit murder?”
“Tom Donahue can go straight to—”
“Jenny Mitchell, you watch your mouth, girl. I can still take you across my knee,” Black John said.
“Sorry, Papa, but that man riles me up.” Jenny reached for the set, but Black John took it instead and offered to store it in the smithy for the afternoon. Jenny could pick it up on her way home.
“Here he comes. Thank you for the help.” Minerva waved goodbye and hurried toward the stables.
“You found Jenny,” he said.
“I did indeed. She was amazed you danced with me, but Black John says you were quite the charmer in your youth. I told him you’re still quite charming.”
“Am I?” he asked softly.
“Sometimes,” she whispered back.
Rafe cleared his throat, taking the reins from the hostler and giving Minerva a boost up. He brushed his hand along her calf, squeezing slightly. Even through her thick habit, the heat of his palm left a brand on her sensitive skin.
“I thought we could ride back through the woods.”
She could only manage a nod.
After he mounted Aries, they set off slowly until they cleared the village and left the road toward a grove of trees. Minerva pulled Sparrow to a halt, dazzled by the colors spread in front of them.
“It’s times like these I wish I had taken up more maidenly pursuits like watercolors. To be able to capture such beauty on canvas would be incredible.”
“I’d like to capture the beauty before me as well.”
When she looked over, his gaze was firmly on her and not the countryside.
“See? Quite charming indeed.” Minerva tossed a sweet smile in his direction, making him fumble his reins. “Race you?”
Without waiting for his answer, she urged Sparrow into a gallop through the fallow field toward the woods. Faint laughter carried on the wind. He gave her a head start, as was only fair, before he gave Aries his head and raced after her. The huge stallion ate up the distance, catching her before she entered dense forest.
Her hair flowed around her shoulders, the pins stolen by the wind. They weaved their mounts through the trees, and this time, Minerva had the upper hand on the smaller, more nimble horse. Aries was a brute, much like his master, and plowed straight over the saplings.
“I call it a tie,” he said.
“Accept your loss, my lord.” Breathless with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, she brought Sparrow to a stop.
“Let’s walk. The horses need to cool. We’re entering the darkest, deepest part of the forest. There always seems to be a touch of magic here.” After dismounting, he spanned her waist and lifted her down. Christ, she was a puny little thing. Compared to him at any rate. The need to protect her rose up inside of him, so strong he had to force himself to release her, even though the only danger to her in these woods was…him.
He took a deep breath and tried to leave proper space between them. The path through the trees was barely wide enough for two horses and left them jostling into each other, shoulder to shoulder. His conscience cackled like an old man had told a bawdy joke. Rafe knew what awaited in the woods and wondered if he should turn them around.
“Where are we headed?” she asked.
“This path leads to my cabin. Would you like to see it?” Keeping his gaze on the brown needles softening their steps, he couldn’t tell if she was outraged or surprised or pleased. The silence stretched. It would be best if she said no, best if she slapped him and told him to go to perdition. “Of course, we can head back to Wintermarsh. Probably should. No reason to stop. It’s only a small cottage. Nothing special.”
“I would love to see your cottage,” she whispered.
Fingertips brushed the back of his fisted hand. He relaxed at her wispy touch, and her fingers weaved through his. As selfish as it might be, relief and satisfaction and happiness poured through him.
“Rafe, has there… I mean, have you brought other women here before?” Her tripping question prodded his heart into an erratic, quick dance.
“Never. It’s always been my retreat, my safe haven. Years ago, I used it as an escape while the earl was in residence.”
“Lily told me you bore the brunt of his high expectations.”
He barked something he hoped she’d take as a laugh. “High expectations? Yes, impossibly high. He expected things of me at ten that a grown man couldn’t accomplish. I was strong physically but still a child in many ways. I didn’t know how to handle his constant berating.”
Minerva squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.” He shrugged.
“That doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
“What were your parents like?”
“I don’t remember either of them very well. They spent a good amount of time in London without us. Occasionally, before dinner, I was required to perform like a monkey, rattling off whatever our tutor had taught me to recite. We were more an obligation than a joy to my mother. She probably wished Simon had been born first, so
there would have been no need for a second child.” Bitterness crept into her voice.
“Well, then, I’m awfully glad you were born first,” he said roughly.
“What about your mother?”
“She was beautiful, I suppose, but wrapped up in my father’s wants and needs.”
“Did she resent you?”
“No, she loved me in a fashion, but not in a playmate sort of way. One sunny afternoon, I begged her to come fly kites, but she preferred to laze on her lounge chair discussing the earl with her lady’s maid. I was close to tears when Gray’s father came outside and played with me even without Gray.”
“You had people around you that cared. Makes me feel a bit, I don’t know, not jealous, but incomplete? All I had was Simon, and I suppose I focused everything on him. Much to his detriment.” Years of loneliness underscored her words. Rafe pulled her around to face him.
“Many people care about you, Minerva. Lily nearly unmanned me the evening I confessed our bargain. Your Mr. Drake was oddly protective. Simon would do anything to please you. You’ve wrapped the servants around your little finger.” He ran fingertips down her face. “And me.”
“I’ve got you wrapped around my finger?” She huffed a laugh as if it was a joke, but an unexpected vulnerability snaked through it.
“You’ve had me wrapped in knots for months.”
Her smile fell, and she dropped her gaze to his mouth.
He tugged her forward. “We’re close. Can you see?”
A glow shone through the trees and a trail of smoke wound its way to the sky. Aries nudged at his shoulder, the smoke a signal oats were near.
“It’s like something out of one of your storybooks.” The wonder in her voice pleased him. He had whitewashed the outer walls and painted the wooden beams a deep green. The roof was slanted and topped with red clay tiles. A heavy oak door graced the front, and the knocker was an iron forest sprite.
“It was a hovel when I found it. There are several abandoned crofter cottages in the area. Over the years, I reconstructed it. When I came home from France and was able to ride again, I would come here and…”
A Brazen Bargain: Spies and Lovers, Book 2 Page 19
