by CJ Archer
The rain cleared and the clouds parted just as Orlando finished breakfast. He helped Cook clean up then went out to the well to draw more water. He left her with a full pail and took another into the stables to add to Silver's trough. Susanna joined him there.
"Good morning," she said. Her movements were graceful yet languid and soft, like a contented cat. She must be as sated as he following their night of passionate lovemaking.
He smiled and caught her round her waist. "Good morning, my goddess."
"Orlando," she whispered, "someone might see."
"There's no one here." He stole a kiss before she gently pushed him away.
Together they took the tools out to the garden. Orlando set to work building a shelter following the plans from Susanna's French orange grower, while she tended to the trees themselves, checking their leaves, the soil at their base, and the trunks. He thought he even heard her speaking to them from time to time. Later, when Monk still hadn't appeared, she put her tools down.
"I'm going up to the Hall to find him," she said.
"I'll go. It's too dangerous and I was the one who—"
She put a finger to his lips. "Hush. Don't say it." She glanced at the arch. "Someone might be listening."
He kissed her finger, her wrist, her mouth. She didn't move away but sighed into him. He groaned against her mouth. "I want you," he murmured.
She reached up and dug her fingers through his hair, holding him against her. She moaned, low in her throat, and his groin pulsed in response.
At the edge of his awareness, something caught his attention. He broke the kiss, looked around.
"What is it?" she asked, sounding a little breathless.
"It felt like we were being watched." He strode to the arch and looked across the ruined formal garden at the front of the house, the gravel area leading to the outbuildings around the back, and the eastern wall of the house itself. He saw no one.
"Do you think someone was here?" she asked.
"I was probably mistaken," he lied. He didn't want to alarm her, but his instincts were never wrong. "Let's keep working. If Monk hasn't shown by dinner time, we'll both go to Sutton Hall." He didn't want to leave her at Stoneleigh where she was vulnerable without him, or let her go on her own. Not until Monk's, and Lynden's, intentions were clear.
His caution turned out to be unnecessary. Monk sauntered in soon after. "Where have you been?" Susanna asked, looking up from the plans for the orange tree shelter.
Orlando straightened. His grip tightened on the shovel. Monk came up to him, his shoulders square, his gray eyes dark with venom as they skimmed over Orlando's face to his right arm. Assessing if it suffered a cut? But Bessie had quickly mended the doublet that morning and it was thick enough to hide the bandage Susanna had wrapped around his wound.
"I was busy this morning," Monk said to Susanna. "My apologies for being late."
"Very well. You can start now."
He suddenly clapped Orlando on his injured arm, right over the bandage, and pain burned up to his shoulder. Hell. The man had a grip on him like death.
Orlando gritted his back teeth and smiled.
Monk squeezed harder.
Orlando smiled more. His entire arm was on fire, but he would not show weakness to this man.
"Mr. Monk!" Susanna's shrill voice sliced through the crisp air. "Kindly cease your pathetic attempts to prove who is the stronger and pick up a mallet. According to these plans, we need to sink the supporting structure deeply into the ground first." She waved the diagram at him.
Monk let go and Orlando breathed out and in, conquering the pain.
"Plans?" Monk asked, crossing to where she stood near the pile of wood. "Did you draw them yourself?"
"No, they came from my French supplier." She handed the parchment to Monk and he inspected it closely, brushing his fingers across the drawing.
"Very good," he said. "I know a little about building, and these plans seem quite detailed."
"Then let's delay no further and get to work."
Monk smiled. "Yes, madam."
Orlando picked up a beam. He would keep as close to Monk as he could while the cur was in Susanna's presence. He doubted Monk would harm her in daylight in her own garden, but it was best to stay alert.
"Why were you late?" he asked.
"I told you," Monk said. "I had things to do. If you have a problem with my tardiness, I suggest you take it up with Lynden."
"How long were you standing at the arch there?"
"I wasn't standing anywhere. I came straight in."
The man was a very good liar. He looked directly at Orlando as he said it without even the faintest flicker of his eyelashes.
Or he was telling the truth.
They set to work. Orlando remained close to Monk and Susanna kept her distance, thank God. Although she was always polite to Monk, Orlando could see her wariness around him, the watchfulness in her eyes, the tension across her shoulders. It must be distressing to think her cousin-in-law might have hired a man to kill her.
"M'lady!" Bessie called from the arch. Hendricks stood beside her, looking grave.
Susanna straightened and stretched her back. "Is it dinner time already?"
Bessie and Hendricks exchanged glances. "We need to have a word," the manservant intoned.
Susanna huddled with them. Orlando wished he were closer to hear but it was clear from the way the servants shot furtive glances at Monk that it was about him. Monk himself either didn't notice or pretended not to. He continued to dig.
Susanna dismissed her servants and trudged over to where Orlando stood leaning on his shovel. "Mr. Monk."
He turned at her sharp voice. "Yes?"
"My maid informed me that some of my papers have been disturbed."
Monk's grip shifted on the shovel handle. "You think I did it?"
"You were late this morning. Care to tell me what you were doing?"
Monk took a step toward them and Susanna sidled closer to Orlando. He wanted to put his arm around her shoulders and reassure her. Instead, he moved to stand between them.
"I was with Lord Lynden," Monk said, a hand up in surrender. "He'll confirm it if you ask him."
"What are you looking for?" Orlando growled. "What's in Susanna's papers that you need?"
"I told you—"
"Enough! We know you're lying. You've searched the outbuildings, you almost succeeded in climbing through Susanna's window, and now you've rifled through her papers." He squared up to Monk, toe to toe. "Cease your lies, and give me an answer or I'll be forced to extract it from you."
Monk's nostrils flared and a muscle pulsed in his jaw. He kept his wintry gaze on Orlando, which in itself set him above most men. He would not be easily intimidated. This might get interesting.
"Call off your dog, Lady Lynden," Monk said idly. "His yapping annoys me."
"Not until you answer his questions," she said.
A strong breeze whipped through the garden, rustling the orange tree leaves and cooling Orlando's skin but not his temper. He was about to thump Monk to teach him a lesson when he spoke.
"Your arm is bandaged," he said. "I'd wager you were cut by a blade last night up at Sutton Hall. Correct?"
Very well, Orlando would play his game. "I was there to find out more about you. Why Lynden has employed you, where you hail from, and how you both know Lord Whipple."
Monk raised his eyebrows. "Lord Whipple?"
"Don't act the fool."
"Orlando," Susanna warned.
"It's all right. It's time to confront this eel." To Monk, he said, "I don't trust you. I never have. So I searched your pack and found a letter of introduction from Whipple."
Shadows passed over Monk's eyes. "You looked through my belongings?"
Orlando shrugged. "A necessary measure."
"I beg to differ."
"You'll be begging for your life soon enough if you don't tell me how you know Whipple."
"We had business dealings with eac
h other. Complicated matters. You wouldn't understand, Mr. Holt, being a gardener."
"Even a gardener can understand murder, Mr. Monk."
Monk went very still. The throbbing vein in his throat was the only sign of movement. His gaze shifted past Orlando to Susanna then back again. "You think I'm here to kill her?" When Orlando didn't answer, Monk added, "It's quite a leap from rifling through her papers to murder."
Not when you know what I know.
"Yes, I suppose so," Susanna said. She came up alongside Orlando, her brow furrowed.
Hell. If she began to doubt that her life was in peril, she might lower her guard. And that could prove dangerous. Whoever had hired the Guild to kill her was going to be very angry when they discovered the deed not done. If Monk hadn't been hired as a back-up, then someone else surely would be.
"Perhaps you were wrong, Orlando, and no one is trying to...take my life," Susanna said quietly.
"We should remain vigilant, nevertheless. And there is still the fact this prick is sneaking around your house, looking through your papers."
"I didn't admit to that," Monk said, cheerfully. He leaned in to her with the sort of smile tweaking his lips that most men saved for wenches they wanted to bed. "Lady Lynden, are you sure your gardener is not suffering from madness? He seems to see wrong-doing where there is none, and murderers too."
White-hot light burst before Orlando's eyes and all he knew was that he had to wipe that cock-head's smile off or he would go mad.
The thud of fist on chin was the most satisfying sound. Monk reeled back, clutching his face in precisely the same spot Orlando had hit him the night before.
Susanna gasped. "Stop!"
He would have stopped too, but Monk recovered faster than he expected and ran at him, shoulder down. It caught Orlando in the chest and they went careening backward, locked in an embrace, and fell to the soft earth.
Rising above the thumps of fists and the grunts was Susanna's voice, ordering them to cease. Orlando managed to roll on top of Monk and went to grab the knife he kept up his sleeve, but Monk locked his legs around Orlando's hips and spun him over. The man was strong and fast, an unexpected combination. Orlando hadn't faced an opponent this good since Cole had suggested they challenge one another to keep their skills fresh.
Damned if he was going to let someone outside the Guild get the better of him. He saw an opening and dug his fingers into Monk's shirt. He dragged him closer and smashed his forehead against the bridge of Monk's nose. Monk let his guard down long enough for Orlando to shove him off.
He was about to get up when ice-cold water was dumped over his head and Monk's. He stood and shook his hair, sending droplets spraying across the onlookers—Susanna, Hendricks, Margaret Cowdrey, and her brother. Farmer Cowdrey held the empty pail, looking pleased with himself.
Susanna's eyes blazed like blue fire. "Have you two quite finished?" she asked, hands on hips.
"Madman," Monk muttered. Blood dripped from his nose and dark circles were already appearing beneath his eyes.
"What sort of animals have you employed, Susanna?" Farmer Cowdrey asked, still holding the pail.
Margaret said nothing, but looked Monk up and down then switched her searching gaze to Orlando. Her eyes narrowed. She bared her teeth. They were crooked and sharp.
"I'm beginning to wonder that myself." Susanna's sharply spoken words were aimed at Orlando. They felt like needles piercing his skin.
"Come inside, m'lady," Hendricks said. "You shouldn't be exposed to these scoundrels. Cook'll give you something nice and warm to calm your nerves."
"My nerves are calm, thank you. I am calm. It was a simple disagreement that went too far. Isn't that right, men?"
Monk nodded and dabbed at his nose with his sleeve. Orlando watched her closely. What was Susanna thinking? Did she believe Monk's suggestion that her life was not in danger? Had she begun to doubt Orlando?
Bloody hell. He needed to get her alone and talk to her, but with all her guard dogs surrounding her, it was unlikely to happen. It would have to wait until tonight. That's if she let him near her after this.
"You can't control them," Cowdrey said. "It's not your fault, no woman could." He set the pail down. "Susanna, this is why you need to marry again. It's a sign from God that a woman cannot and should not live alone."
She sighed heavily. "It's not a sign from God that I should wed, Walter, it's a sign that two men with inflated self-worth cannot get along."
"Susanna." Cowdrey went to take her hands, but she pulled away. Margaret stiffened and crossed her arms. Her glare was lost on her brother who only had eyes for Susanna. "You have unruly servants, your oranges require too much work, and you cannot sell enough marmalade to restore Stoneleigh and survive. Heed me on this. I have a head for business."
Margaret made a small sound in the back of her throat. Small white lines appeared around her mouth as she pursed it tight.
"My servants are not unruly," Susanna snapped. "And you are wrong on every score, Walter. One day I will prove to you that my head for business is as good as yours. I will send out more letters to more merchants. Better ones. Ones who supply the nobility or perhaps the queen's household itself!"
Walter frowned and seemed genuinely confused. "Wouldn't it be easier to let a husband take care of matters?" He looped his arm through hers, drawing her aside. "Susanna," he murmured but not low enough to stop Orlando from hearing, "my farm turns a good profit. I can buy you anything you need, your father too. We can employ your three servants and have all your orange trees transplanted to your own garden at Cowdrey Farm. I'll build you the best walled enclosure—"
"Stop, Walter. I cannot marry you."
"Susanna." His voice was firm, demanding. "You need a husband. You need me."
"You're a fool, Brother." Margaret's ice-cold voice ripped through the air like shards of broken glass. "She is a whore."
"What!" Orlando and Hendricks spluttered.
"Margaret!" Cowdrey snapped. "Hold your tongue, woman."
Only Susanna seemed unaffected by Margaret's accusation. She was like one of her orange trees, straight and proud, only the stray strands of her hair fluttering in the breeze.
"It's true. I saw her embracing her gardener earlier in a lewd manner."
Cowdrey made a choking sound and turned a bright shade of purple.
"Earlier?" Orlando said. "But you just arrived."
"No, I didn't," Margaret said. "I was in the village with my brother. He had business to conduct with a gentleman farmer from the next parish so I decided to take a walk as the conversation frustrated me." She gave Cowdrey a rather vicious glare. "We agreed to meet here." Her top lip curled and she looked at Susanna like she was something she'd scraped off her shoe. "It's time you stopped wasting your breath on her, Walter. I've let your infatuation go on long enough, but it needs to end. Perhaps now you can see why."
Another blast of white fire burst in front of Orlando's eyes, but he didn't move. Didn't breathe. Kept himself very still lest his anger consume him. If she were a man, however...
"You had better go," Susanna said to the Cowdreys. "We have nothing more to say to each other."
"Susanna?" Walter Cowdrey stared slack-jawed at her. "Is it true?"
Susanna said nothing.
"It is true," Margaret said. "I knew there was something about her. For years I suspected she was a witch the way she dazzled Phillip and then you. A witch and a whore. Now I have the proof. I saw them with my own eyes, Walter. It was disgusting, base." She spat onto the ground. "I warned you about her many times, and now you see I was right. Perhaps you'll put this pathetic infatuation behind you."
Susanna pressed her hand to her lips and her eyes filled with tears. Orlando moved to her, but Hendricks got there first. He touched her shoulder and that seemed to rally her. She tilted her chin at Margaret.
"I'm not sure what I've done to you to deserve such a lashing, but whatever it is, it has apparently upset you and for that, I'm
truly sorry."
Margaret's eyes widened. Clearly it wasn't the response she'd expected. She spun on her heel, smacked her brother's arm, and stormed out of the garden. Cowdrey stood like a small, lost boy, looking down at his feet. After a moment, he rallied.
He removed his hat and scrunched it in his hands. "Susanna, I'm sorry for what Margaret said. I'll have words with her." He swallowed and his gaze shifted to the archway. Orlando suspected the last thing he wanted to do was speak to his tempestuous shrew of a sister. "She's got strange ideas in her head. She doesn't hate you. Not really."
"It's all right, Walter. You'd better go, or she'll come back and drag you out." She offered him a weak smile.
He bowed and left the garden.
"Well," Monk said. "That's one way to make everyone forget about our little stoush, Holt."
"Shut it," Orlando snarled without taking his gaze off Susanna.
"As you wish."
"Susanna—"
"Lady Lynden," Hendricks cut in, "we should go inside for dinner. It might calm everyone's nerves." He glared at Orlando. "And give some of us time to think about the consequences of their actions."
Orlando had thought about those. Sometimes he thought about nothing else. Unfortunately, it didn't change anything. He continued to do the wrong thing. He simply couldn't help himself.
"Mr. Monk, will you dine with us in the kitchen?" she asked.
"Thank you," Monk said. "That's very kind and I accept."
"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Susa—m'lady," Orlando said.
"I agree with him for once," Hendricks said. "Having both of 'em in a closed space is asking for trouble."
"I promise to be on my best behavior," Monk said. "If Holt agrees to a truce then I think we can all consider ourselves safe for the time being." He raised both brows at Orlando.
"Clean yourself up first," Orlando said. "You're a mess."
"Aye," Hendricks said. "Cook's very particular about getting blood on the table."
Monk chuckled. He seemed to be enjoying himself, the cur. Susanna led them back to the house, her back stiff and her head high. Orlando followed, acutely aware that she'd neither looked at him nor addressed him since Margaret's outburst.
The worst of it was, he had no idea how to bring back the smile to her face.
