by Darcy Burke
"What scene would you be referring?" Devon asked with practiced innocence, she was sure.
"I am referring to the one where you see me having to make a wage at the local tavern to be able to carry on without your assistance, or where you must come to my rescue in the taproom and save me from some drunken farmer. Perhaps the scene where you can go around calling me wench and I cannot but smile meekly and allow it," she retorted, allowing her exasperation to show, but fighting to hold back a smile.
"Well, I cannot say the first makes me particularly happy, but being your rescuer and having leave to call you wench are both quite tolerable experiences, I have to say."
"I will have you know, the reason I was at the Tavern was not for the reason you think," she said, defending herself. She had worked damn hard to gain a life and good living for her and her daughter, and didn't want him thinking she hadn't. Why it rankled her so, Ella would think on later.
"Oh, what then were you doing at the tavern serving ale to the local men?" he asked with a bit more annoyance and less humor.
"Mr. Bryant's daughter has fallen ill and he needed the help. His daughter helped in my shop last year when Penny fell ill. I am just returning the favor."
"Oh, I see." The remainder of the walk they completed in silence. At the back door leading to her kitchen, Ella turned, looking into the dark shadow that was Devon.
"Thank you for rescuing me from that man, and for walking me home. I am safe now, so you may leave."
"I may leave here tonight or here forever?" he asked. She wished she could see his face. His voice sounded civil enough, but she knew his eyes would tell. Not knowing why, she didn't want to give him his leave just yet. She thought he was giving her that opportunity, but couldn't be sure.
"I am not sure what it is you want, but I assure you, I am doing fine and you need not feel any misplaced responsibility to me." Ella knew what a feeling of unwanted responsibility could do to the way a person felt about another and she didn't want Devon, of all people, to see her that way. So much so, her throat tightened at the thought of him seeing her as a burden. Her eyes burned and her heart felt heavy. Could there ever be a time when she wasn't a burden? She doubted it. Her sadness at the thought made her grateful for the shadows hiding the single tear she was unable to hold back.
"I will be truthful with you. I am not yet sure what I plan to do with the information of you being alive and of my daughter, but I will not leave until I have made my decision." Again, his voice was calm, but this time, it carried a deadly serious edge that vibrated along her spine, prickling every nerve.
Her voice all but squeaked in a raspy tone as she asked, "What decision is that?"
"You will know when the time comes, but until that time, you may plan on seeing me often."
The world shifted under her feet. If she had only run for her door and shut him out as soon as she saw the bakery, she would be inside and he would be out. It wouldn't change anything, but she wouldn't be wiser to it. "No, you cannot be lingering about. The others will know something is not right. I will be found out a fraud. You must leave!" A knot formed deep in her stomach just thinking about spending time with Devon again. She left last time for fear of being seduced by her own fanciful dreams. The knot grew bigger as her panic rose. She opened her mouth to argue more, but was thwarted.
Devon made shushing sounds and placed a feather light finger on her lips to quiet her. The contact had the desired effect. She was sure. She froze, immobile. He moved his finger from her lips up her cheek and back down tracing the line of her jaw. His wayward finger stilled under her chin where he tipped her face up. He couldn't know how the touch of one of his fingers could befuddle her senses, or could he?
"I promise I will not be overly attentive to you, unless you give me leave. I will be staying close by doing some seasonal sport. I will, however, require some of your time to get to know my daughter and the kind of life you are offering her here in a bakery. I think every other evening will do for a start."
"Wait," the spell, which seemed to encase her with his quiet, deep voice, broke at his dictate. How was she to deal with the blackmail letters and threat, run her bakery, and give Devon every other evening? She would get no sleep whatsoever. She had to do something. "There is no way I can commit to every other evening. I am going to be helping Mr. Bryant for at least a sennight every other evening, and on those evenings I am not, I have to spend time with Maddie and sleep. You do not understand how early one who runs a bakery must rise each morning."
Devon studied her until she all but squirmed. She didn't think he could see her features. She couldn't see his. She, however, had all but memorized his face from her dreams. What was he considering?
"Very well, we will start with a meeting two nights from now. It will be Saturday night. I trust your shop is not open Sundays, is it?"
Her exhaustion pulled on her and dragged her down. She tried to think what Sunday was holding for her, but couldn't. "I– I don't think I have anything, other than the Sunday service." Something was needling in her mind, but wouldn't shake clear. "Fine, Sunday evening then after eight o'clock. I will meet you here at the back door. Now, I must go. I only have time to bathe and change, before I must start the fires for the day's baking."
Again, he studied her, still holding her chin. Quietly and gently, Devon released her and stepped back from the door. "Until Sunday then," and he turned and headed out into the darkness of the field.
Senses reeling, she made her way to her living quarters. A low fire still burned. The upstairs room was warm and cozy, and Ella made a point of closing the heavy door at the top of the stairs to keep out the early morning chill. First, she checked that Maddie was well. As expected, she was curled up in the middle of the bed they shared, deep in the blankets with her doll. Penny lay asleep on her pallet near the fire. Neither stirred as Ella washed as much of her body as possible to clean it of the smells of the tavern. The blasted cat Maddie had befriended was downstairs making havoc by the sounds. If he could be caught, he would find himself outside for the day if there were a mess. She changed and made her way downstairs to coax the large ovens into service.
As soon as she reached the middle stair, she smelled the familiar scent of wood smoke. Once down the stairs, she saw for sure both large fires blazed and crackled ready for use. On the large workbench lay a bunch of spring wildflowers.
Devon. Perhaps the cat was not to blame this time. Ella sensed she was in more danger than she first thought. Her heart beat harder in agreement and she could still feel the sensation of his finger on her lips. She pulled the flowers to her nose with a shaking hand and decided she might not be as prepared for this as she hoped.
Chapter 4
"You sir, need to sit. It will be of great expense to you of course, if I am in need of a new floor once you have finished grinding a ditch in the middle," Clive drawled at Devon while sitting at his desk working through correspondence. Devon, however, paced with barely restrained frustration.
It wasn't so much what Clive said, but as usual, how he said it with an irritating air of humor. It wasn't as though any of the mail received by him this morning held a note canceling his evening engagements.
"What would you have me do?" Devon snapped.
"Well, I would suggest questioning Ella as to why she needs to cancel. Perhaps, she does have a valid reason. And, might I suggest using parchment and ink, for I am sure she can't hear you rant from this distance. If she could, I would hope she would have been here hours ago to save me the pleasure of listening to you."
"Tell me again why I haven't called you out yet?"
"Because, my besotted friend, I am the one voice of reason you actually listen to."
"Lord, help me," Devon quipped as he sprawled into the chair in front of the desk. He wanted nothing more than to march down the hill and demand she give him a valid reason for keeping him at bay.
The missive was short but polite. It said she had not remembered an errand she had to attend t
o and would not be back until late Tuesday. It wasn't bad enough he was going against everything— everything he knew about women by choosing to expose himself to Ella again, but now she was dismissing him. This should be a sign to run. Logic would dictate as such, but he couldn't. Now that he had discovered she was alive, he couldn't turn his back. He should. It couldn't end well for him, he knew from watching his father, but for some reason, he didn't care.
"You received this note, what two hours ago? Whatever she was going to do, I am sure she wouldn't have left before luncheon. I would suggest you send another missive asking, not demanding," Clive added with a knowing look, which grated on Devon's already threadbare nerves.
"What errand is going to take her away overnight?"
He doubted Ella would tell him the truth, considering she hadn't offered the information in her first note, but that would at least keep the conversation alive. He rose from the chair and made his way to the bell pull. Clive rose as well, giving Devon the use of his desk. He poured two generous drinks and settled in the chair with his footstool.
Devon got the missive composed, blotted the ink and Clive gave the note to the youngest, and most reliable of his servants to deliver, with an order for him to wait for a reply. With Clive's servants, the term 'reliable' was tenuous at best, but he took the drink offered to him and began a slow turn about the large room to wait.
♥♥♥
An hour later, Devon had his answer, but the response was one that he did not relish. His pacing once again took on that of a caged animal. The once obscenely large great hall, come library, became stifling within its confines.
"Are you sure?"
"Aye Milord," the young boy stammered. "Miss Penny herself told me."
"When?"
"She left at sunrise. Miss Penny also said she doesn't make the whole trip in one day. She will make it just outside the city tonight."
Devon's head swam. "Does the bloody woman know the potential dangers facing anyone on the road to Edinburgh? Has she lost all sense?" He glared at the messenger waiting for an answer.
"Miss Penny told me Mrs. R makes this trip four times a year during good weather," the young servant answered. "That way, she can fill her larder for the winter months."
What Devon wouldn't do to have his pretty wife's neck to wring right now. Instead, he had a very young, very nervous servant. Devon knew how intimidating he could be and even though he would like nothing more than to take his frustrations out, tearing the young servant limb from limb would not resolve anything. The one person, along with her pretty neck, responsible for his current state of hysterics was at this moment traveling north to purchase supplies for a bakery Devon planned would not be her responsibility in a very short time.
"Thank you, Brian, you may leave. If you stop by the kitchen, I am sure cook will give you something to eat before you go back to your duties." Clive filled the silence. Brian bowed and hurried away. "Now what?" He asked turning back toward Devon. "And before you answer, ask yourself what prize you are aiming for."
Devon all but growled his frustration. His instincts screamed for action. Riding one of Clive's prize stallions, he could catch up with her at the posting inn outside the city. But, then what? She would never agree to leave without her supplies and he couldn't very well carry her kicking and screaming out of the inn. He could go into the city and collect the supplies needed without her, but her appeasement again would not be gained.
Clive was correct, however. He had to remember his goal. He was seducing her, right? In order to do that, he needed her content and pliable. Ella with a bee in her bonnet would not be easy to seduce. In addition, he had to admit he was more than a little curious as to how she dealt with her new life. If he did follow her, but stayed to the shadows, he would be available in case of an emergency. He would also be able to get to know the inner workings of his wife's mind, a pastime he was quickly beginning to enjoy.
"Can you show me the route she would likely have taken and a quicker route so I might make up time?" Devon asked his friend. Clive stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, eying Devon. "Oh, blast it, man, I am only going to play look out. What did you think? I was going to run into her rooms and carry her squealing and thrashing out the door?"
After a moment's pause, Clive quipped, "No, but you considered it. Of that I am sure."
♥♥♥
Noise met Devon as he entered the taproom of the posting inn. He hoped this was the inn in question. Making his way to the back of the large busy tavern, he got his answer. An older couple, the owners, he assumed, were standing at the bar quarreling. Devon took a seat near the stairs to the guest rooms within hearing distance.
"Will ye calm yerself? The lass is fine. She's just late in comin' is all. I won't send Timothy out. Tis not safe."
With an exasperated tsking sound, the woman replied, "That's whot I've been tryin' to tell ye. Tis not safe for a lady such as Mrs. R to be on the road after dark. Timothy knows his way."
"Listen woman," filling a tray with tankards of ale, the innkeeper spat back, "she pays weel, I'll give her that, but not weel enough for me to send a boy a huntin'. If she doesn't–"
Just then, a young gangly redheaded boy came from the way of the stairwell, very out of breath. "She's 'ere. Just arrived."
"Heavens be!" The older woman sighed, looking to the ceiling. "Timothy, go to the front guest room and start the fire. The poor thing must be exhausted."
Devon moved with haste, as to beat the young man up the stairs. Making his way to the guest rooms above stairs, he noted the quality of the wood and the cleanliness. This was where those with money would choose to stay. Not having time to wonder as to Ella's monetary needs, he filed the information away.
The front guest room, the largest and most extravagant room available, stood as the first door in the hallway. In the daylight, the large windows banking one wall would flood the room with light. The floor was polished to a shine with small rugs covering it to keep cold feet at bay. The bed was large, with what looked to be expensive linens. Again, the question of Ella being able to afford such luxury came to mind.
Footsteps coming down the hall brought him back to his purpose. He needed to hide. He took two steps toward the dressing screen. Ella would use the screen even though she was alone. The only other available hiding place was the wardrobe set against the wall just opposite the fire. With no time left to contemplate, Devon surged for the wardrobe, just getting the door closed, save for a crack, before the Young Timothy emerged into his line of sight.
As expected, the young man laid and lit the fire, tending it to a warm glow throughout the room. Not quite as expected, Devon heard more footsteps, and then watched Timothy rise from his endeavors with the fire.
"Put that down right here close to the fire. Ma wants her not to get a chill."
Damn!
Devon decided he should have waited to hear the remainder of the conversation in the taproom between the innkeeper's wife and Timothy. Had he been prudent, he wouldn't be in the tenuous position of hiding in a wardrobe knowing he would have to stay and watch his wife take a bath, for the object two other men were setting close to the fire was a bathtub. This was very bad.
"Good, go down and tell Sarah she can start filling the buckets. I need to wait until the fire takes before I help."
The other two men grumbled about Timothy not helping, but didn't dare argue outright. They left moments later. Those leaving, however, did not help Devon one bit. If Timothy left as well, he might be able to get out and make his way down the back staircase he had seen on his way up.
But, no, as his luck so often ran, Devon was stuck. He had meant only to stay long enough to dissuade his concern. On the trip, once Devon caught up with his wife and her guardian, if one could call the lad that, Ella appeared fine. As the day wore on, she stopped more often and became much less animated-- unlike her usual self. The last glimpse he managed to steal before they were plunged into darkness, she looked dreadfully pale.
Had he not heard the young man with her mention how close they were, he would have emerged from the shadows to end the trip. Just then, Devon got a sinking idea. What if he was the cause of her countenance? What if his very existence in her life was putting such a strain on her? The thought made him feel small, smaller than he had ever felt. As a child, he had felt as small when one of his father's lovers had claimed having a child underfoot drove her to her bedchamber with palpations and nerves. He had wanted to be invisible. He had wanted to be anywhere but home. That was how he felt now.
He had ridden hard through the brush and forest to beat her, and find a way to hide in her room just to make sure she was well. However, he did not want to sit and watch her bathe. Well, on more consideration, he couldn't think of anything else he would rather do, but being trapped in a wardrobe as a thief stealing her privacy was not the way he wanted to do it.
Instead, he would have preferred sitting at the tub's edge watching the water lap over her shimmering body. He could imagine her full breasts floating to the surface, exposing one rosy nipple to the cool air. This is the reason I can't sit here. I'll die of an apoplectic fit before she finishes. He thought as he attempted to shift, making room for his growing erection. Shifting was impossible in the small space without bringing notice to his hiding place.
The buckets of hot water came one after the other, until the tub was full. Just as Devon had given up hope, Timothy turned to leave with the last empty bucket swinging from his hand. Devon's view of the door was blocked so he waited, listening for the door to shut. Perhaps fate was smiling down on him, just this once.
"Ah, Timothy, are ye finished?"
"Aye, mum. Mrs. R, good evenin'," Timothy answered and greeted the illustrious guest.
Fate wasn't smiling, it was laughing– heartily.
