As they climbed along the road that wound inland away from the hunting lodge, the views of the ocean gave way to terraced fields, now harvested and brown with the stubbles of cut wheat. Although views of the weather-fraught Channel were temporarily out of sight, the tang of salt in the air and wind gusts carrying the smells of the shore were never far away.
Richard teetered between two longings. The unpredictable sea coupled with the dependable routine of the Royal Navy pulled him strongly in that direction, and he suffered a vague sense of guilt. But his heart kept circling back to the Lady Blandford and now her son, young Lord Blandford.
“Ha-penny for your thoughts?” Captain Thorne gave out a short laugh. “That’s all I can afford these days. No wars, and even if there were, my rheumatism wouldn’t let me get much beyond Lizard Point before I’d be good for next to nothing on one of His Majesty’s ships.
Richard shrugged. “I’m probably not much good for anything right now, either. I miss my ship and my men. But what good is an officer who may go head-first onto the deck at any moment?”
“Tosh. That will pass. You’re a fine officer, cool under fire. Your full senses will return before you know it. Any day now.”
Richard shook his head and reached over to scratch Bert between his huge ears. The creature gave him a side look, bared his teeth, and snuffled hard. He snatched his hand away. “I know you’re probably right. I’ve spent time in the surgery when Doctor MacCloud made me stay abed after a knock on the head. I probably should have returned to the ship to have our new surgeon look after me, instead of imposing on Lady Blandford.”
They continued walking in companionable silence for long minutes before Thorne joined him on his side of Bert. When he walked around the front of the animal and then stopped, Bert gave him an annoyed look. “That poor woman has been through hell since her husband died. She’s been pushed and shoved around by her cousin, the duke, even though he means well. And then there’s that bastard of a brother-in-law of hers.” He pulled on the donkey’s bridle and they headed on up the now tight, twisting road. “She needs someone on her side.” With that final, cryptic comment, Thorne spent most of the rest of the short journey in silence.
Just as a modest stone cottage hove into view at the top of the steep road, Thorne fired one last salvo that left Richard reeling.
“And now that Duke-Sidmouth-Almighty is back from his honeymoon, he’ll expect Lady Blandford to make good on his arrangement for her to be saddled with that old bastard Grantham.”
Richard strippedoff the muslin work shirt he’d borrowed from Captain Thorne and grasped the axe in a grip so tight, his knuckles whitened. The older man’s cottage was much like the one he’d grown up in across the Irish Sea, in County Meath. And the captain kept the cottage the same way his father, the elder Bourne, had. The foundation had started to crumble, and the wood bin had contained only a few pieces of kindling at the bottom when he’d tried the day before to warm the frigid interior of the cottage. Richard aimed to correct that condition for the winter before he returned to his ship within the fortnight.
In spite of the run-down state of the cottage, the namesake roses had vined and covered over the stone structure. In fact, the now fall-browned vines and faded blooms seemed to be the main mortar holding together the tiny, snug cottage.
Richard stared down at the tool in his savage grip and realized it was a Royal Navy boarding axe, probably a useful souvenir of Thorne’s many years at sea. He propped the tool against the side of the cottage and rubbed and stretched his fingers and hands to avoid cramping.
He’d spent most of the morning slashing through fallen trees and stumps he’d dragged from the woods surrounding the cottage. Surely Lady Blandford could provide some dead wood for the poor man from one of her family’s huge estates. He’d have to talk to her about that.
He picked up the axe again and returned to a rhythm of hacking the wood into hearth-sized pieces. When he stopped to stack Thorne’s winter fuel in the bin, he heard the jingle of a horse’s harness. When he turned, Nicholas exploded from the Blandford carriage, closely followed by the two mastiffs.
When Richard squatted down in the stone courtyard to greet the unruly mob, he was bowled over by a muddy boy and two slobbering dogs. The trio’s footman, Thomas, was busy helping down the last passenger - the spicy-scented woman who now haunted his dreams.
Richard suddenly remembered he’d shed his shirt and walked resolutely back to the stone bench where he’d left it. Nicholas, Max, and Fleur followed close on his heels.
After only one night in the cottage, he’d missed her disquieting presence, and now, when she’d come back into the circle of his senses, he was shirtless and dripping sweat, like a barbarian. This woman would be forever beyond his reach, and he should accept that fate, quit daydreaming like a school boy over what he couldn’t have.
He quickly pulled his shirt over his head, and when he turned to go back to the carriage to greet her, she was there, right there, within reach of his arms. Close enough to touch her sun-warmed cheeks, close enough to claim another damned kiss.
Harriet struggledto suck in enough breath to keep a feeling of lightheadedness at bay. When they’d topped the last pitch on the road to the cottage and she’d gotten her first glimpse of Lieutenant Bourne chopping wood without a shirt, she’d known she should look away. She could have stayed in the carriage, anything to avoid the feelings flooding her.
But her traitorous body had ignored her, and now that she stood in front of him, she finally managed to pull air into her lungs, air that carried the heady scent of healthy male, combined with smoke and firewood. Why did this man, like no other over the last five years, make her feel this way? She yearned to unburden the feelings she couldn’t push away. She wished there were someone she could confide in. Talking to Nana would be a huge mistake, not to mention futile.
The poor woman was living in two worlds, never knowing exactly which one she inhabited—her years on the London stage when she was courted by the duke, or her current state of wandering in and out of sanity? Her grandmother did have occasional moments of piercing intelligence and clarity. The trick was figuring out just when those moments would occur.
“I shouldn’t have come,” she finally said, and passed a large wicker hamper loaded with something emanating delicious wafts of cold cheeses, fried chicken, and the unmistakable cinnamon-and-ginger-scented biscuits. When she whirled and headed back toward the carriage, Richard reached out and touched her hand.
“Please, stay.”
She turned back, blinking away tears.God, this man made her lose all sense of propriety.
Suddenly, Captain Thorne was there. He took the hamper out of Richard’s hands and announced, “I’m going to put this in the galley, and then Nicholas, Thomas, and I are going to take the dogs on a long, brisk walk. Maybe we can take some of the gooseberry out of them.” Thorne accompanied that announcement with a pointed look at her and the lieutenant.
And then they were all gone, leaving her alone with Lieutenant Bourne. The silence closed in on them like a hot summer night, but she was pretty sure the wind clawing at her heavy woolen pelisse was still bitterly cold. She was afraid to move, afraid to speak. She couldn’t trust her own body.
Without a word, he enclosed her hand in his and pulled her toward the cottage. “What are you doing? Where are we going?”
He squeezed her hand and stared back over his shoulder. His blue eyes were hard, like points of ice. “We have to talk, milady.”
She jerked back on her hand as if to break away, but he squeezed harder and kept walking toward the cottage. “We have unfinished business, you and I. And youwilllisten.”
Richard busiedhimself with building a decent fire in the main fireplace, and he’d found a warm blanket for Lady Harriet to cover her legs while she sat in the only comfortable chair in the house.
