Chapter Two
Lord Joshua Rutland, third inheritor of the fourth Duke of Rutland, had long divested his title, emerging as Joshua Hansford, fur trader on the frontier; a convenient front to fool the masses. He whistled, slowing his stride through Horace Hayes’ home.
He couldn’t get the stunning girl out of his mind and hoped to catch another glimpse of her. Her tattered clothing did not diminish her serene loveliness, and her face, delicate of feature, owned a sweetness to which he was powerfully drawn.
It was a safe bet he’d frightened her by admitting he’d observed her. Why had he disclosed that truth? When mending her hand, she had trembled, and he’d resisted the urge to let her go.
His whistle collapsed in rapid decrescendo. It wasn’t the color of her eyes that were so breathtaking. It was how bright they were, like a meadow of cornflowers, or a perfect spring sky, swirling in a whirlpool of apprehension.
Joshua scrubbed a hand over his jaw and the two-day growth of wiry beard. With certainty, she was dangerous. She possessed the kind of beauty that paralyzed a man, edged under his muscles and made his blood surge. That lush waterfall of red hair tumbling down her back had been made for a man’s hands to explore.
He’d been in the wilderness too long.
Yet, so taken with her, he’d not asked her name. It made no difference. There was no time for a woman in his life. He had a mission to keep.
He dug down deep in his pocket, fingered the lace-edged handkerchief and the note that authored a senseless act of violence. A familiar shiver crawled down his spine. How much Sarah must have suffered.
He didn’t know her killer or the motive. Not yet. Revenge rioted through his veins and he wouldn’t rest until he identified the murderer and killed him.
After a year of agony and heartache, one thing was clear. It was better not to love anyone than to have them taken from you.
Outside Horace Hayes’ study, Joshua raised his hand to knock on the door and heard a female gasp from the other side. Regardless of Orpha’s vigilant eye, Horace was known for tupping his servant girls.
Horace, a prominent King’s man and Loyalist in the Colonies remained unsuspecting of Joshua’s intrigues. He massaged his trades with Horace, tantalizing him with a fine array of furs, to tease out a transaction that preyed upon the merchant’s tight dealing. Allowing a parsimoniousness man to make a big profit tended to loosen his lips and unwittingly, Horace had provided a font of information, unknowingly aiding the Patriot cause over the course of the war. No need to disturb or anger him.
Joshua had used the ruse as a trapper to keep his spying activities covert. He worked hard cultivating Indians and colonials to gain seeds of information under the alias of Joshua Hansford. The fervor of the Patriot cause had caught fire in him, and he fought for the idea of a free country, a place where he could build upon his own lands.
He turned to leave.
“No. Please don’t.” The woman’s voice rang out from behind the door.
The pleading in the woman’s voice stopped him.Vulnerable.No one to protect her. No one to thwart Horace’s unwanted advances. There was a difference between willing and unwilling.
Raised in a household where a hands-off rule applied to female servants, Joshua possessed a deep sense of honor and fiercely protected those who were unable to protect themselves.
If he intruded, the consequences of alienating Horace could be disastrous, losing a valuable source of information for General Washington. Yet, wasn’t silence the true crime against humanity?
Damn!
Joshua knocked once, then swept open the door. He ducked just in time as a pewter candlestick sailed over his head, banged against a wall and thumped to the floor. “Have the Patriot’s set their cannons to fire?”
Horace crouched behind his desk. Above the man stood a beautifully enraged she-dragon goddess, with her glorious red hair falling over her shoulders, her mob cap flung on the floor. She lifted her chin and narrowed a cold, hard look at Joshua, daring him to speak against her. No need for him to worry about the unwilling maid. She had everything under control.
Joshua swaggered into the room, folded his arms and let the scene play out. She was no more than a slave. Many indentured servants were cruelly treated by their masters especially young girls as beautiful as she and who were helpless against the assault. When they became pregnant, the sin of adultery lay at their feet and added years of indenture as punishment.
Red-faced, Horace fixed his gaze on the red-haired warrior who raised another candlestick high over her head. “Not only an instrument of the devil but a lunatic, too.”
She lowered the candlestick, seemed to collect her words in her hand, gnash them together and hurl them over the desk. “Not only a libertine, but a braying ass, too,” she spat out.
“What is all the noise?” Orpha screeched from upstairs.
The she-dragon paled.
Fire hardened Joshua’s muscles and licked through his veins. The hairless Orpha would accuse and punish the innocent girl for enticing her lecherous husband. Joshua strode into the hall. “Your husband spanned his hands to emphasize a point and knocked over a candlestick,” Joshua answered, his voice raised so she could hear him.
“Tell Horace to be more careful,” Orpha snapped, and then in a gentler tone, said, “Cook is preparing you a wonderful dinner, Mr. Hansford.”
Joshua angled his head. “Thank you, Mistress Orpha. I look forward to it and to your charming company.”
