Somewhat lost without his bag, he wandered into the small parlour and perused the bookshelf. Most of what was there would suit youngsters. And some looked as if a few hungry mice had tried to digest some literature. And failed.
But he noted that the room was clean and dust free, and that the cushions in one particular chair by the window seemed quite new. Wondering if Miss Holly read there, he walked to it and sat, heaving a sigh of relief as the soft padding eased his aching body.
His thoughts drifted as he covered his knees with his cloak.
Why would someone want those documents so badly? They were simple drawings, and he had no inkling at all why they would pertain to anyone in this area, or pose enough of a threat to anyone that a violent attack seemed like a good idea.
It was a question he turned over in his mind many times, and still he could arrive at no reasonable answer.
He tried not to dwell on the fact that he was still alive, and had read the papers he’d been given. Would that fact alone mark him for death? Would there be another attack on him, but this time one not guaranteed to leave him living?
Good luck may have deserted his assignment, but it had delivered Miss Trease to the right place at the right time. In fact, she seemed to have seen it, judging from her passing comments. But how she could have done that, he had no clue at all.
Yet another question for her if—or when—she returned.
He offered up a silent prayer that it would be when she came back, and that she would be alone, although she’d be taking a dreadful risk by doing so. Richard might not be a member of the Ton, but he knew that to be isolated with a gentleman incircumstances such as these could well ruin a young woman’s reputation. He’d rather not be responsible for that.
Shivering a little, he tucked his cloak more closely around himself. The sun hadn’t done much to warm the little house, and they were already halfway through December. Although it had yet to snow in this area, the air didn’t hesitate to remind everyone that winter had arrived.
A sound, the front door creaked and squeaked, and then closed again.
“Mr Hawkesbury. It’s me. Holly.”
“I’m here,” he answered, rising and grabbing his cloak before it fell on the floor.
“Oh goodness, it’s cold in here.” She bustled in, her winter clothing still wrapped around her shoulders, and stared at him. “Sit back down. That is as good as a blanket.”
He blinked and obeyed, since she gave him a stern look. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“I have supplies,” she put a large bag on the table next to him. “Open that while I start a fire.”
“Wait,” he frowned. “The smoke. Someone might see…”
“Don’t worry,” she smiled, slipping off her cape and spreading it over his lap in addition to his cloak. “There. That should keep you warm for a bit.” Rummaging in her reticule, she produced a small magnifying glass. “Now, let’s get this place warmed up.”
There were logs in the fireplace, and straw and kindling laid ready.
He watched, fascinated, as she knelt and focussed the sunlight from the window through the glass and into the dry straw, which burst into flames within moments.
“Good. We’ll soon warm up now.” With casual efficiency, she arranged wood and kindling on the fire and adjusted the chimney damper as the flames caught the kindling.
Bemused, he blinked at her, then returned to his original train of thought. “What do you mean ‘don’t worry’?”
“I’ve told everyone I’ll be spending some time here, reading and working on a project. So any smoke they see will obviously be from the fire I need to keep warm. And the food in the bag? I said I might save some in the little pantry for tomorrow, if the weather holds. So I was able to bring extra.”
Richard’s stomach growled loudly.
From the hearth, where a fire was already growing, shedding a glow of light across her face, Holly looked up at him and laughed, her blue eyes bright, appreciating the humour of the moment. “I hope I brought enough.”
That, realised Richard sometime later, was probably the exact instant he did something he never ever imagined doing—and tumbled head over heels in love with Holly Trease.
Chapter Three
In Which a Conversation takes Place and Presents Cold Facts in Front of a Warm Fire
Having assuaged the worst of his hunger with the tasty foods Holly had managed to squirrel away into her bag, her guest looked a lot better.
His head was clean now, thanks to her continued efforts with a damp cloth, and the gash seemed to be settling down. There was no sign of any infection, she was pleased to note, and other than a bit of a scar beneath his hair, he wouldn’t have much to show for it after it had healed.
