‘Bag o’ bloody moonshine,’ the landlord scoffed.
‘So did this lad have a name?’ Andrew Pettigrew asked, drawing the conversation back to his victim.
‘Aye, ‘is name were George,’ the stranger offered. ‘Reckon the boy’s bin doin’ some labourin’ fer our new lord o’ the manor.’
Chapter Eighteen
‘Right then, Percy, there’s no time to lose. If the varmint’s trying to wheedle George’s whereabouts out of Agnes, he’ll have his work cut out, but I’d prefer to put a deuced rub in the way before he gets to her fingernails.’
Percy stared at the Reverend in horror. ‘Surely he wouldn’t do such a thing…’ the curate stammered.
‘No, he won’t, because we’ll get there first,’ declared the clergyman firmly. He peered through the bush again. ‘We’ll never reach the parlour window without being seen. We’ll have to go through the stable yard.’
‘How do you know Henry Atkins has her in the parlour?’ Percy questioned.
‘There’s no way he’d have been able to shift her off that chaise without alerting the whole of deuced Blackmore,’ the Reverend answered matter-of-factly. He looked down at Flossy who was happily scratching behind her ear.
‘You’re going to have to stay here, Floss,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll tie you to this bush, so no one’ll mistake you for breakfast.’ He bent down to pick the little dog up before squeezing through the bush. ‘Thunder an’ turf, I think me arse’s just been stung by a nettle,’ he winced. ‘Come on, Percy. If I can get through there, so can you. Especially with your spindle shanks.’
Five minutes later, the two men had managed to sneak round to the yard. As they turned the corner, Percy looked back to see Flossy sitting next to the bush staring after them, tail wagging hopefully, then he hurried after the Reverend who was just about to disappear into the stable. ‘Tare an’ hounds,’ the curate heard him mutter a couple of seconds later.
‘What’s wrong?’ Percy hissed, wavering at the door. ‘Is it Agnes?’ A sudden groan had him hastening inside in time to see the stable hand, Seth, hold his head and try to sit up.
‘The rogue walloped him from behind if that lump on the back of his head is anything to go by,’ Reverend Shackleford muttered. ‘You stay here with him, Percy, while I go and see where the scoundrel’s holding Agnes.’
Percy took a deep breath, then surprised himself by shaking his head. ‘I won’t let you go in there alone, Sir.’
Reverend Shackleford looked wordlessly over at the curate, a sudden lump forming in his throat. He and Percy had been through so much together over the years, and the clergyman came to the abrupt realisation that the curate was actually his only true friend.
In truth, Augustus Shackleford might not have felt quite so overcome with emotion had he known that Percy’s newly found backbone was very likely due to the fact that he’d just finished readingThe Illustrated Art To Manliness,but as it was, he simply muttered a gruff, ‘Thank you,’ before pushing Seth back down into the straw and ordering the stable hand to keep his head down.
‘We’ll go through the kitchen,’ he added, climbing to his feet. ‘Since Mrs. Tomlinson and Maisie will be off in the village.’
The two men tiptoed through the back door into the kitchen. Once there, the Reverend immediately hurried over to the larder. Before Percy had the chance to protest that this was hardly the time for a snack, the clergyman suddenly reappeared with Mrs. Tomlinson’s prize rolling pin in his hand.
He gleefully held it up for Percy’s inspection before giving an experimental swing. Only the curate’s razor-sharp reflex (Chapter Four – Evading Confrontation) prevented him losing the end of his nose.
At the entrance into the hall, Reverend Shackleford opened the door a crack, put his head to the narrow opening and listened. At first, he could hear nothing, until suddenly, he heard a voice growl, ‘Where’s George?’
∞∞∞
When Anthony offered to teach her to read, George was torn between elation at the possibility of finally being able to understand what had always been unintelligible squiggles, and anguish at the thought of spending so much time in close proximity to her employer without being able to touch him or admit what was truly in her heart.
I reckon you’ve already said more than enough,her internal voice declared bluntly.
The trouble was, the words she’d spoken to Anthony weren’t quite true – not the whole truth anyway. Put simply, she would die rather than leave him. But to be close to him without ever being able to touch him again… She wasn’t sure she could bear it.
George knew he would marry one day and likely soon. But until then, he was hers. How could she tell him that until that time came, she wanted more than just a roof over her head?
She wanted to share his bed.
Glancing up, Georgiana watched him out of the corner of her eye. His shirt was plastered to his chest revealing the sculpted muscles. He was clearly unaware that his shirt was open nearly to his navel revealing a smattering of curling chestnut hair dusting the hard planes of his chest. She felt the very core of her contract with need at the sight and had to fight the urge to throw down her spade and press herself against his body, to intimately savour every firm inch of him.
With a small groan, she turned her back, only to give a surprised gasp as a man suddenly appeared round the corner of the house.
Immediately, Nelson started up a cacophony of barking, dashing towards the stranger, then dancing back in alarm as he got too close. George glanced back at her employer who was staring impassively at their visitor. Putting down his shovel, Anthony dragged his sleeve across his forehead and wiped his hands on his breeches. ‘Stay here,’ he murmured to George as he strode past her towards the stranger, who hadn’t moved.
‘May I be of assistance?’ he asked pleasantly, stopping about six feet away.
