He smiled, his brown eyes crinkling. “I didnae expect ye could. Which is why I’ve already hitched up the wagon. What do ye say to heading north? The river Douchary comes within aboot a mile of here, and we can follow it fer a ways.”
While most of the locals seemed content to shake their heads at the idea of an English lass foolish enough to wander off on her own, not all of them had been so unhelpful. When he stood and walked around the table to offer her a muscular, soot-stained arm, Hortensia took it. Sir Robert, as she’d accidently dubbed him and he now called himself, had been nothing but helpful and attentive since the moment Lady Marjorie had gone missing.
In fact, she had more than a suspicion that the big man might be sweet on her. Her, twenty years a widow. It was somewhat thrilling to have such a large, fit man mooning after her, even if his manners were barbaric and his grammar frightful. If she’d learned one thing in her years as a tutor and a companion, it was that anyone could be taught. The trick lay in finding the correct incentive.
But that could wait. First she needed to find and rescue Lady Marjorie. And that needed to happen very soon, for everyone’s sake.
***
With her ear against the floor, Marjorie could hear the low rumble of Graeme’s voice, and then his heavy boot steps climbing the stairs. Swiftly she looped the chain once around the wooden slat she’d managed to break and slid out from under the bed.
Her fingers were red and dented, and they and both of her arms and her back ached from pulling and shoving the heavy bed frame about for half the night. She’d warned him, though, that she refused to be chained. Rubbing her hands together briskly, she hopped onto the bed to pull the blankets up to her chin. The chain slapped against the nightstand, luckily in time with his knocking.
“Come in,” she panted, running a hand across her face and loose hair and hoping she hadn’t acquired any cobwebs.
A moment later the door opened, and he strolled into her room. “Why are ye wearing the bedsheets?”
“Because I’m in my night rail. What do you think, I’m secretly wearing a ballgown and mean to dance my way to freedom?”
A slight, lopsided grin touched his mouth. “I wouldnae be surprised if ye are and ye will, yer grandness,” he returned.
She didn’t like that she found his smile charming. “Well, I’m not. And so I require a gown, and you promised me a bath.” One arm still smelled of strawberry jam, and she had just spent several hours crawling beneath the bed—not that he needed to know that.
“Aye. That I did.” He continued gazing at her, then visibly shook himself and stepped forward, brandishing a key in his hand as he approached. “Ye’ll have to give me yer ankle, unless that’s too improper and ye’d rather keep the chai—”
She clenched her jaw and stuck her leg out of the blankets, only up to the knee. It still felt very scandalous, and the way he gazed at her bared skin didn’t help, either. “If you please,” she said brusquely, hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.
“Hm? Oh, aye. Lost myself in thought there, fer a moment.” Putting a hand firmly on her calf, he twisted the lock a little until he could reach it, and then inserted the key and turned it.
She sighed in relief as the heavy thing clanked to the floor. Only a heartbeat later, though, she realized he hadn’t let go of her leg. In fact, he stared at her ankle, which she’d managed to scrape and bruise while trying to work the other end of the chain free.Blast it.If he realized what she’d been up to, he’d likely chain her to the wall in the cellar next.
“I’m sorry, lass,” he murmured, instead of the tirade she expected. Then he ran his fingers very lightly over her bruised skin. “I didnae intend this.”
He blamed himself for her injuries. True, he’d put the blasted thing on her in the first place, but she’d been the one wrenching her leg about. She opened her mouth to tell him how minor it was, all things considered, but stopped herself at the last second.
If she could use his guilt to her advantage, that was what she was supposed to do. Yes, he’d kissed her, and yes, she’d found it immensely unsettling in an exhilarating kind of way, but they weren’t friends. And they definitely weren’t allies. “It seems you didn’t intend a great many things where I’m concerned, but they keep happening anyway.”
The expression in his dark gray eyes cooled to ice, a sure sign that she’d scored a hit. Marjorie didn’t feel at all triumphant or vindicated, though. She made a show of gathering the sheets around her and standing, anything to avoid his gaze. It didn’t matter a whit if she’d hurt his feelings;shewasn’t the villain of this piece. But it felt like it mattered, like she’d… cheated or something.
“Can ye walk?” he asked, his voice clipped.
Now would be the time to say something even more biting about how she would have to manage, because he certainly wasn’t permitted to attend to her and he didn’t seem to have anyone in residence who was. Instead she clung to the tightly wrapped sheets and limped for the door. “Yes. I can walk.”
He’d evidently ordered everyone to stay clear, because the hallway stood empty and silent as she stepped out of the bedchamber. Whether that was for her benefit or theirs, she had no idea, but she did appreciate not being gawked at while all she wore was a thin cotton night rail and some sheets.
“Yer shift and gown are inside,” he said, moving up behind her. “And yer shoes. I’ll be right outside the door, waiting fer ye, so dunnae do anything foolish.”
The most foolish thing she’d done was to go help a boy rescue some kittens. Since then, she’d done her bestnotto be foolish. Her annoyed glance back at him didn’t have the desired effect, though, because his gaze seemed to be resting on her backside. Blushing, she hurried inside the small room and shut the door behind her. This one, of course, didn’t lock. She wasn’t the one deciding her privacy. And that fact could be even more troublesome than she’d anticipated.
Graeme Maxton said he had no use for love, but he did desire her. It certainly… felt that way whenever she caught him looking at her. And it wasn’t because he meant to marry her, since he’d made it clear thatthathad more to do with strategy than with feelings. But that made his lust abouther,and she simply was not accustomed to that.
She dropped the sheets to the wooden floor, then stepped out of her night rail. He—or someone—had left soap on a stool beside the steaming bathtub, so she could wash her hair this time, at least. A small covered bowl sat there as well, and with a glance toward the door she lifted off the rough washing cloth draped over it.
Lemons.Two thinly sliced lemons, peel, pulp, juice, and all, filled the bowl. With the cloth removed, the scent of them immediately lifted into the air to remind her of warmth and sunshine—two things that had been very rare since they’d begun the trip north. Abrupt tears filled her eyes and ran damply down her cheeks, and she brushed them away, surprised at how touched she felt.
He’d listened to what she said, and brought her a gift accordingly. Whether he meant it to placate her or to bribe her into being more cooperative she had no idea, but just seeing them, smelling them, meant a great deal to her.
Marjorie dumped half of the bowl’s contents into the hot water of the bath. She’d save the rest of it for her hair. Then, very conscious that she was naked, she slowly padded back to the door. “Thank you for the lemons,” she said quietly, putting one palm against the cool wood.
