by Cheryl Holt
He pulled her even nearer, and she could smell alcohol on his breath. Obviously, he’d been drinking, which was a sign that his homecoming had been difficult—as he’d mentioned—but that it was even more wearisome than his comment had indicated.
As he assessed her, she assessed him. She suspected his hair was black and his eyes blue. He was very tall, six feet at least, his shoulders broad, his waist narrow, his legs very, very long. Masculine vigor practically oozed out of him.
She couldn’t wait to bump into him in the light of day, and she was curious if he’d turn out to be as handsome as his father had been. In her very vivid memories of Captain Miles Ralston, he’d been dashing and marvelous. She was certain his son would be very much the same.
He realized he was being very forward, and he dropped the strand of hair, but didn’t step away. He remained where he was, enjoying their proximity. She was enjoying it too.
A burst of energy had ignited between them, as if their physical positioning was generating sparks, and the sensation was exhilarating. Their bodies were potently attuned, their anatomies recognizing each other on a subconscious level that was strange and electrifying.
“Are you one of my tenants?” he asked.
“Not really.”
“What are you then? Are you wandering across my park for no reason?”
“I live in a cottage in your woods, but I’m not a tenant.”
“Are you a vagabond? Are you a squatter? Should I gather some men and have them run you off?”
She tsked with exasperation. “No, it’s nothing like that.”
“What cottage is it? I hope it’s not far. I like to assume the estate is very safe, but I’m not anxious to have you walking much of a distance by yourself.”
“Mutt will be with me, and it’s not far,” she said.
It was a small fib. Her house was located at the end of the forest, at the end of his property. She figured he wasn’t even aware it existed. He’d never exactly been a dedicated landlord.
“You insist you’re not a squatter or a tenant,” he said, “so how have you earned yourself lodging?”
“I care for your people.”
He cocked his head as if it was the most bizarre reply ever. “How do you care for them?”
“I nurse them when they’re sick. I deliver their babies. I stitch their wounds and ease their suffering.”
“You manage all of that? How can you? You can’t be much more than a dozen years old.”
“These dark woods are shielding my age.”
“Which is . . . ?”
“Twenty-four. Almost twenty-five.”
He scowled as if he didn’t believe her, and it was a common mistake. She looked very young, and her adult torso had never filled out as it should have.
“How long have you been at Ralston?” he asked.
“It’s been a whole decade.”
“Why haven’t I ever heard of you?”
“I can’t imagine. Perhaps you weren’t paying attention as you ought.”
“You must have moved in when you were fourteen. Were you healing my tenants and servants back then?”
“I was helping my Aunt Pru. She tended them before me, and she taught me her skills. Did you ever meet her?”
“No, but then, I’ve never spent much time here. My career has kept me away.”
That was a false excuse. It was his mother who’d kept him away, but Joanna swallowed down the remark.
“What’s in your basket?” he asked.
“A few concoctions for your sister.”
His scowl deepened. “Margaret is ailing?”
“Her melancholia has flared again.”
“She’s not melancholy,” he said. “We’re Ralstons. We don’t ever despair. We’re much too sturdy for a bit of anguish to weaken us.”
He talked about his sister as if he knew more about her than Joanna. Since he’d just arrived after a very lengthy period away, it was quite a vanity for him to suppose he had much information about any topic.
“Her fever is bothering her too,” Joanna told him.
“What fever?”
It was bewildering that he hadn’t been apprised of the problem. He was thirty and his sister, Margaret Howell, was twenty-eight. She’d been in Egypt for ten years with her husband, but he’d died, and she’d come home. She didn’t have much to show for her adventure in the foreign land except a tropical fever that occasionally plagued her.
Her malady could be fierce, but more often than not, it was simply a nuisance that drained her energy. It was her lingering sadness that was more of an issue, and Joanna had had no success in making it go away. She hated for anyone to grieve and be unhappy.
“If you’d like to learn what troubles her,” Joanna said, “you should inquire of her rather than me. She can provide the details she feels like sharing.”
“I will pester her, but can’t you give me a hint? Why would you claim she’s sad? Is she mourning her husband? She didn’t like him enough to be upset that he’s passed away.”
“Captain Ralston!” she scolded. “What a horrid comment, and you shouldn’t suggest such a notion to me.”
“Why not? Will you rush out and tell the world?”
“No. Your secrets are safe with me, but you shouldn’t risk it. Not when I’m a stranger. Who can predict how I might behave? Not you certainly.”
“I’m a good judge of character, and I deem you to be eminently reliable.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not,” he pompously stated, “and I won’t apologize for being blunt about Margaret’s marriage. If you’ve been in the area for a decade, then I’m sure the facts are not a mystery to you. Her husband, Mr. Howell, was a somber, depressing cretin, but my mother insisted she wed him. She thought Margaret was too vibrant and silly and that she required the stern hand of an older, awful husband. Mostly, my mother didn’t want her to enjoy her life too much. Mother was exhausting that way.”
He’d just repeated much of the gossip that swirled, and from Margaret’s miserable condition, Joanna wondered what sort of dire experiences she’d endured in her marriage. She’d been back for a few months, but she wasn’t anymore content than when she’d first returned, and Joanna couldn’t figure out how to improve her mood.
The herbs and teas she prescribed weren’t having any effect, but then, some people were simply destined to be morose, and there was no fixing it. Margaret needed an interval to lament what had happened to her, and Ralston Place was the perfect spot to heal.
“You’re determined to air your dirty laundry,” she said.
“It’s late, I’m bored, and you’re too polite to stomp off in a huff. It’s easy to unburden myself.”
“I might stomp off—if you grow too verbose. There are many things about you I don’t care to know.”
“I wish it wasn’t so dark. I’d like to check your eyes for veracity, for I’m positive that’s not true. My family’s foibles are like a bad theatrical play, and every person in a hundred-mile radius is cognizant of the rumors. You must be too. There’s likely not a single story you haven’t heard a thousand times.”
“Maybe I haven’t listened to any of them.”
“I doubt that very much. Who could resist the juicy tales that are told about us?”
“I like to imagine I’m above lurid babbling.”
“I shall remain skeptical about your high motives until we are better acquainted and I can assess more accurately whether you’re that noble or not.”
“My face is an open book. It’s impossible for me to lie and get away with it.”
“You and I should gamble then. I’ll be able to fleece you blind.”
“I don’t have much to lose, so it would be a quick walk to penury.”
“Everyone has something to lose.”
“Not me.”
That wasn’t necessarily correct. She had her cottage and her work. She had Clara and Mutt. She had the neighbors who sent for her when they were feeling poorly. If she had to relinquish any of it, but most particularly her small house, she would be devastated.
She was relishing their conversation more than she should, and she said, “I should be going.”
“We’ve only just begun to chat.”
“My niece is waiting for me. She’ll be fretting.”
“I suppose I must offer to escort you. I can’t let you traipse off on your own. If you suffered a mishap, I’d blame myself forever.”
“What mishap could I suffer?”
“You could trip over a tree root and sprain your ankle. You could be eaten by wolves. You could be attacked by brigands.”
She chuckled. “Other than the prospect of tripping, I can guarantee those other fates will not befall me.”
“You’re awfully certain.”
“I’m always certain.”
There was mischief approaching on the horizon, but it wouldn’t occur yet, and she wasn’t entirely convinced it would happen to her. She couldn’t ever totally predict an outcome with complete confidence, but she could definitely stagger home without worrying. She didn’t explain why she was so certain though. He’d never understand.
He leaned in so close that the tips of his boots slipped under the hem of her skirt. Those pesky sparks ignited again, and she perceived every little detail about him. She was drawn to him on an elemental level, as if every pore in her body was on fire.
She could smell the soap with which he’d bathed, could sense the heat emanating from his skin. There were other odors too, manly ones of tobacco, fresh air, and horses. An even slighter aroma was detectable, and it was extremely tantalizing. She couldn’t describe what it was, but it made her want to rub herself against him like a contented cat.
It was a heady, exhilarating moment, and she felt special and exotic. She was being bowled over as she shouldn’t let herself be.
The women in her family never had suitors; they never married. They never considered it. They were busy and powerful, and men interfered in ways that couldn’t be tolerated. She’d never loafed with a beau, had never stood with a handsome man and reveled in his potent scrutiny.
“Don’t leave.” His voice was low and intimate, as if they were sharing secrets.
“I think I’d better.”
“I’ll see you to your door.”
“I don’t think you’d better.”
“You are a hard nut to crack, Miss James.”
“I’ve heard that my whole life.”
“If I get sick while I’m home, will you tend me?”
“To the best of my ability.”
“Then I shall hope to become ill, so I can have the pleasure of your company again very soon.”
“Are you a flirt, Captain Ralston?”
“Not usually, but you’re the sort of female who brings out the worst in a fellow. I won’t be able to resist misbehaving around you.”
“I will force you to mind your manners.”
“What fun would that be?”
The moon had been hidden behind a cloud, and suddenly, it burst free, its silver light shining down. He was staring at her so intently, and it was very strange, but Time seemed to stop, as if the universe was marking the encounter.
She would mark it too. Over the coming days and weeks, she’d revisit every single word they’d uttered.
“Goodnight, Captain.”
“I’m walking you, Miss James. Don’t let’s argue about it.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I am not,” he huffed.
“Well, you’ve been drinking then. Go inside and take to your bed. Or check on your sister. It would make her happy.”
“I’m barely acquainted with my sister. Why would I be the person who could make her happy?”
“If that’s even remotely true, then I must advise you to work on your relationship with her.” She stepped away so the sparks could settle. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d cease telling me things I shouldn’t discover. You’ll regret it in the morning.”
“No, I won’t,” he said. “I’ve never regretted any conduct I’ve ever perpetrated.”
She smirked. “Why does that not surprise me?”
She skirted by him, wishing he’d reach for her, but being relieved when he didn’t. She hurried away, but she could feel him watching her, his gaze like daggers in her back. She’d suspected he’d follow her, despite her demand that he not, and when he stayed put, she couldn’t decide if she was glad or not.
Eventually, just when she would have flitted out of his sight, he called, “Miss James?”
She halted and glanced over at him. “Yes, Captain?”
“Will I see you tomorrow? I’m afraid I have to insist on it.”
“You should know a very important fact about me.”
“What is it?”
“I never do what I’m told, especially not when a man insists.”
He laughed at that. “Apparently, you’re sassy, but a bit of brazen attitude is exactly what I’d expect from you. After all, your hair is red.”
They exchanged a charged look, then she yanked away and continued on. But she grinned the whole way home.
“I’m bored already.”
“You’re always bored when you’re not on a ship.”
Jacob Ralston grinned at his friend, Kit Boswell. Kit’s father and Jacob’s father, Miles, had served together in the navy, and when Kit’s father had died, Miles had been named his guardian. Kit had come to live with them when he was a boy and he’d never left.
He and Jacob were the same age of thirty, and they’d been raised together, so they were like brothers, but not like brothers too. While Jacob’s mother had paid for Kit’s schooling, she’d refused to purchase a navy commission for him. Once Jacob had sailed off at sixteen, Kit had stayed behind, but then, he’d never wanted to be a sailor.
He was content to pass the slow days at Ralston Place, and his slothful habits were catching up with him. His eyes were still brown and alert, his hair also brown and showing no signs of grey, but he was developing quite a belly paunch, his face puffy and lined from dissipation. While Jacob was fit and vigorous, Kit was indolent and idle.
He ran the estate for Jacob, so he had important, steady employment, and he’d tolerated and dealt with Jacob’s mother, Esther, in a manner Jacob had never managed. Jacob was grateful to have him on the property, for his presence meant Jacob didn’t have to loaf at home and tend things himself.
During his current visit, his goal was to ascertain if he could bear to muster out of the navy and return for good. He was about to engage himself to his cousin, Roxanne. After he was a husband, shouldn’t he retire? Could he stand it?
His mother had been such a miserable shrew that he’d avoided the place as much as possible, but she was deceased, so she wasn’t around to nag and upset him. Her ghost seemed to linger in every corner though, and he wished he knew a magic spell that would chase her away.
A house was just a house. A farm was just a farm, but her awful aura pervaded every inch of space, and it rocked him with bitter memories.
He and Kit were in the estate office at the rear of the manor and enjoying an afternoon brandy. It was nice to be away from the rest of the household, to have a few minutes to chat. Jacob was sitting at the desk, and Kit was slouched in the chair across. Jacob figured Kit yearned to grouse that the office was Kit’s, that the desk was Kit’s, that they had their seats backward.
Kit wouldn’t dare complain about it though. The desk, the chairs, the mansion, the acreage, and every blade of grass on it, belonged to Jacob, and while Kit was viewed as family, he was still an employee. It was a terribly snobbish atti
tude for Jacob to have, but he was an Englishman through and through. Status and position counted in every facet of their existence.
“I met the most intriguing woman last night,” he said.
“An intriguing woman? At Ralston Place? I can’t fathom it.”
“It was a Miss James?”
“Yes, Joanna James.”
“She claimed she’s nursing Margaret.”
“Your sister has been under the weather, and I argued with her to send for the doctor, but the housekeeper told me she’s suffering from female troubles, so Miss James is a better choice.”
“What sort of female troubles?”
Kit shrugged. “Who can guess? It’s the sort Miss James is supposedly adept at fixing.”
Jacob snorted at that. He’d been home for twenty-four hours, and he’d barely seen Margaret. She was hiding in her room and not particularly excited that he was back, but what had he expected? Their mother’s grim attitudes and stern habits had ensured he and Margaret weren’t close.
They had another sister, Pamela, who was two years older than Jacob. She’d eloped with a man their mother would never have allowed her to wed. The disgraced pair had fled to America, so he never corresponded with them and had no idea if she was happy. He hoped she was. He’d like for one of the Ralston siblings to have a good ending.
His cousin and fiancée, Roxanne, was in residence too, but he’d hardly seen her either. It had him feeling like a stranger, which he mostly was. He deliberately stayed away, and if Roxanne and Margaret weren’t exactly glad he’d staggered in, he had no one to blame but himself.
“Apparently, Miss James has a cottage?” he said.
“It’s the small one out by the London road.”
“Do I have a cottage out by the London road?”
“It was empty for years because it’s so isolated, so I gave it to her aunt.” Kit rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Jacob, now that you’re here for an extended period, why don’t you ride around your property. Learn about what you own.”