“Yes. Dottie mixed a sleeping potion into a bottle of rum, and then Caroline gave it to the soldiers outside.”
“Caroline? Then Miss Munro finally told you her name.”
Jane nodded. “After the real Agatha showed up, she could hardly continue with the pretense.”
He snorted. “She waited until she was caught before she confessed?”
“Don’t be harsh on her. I don’t know how I would have survived the day without her. She helped me mix some sleeping potion into your father’s good brandy, and I gave it to Captain Hickman.” Jane shuddered. “He’s a Loyalist.”
“Bloody turncoat,” Matthias muttered. “Where is he?”
“Hopefully, he’s sleeping in your father’s bed.”
A Loyalist redcoat sleeping in his house. Matthias cursed silently. He could hardly confront a sleeping enemy. “ ’Tis a shame the bastard’s drugged.”
“ ’Tis a blessing. We were frightened out of our wits. Betsy dropped the soup tureen at dinner, she was so afraid. She ran to the kitchen in tears, and Caroline took over her duties.”
“Miss Munro waited on you?”
“Yes, she’s been very helpful. It was her idea to drug the soldiers. And I readily agreed. If you’d seen the way that captain was looking at her—”
“What?”
“Shh.” Jane frowned. “He might still be awake.”
Matthias balled his fists. “Did the lobsterback have his claws on her?”
“He flirted with both the young ladies,” Jane muttered. “Agatha enjoyed it, but I could tell Caroline was nervous.”
“She should have bitten him.” Frustration boiled inside Matthias. How dare the redcoats invade his house and frighten his mother, her servants, and his . . . vixen. He paced the floor. “How long do they intend to stay?”
“They’re leaving at dawn.”
“If they’re able to wake up. I hope the potion has no side effects that will make them suspicious.”
Jane winced. “Dottie said it was a light potion.”
“I hope you’re right. Try to sleep.” He kissed her cheek.
“Are you leaving?”
“I dare not leave you here unprotected. I’ll stay close by until the redcoats are gone.”
“Please don’t tamper with their cargo. Captain Hickman would blame us.”
He groaned inwardly. As much as he’d love to set the barge on fire, he couldn’t risk endangering his mother. Or her guests. “All right.”
“Thank you.” His mother hugged him. “The third floor should be safe for you. Why don’t you use Haversham’s old room?”
“Very well. Good night, Mother.”
Moonlight shone through the large window on the second-floor landing, lighting the way up the stairs. The third-floor hallway was dark, but Matthias knew his way. He had slept in Haversham’s room the last two nights.
The door opened an inch, then knocked against a piece of furniture. A soft feminine gasp greeted him.
Damn. Set up again. His mother had lured him to the vixen’s lair.
“I’m warning you.” Miss Munro’s voice sounded strained. “I have a knife.”
Matthias snorted. “Is it as sharp as your teeth?”
There was a pause. “Haversham? Is that you?”
“Yes. Who else barges into your bedchamber every night?”
“Oh, thank God. For a moment, I thought you were one of the redcoats.”
Did this mean he was welcome in her bedchamber? Or did she merely consider him safe compared to a redcoat? Damn. He was tempted to let her know he could be just as dangerous as the next man. If he wanted to be.
He shoved at the door, reached inside to yank the chair out from under the latch, then invaded the dark room.
She gasped. “I—I was going to let you in.”
He spotted the form of her white nightgown across the room. The scent of magnolia blossoms drifted toward him, almost as if she had reached out to touch him. Blood surged to his groin. Damn, he could barely see her and he was reacting to her.
“Are you still by the door?” she whispered.
“Yes.” He closed it behind him.
This was the east side of the house, directly under the apex of the roof. The wall to his left boasted a window in the shape of a half circle. Moonlight spilled through, creating a shaft of misty light that cut the room in half.
On each side of the light, darkness reigned. He was on one side; she on the other. The shaft of light reached the wall to the right, illuminating the clothespress where he had found Haversham’s uniform. Next to it sat a wooden chair where Miss Munro had spread her gown and white petticoats.
He clenched his fists, fighting an urge to cross the room and pull her into his arms. “Forgive my intrusion.”
“No, forgive me. I’m afraid I’ve taken over your room. We didn’t expect you back for a few days.”
He stepped closer to the shaft of light. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you worrying. I have good news for you.”
“Yes?” The white form of her nightgown moved closer.
“Your father is alive and well.”
She gasped. “He is?”
“Yes. He survived the battle—” He stopped when a white blur ran toward him, crossing the shaft of light. With her arms outstretched, she bumped into him in the darkness, throwing her arms around him as he steadied her.
“Oh, thank you! Thank you, Haversham!”
His groin tightened at the feel of her body pressed against his. “Miss Munro.”
Sniffing back tears, she reached up to touch his cheek. “Thank you so much.”
He swallowed hard at the guilt stuck in his throat and placed his hand over hers. “Caroline.”
Her hand tensed. “I—I beg your pardon.” She retreated a step, withdrawing her hand.
He was sorely tempted to pull her back into his arms, but no doubt, she would be shocked by the growing problem in his breeches.
She clutched her hands together. “How did you find out so quickly?”
“Your father was looking for you and your sister, so he left word with the partisans in the area.”
“Is he nearby?”
“He went to North Carolina with Francis Marion, but they’re expected back soon.”
“I see. Thank God he’s safe.” She stepped back into the shaft of light, clasping her hands together at her chest. Her hair was loose about her shoulders, and her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. He’d never seen such a beautiful sight.
“I needed good news.” She lowered her hands to her sides. “Thank you.”
He gulped. In the light, he could see the outline of her breasts. He stepped back. “I should be going now.”
“No! I’m the one who should leave. I’ve taken your room.”
“There are other servant rooms.”
“But this one is yours.” She dashed to the chair and picked up her gown.
“I don’t want you wandering about the house, not with a redcoat here.”
She hesitated, clutching the gown to her chest.
“You don’t feel safe with them here, do you? That’s why you’re sleeping with a knife.”
She sighed. “They came with Miss Ludlow.”
He moved closer to her, staying in the dark. “Mrs. Thomas told me how helpful you’ve been. Thank you for that.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “I’m glad to help. Jane has been so kind to us.”
“That must have been shocking when the real Agatha showed up. I would have liked to have seen your face.”
She shuddered. “I thought I was going straight to hell. But from what I can tell, it is a blessing not to be Agatha Ludlow.”
He chuckled. “That is true.”
She smiled. “Well, thank you for coming back to give me the new
s. I’ll take my leave now. Good night.” She stepped toward the door.
“Go back to bed, Miss Munro.” He moved into the light to block her.
Her eyes widened. “I’m not throwing you out of your room.”
“Caroline.” He grabbed her by the upper arms.
She stiffened. “I—I shouldn’t sleep in your bed,” she whispered.
“I can no longer sleep there.”
“Why not?”
“I would be tortured by the scent of magnolia blossoms and lie awake all night, thinking of you.”
“I—I find that hard to believe.”
He moved closer. “Do you know your eyes are the bright color of a magnolia leaf just as it unfurls?”
“No.”
“And your skin, I wager it is as soft as the flower petals.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Then we should find out.” He grazed her cheek with his fingertips. “I was correct.”
She drew in a shaky breath.
He skimmed his fingers down her neck to her shoulder.
“Haversham,” she whispered. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
“Do you think I could?” He slid his hand to the back of her neck.
She shook her head. “No.”
Indeed? The vixen might as well have issued a challenge. “There’s only one way to find out.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Caroline gulped. Haversham meant to kiss her.
And she wanted it. She closed her eyes and lifted her chin. He pressed his lips against hers, then released her and backed away.
She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. That was it? It wasn’t bad, but somehow she had expected a cannon to fire in the distance.
She moistened her lips and adjusted the gown against her chest. Then she ventured a glance at Haversham’s face.
He was studying her, his eyes glimmering in the dim light. A chill prickled the skin on her arms. Whatever was he thinking to cause him to stare at her so much? “It seems odd for me to call you Haversham. What should I call you?”
“Lover would do.”
Surprised, she gave a nervous laugh. “I think not.”
“I see I’m out of practice.”
She smiled. Somehow, the thought of a man this strong and handsome being less than expert appealed to her. “Well, I wouldn’t fret about it if I were you.”
He raised one eyebrow.
“It was rather . . . pleasant, actually. Considering you’re out of practice. I—I rather enjoyed it.”
“How kind of you to notice.” He stepped closer. “There is a remedy, you know.”
“Excuse me?”
His gaze lowered to her mouth. “More practice.”
“Oh. I supp—” She gasped when he pulled her against him. Before she could catch her breath, his mouth was on hers.
Stunned, it took her a moment to realize everything he was doing. His lips were opening, closing, pressing, nibbling, molding against her lips in a way that made her mouth move with his. It was shocking. Intriguing. She’d never known there could be so many subtle maneuvers involved in a kiss. She could hardly think. Hardly stand.
She grabbed at his shoulders to steady herself. He tightened his arms around her. With the gown sandwiched between their bodies, she slid her hands up to his neck.
He groaned and abandoned her mouth. He moved down her throat with tickling, tasting kisses.
With a moan, she tilted back her head. This was far better than she had ever imagined. Was that a rumble deep in his throat or had the cannons fired in the distance, shaking the walls of the house?
“Was that an explosion?” she whispered.
“Not yet, but damned close.” He nuzzled her ear, then traced it with his tongue.
She shivered, too muddled in her mind to think clearly. She only knew she wanted more. She splayed her fingers into his thick, damp hair. Loose from its tie, his hair was shoulder-length and soft against her cheek. He smelled of soap and sun-dried linen.
He slid his hands to her waist and pressed her against him. Something jabbed at her, sharp and sudden.
“Ow!” She jumped back. The gown dropped to the floor.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Something poked me in the stomach.”
He stepped back into the shadows. “I—I beg your pardon.”
“It seemed awfully sharp.” She rubbed her belly. “And pointed.”
“Pointed?”
“Yes.” She considered the gown on the floor at her feet. “Oh, I know what it was.” She plucked the dress off the floor. “See the pin? Jane’s gown was too big around the waist for me, so we pinned it.”
“I see.”
She suddenly felt the full impact of what she’d been doing with this man she hardly knew. Her face flooded with warmth, and she gave him a nervous smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . end things so abruptly.”
He remained silent, hidden in the shadows.
“I’m quite all right,” she assured him. “ ’Twas naught but a small prick.”
“You don’t say.”
She wondered why his teeth sounded clenched.
“I bid you good night, Miss Munro.” His footsteps tapped sharply, headed toward the door. Then she heard the door close.
He was gone.
Caroline draped the gown over the chair, pondering his hurried exit. Had she angered him? Or perhaps she had not excited him enough.
He certainly had excited her. Dear Lord, the man had nearly made her swoon with excitement. With a sigh, she returned to bed. At least she could face her spinsterhood knowing she’d been thoroughly kissed. By a butler, no less.
She smiled. Haversham was not like any butler she’d ever met. She wasn’t quite sure what he was. An indentured servant? A man of business? He was confusing—attentive one moment, running away the next. But one thing was very clear.
Haversham was not in need of practice.
Matthias rolled over on the narrow cot in an empty servant’s room next to the nursery. The air was stuffy and hot. The lumpy mattress smelled of mildew. Still, for a man accustomed to sleeping in the swamp, these problems should be minor. He knew exactly what was keeping him awake.
Naught but a small prick.
Bloody hell. He’d been close to bursting his breeches and all she had felt was a tiny pin lodged in a gown? And that first kiss she had dismissed as merely pleasant? He had purposely restrained himself for fear of offending her with too much lust and too big a bulge. As if she’d notice.
Oh, she’d enjoyed it, she said. No doubt, she’d also enjoy a ride in the park or a shiny new ribbon for her bonny red hair. Damn it to hell.
He punched his moldy pillow. It was just as well. He had no intention of involving himself with a woman, not even the tempting Caroline Munro. The timing was wrong.
Slowly, he became aware of a strange odor. Was something burning? He slipped on his breeches. Fumbling with the buttons, he paced toward the door in the dark.
“Ow.” He found the door by ramming his big toe into it. Outside in the narrow corridor, he sniffed to determine the origin of the smell.
The nursery.
He burst open the door. He had a quick glimpse of Edward sitting cross-legged on his bed with a lit candlestick in front of him. He held something over the fire, melting it. “What—”
Edward jumped and dropped whatever he was melting. It knocked over the candlestick. Instantly, his blanket caught fire. The boy yelped and leapt out of bed.
Matthias lunged forward, grabbed the pillow, and smothered the flames. “What the hell are you doing? You want to burn the house down?”
“I’m sorry.” Edward’s voice sounded shaky in the dark. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Haven’t you been told not to play
with fire?”
“I . . . I thought I could control it.”
“Edward?” Charlotte’s sleepy voice came from across the room. “Who are you talking to? Is it Papa?”
Matthias winced. “I’m not your father.”
“Are you his ghost?” Charlotte whispered.
“Don’t be silly,” Edward growled. “If he were Papa’s ghost, then Papa would have to be dead.”
“Oh. Then whose ghost is he?” Charlotte asked.
“Enough.” Matthias gritted his teeth to keep from shouting. “Both of you, go to sleep. Now.”
“He sounds like Papa,” Charlotte mumbled.
“Good night, Princess. And you, Edward,” Matthias turned to the boy. “No more playing with fire.”
“You’re not my father. You cannot order me about.”
“You cannot stop me. I’m bigger than you.” When Matthias was satisfied the boy was going to remain quiet, he pivoted toward the door. “Good night.”
Back in his room, he stretched out on the cot. His mother certainly couldn’t complain about being lonesome now. There were a greedy strumpet and a drugged redcoat on the second floor, a redheaded temptress and a pregnant woman on the third, and in the nursery, a little princess and a boy who played with fire.
The next morning, Matthias sat up with a gasp. A thin layer of perspiration coated his skin. With a muttered curse, he shoved his hair back from his face. Damn it to hell. It was back. The nightmare. He thought he had outgrown such nonsense.
Four years in the army had given him a ready supply of wretched memories, but none of those tortured him in his sleep. In fact, he couldn’t recall any nightmares since he’d left home. It was only at Loblolly where this one childish memory continued to torment him.
The sounds next door in the nursery alerted him that the guests were up and about. Soon they would be having breakfast, but with Agatha in attendance, Haversham could not appear. She would recognize him as Matthias in a second.
A shame, though, that he would miss seeing Caroline. Was she remembering their kiss? Or trying hard to forget?
And what about the drugged soldiers? He dressed quickly and made his way to the nearest dormer window. Yes! The barge was gone, and the British with it. Only a blackened circle marred the green lawn where the campfire had been.
Less Than a Gentleman Page 10