by Dayna Quince
He’d never been this close to someone who struggled, who worked this hard for their keep. It made everything he ever complained about seem foolish. He’d once thrown a whole loaf of bread at his brother over something insignificant, and here was a woman who had had to make her own. He had no idea how to make his own food.
He looked at her in a new light. She was so much more proficient at life than he was. She could make a loaf of bread, a good loaf of bread. He could toss a shilling into a courtesan’s cleavage from twenty paces. He was useless.
As they reached Marsden House, Nicolette yelped and bolted into the little gated garden out front. She shooed a goat from some unknown plant Theo couldn’t identify. The goat baaa’d back at her in agitation and stood his ground.
The two little horns on his head gave Theo some pause. “Careful, Nicolette, an angry goat can knock you down,” he warned.
“I’d like to see him try.” Nicolette took off her bonnet and waved it at the stubborn goat. “You’re not supposed to be in here, Bartholomew. I hope this doesn’t mean father left the gate open, and you’re all running amok.”
Theo looked around. “How many goats do you have?”
“Twenty,” Nicolette said. “Georgie will be beyond furious if even one of them goes missing or gets hurt because father couldn’t lock up the pen.”
It sounded like a disaster of Marsden proportion, though he had almost no experience with livestock other than horses. Theo jumped the short white picket gate to help her.
“Come along, good sir,” he said to the goat. “Where’s his home?”
The goat turned its strange green eyes with the oddly shaped pupils in his direction, and Theo froze. “What are you looking at, Bartholomew?” he asked.
“Baa,” Bartholomew returned.
“I can feel his judgment,” Theo said. “I don’t like him.”
Nicolette giggled in response. “Pay him no mind. He is a poor judge of character.” She used the strings of her bonnet as a leash to lead poor Bartholomew away from the bush. Bartholomew planted all four hooves and refused to budge.
“I’ll give him a shove from behind,” Theo said.
“Careful, he kicks,” Nicolette said as he put his hands on the hind end of the little goat.
As soon as he did, a hind limb shot out and nailed Theo near the groin. He fell back to his haunches, uttering a silent prayer as his upper thigh throbbed painfully.
“Are you all right?” Nicolette asked.
Theo could hear her smothering a giggle. “He nearly unmanned me, the bloody fiend.”
Bartholomew sidled up next to Nicolette and blinked innocently.
“As God is my witness, I will eat you,” he said to Bartholomew.
“Baa,” Bartholomew said.
Theo came to his feet and glared at the goat, brushing his hoof print from his buckskin breeches.
“I’ll give you a moment to compose yourself,” Nicolette said. She bit back a smile and turned away, the goat happily following her.
Theo didn’t need to compose himself. He needed a hearty goat stew for tonight’s dinner, but he bit his tongue and followed them instead. Nicolette led the goat to a pen behind the house, where nineteen of its friends milled about aimlessly, jumping on straw bales and other things. Nicolette ushered Bartholomew through the gate and closed it tightly. “I don’t know how he got out.”
“Witchcraft, likely,” Theo said. “He’s clearly the spawn of the devil.” Bartholomew baa’d in response.
“Come, do you need a cold compress?”
“No,” Theo said.
“Let’s see what damage he did to my garden. Odette will be very displeased.” Back to the garden they went, and Nicolette listed all the plants that grew: tomatoes, parsnips, onions, potatoes, celery, carrots, and various herbs.
Theo watched Nicolette gather a basket and gloves. “I’m afraid I don’t have a pair for you.”
He looked at his own tan gloves. He had plenty more, where she and her sister shared that one pair.
“Does your mother know we’re here?”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll go inside and speak to her after I’m done here. You are welcome to join me or you can wait outside.”
“I’d like to meet your mother.”
She shrugged and went back to work. “See these little plants? They are terrible. They steal nutrients and space,” she said. She ripped one viciously. “They all have to go.”
“Merciless eradication, understood,” Theo quipped.
They both set to work. After about twenty minutes, he stopped to remove his coat, hanging it over the faded white fence. They worked in silence and the most peace Theo had ever enjoyed. Weeding, of all things.
He reached for a weed and jerked his hand back. He examined the bleeding tip of his finger. Nicolette removed her own gloves and took hold of his hand to look closely at it.
“I should have warned you, some of those little devils have spines.”
“It’s all right. I shan’t lose my finger, I think.”
“For such a little prick, it will bloody sting.”
Theo gasped. “What course language,” he chuckled. “I’m sure it’s my fault. I’m a terrible influence.”
“Yes, I’ve been thoroughly corrupted,” she replied. She peered closely at his finger. “Luna should have a look at this.”
“Luna will try to chop it off—forgive me, I should not be so familiar with your sister. She doesn’t like me at all. Yesterday she tried to warn me to stay away from you,” Theo grumbled. If Luna had her way, she’d be rid of him and keep his brother all to herself.
“She doesn’t see the good that I see,” Nicolette said.
“Ah, yes, blinded by my charms as she is.”
“You are not that charming.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said with mock severity. “Did you say I’m not charming?”
“I did. You could use a bit of humility.”
He grinned and she returned his smile. Somewhere in his chest, his heart did a flip.
He swallowed, his joy fading. A chill slipped down his spine. He’d almost forgotten. He was no one special. With Nicolette, all else faded away—the tension with his brother, judge Blackwood, Sir Kirby’s possible death. The potential for his own. Coombs could arrive any day with news.
“All right,” she said, “your face went completely blank and devoid of color just then.”
He shook himself free of the cold grip. He looked across the field and half expected to see a black-cloaked figure holding a scythe. This time with her was precious and would soon come to an end. He would either put England to his back or face his own demise.
He refocused on Nicolette. The thought of leaving her behind made his chest tight. When Theo sailed away, he might feel the absence of her smile like a missing limb.
“You need tea. Come with me.”
He followed her to the front of Marsden House, and she opened the door.
“Mother,” she called. A woman of middling age, brown hair finely shot through with silver, stepped into the parlor doorway and smiled. Her gaze moved past Nicolette to Theo, and he swallowed.
“Who is this, dear?” she asked.
“This is Mr. Denham. He generously offered help in the garden today. We shall reward him with tea and biscuits,” Nicolette said and led him into the parlor.
“Welcome, and thank you for your service today,” Mrs. Marsden said.
Her knowing eyes settled on his face. She must wonder so many things, most of all why a gentleman such as himself would be helping her daughter in the garden. A task far beneath a guest of the castle.
“Are you enjoying the house party?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m having a wonderful time.”
“And what brings you to Marsden House?” She raised a brow.
He swallowed. She radiated a motherly air, reminding him of his own mother.
“I am enjoying the company of your daughters very much. You should be very proud.”
“I am,” she replied. “Do you have siblings?”
“I do. My brother is the Earl of Densmore,” Theo responded.
Mrs. Marsden’s smile brightened.
“Mother, please don’t interrogate him,” Nicolette said. She carried in a tray. “He is my friend.”
“I did not send you to the castle to make friends.”
Nicolette grimaced at him. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s quite all right, Nicolette, I’m used to it.” He wanted to bite his tongue because he referred to her name informally.
Mrs. Marsden raised a brow. “How did you two become friends?”
Theo ground his teeth and cleared his throat. “We both have an appreciation for music,” he said.
Nicolette gripped the tray with white knuckles. “Mr. Denham, why don’t you put a biscuit in your mouth?”
“Your daughter’s singing is quite glorious. She could have a very prestigious musical career if she were to sing professionally.”
Mrs. Marsden’s brows shot up to her hairline. She turned Nicolette. “My daughter, a professional singer?”
“She could be famous if she so chose.” Theo was waiting for Nicolette to throw a biscuit at his head.
She set the tray down on the table between the sofa and the chair where Mrs. Marsden sat. She sat on the sofa beside him with enough room for two people to squeeze in between them and poured the tea, offering him a cup with a glare and stretching over the table to hand a cup to her mother.
“Pay him no mind. His head has been handled by drink.”
“How benevolent that you should be friends with him,” Mrs. Marsden said with a wink for Theo.
Nicolette cleared her throat. “Mother, I found Bartholomew in the garden. Do you know anything about that?”
“Your father thought he could take care of the weeds.”
“Well he didn’t. He tried to eat everything else.”
Her mother shrugged. “He’s trying, my dear. It’s been quite a long time since he’s had to do the work himself.”
“I know, I just worry. Georgie would have been furious if Bartholomew was hurt in any way.”
Theo grunted in amusement. He wanted to strangle the goat, but now that his thigh barely hurt, he supposed he could forgive the little beast.
Nicolette and her mother were in a stare down.
He lightly coughed into his hand and then grimaced at his dirty tattered gloves.
“Do forgive me,” he said as he removed them and set them on the floor. “Might I have another biscuit? They are very good.”
“Lunette made them. They are lemon ginger with hints of lavender.”
“Yes, I’ve spoken with her about her interest in herbs.” Did they know Miss Lunette liked to sneak about at night? Not likely. But he kept that bit of information to himself. Mrs. Marsden had enough to deal with at present. And apparently so did Mr. Marsden, tending to the family farm alone.
If his memory served him right, they hadn’t any tenants either.
“Where is Mr. Marsden at present?”
“He’s out mending a fence.”
A strange sensation spread through his chest as Mrs. Marsden spoke to him. What was it about mothers that made him so uncomfortable? He could hardly remember his own. The image of her in his mind seemed to be fading with every year that passed.
He thought back.
He’d lost both his parents October twenty-first, eleven years ago.
How had so much time passed?
He didn’t feel thirty-two. Yet here he was, and he’d nearly destroyed his life.
He refocused on Mrs. Marsden, shaken by his thoughts. She studied him in that motherly way, as if she were reading his mind. Nicolette was talking about her twin and Mr. Seyburn, her voice falling into the background as he held Mrs. Marsden’s gaze. Could she see the pain inside him? The hole left by his parents’ death? They were the only two people in the world who didn’t see him as a scapegrace. They’d believed he could always be better, do better when he was ready. As if he’d simply needed to grow up into the man they knew he could be.
But here he was.
A potential murderer. A defiler of innocents.
Nicolette chattered on.
He stood abruptly. “I’ll go help him. Thank you for the tea and delicious biscuits.”
He scooped up his gloves.
“What?” Nicolette asked in confusion.
“Your father. He may need help. He’s alone out there. I’ll join him.”
She blinked at him.
“I’m certain he will appreciate your assistance and strength,” Mrs. Marsden said with a knowing smile.
She knew she’d thoroughly unraveled him.
He nodded and left them, stepping out into the sun and breeze with a breath of relief. He went around the back of the house, and there Mr. Marsden was, rolling a hand cart over a lumpy field with distinct effort.
Alone. A bit of strenuous work was just what Theo needed to quiet his racing thoughts. Time away from Nicolette to figure out just what he was doing here in the first place.
Chapter 18
Nicolette blinked owlishly at the parlor entryway and the empty space Theo had left.
“He’s a fine young man. He just needs a bit of direction,” her mother said behind her.
Nicolette faced her mother and sipped her tea. “What do you mean?”
“Some men need an anchor or they drift aimlessly, unable to figure out a direction. It leads to trouble.”
Nic frowned. He was in trouble. She was certain of that. But did she want to be his anchor? Could she?
She would have to know more about why he was leaving England. Every detail if she were to become more than just his friend. Over the past two days, they’d spent more and more time together. But that second night on the bluff, when he laid her down on her cloak and did delightfully sinful things to her body, had left her in a state of confusion. He hadn’t touched her since then, but he’d spent a lot of time with her, much to the annoyance of Luna and his brother. They were under the impression that he was merely out to seduce her.
She sat with her mother a little while longer, and thankfully, her mother didn’t say anything more about it. The hour grew late, and it was time to return to the castle. Her father entered and she kissed his cheek and bid him goodbye.
“Give my thanks to Mr. Denham again.”
“I will Papa. Did he return to the castle?”
“He is returning the tools to the barn for me.”
“You smell terrible.” Her mother pinched her nose. “Go wash up.”
Her father grinned and waved goodbye. Nic headed out to the barn, finding Theo inside, washing his hands at the pump.
His waistcoat was now gone, and his shirt collar gaped open as he wiped a rag over his neck and face. Nic didn’t want to disturb him, or so she told herself as she hung in the shadows and watched him pump more water onto the rag. Muscles flexed beneath his fine silk shirt dampened with sweat down the middle of his back to the waist of his breeches. His clothing was smudged with dirt, but he didn’t seem to mind.
She licked her lips and cleared her throat. “It’s time to go back,” she said.
He didn’t look back at her. Did he not hear her?
She strode forward and he turned, his expression brooding.
She slowed. “Do you want me to leave?”
He shook his head.
“If we don’t hurry, we’ll be late.”
“For what?”
“I’m not sure what Violet has planned for the afternoon since the sketching excursion was cut short.”
He stared intently at his hands as he wiped them with the rag. “Go on without me.”
“I don’t want to.” She moved closer.
He glanced up, aware of her invading his dark cloud. She stood before him and touched his cheek.
“What is it?”
Something bleak flashed in his eyes. “I don’t want to leave.”
Her th
roat tightened. “Then don’t.”
“It’s not that simple. I did something terrible. I…hurt someone.”
She cradled his face. “Why? Tell me.”
His eyes searched hers. “It was just a duel over a stupid card game. But it went all wrong and… I shot him. I didn’t mean to do it. I always shoot over my opponents. If he dies…I’ll be tried for murder.”
She sucked in a breath. “For dueling?”
“It’s my third.”
Tears rushed her lashes. So, he had to leave. It wasn’t that he was some aimless rake like her mother thought. She couldn’t anchor him to England. He closed his eyes, desolation transforming his features into a hard, pained mask.
She couldn’t bear it.
He didn’t deserve this. Two men chose to duel. By doing so, they accepted the consequences no matter how dire or stupid. Why were men so stupid! She wanted to scream.
But instead she kissed him, coming to her toes and pressing her mouth to his. It was all she could do to comfort him, this man who’d slipped between her ribs and pierced her heart. He was there now and there he would stay. She knew it deep in her bones. All this turmoil inside her… She was falling in love. She couldn’t stop it. It was already too late.
He pulled her close, taking over the kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. Nic moaned, loving the urgency of his hands and mouth as he claimed her body. She wanted to belong to him.
She did belong to him.
There was no way she could ever forget him. She’d yearn for him for the rest of her life.
A feverish desperation took hold.
She pushed him back against the stall wall, angling her head to deepen the kiss, taking fistfuls of his shirt in her hands and yanking it from his breeches. She wanted to feel the hardness of his body with her bare hands. If this was all she would ever have of him, she wanted to know everything, to taste his salty skin, to feel the dips and planes of his muscles.
She slid her hands up the front of his abdomen, his skin hot and slick. She shivered, squeezing her thighs together to appease the ache there. Her body recalled the earlier pleasure she’d found with him and wanted more. He pulled away, dropping kisses to her neck, brushing her dress collar aside to sear her shoulder and clavicle with kisses.