by Jenna Jaxon
“You said you wanted to learn about the land, my lady. There’s no better time to do so than ingathering.” The round-faced young man, newly married, had laughed. “Unless it’s planting time in the spring. You’ll want to watch the cycle of the seasons on the property, how the ground is prepared and sown in the spring, how the crops are managed during the growing season, and how we bring the harvest in. You’re starting at the end of the process, but next year you’ll see it from the beginning.”
Charlotte had been delighted at the prospect. It gave her purpose, a sense of becoming tied to the land and the people. It also kept her from fretting about the Earl of Wrotham’s treachery. She had written a scathing letter to her father, demanding that he cease to meddle in her affairs and proclaiming her intention to remain unmarried, no matter the circumstances. She had received no reply, which had been expected. Neither, however, had she heard anything from Wrotham. After his passionate appeal to her, she’d thought he would attempt a visit or at the least write, imploring her to marry him and save his political career.
Not that she would do it, of course. Still his silence perplexed her, hence her relief at Mr. Courtland’s suggestion of working closely with her land.
They had been riding out almost daily for the past week, inspecting the different groups of harvesters. This morning Courtland had called for her at nine and they were on their way to her furthest fields by half past the hour. The morning had melted away as they inspected the fragrant fields, met the harvesters, and received early yield reports on the hops, a major crop in Kent. By noon they had finished with one entire sector of the estate and had turned toward home and a good lunch.
Charlotte slowed Ajax as they approached a stand of trees. The path that meandered through the little wood wasn’t wide enough to allow them to ride abreast, so they had ridden through single file on the way out this morning.
“I’ll take the lead this time,” Charlotte called, touching her heel to her horse. The stand of oaks was small but dense. Little sunlight filtered through the tree cover and the chill air intensified as she headed under the canopy. Shivering even in her woolen clothes, Charlotte glanced up, wondering that the leaves were still so thick. The cold weather should have brought most of them down by now.
“Why haven’t the leaves turned more, do you think?” Charlotte called over her shoulder.
“Likely the cold year has confused their cycle. They’re used to the temperature changing from warm to cold. This year it’s been so chilly all summer they don’t know it’s time to change.” His tone said he didn’t find this amusing at all.
“Just as the crops have taken so long to mature.” Charlotte gave Ajax his head in the dim light, allowing him to pick his way along the path strewn with twigs and small branches. She peered ahead to where it brightened at the end of the stand. A dark shadow lay across the path about halfway to the light.
“That’s odd. There’s a small tree down up here. It wasn’t there this morning.” She turned to him, eyebrows raised.
He shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know, my lady. Might be a deadfall. Or it’s not so big that something couldn’t have rooted it up. We do have wild pigs here about.”
A likely explanation. She nodded and urged her mount toward it. “Too big to step over, I think. Let’s try to go around to the right.” Charlotte pulled her reins to the side, heading off the path when the forest exploded with howling men. They came at her from all sides, trying to grab the reins, her skirt, her legs.
The robber gang.
“Courtland!” she screamed, holding on for dear life as Ajax reared up in fear, his hooves flashing out at the nearest attacker. The man gave way, though others still tried to seize her. She slashed her riding crop across the face of the nearest man. He cursed and grabbed it out of her hand, almost unseating her. Slipping her foot from the stirrup, she took aim and kicked the nearest body, the pointed toe of her half boot connecting with the man’s head. He yelped and fell back.
“Ride, my lady! Ride!” Courtland yelled.
She heard a shot. God knew who had fired it. She hammered her heel into Ajax’s side. The horse shot forward, trampling one of the robbers before crashing through the trees in a mad flight.
Anchored only by her right leg in the sidesaddle pommel, Charlotte grasped the reins in one hand as she clutched the horse’s mane in the other and prayed she could stay on. The gelding fled straight through the trees, branches scratching her face as they whipped past her head. Sounds of the attack faded and still the panicked animal ran. Charlotte tried to pull back on the reins, but in her hunched state it did little good. She feared without her foot in the stirrup she’d fall if she loosened his mane.
At last they burst out of the trees onto the short grassland of the park. Ajax continued his headlong flight, though after some minutes of steady pulling on the reins he slowed sufficiently for Charlotte to regain the stirrup. She breathed easier and looked quickly about, trying to get her bearings. She had to get help to send back to her manager. God knew what those blackguards had done to him.
The land looked totally unfamiliar. Was she still even on her own estate? She set her heel into the horse’s flank and he took off at a canter. Charlotte decided to make for the ridge on a rise to her left. Perhaps from its height she could locate help.
They crested the hill and Charlotte gave a sigh of relief. A field in the process of harvesting lay spread out before her.
Men. Thank God.
They tore down the hill pell mell, Charlotte peering into the fields, searching for someone who seemed to be in charge.
“Help! Help! My manager and I were attacked by robbers.” She reined Ajax in and they slid to a stop, almost running down several of the harvesters. She glanced around, but none of the men looked familiar.
“Here, now, what’s the to-do?” One tall worker ran up, followed by the others.
“I’ve been attacked. They were waiting for us in a little stand of woods on my estate. I’m Lady Cavendish of Lyttlefield Park. Please, you must come. My manager, Mr. Courtland, is still there. They may have killed him!” The truth of Courtland’s dire circumstances hit her like a punch to the stomach and she burst into tears.
“My lord.” The biggest worker, a giant of a man, turned toward a man who’d come running out of the wheatfield.
“Nash!” Charlotte screamed and vaulted off the horse.
“Charlotte? Charlotte, what’s the matter?” He came flying toward her and caught her up in his arms.
“Robbers. In the stand of trees at the edge of my property. They’ve got my manager, Will Courtland. You have to come.” Charlotte gripped his jacket, panting as though she’d been running instead of the horse.
“Thorne, Ashford, Stockley, get horses and follow me.” He pried Charlotte’s hands from his coat and ran to his horse, standing tethered at the corner of the field.
Dazed, Charlotte watched as he leaped into the saddle. “Hurry, lads.” He pulled the horse around.
She stared after him, panic receding as determination set in. Did he think he would go without her?
“You there.” She pointed to a young man who looked at her with eyes big as saucers. “Give me a leg up.” She ran to her mount and glanced back at the boy, still standing stock-still. “Now!”
He reluctantly approached and gingerly made a stirrup for her to step into, then tossed her up and backed away just as Nash rode up beside her.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going with you.” She glared defiantly at him, waiting for his denial.
He opened his mouth, then shut it abruptly. With an exasperated snort, he growled, “Come on.” His horse shot away.
He hadn’t argued at all. She sat still on the prancing horse, shaking her head and watching his straight back as he rode away. It took her a moment to realize she needed to follow. She urged Ajax after him, back the way they had come, trailing Nash on his big chestnut stallion. By the time they hit the crest, th
e other men had caught up and they rode hard toward the stand of oaks that now sounded eerily quiet.
As they neared the entrance to the trees, Nash pulled a pistol.
Charlotte gasped. She’d not expected him to have a weapon.
He held up a hand and they slowed. Nash entered first, Charlotte right behind him. There was no sign of her attackers. The tree still lay across the path, behind it in the dim light a crumpled figure.
“Mr. Courtland.” Charlotte pulled her horse to a halt and slithered down. She hurried around the end of the tree to the body of her estate manager.
But Nash had gotten there first. He crouched beside the man and felt his neck for a pulse.
Charlotte’s heart leaped into her throat.
Then he lifted the man’s head, and a groan issued from him.
“Thank God he’s still alive.” Her shoulders sagged and she wanted to sink to the ground.
“He’s not out of the woods yet.” Nash winced at his words when Charlotte laughed nervously. “He’s been beaten rather badly.” Courtland’s face had turned black and blue, one eye almost swollen shut. Nash pointed to a dark red stain spreading from the manager’s shoulder. “And he’s been shot.” He began to tear at his own neck cloth.
Nash’s men had spread out in the woods. The big man now approached them. “No sign of them, my lord. They must have taken his horse. P’rhaps that’s what they were after.”
“Thank you, Thorne. They might have thought two horses worth the risk in broad daylight. It’s an isolated spot.” He glared at Charlotte as he finished untying his cravat. “A single man and a woman would seem like easy prey.” He unwound the cloth and pressed it against Courtland’s shoulder to staunch the blood. The man moaned and his eyes fluttered open.
“Lady Cavendish?” he whispered fiercely, his gaze riveted to Nash’s face.
“Safe, Courtland. You are to be commended for making good her escape.” Nash’s voice soothed as he gently moved the man into a sitting position. “Do you think you can ride?”
The man nodded, then slumped against Nash.
“No. Right, then. Stockley, take Ashford and ride back to the field. Unload the wagon and drive it back here.” He turned to the big man who towered over them. “Thorne, go to Wrotham Village and fetch Mr. Putnam, the apothecary. Take him to Wrotham Hall. We’ll meet you there. Take my horse; he’s faster.”
“Yes, my lord.” The big man swung up on the chestnut stallion and raced off. The other men had also gone, leaving her alone with Nash and the unconscious Courtland.
Awkward silence ensued. This was the first time she’d seen Nash since their encounter in his bedchamber weeks ago. She bent her head as her face heated at the memory, yet she yearned to throw herself into his arms and let him hold her, keep her fears at bay after this horrific experience. Fortunately, he still cradled Courtland’s body instead. Perhaps her manager needed the comfort more than she at the moment.
After a painfully long time, during which she tried to come up with something to say, she settled for, “Thank you, Nash. I cannot tell you how thankful I was to see you running out of the field toward me.” She gazed into his eyes, held by the deep blue pools that made her weak.
“I’m only glad I was there, Charlotte. Glad that Courtland here got you out of danger. Good man.” Nash pressed the cloth harder into the man’s shoulder. He stirred but did not wake.
“Yes, he is. Will he be all right, do you think?” She crinkled her brow, worry about her manager and his new wife surfacing.
“Hard to tell. The beating will mend. And it would be best if the ball passed all the way through his shoulder. We can pray it won’t fester.” Nash shifted the man to lean against his shoulder and Charlotte saw an expanse of chest left uncovered by the lack of cravat and an open shirt.
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. That small patch of pale exposed skin set the blood in her veins on fire.
“What were you and Courtland doing out by yourselves today?” His stern voice dashed cold water on her budding ardor.
“I assume the same as you, Nash.” She tried to give the words a nonchalance. “We had gone out to the far acreage. Mr. Courtland’s been teaching me about the estate and the harvesting. We were heading back to the house when the gang stopped us.”
“I thought I told you before, Charlotte, not to venture out without an escort. That means more than one man.”
She sighed. She might have known he’d bring that up. “I had my manager with me. I thought that would be sufficient. Would you have thought the gang would attack us in the middle of the day?” And before he could answer she added, “There were perhaps six or seven of them. Do you honestly think two more grooms would have dissuaded them?”
He grimaced, as if caught with a bad taste in his mouth. Finally, grudgingly, he admitted, “If there were that many, and the grooms weren’t armed, then likely the gang would have struck in any case. They’d have believed taking four horses worth the risk.” He swore under his breath. “I beg your pardon, Charlotte,” he said, gazing at her with hungry eyes. “I simply want to keep you safe.”
“I know,” she said softly. “And I want to thank you for allowing me to come back here with you without an argument.” She still couldn’t believe she had gotten her way about that.
Nash gave her a wry smile. “You said you wanted to make your own decisions. As a fellow landowner, I have to respect that.” He grinned mischievously. “And because I was going to accompany you, I decided you’d be safer with me at any rate.”
The smile disappeared, leaving his face drawn. “I’ve been trying to apprehend this group of blackguards for months. It’s time I finished with them. I will not rest until they are caught and punished to the fullest extent of the law.” The lines in his face deepened as his eyes came to rest on the still form in his arms.
Charlotte sat silently on the ground beside them. How wonderful Nash was in his present mood, protective yet respectful of her position. A woman would be lucky to have such a man.
She shook off that seductive thought. The last thing she needed in her life was a husband. The respect she’d already begun to command from her workers would be undermined or completely absorbed by any man she married. Soon she hoped they would treat her as any other property owner. Such esteem brought with it a heady feeling. She prayed the workers’ regard would continue to grow. As Mr. Courtland’s injuries would impede his actual running of the estate, she steeled herself to assume the duties as best she could until he was sufficiently recovered. God grant it be soon.
“If you would like, Charlotte, my estate manager and I can help with your harvest as well as our own.” Nash broke in on her reverie, as though picking up her thoughts. “You can even ride out with me when I go to see to it.” His smile was genuine. “The more you learn this year, the easier it will be next. Believe me, I know.”
Stunned by his generous offer, Charlotte stared at him, unable to speak. Instead, he took her hand and kissed it. “It’s a gesture of friendship, my dear. One neighbor to another.” He squeezed her hand and let it go.
Charlotte’s heart beat like a drum. His touch still had the power to set her body on fire, even if only his lips on her hand. Her mind leaped to thoughts of his mouth kissing her elsewhere, melting her into a puddle of desire.
A shout from without the stand of trees pulled her back to the present. Nash struggled to his feet, supporting Courtland, then hefting him in his arms as the wagon pulled into view. Charlotte grabbed her horse’s reins and followed him. Once more the heightened awareness of Nash’s power over her called to her like a siren song, to make a different decision about her path to happiness.
Chapter 22
“My dear, I do not see why you didn’t simply die when the gang jumped out at your horse.” Georgina had said the same thing at least five times since Nash had accompanied Charlotte home and the story of the ambush had come out. Even now, with dinner almost over, her companion seemed particularly upset by the incident
. “You are lucky to be alive, Charlotte.” Georgie shivered. “Had you not escaped there’s no telling what might have happened.”
“I fully credit Mr. Courtland and an excellent horse with my escape, Georgie. Had it not been for them, yes, I believe the outcome of that encounter would have been much different.” Charlotte sipped her wine and tried not to think about the leering look on the face of the man she’d kicked. Death might not have been the worst thing that would have happened to her. A little shiver shook her.
“And Nash proved a gallant rescuer as well. At least of Mr. Courtland.” Georgie gave her a sideways glance. “Did Nash scold you at all?”
Charlotte shook her head, still puzzled by that turn of events. “No. He actually admitted that the attack in broad daylight was unforeseeable and that a larger escort likely would not have discouraged it. Perhaps he is no longer so concerned about me.”
Georgie snorted. “That was evident when he escorted you into the drawing room, shouting for Fisk to have the fires stoked, for the housekeeper to bring blankets, and then poured brandy down your throat to guard against the cold and shock.” She grinned at Charlotte. “Yes, he seemed quite unconcerned.”
“Humpf.” Charlotte finished the last bite of Cook’s excellent trifle and put down her fork. “He didn’t even put up a fuss when I insisted upon going back with him to help Mr. Courtland.”
“And did you want him to argue with you? Waste valuable time?” Georgie stared her, frowning. “He probably knew he couldn’t stop you anyway. Perhaps he’s accepted that you are capable of making your own decisions.”
“Perhaps.” Charlotte couldn’t decide how that sat with her. A fine line existed between having her wishes respected and having her welfare in mind. She straightened her dress and put her shoulders back. It shouldn’t concern her, really, whether Nash wanted to protect her or not. Nothing could come of their friendship, but as long as he respected her as a landowner, they’d get along fine.
“Shall we have our tea in the drawing room?” The after-dinner ritual seemed a godsend to Charlotte, who was ready to change the subject.