Surrender the Night

by Marylu Tyndall

CHAPTER 9

  Bucket in one hand, lantern in the other, Rose yawned and plodded through the weeds that surrounded the back of the barn where her uncle kept his horses and carriage. Katydids chirped their nighttime chorus as she peered through the predawn shadows and halted before the door of the servants’ quarters attached to the building.

  Where Mr. Reed had spent the night.

  A chilled breeze coming in from the forest swirled around her with the sweet fragrance of cedar and Virginia creeper. Despite the pleasant aromas, a shudder ran through her as she set down the pail and lantern—a shudder that had nothing to do with the wind. She fingered the handle of the knife she’d stuffed into her leather sash and hoped she’d have no need of the vile weapon. But one could never be careful enough when it came to a man she did not know. Rose had learned that lesson the hard way. She banged on the door.

  After a few moments, a loud groan that sounded like an angry bear filtered through the wood. Plucking out the knife, she knocked again.

  “What the deuces?” The words, followed by a string of expletives, grated over her ears before the door squeaked open.

  Mr. Reed, bare-chested and with loose breeches hanging about his hips, gaped at her through puffy eyes. Hard muscle rounded his chest and arms, and Rose gripped the knife in both hands and held it out before her.

  “Miss McGuire.” His gaze lowered to the blade trembling in her hands. “Have you disturbed my sleep just to kill me?” More humor than fear filled his voice.

  “Only if I have to, Mr. Reed.”

  “I assure you, I will give you no cause.”

  “And I assure you, sir, that I will give you no opportunity to give me cause.” The words that had made sense in her mind twisted nonsensically in the air between them.

  Mr. Reed’s brows furrowed. He shook his head. “You are befuddling my mind, miss.” He shifted his stance. “What need do you have of a weapon?”

  “I do not know you, Mr. Reed. Yet, by circumstance I find myself forced to be alone with you.”

  “Miss McGuire.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “If I had wanted to hurt you, I have had ample opportunity.” Anguish rolled across his face. “Why are you so frightened of me?”

  “I am frightened of many things, Mr. Reed.”

  He studied her. “As your uncle declared at dinner.” He stretched his back, his muscles rippling across his chest.

  An odd warmth sped through her. Rose dragged her gaze from him to the dark form of her house in the distance. When she faced him again, she found him staring at her inquisitively. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “It’s just that you don’t seem the skittish type, Miss McGuire. You endured the assault of an enemy, went ably toward his gun, removed a bullet from a man’s leg, and then nursed him back to health at the risk of your own and your family’s safety. Egad, if I recall, you even begged Garrick to shoot you!” He shook his head. “Those are not the actions of a fearful woman.”

  Rose nearly snickered at his compliment. What Mr. Reed didn’t realize was that she had been out of her wits with terror every second of those encounters. “I did what I had to.”

  “Precisely.” One eyebrow lifted and a look of admiration flickered in his hazel eyes.

  Against her will, his ardor nestled into a soft spot of her heart. Lowering the blade, Rose stuffed it back into the sash of her gown. “You should know, Mr. Reed, I intend to have this knife on me at all times.”

  He chuckled. “I consider myself duly warned.”

  Yet when her eyes drifted once more to his muscled torso, she realized how foolish her statement was. This man would have no trouble overpowering her.

  “Please cover yourself, sir,” she said, clearing her throat and touching the knife handle again.

  Hobbling, he disappeared into the dark room and returned wearing one of Samuel’s cotton shirts. “Forgive my state of undress. I did not know it was you at my door.”

  “Who else would it be, Mr. Reed?” Rose flicked a curl from her face, trying to ignore the heat flushing through her body.

  He rubbed his eyes again and gazed over the farm still shrouded in darkness. “Certainly not you at this ungodly hour.”

  “Enough of this.” Rose huffed. “You cannot stay here.”

  The green flecks in his eyes glinted playfully in the lantern light. “I believe your aunt and uncle have given me their blessing.”

  Rose clenched her jaw. “You may find your little charade amusing, but I assure you it is anything but.”

  He leaned on the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. “I find you sneaking out here in the middle of the night to see me quite amusing, miss.”

  Rose’s stomach knotted in fury. “I insist you leave at once and go back to your ship.”

  “Though I would love to oblige you, I fear I am not yet capable.” He sighed and glanced down at his leg. “When I saw the soldiers descend upon your farm, I tried to make my escape in the woods. Before too long, I found my strength spent and my pain unbearable.”

  “Perhaps I should give you some of my aunt’s laudanum to assist in your journey.”

  “Or a horse.”

  “You know I cannot do that.” A light wind played with the hem of her dress and tossed Mr. Reed’s loose, dark hair over the top of his shirt. “How long must you keep up this pretense? My aunt and uncle are not imbeciles.”

  He cocked his head and studied her as if he disagreed with her assessment.

  Of all the impertinent … A muscle tightened in her neck. Grabbing the lantern, Rose held it up to get a better look at his face. “Can you not see that every minute you spend here puts me and my family at great risk? Any honorable man would leave us be.”

  “I assure you, I would never harm you or your family, nor do I wish to put any of you in danger.”

  “Then leave us, I beg you.”

  His jaw tightened. “In truth, my honor forbids me to leave you and Amelia without protection. Not after what happened with Garrick.”

  Blood surged to her face. “Oh do not pretend, sir, that you have a care for what happens to us. You are an enemy to everything I hold dear.”

  The katydids ceased their buzzing. Sorrow passed over Mr. Reed’s features before his eyebrows shot up. “Perhaps you forget that it was I who saved you from being ravished a week ago?”

  Rose lowered her chin. “I have not forgotten your kindness. Yet I do wonder at your reasons.” She gazed up at the man towering over her and gathered both her fury and her resolve. “You have placed yourself in a grand position to spy upon my country, Mr. Reed, and I’m here to inform you I will not allow it.” She stomped her foot for effect but the man merely smiled.

  “Spy?” Mr. Reed’s hearty chuckle tumbled over her, dissolving the power of her accusation. “What could I possibly learn from simple farmers that would aid the British cause?”

  The katydids resumed their incessant droning.

  Rose’s face heated. “Why you pretentious, pompous, overbearing …”—the rest of the names popping into her mind should not be uttered by a lady—“We may be farmers but we are not as beef-witted as you assume.”

  Instead of being insulted at her tirade, he grinned even wider.

  Rose sighed. “Besides, you could learn something of import when my uncle sends you into town on errands.”

  “Miss, unless I were given access to your city’s plans of defense, I cannot see how the cost of a pound of flour or whether you wish to purchase beeswax or tallow candles would be of any use to me.”

  “Is that what you believe to be the extent of our knowledge? How to buy flour and candles?”

  He flattened his lips and ran a hand through his loose hair. “I meant no insult, miss. But upon my honor, I am no spy.”

  “Good. Because I shall see that you have no opportunity to discover any military secrets.”

  Mr. Reed stretched his shoulders and gazed into the darkness.

  His features tightened beneath a pensive look. “I realize y
ou hold my countrymen responsible for the death of your parents. I understand your hatred of me.”

  Rose backed away. “I doubt you understand much about me or my country.”

  “I assure you that I have no intention of staying but a few days.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “Unless unforeseen circumstances arise, yes.” “Do you even know how to be a servant?”

  He shrugged. A breeze tugged at a loose tendril of his dark hair. “I passed the lieutenant’s exam with honors; how hard could it be?”

  A giggle rose in her throat. This highbrow had no concept of hard work, at least not the kind required by the only male servant in the house. Perhaps that was how she could get rid of him. She would give him the most vile tasks—tasks that a man of his breeding would consider far beneath him. Tasks so repulsive that his pride—which was obviously enormous—could not suffer the humiliation. Then perhaps he’d leave when he promised. Or better yet, even sooner.

  Picking up the pail, Rose held it out to him. “Milk Liverpool.”

  “Milk who?” Mr. Reed stared at her as if she were an apparition floating outside his door.

  “Milk the cow.” She gave him a supercilious smile. “Did you think this was merely a social call?”

  Mr. Reed gazed past her, confusion wrinkling his face. “What hour is it? Where is the sun?”

  “It is five thirty, Mr. Reed, and the sun shall make its appearance soon, I assure you.”

  “Five thirty.” He yawned. “Only thieves and murderers lurk about at this hour, Miss McGuire. Go back to bed and call upon me in a few hours.” He started to close the door.

  She shoved her foot against the wood and the pail against his chest. “We milk the cow before dawn.”

  “Need I remind you, I am an officer, not a farmer?”

  “Need I remind you that you are under my employ and will do what I say? Or”—she shrugged—“my uncle will discharge you, and you’ll have no choice but to return to your ship, Mr. Reed, injured leg or not.”

  One side of his lips lifted in a smile. “So you plan on driving me away with work?”

  She released the bucket. It fell onto his good foot with a thud.

  “Ouch.” Mr. Reed winced.

  “I’ll meet you in the barn.”

  An hour later, Alex found himself sitting on a stool staring at the underbelly of a huge, portly beast. A stench he dared not describe but one that had haunted his dreams while he’d been feverish assailed his senses. Beside him, Miss McGuire lowered herself to another stool and rubbed her hands together.

  “Make sure your fingers are warm,” she began instructing him, but her words rummaged past his ears unintelligibly. Instead—as a rhythmic splat, splat echoed in the bucket—Alex found himself mesmerized by the slight tilt of Miss McGuire’s head, the way the lantern light glimmered over her curls, and the moist sheen covering her lips.

  “There,” she sat back. “Now it is your turn.”

  Alex shook his head. A rooster crowed in the distance. “My turn?”

  “Yes.” She faced him with a satisfied smirk. “This will be your job every morning.”

  Alex stared at the four pink teats with disgust. Yet how hard could it be? “Very well, allow me.” He slid onto the stool Miss McGuire vacated. Flexing his fingers, he leaned beneath the beast and grabbed hold of one of the teats. It was warm and slick to his touch.

  The cow let out an ear-piercing bellow and swung her enormous face toward him. Alex grabbed his crutch and leaped off the stool in horror.

  Miss McGuire giggled. “Afraid of a cow, Mr. Reed?”

  “Only when she bares her teeth at me.” He regained his composure.

  “She won’t bite.” Miss McGuire placed her hands on her hips. “Try warming your fingers first. I doubt you’d enjoy an icy touch to your …” She halted, dropped her arms to her side, and glanced away.

  Alex withheld a laugh, enjoying the red blossoming over her fair cheeks. “No, I daresay, I wouldn’t.”

  He took his seat again. Then, after rubbing his fingers together, he placed them on the teat and began to squeeze. The cow let out a long and arduous moo.

  Miss McGuire sat on the stool beside him, maintaining some distance between them. “Like this, Mr. Reed.” She pressed his fingers onto the top of the teat near the udder then ran them down to the tip. A squirt of milk shot into the pail. “See?” Her eyes met his. Too close. Her fresh feminine scent pushed the malodorous smells of the barn from his nose, and he resisted the temptation to bury his face in her hair. Her lips parted and he stared at them, moving closer.

  She jerked her hands back and stood, retreating to the wall of the barn. He grinned, hoping their closeness had a similar effect on her.

  But why? When he’d be gone in a few days?

  Pushing the unwanted thoughts aside, he returned to his task and attempted to duplicate her action, but the cow stubbornly withheld her milk.

  Miss McGuire giggled again.

  Alex continued to coax the beast into compliance. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Immensely.” She smiled.

  “I am no stranger to hard work, miss, if that is what you are trying to prove. I have served on His Majesty’s ships for the past nine years.” Finally a squirt of milk shot from the teat.

  Onto the dirt.

  “Try hitting the pail, Mr. Reed.”

  He growled his frustration. “Perhaps people were not meant to milk cows. Have you ever considered that? It seems highly unnatural to me.”

  “Unnatural or not, someone with your education and skills should have no trouble with a simple task that any milkmaid can perform.”

  Alex shook his head and switched to a different teat. Liverpool let out a guttural groan as dawn painted a luminous glow outside the barn door. Miss McGuire swept past him, her cotton gown rustling.

  “Have no fear. I am sure I will master the technique before too long.” He glanced up at her. The morning sun formed a golden halo around her head.

  “I should hope so, Mr. Reed.” The halo faded beneath her biting tone. “You have many more tasks to complete before the day is done.”

  Alex massaged the teat. Another squirt. This time into the pail.

  “Now I have it.” He shot Miss McGuire a confident glare then squeezed the same teat again. A stream of warm milk shot him in the face. He slammed his eyes shut as the liquid dripped off his chin onto his shirt. Releasing the cow, he swiped the creamy fluid from his cheeks and neck.

  “Yes, I’d say you have it now, Mr. Reed.” Miss McGuire’s feminine laughter bubbled over him. But instead of stirring his indignation, it had the opposite effect.

  He smiled up at her. “Quite amusing, I’m sure.” They laughed together, and for a moment joy sparkled in her eyes. But then a cold shield lifted over them once again. She pursed her lips. “When you’re finished, bring the milk to Cora. Then ask her for the kitchen scraps and return to me in my garden. I’ll show you how to feed the pigs.”

  “You named your pig Prinney?” Shock jarred Alex, followed by a disgust that halted him in midstride.

  “I did.” Rose knelt to pet the massive beast.

  “After the Prince Regent of England?” He still could not believe it.

  “He does resemble him, don’t you think?” Miss McGuire scratched the pig behind the ears then moved her fingers to do the same beneath his chin. “There you go, Prinney. That’s a good boy.”

  Indignation churned in Alex’s belly. How insolent, ungracious, and ill-mannered! He shifted his gaze to the cow in the barn, and he grew more outraged. “Liverpool. You named the cow after our Prime Minister, Lord Liverpool!”

  Miss McGuire stood, a grin twisting her luscious lips. A smudge of dirt angled down her neck and despite her blatant disrespect, he longed to wipe it off.

  She handed him a shovel. “Time to clean out the pigsty.”

  Alex gazed up at the sun. Only halfway in its ascent, its hot rays already seared him. Sweat beaded
on his neck. “Clean it of what?” He glanced at the clumps of mud and hay and other less desirous nuggets that covered the floor of the enclosure.

  “Of the pigs’ messes, of course.” A sarcastic twinkle shone in her eyes. “You should be good at it by now. Being in His Majesty’s Navy, don’t you often have to shovel Prinney’s waste?”

  Alex opened his mouth to respond but outrage strangled his voice.

  “Afterward, you may clean out the barn as well. And chop the firewood.” She pointed toward a pile of thick branches stacked along the side of the barn. Then flashing him a curt smile, she sashayed away.

  Rose poured a cup of tea and sat down at the preparation table in the center of the kitchen. Amelia and Cora jostled each other for a position at the window that pointed toward the barn.

  “You sure got him working hard, child.” Cora returned to her spot at the table and began kneading a lump of dough.

  “He’s a servant. He’s supposed to work hard.” Rose took a sip of the tea, bitter like the guilt that soured the back of her throat. She plopped another lump of sugar into the hot liquid and gave it a stir.

  “But you never made Samuel do yer chores. I thought you loved carin’ for the animals yourself.” Cora’s tone was tinged with disapproval.

  Amelia continued to gaze out the window. “Oh my.”

  “Amelia, for goodness’ sakes, quit drooling.”

  “He’s taken off his shirt,” Amelia responded breathlessly.

  Rose and Cora both darted to the window, nudging against each other for a better view. Mr. Reed’s form came into shape beyond the blurry glass. His shirt hung limp over a fence post as he raised the ax over his head, bringing it crashing down onto a log. Muscles that were anything but limp swelled firm and round on his biceps and chest. Dark hair the color of cocoa loosened from his queue and feathered his broad shoulders gleaming in the sunlight. The sweat indicated he was working hard. But the muscles indicated that he, indeed, was no stranger to work. She should have realized that when she’d seen his bare chest that morning. Perhaps her plan would not succeed after all.