The Bedding Proposal

by Tracy Anne Warren

  The man didn’t lower the gun by so much as an inch. “Liar too, I see. Drop the rig and step back.”

  Leo’s hand tightened on the material. “If you would simply see reason, I am sure some accommodation can be reached. How much for the clothes? I will purchase them from you outright.”

  “Purchase them!” The farmer barked out a humorless laugh. “Don’t see no pockets ne’er ready coin on that bare skin of yers. Nay, ye stay where ye are, while my older boy goes for the constable.”

  Leo scowled. “There’s no need to involve the law. Send word to Holland House and you will see that I am telling you the truth. My name is—”

  “Don’t care what yer name is. Now sit down and wait while Mull is called.” He gestured toward the ground with the end of his rifle. “I want ’im to see ye, jus’ as ye are, so there’s no mistaking the situation.”

  Leo glanced beneath him at the damp grass, the thin green stalks underlain by patches of sticky mud and a scattering of moldering leaves. It looked cold and uninviting and he had no intention of sitting on it, especially naked. “I would prefer to stand.”

  “Ye sit or ye’ll get a taste of the wrong end of Bess here.”

  “I will thank you not to threaten me,” Leo said in a voice hard with authority. “Put Bess, as you call it, down.”

  In answer, the farmer lifted the gun barrel higher.

  Leo studied the other man, searching for potential weaknesses. On initial inspection, there didn’t seem to be any, particularly since the farmer was the one holding the weapon. But weapon or no, Leo wasn’t about to wait around for the local constabulary to arrive.

  Considering how unwilling the other man was to listen to him, he didn’t hold out much hope that Mr. Mull would be any more accommodating. Leo was vulnerable enough standing here in nothing but his boots. He wasn’t taking the chance of being tossed that way into a gaol cell.

  “Look, there is no need for all this,” Leo said. “Why don’t I just give you back your garments and be on my way?” In a gesture of apparent concession, he let the clothes drop onto the grass. “See? No harm done.”

  “No harm? ’Course there’s harm.” The man bristled. “If I let you go, ye’ll be after one of me neighbors next. Now, enough of yer prattle. Shut yer gob and sit.”

  Leo said nothing for a long moment, then gave a conciliatory shrug, as if he was giving in. “As you like.”

  Certain he’d won, the cottager shifted his stance, the weapon finally lowering a little.

  Springing into action, Leo charged the other man. Reaching him in seconds, Leo curled his hands around the wooden stock and pushed the rifle up and away, wrestling for possession.

  But the big bull held fast, every ounce as strong as he looked. They hadn’t struggled for long when suddenly the gun went off. The bullet flew skyward, the reverberation from the shot traveling the length of Leo’s arms.

  Leo wasn’t the sort to back away from a fight, but he also knew when retreat was the better choice. Hoping surprise would gain him a much needed advantage, he shoved the gun hard toward the farmer, then abruptly let go.

  He ran, pushing himself as fast as his legs would carry him toward a stand of trees not too far in the distance. He might not be able to outwrestle the bull-sized farmer, but he knew he could outrun him.

  He was nearly to his goal when pain suddenly burned like a brand through his arm, the echo of a rifle shot sounding behind him seconds later. He glanced down and watched as blood ran hot and wet over his skin. Scarlet droplets pooled at his fingertips before splattering in the grass.

  Rather than stop, he ran faster, even more determined to escape now that he was injured. He finally reached the shelter of the trees, only then pausing long enough to catch his breath. But he knew he didn’t have time to waste. The farmer and his son, and whomever else the man could round up, would be after him soon.

  He would have to tend to his wound later.

  Cradling his injured arm against his chest, he pushed on. If he could just reach Holland House, he would be safe. As for arriving naked and bleeding, well, it would only add to the drama of his harrowing tale and raise the tally against Lady Thalia Lennox.

  Checking quickly behind him to make sure they weren’t already in pursuit, he set out again in what he hoped was the right direction.

  * * *

  Thalia was almost to the Holland House stables when she slowed her mount. The mare whickered softly, shaking her head with a jingle of the tack as they came to a halt in the middle of a grassy field.

  Thalia supposed Lord Leopold was walking back by now wearing nothing but his boots. He must make quite a picture, all that finely wrought flesh exposed for all the world to see—assuming he wasn’t concealing himself behind every tree and bush along the way. Yet somehow she knew that he was far too proud a man to hide. Instead he was probably striding confidently forward, moving as if he were just out for a stroll regardless of the reaction he would most certainly provoke if seen by some unsuspecting local.

  She frowned and caught her lower lip between her teeth, thinking of the predicament she’d put him in. She ought to be pleased, puffed up with self-satisfaction for a job well done. Her scheme had worked exactly as planned. She’d wanted to humiliate and humble him, to make him so angry that he would never want to speak to or look upon her again.

  So why did she feel troubled?

  Why was guilt souring in her stomach like a piece of unripened fruit?

  She’d wanted to teach him a lesson. Instead, she wondered if she was the one in need of tutelage. Had she been unforgivably cruel? And if so, what was she going to do to make amends?

  She sat unmoving for a few seconds more, then heaved out a breath and signaled for the mare to turn around and ride back the way they’d come.

  Thalia was about halfway to the pond when a sharp crack splintered the air. She’d attended enough autumn shooting parties to recognize the sound of gunfire. Her heart sped faster, a strange, sick fear rising in her chest.

  It could be anything, she thought. A hunter perhaps or shooting practice. It didn’t need to have anything to do with Lord Leopold.

  Yet somehow she knew it was.

  A harsh gasp rattled in her throat when she saw him, one of his arms bathed in a wash of crimson as he came out of a small grove of trees at a stumbling run.

  “My God,” she cried as she urged the horse toward him.

  He stopped and looked up, the waning afternoon sun glinting off the threads of gold and amber in his hair. He looked beautiful despite his injury, like a warrior who’d just battled a mighty foe.

  “Lady Thalia?” he said, clearly surprised to see her. “What are you doing here?”

  She ignored his question as she kicked her stirrup free and jumped down from her mount, running to him as quickly as her skirts would allow. “My lord Leopold, what has befallen you? Have you been shot?”

  “Yes, and likely to be again if we don’t leave.” He cast a worried glance over his shoulder.

  “What do you mean?”

  He shook his head. “Never mind that now. Let’s get on your horse and ride for Holland House.”

  Favoring his wounded left arm, which was obviously too painful to use, he went around to pick up the reins of her mare using his right. The animal backed up, turning suddenly fractious at the scent of fresh blood. He calmed her as best as he could, then gestured to Thalia. “You mount first, then I’ll come up behind.”

  “All right, but we should bind your arm first so you don’t lose any more blood. I have your clothes with me as well. You can get dressed too.”

  “We’ll worry about both of those things later. For now, get on the horse.”

  She stiffened and was opening her mouth to disagree when a huge man emerged from the trees. A frightful scowl darkened the stranger’s face, one paw-sized hand clenched around a rifle. A lad of ten or eleven trotted at his heels. Without hesitating, he and the boy made straight for them.

  “Accosting women now, ar
e ye, ye blackguard?” the big man called. “Step away from her or it’ll go even worse for ye than it already has.”

  Thalia stared in horror.

  “Ye’re safe, ma’am,” the man said reassuringly. “He won’t hurt ye.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Leopold do as instructed, clearly trying to separate himself from her so that she would be out of the line of fire. Without a moment’s hesitation, he’d chosen to place himself in further danger to protect her.

  The selfless act warmed her down to her marrow, something unexpected shifting in the vicinity of her heart. Rather than let him continue to move away, she stepped sideways so that she was once again standing between him and the gun.

  “Hurt me?” she told the large man derisively. “Do not be ridiculous. Lord Leopold would never hurt me.” And curiously, in that moment, she knew it was true. For all his rakish ways, she realized that Lord Leopold was the sort of man who would never resort to violence against a woman, or any creature weaker than himself.

  “It is you, sir, who are cause for concern,” she continued, her tone blistering. “Put that gun down immediately.”

  The man stopped abruptly, the boy at his side.

  “Thalia, don’t,” Lord Leo said quietly. “You’ll just antagonize him. Step away and let me handle this.”

  But as before, she ignored him, her attention fixed on the other man. “Are you the one who shot Lord Leopold?” she demanded.

  “Wot?” Thick eyebrows rose skyward.

  “You heard me? Did you shoot and injure this gentleman?”

  The large man bristled. “He’s no gentleman—he’s a thief. He were tryin’ ter steal the clothes right out of me own yard.”

  “Well, of course, he was, given that he had lost his garments and had need of new ones. And I am sure he was not stealing them as you claim, but rather borrowing them until such time as he could repay you for their use.”

  “Exactly what I tried to explain, but you refused to listen,” Lord Leopold said to the farmer. “As you can see, the lady has no difficulty in her understanding of the situation.”

  The big man’s eyebrows bunched with renewed anger. “’Ow were I ter know you was some high-nob lord when ye ain’t wearin’ so much as a kerchief around yer nethers? ’Sides, ye’re the one what ran off when I told ye I was callin’ fer the constable.”

  “No doubt because you were holding that gun on him,” Thalia stated, interceding before the men could come to further blows, verbal and otherwise. “You still are holding it by the way. Did I, or did I not, tell you to put that weapon down? Do it now.”

  The farmer flushed, ruddy anger darkening his skin. But to the surprise of them all, he did as she commanded, laying the rifle carefully into the grass.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Lord Holland will be informed of everything that has occurred here. As magistrate, it will be up to him to decide what is to be done, though I rather doubt he will be pleased to hear that you tried to kill one of his houseguests.”

  The color drained out of the huge man’s face. “I didn’t try ter kill ’im. Just winged him. He’s all right, ain’t he?”

  “He’s gunshot and bleeding, so he most certainly is not all right. If you are done threatening his lordship and me, I should like to tend to his wound and get him back to Holland House so that he can receive proper medical attention. Young man,” she said turning her attention to the boy, “have you a blanket in your house?”

  “Aye,” the boy said.

  “Then pray run and fetch it while I see to Lord Leopold.”

  After the boy ran off, the farmer turned to follow.

  “Not you,” she said. “Once I’ve done binding his lordship’s wound, you are going to assist him up onto my horse.”

  “That’s not necessary, Lady Thalia,” Lord Leopold said quietly. “I can see to myself.”

  But one look at his wan complexion told her he was not nearly as steady and robust as he claimed. “Sit down, Lord Leopold, before you pass out.”

  “I never realized before quite how bossy you are.”

  “I am sure there are many things you have not realized about me. Now please, sit down.”

  “Hand my trousers to me first. Then I’ll gladly oblige.”

  Oh. He was right. In the midst of all the turmoil, she’d nearly forgotten that he was unclothed. He was shivering as well, she saw, the setting sun and falling temperature only adding to his discomfort.

  Hurrying to the mare, she pulled the bundle of clothes off the saddle. Her hands trembled, suppressed tension coming to the fore now that the danger was over. But she could collapse in a quivering heap later, once she was alone. Right now, Lord Leopold had need of her.

  She returned to his side. “Here.” She shook the bundle free, then held out the trousers.

  “Are those his clothes?” the farmer asked.

  “Never you mind,” she said over her shoulder before turning back to Lord Leopold. “Can you manage?”

  “Of course.”

  But he couldn’t, his wounded arm too stiff and painful to be of much use. In the end she knelt down and helped him into them—he fastened the buttons on his own, however, using only one hand.

  Next she retrieved his cravat. “This will have to serve as a binding for now,” she told him as she tied the soft linen tightly above the wound to slow the bleeding. Once done, she wound the rest around his arm as best she could.

  The boy suddenly appeared with the blanket, a woman with him.

  “What has happened?” she said, a toddler set at her hip. “Is this the man who was in our yard? Thomas said he’s Lord something or other and one of Lord Holland’s guests. Oh, Joseph, what ’ave ye done?”

  “Hush, Mary,” the big man said. “Let’s get ’em on their way, then we’ll see wot’s wot.”

  “But—”

  “I says not now.”

  Mary fell silent.

  The rest of Lord Leopold’s clothes were impossible to put on, since his shirtsleeves were too narrow to fit over the makeshift bandage. Thalia draped the blanket over his shoulders instead, then urged him toward her mare.

  Lord Leopold was looking grayer by the moment. Circles of pain rimmed his eyes and his balance was not entirely steady. Nonetheless he insisted on trying to mount her horse on his own once she was settled. But getting seated behind her as he hoped to be proved impossible, and in the end he was forced to rely on the aid of the man who’d put him in this predicament to begin with.

  She made no complaint when he wrapped his good arm around her waist. “Hold tight, Lord Leopold.”

  He did, pressing his chest to her back, his body far too cold for her liking.

  It was with immense relief that they set off, Thalia urging the horse forward at a gentle gait.

  Neither of them spoke for a time.

  “Thank you,” Lord Leopold said in a low voice.

  “For what?” she murmured.

  “For coming back. You were magnificent, the way you faced down that lumbering brute. Stupid, but magnificent.”

  “I am not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult, but I’ll take it regardless.” She paused. “I am sorry.”

  “For what?” His words were slightly slurred, his weight resting more and more heavily against her.

  “For leaving you in the first place back at the pond. It was wrong and I should not have done so.”

  “Got you in my arms, didn’t it?” He tucked his chin on her shoulder, his cheek against her own. “One arm anyway.”

  A minute later, she felt him sway.

  “Don’t you fall off.”

  “Won’t.” He tightened his hold on her waist, then sagged some more. “Just going to rest.”

  “We’re nearly there.” At least she hoped they were, since early evening darkness had fallen. But the horse seemed to know her way, so Thalia wasn’t concerned about reaching their destination. It was Lord Leopold who worried her.

  “My lord?”

  He did
not answer.

  “Leopold?”

  Had he lost consciousness?

  But shortly afterward, as they rode out of a grove of trees, she saw the lights of Holland House. She released a pent-up breath, grateful that help would soon be at hand.

  Chapter 11

  Thalia couldn’t sleep; Lord Leopold was on her mind.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the memory of his ashen face and the expression of pain he’d worn when he’d been helped off her horse and led into the house and upstairs.

  The pair of them turning up together with Lord Leopold injured and weak from blood loss had sent a flurry of shock through the household. It had also sent the guests into full gossip mode just in time for them to convene in the drawing room before dinner.

  While the physician had been sent for, she had told Lord and Lady Holland what she knew about the shooting, careful to leave out any mention of having been at the swimming pond and her role in Lord Leopold’s missing clothes. She’d concocted a story about going out for a ride and discovering his riderless horse—with his clothes tied in a bundle to the saddle—and how she’d then ridden on only to discover him injured. She wasn’t sure if the Hollands entirely believed her version of events, but if not, they were too polite to say.

  As for Lord Leopold, he’d been taken up to bed, where hopefully they hadn’t asked him more than a few cursory questions before leaving him to the ministrations of the doctor.

  What had Lord Leopold told them? She supposed it would serve her right if he’d given an unvarnished accounting of the truth. Still, she rather hoped he had twisted his story enough to keep matters private so that the truth remained solely between him and her.

  How is he? she wondered.

  She’d taken a bath and eaten dinner on a tray in her room, unable to face the other guests. She’d received no further word about Lord Leopold’s condition; not even her maid knew how he was faring.

  Telling herself it was really none of her concern, she had gone to bed. But after a great deal of tossing and turning, she finally gave up.

  She lit a candle and picked up her book, hoping a bit of light reading would help her drift off. But after five minutes, she tossed it aside and reached for her robe.