Even now, just thinking about it had her shivering. There had been something so dark, so dangerous, so...unnerving about him.
She blamed her response to that kiss on fear and shock. What else would explain the heat that had coursed through her veins, turning her blood to molten lava? How else to make sense of those strange, curling sensations deep inside when he’d trapped her in his arms? In all the years she had been Jared Warner’s wife, she’d never known anything to compare.
What annoyed her the most about her response was the character of the man who’d kissed her. She’d heard the whispers. A man who had brought shame to his family, though she knew not why. A man hated by those who were forced to toil under his angry, unforgiving eye. A man given to bouts of drinking and wenching.
She’d had her fill of such a burden.
She unlatched her gate and started up the garden path, lined with hedgerows and primroses. It made her sad to see the way the flowers had gone wild. When her father had been alive, he’d kept everything neatly trimmed. Now vines grew everywhere, choking the life out of some of the bushes, and even climbing up the walls of her cottage and threatening to block the sunlight from the windows as well. But she had neither the strength nor the time to properly see to them. It took all she had, sewing all day and late into the night for others, to keep body and soul together. Had it not been for her skill with needle and thread, and this, her father’s small holding here in Surrey, she would be completely destitute.
It had been a humbling experience to return here after Jared’s death and admit to her father that her husband’s drinking, gambling and wenching had left’ her with nothing but the clothes on her back. If bis debtors could, they would have demanded even those. And one, whose coarse manners had shocked her to the core, had even made a lewd suggestion that he knew of an easy way for her to pay off her husband’s debts.
After eight years with Jared Warner, the peace she’d found here in her childhood home was a soothing balm. Even the difficult care of her father in his final days had brought not a single word of complaint from her lips.
And now, after just one nighttime encounter, her peace of mind had been shattered once again. By the monster who lived right next door. Now she would have to be ever more vigilant, to protect her honor and her person.
When she reached her door, she was startled to see the object of her dark thoughts coming around the back of her cottage. He hadn’t yet seen her. He was dressed all in black, giving him a dark, satanic look. His head was tipped back, studying the trees that towered over her roof, looking for all the world like a country gentleman surveying his estate. The muscles of his arms strained the sleeves of a white shirt. His long legs, encased in black breeches and shiny black boots, enabled him to move easily through the tall grass.
At his feet was a hound. At her arrival the animal picked up his ears, then gave a low growl of warning.
That had William’s attention turning to her.
“Mistress Warner.” He wasn’t aware of the frown on his face. After the night he’d put in, his head still ached, and his mouth was so dry he could hardly swallow. It would be a long time before he’d have the desire to taste ale again.
Now, this woman’s lips were another matter.
“Mr. Colton.” She stayed where she was, determined to keep as much space between them as possible.
She looked so different in the daylight. Her gown was plain, the fabric worn and faded. A shawl carefully draped around her shoulders disguised any trace of womanly curves. Her hair was pulled back into a prim knot, and covered by a bonnet. But none of that could erase the memory of the angelic creature who had boldly attacked him with a dueling pistol, and whose lips had been sweeter than May wine.
“I’ve come to apologize for last night.” He walked closer and the dog followed.
In the sunlight his eyes were a brilliant blue. She hadn’t expected that. Nor was she prepared for the way he stared at her with an intensity that had her heart leaping to her throat.
She’d felt the strength of her nighttime attacker. Now she could see for herself the width of his shoulders, the muscles of his arms. He was so tall, she had to tip her head back to see his face. A face that was, up close, ruggedly handsome, with a broad forehead, aristocratic nose and a slight cleft in his chin.
“I accept your apology.” She tore her gaze from him to glance down at the hound. It seemed safer, somehow. Besides, she had to escape those penetrating eyes. “I didn’t know you had a dog, though it might better be called a wolf.”
A huge creature, more gray than black, with a great shaggy coat and a face so broad, it could surely break a man’s arm with one snap of those powerful jaws. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard barking coming from your place.”
“He rarely barks. And he isn’t mine. That is to say, he’s been sleeping on my doorstep. He wandered in from the forest, half-starved, and I gave him some food. Now he refuses to leave my side.”
“Then I’d say he’s yours, Mr. Colton, whether you wish it or not.” She turned toward her door, eager to escape. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll bid you good day.”
“Wait.” He touched a hand to her arm as she brushed past him. Just a touch, but he drew back at once as if burned, and she found herself wondering if he’d felt the same flash of heat that was already burning its way along her spine.
What nonsense. She could see, by the harsh look in his eyes, that all he felt was arrogance.
“I was wondering if you would be willing to sell your property.”
“Sell my—” This was the last thing she’d expected him to ask. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. It isn’t for sale.”
“I’ve long thought it would be a fine addition to my own land. And now that we’ve met, I’d hoped that you might be willing to at least consider my offer.”
“This is the home of my father. It’s where I spent my childhood.” At her words she saw something flash in his eyes. A hint of pain perhaps. But then, just as quickly, he blinked and the look was gone, replaced by a look so dark and dangerous, it had her turning away, determined to be free of him. Over her shoulder she called, “It is not for sale, Mr. Colton. For any price.”
She unlatched the door and stepped inside, quickly closing it behind her. Once inside she leaned against it a moment and realized that her legs were actually trembling. She’d had a terrible need to escape that man, though she knew not why.
He made her extremely uncomfortable. The look of him. And especially the touch of him.
She mistrusted handsome men. They thought all females vulnerable to their charms. And once that charm was stripped away, there was nothing left of them but an empty shell. No one knew that better than she. Jared Warner had been a handsome, charming fellow. So charming, he’d talked her father into giving her in marriage when she was but ten and five. Now, almost ten years later, she felt as though her entire girlhood had been spent on a man who’d never given a thought to anyone but himself.
Nay, given a choice, she much preferred a man whose face resembled a mule’s. Such a man had to rely on virtue and strength of character. If she ever married again, which seemed highly unlikely, given her age of twenty-four and her circumstances, she would choose kindness and virtue over any other quality. Gold was as easily lost as earned. Good looks had a way of fading with time. But a good heart...ah, now there was the only true treasure.
When she’d composed herself, she deposited her basket on the table and removed her bonnet and shawl. As she made her way to her small bedroom, she caught a glimpse of man and dog through the window.
Instead of returning to his home, she could see her neighbor start off across the meadow toward a distant woods, with the dog running happily beside him.
They were a good fit, she thought. Both man and beast seemed a bit too big, too overpowering, for polite society. And both seemed more than a little wild.
She busied herself preparing a meal. She was determined to put the angry, arrogant William Co
lton out of her mind for good. Even though, with but a thought, she could still recall the way her blood had heated, and her mind had emptied, at that single, shattering kiss.
* * *
William walked through a field sweet with clover and waist-high grass. The dog seemed content to walk beside him, pausing occasionally to poke its nose in the ground, following the scent of a bird or rodent.
When he came to a tall, rounded rock, William paused to lean a hip against it, then pulled a pipe from his pocket and fiddled with tobacco and flint. It was a luxury he’d afforded himself in recent years, to pass the time late at night, when he was too restless to sleep.
In the distance was a flock of sheep grazing on a hillside. There had been sheep at his father’s estate. As a boy he’d loved going with the tenant farmers in late afternoon, watching the dogs herd the flock toward the holding areas.
At the memory he felt the pain of loss, as sharp as an arrow through the heart. It always seemed to catch him by surprise. Just as quickly he brushed it aside.
It hadn’t always been possible to empty his mind of the memories. But he’d learned over time that it was not only possible, but necessary for his survival.
Without the ability to move beyond the past, he would surely have given in to the pain of such loss and given up on life itself.
For so long now he’d simply gone through the motions of living. He’d found employment, saved his money, settled into this land and cottage. He’d even taken in an old man and boy who had no place to live, and no means of survival, though not so much out of the kindness of his heart, but rather because of guilt. But until now, he’d adamantly refused to allow himself to think beyond the here and now.
For the first time in five years he could think beyond today. Perhaps there truly was a future for him. This land was his now. All his. And no one could take it from him.
It occurred to him that it was time to add some sheep to his holdings. The land could accommodate several hundred. Of course, if he were to add the widow Warner’s land, he could double that amount.
The widow Warner.
He drew smoke into his lungs and slowly expelled it. He’d seen her in passing ever since she’d returned to her father’s cottage. Near two years he’d seen her. And yet he’d never really noticed her. She’d always struck him as plain, dull and unassuming. Until last night.
That image of a fiery vixen with the face of an angel was burned into his memory. Seared into his very soul.
He’d thought, upon awakening, that he’d imagined it. But seeing her again today, he knew it was no figment of his imagination. For the first time he’d looked beyond that tidy knot of hair and that simple frock to the woman. The reason those green eyes were rarely noticed was because she never looked directly at anyone, choosing to stare at the ground instead. Was she truly shy? he wondered. Or was it all an act, designed to keep others, especially men, away?
Of course. It was the same with her body. She chose to wear shapeless, ill-fitting gowns and bulky shawls to hide those soft, womanly curves.
She was a strange one. Despite the shabby clothes and humble demeanor, he could sense strength in her. When confronted, she didn’t back down. And when she’d felt physically threatened, she’d attacked with all the ferocity of a wounded she-bear.
While waiting for her to return from the village, he’d had time to look around her holdings. The gardens were in need of tending. The cottage, at least what little he’d seen, was in need of a great deal of repair. Still, she’d refused his offer to sell. Which said to him that she had no need of money.
Or perhaps it was only his money she resisted.
He was intrigued. Was she barely getting by? Or was she merely a skillful actress, playing the part of a penniless widow? Was she the shy, prim woman she showed to the rest of the world, or the bold, beautiful angel he’d seen last night?
He smiled and tamped the last of the tobacco from his pipe before returning it to his pocket.
He intended to make it his business to find out a great deal more about the widow Warner in the days to come.
Chapter 3
Molly set the dough to rise, then picked up her basket of sewing and headed for her favorite spot in the garden. On a bench in the sunlight she set out her precious skein of yarn, spool of thread and needle and began work on her latest project. Camilla Cannon was the wife of one of the wealthiest landowners in Surrey. She had commissioned a gown and matching shawl in palest peach, and had even provided the fabric and the special soft yarn for the shawl, which Molly had promised to crochet. It meant many hours of very precise needlework. But if Mistress Cannon should be pleased with her work, there was no telling how many other fine ladies might pay her to do the same.
Molly loved working here in the garden. In her mind’s eye she could see her mother doing much the same, seated at this very bench, her young daughter at her knee, patiently teaching her to make the fine even stitches that were the envy of all the other women in town. Molly was proud of her handwork. And grateful that her mother had provided her with a means of caring for her own needs. She pitied the poor widows and orphans who were often reduced to working in taverns, or worse, in order to survive. Jared may have wagered and lost everything of value before his death, but he couldn’t take away her pride in her work.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement in her field. She looked up in surprise to see a white-haired man and a boy walking purposefully across her land. Almost as if, she thought, they were counting their paces.
By heaven! They were, she realized, measuring her land.
She stood, dropping the fabric into her basket before lifting her skirts and racing toward them.
“You there.” She saw the two stop and turn as she hurried forward. They were trailed by the wolf-like dog she’d seen with William Colton. The sight of him had her drawing back apace.
“Aye, miss.” The old man doffed his cap and nudged the boy to do the same.
“What are you doing on my land?”
“Just stepping it off, miss.”
“I can see that. But why? Who are you? And what concern is it of yours how much land I own?”
“Begging your pardon, miss.” The old man’s face was ruddy from a lifetime working the fields.
“My name is Duncan Biddle. And this is my grandson, Tyler. We live over there.” He pointed toward the cottage of William Colton.
“I thought I’d recognized his dog.” She glanced around and saw that the creature had run off.
“Aye, miss. And this day, before he left for Lord Kent’s estate, Mr. Colton asked me to measure his land.”
“And mine?” She saw the slight flush on the man’s cheeks at her question and decided to press the point. “Did he ask you to measure my land as well?”
“Aye, miss.”
“Did he say why?”
Duncan brightened. “Mr. Colton’s thinking about raising sheep, miss.”
“Sheep.” It was difficult to imagine the surly gentleman who lived next door doing anything more challenging than lifting a tankard to his lips. Then she remembered William Colton’s offer to purchase her holding. “I suppose with my land, he could raise twice as many.”
“I suppose so, miss.” The old man took a step back. “But if you object to our being on your land, Tyler and I will go now.”
“I do object. Not to your presence, but to Mr. Colton’s arrogance at measuring land that isn’t his. I hope you will tell him so. Good day to you, Duncan Biddle and young Tyler.”
Before she could turn away Molly saw the lad looking beyond her with a puzzled frown.
“What’s that in Wolf’s mouth?” The boy lifted a hand to shade the sunlight from his eyes.
“Wolf?” Molly turned and caught sight of the dog bounding toward them, holding the skein of precious yarn in his mouth. It had unraveled, leaving a trail of lacy peach strands drifting across the field like lovely pink ivy.
“Oh, no! Not Mistress Cannon’s yarn.” Molly li
fted her skirts and started toward the hound, who saw her coming and darted to one side.
“I’ll get him, miss.” Tyler raced after the dog, shouting and whistling.
Wolf, caught up in the game, dashed happily about as Molly, Duncan and Tyler chased after him. As he ran this way and that, he left even more yarn in his wake, until there was none left on the skein.
At that very moment William Colton returned home to see three-half-crazed creatures racing across the meadow, filling the air with shouts and whistles. By the time Duncan caught the dog and forcibly removed the skein from his mouth, the entire field was abloom with peach yarn. And sitting in the middle of it all was Molly Warner, her face in her hands, weeping.
“Here now,” William shouted. “What’s all this about?”
“This is all your fault.” Seeing him, Molly lifted her face, streaked with tears of despair. “Look what your horrid dog has done.”
‘‘I’m afraid it’s my fault.’’ Old Duncan came huffing up, out of breath, eager to explain. ‘‘We should have locked Wolf up in the cottage before we came on the lady’s property.”
“He didn’t mean anything by it.” Tyler had hold of the dog’s neck and was being dragged along as Wolf raced forward, tongue lolling, tail wagging, to greet his master. “He thought he was playing.”
Everyone, it seemed, was talking at once. And none of them was making any sense.
“Silence.” At William’s snarling command, then-words died on their lips.
Satisfied, he turned to Molly. “Now, Mistress Warner, you will tell me what has transpired here.”
“Your grandfather and son,” she began, only to see the three men grinning wildly.
Her temper went up a notch. “You find me amusing?”
“Nay, miss.” Duncan shook his head. “It’s just that we aren’t related to Mr. Colton.”
“Not his grandfather? Not his son?”
“Nay, miss.”
“You are servants, then?”
At that the man and boy shared another quick grin before William said tiredly, “Duncan and Tyler share my home and help with the chores, Mistress Warner. Now about this—” he lifted a hand to encompass the yarn-covered field “—this pink-frosted landscape.”
Brides Of Privilege (v1.3) Page 11