Almost as though he'd read her thoughts, he yanked the blanket, and she found herself straddled between his heavy, muscular thighs, her hands braced on his shoulders. "Who in God's name is Brant?"
"I have no idea," she lied. After the horrid night she had just experienced, had she actually had a mundane nightmare about her betrothed, Brant Mansfield? Absentmindedly, her fingers scrunched and kneaded the soft fabric of Levi's shirt.
Having no choice but to stare down into his face, she was struck with a startling realization, even bleary-eyed with drink and a heavy black stubble shadowing his jaw, he was incredibly handsome.
"Really? Then you make it a habit to moan strange men's names in your sleep?" He heard himself and sensed with amazement that he was doing a pretty fair imitation of a bloody cuckold. He pitied any man that would find himself married to such a faithless, lying wench.
"I would not know. I would be the one sleeping, remember?"
"There's that dry English wit again." His eyes drifted to her mouth, and he thought how badly he wanted to suck on that full bottom lip. He wanted to cup her face in his hands and take complete possession with his tongue. His blood boiled at the idea that someone else had already kissed those lush, pouty lips.
The intensity of his thoughts shocked him. His craving for the woman was beginning to take a dangerous hold on him.
He tugged her closer, until her lips hovered a breath away from his. "Brant?" he snarled. "A damn, ridiculous name."
"Absolutely," she concurred with what he considered a far too agreeable smile.
"Don't dare tell me that's your uncle's name."
"Of course not, sir. My uncle's name is William. Brant," she said drawing the name out with touching effect, and even amazing herself she made her eyes water a bit, "that was the name of my dear, beloved betrothed."
"Your what?" he snarled and let go of his grip on the blanket so abruptly she nearly tumbled over the coffee table behind her. With lightning speed, he snatched her blanket and yanked her back to him like a toy on a string. "You never said anything about being engaged."
"I'm not engaged."
"Woman, you're talking in circles and my head is already spinning."
She blotted her eyes with a corner of the blanket and thought to herself that perhaps after this adventure she really ought to join a theatrical troupe. "I'm afraid that Brant was tragically killed," she said, her voice wavering.
"How did he die?"
"How?" She tugged nervously on a lock of her hair, as his expression became suddenly wary.
"Well . . . he was riding my horse, Cinnabar, she balked at a hedgerow, throwing Brant headfirst. He died instantly from a broken neck." She dropped her head, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, and he released his hold on her. Using the drama of the moment as the perfect opportunity, she made her exit.
Levi sunk back into the chair, pressing his fingertips into his pounding temples, and wondered how many more surprises his little stable hand had yet to spring on him.
***
After finding herself scantily clad and shamelessly nuzzling the master of Moss Rose's chest in her sleep, Jensen was mortified at the thought of encountering him. In the days that
followed, she congratulated herself for managing to completely avoid Levi North, with his all-knowing smile and snide remarks.
As she did with most painful things, she repressed the memory of her attack and continued to think of the stables as her refuge. She spent her days there. In the manor, she used only the servant's staircase, and as much as she longed to walk the grounds during her free hours, she didn't, for fear she might run into Mr. North.
When Celia told her that Levi had been gone all week, visiting the Trent plantation, Jensen felt little more than a fool. A fool that found herself constantly thinking about the night she'd spent cuddled atop his long, muscular body. In hopes of banishing those unbidden thoughts she tried, again, to break Hurricane, a horse with enormous racing potential, if he would only allow a rider to remain on his back for more than a blink of an eye.
The massive steed was more contentious than usual today, and Jensen was tempted to nickname him North. This time, the horse allowed her to ride him for a full three minutes before he shook her off, right into the mud soaked center of the paddock.
She combed most of the muck out of her hair with her fingers, but her face and clothing were caked with dirt. To add insult to injury, as she trudged toward the manor the sleek black carriage, bearing the North coat of arms, rode past her. The horse's hooves, slogging through the rain soaked drive, managed to splatter her with another layer of mud.
Muttering curses to herself, she headed toward the servant's entrance. With a curious sidelong glance, she watched as the carriage passengers disembarked. Levi, clad in a handsome wool suit, a tricorne under his arm, waited by the open door. A graceful, gloved hand reached out, and Levi, with marked gallantry, bowed as he helped the woman step out. It was Andrea Trent. Her hair, crimped and dusted with powder, was piled high atop her head and garnished with a feather dyed to match her dusky rose gown. Last to exit the carriage was a very plump, dowdy-looking woman. No doubt a chaperone, Jensen concluded. To her dismay, she found herself hoping the woman would prove as much of an impediment to romance as Regina's Aunt Aggie.
Andrea hooked her hand around Levi's arm as they approached the marble entry.
Jensen's attempt at making herself invisible behind the statuary that edged the formal gardens proved futile.
"Is that you, Duff?" Levi asked, stopping to get a good look at her. It seemed as if Andrea were about to burst into laughter at the sight.
"Yes, sir," she mumbled.
He walked over to her and began to offer his handkerchief and then laughed to himself as he realized how useless the small square of linen would be, shoving it back into his pocket. "You look a right mess," he said, a lopsided grin dimpling his cheek.
Jensen wished she could dissolve into a muddy puddle. "Whatever have you been up to?"
"Trying to break that stubborn thoroughbred of yours."
"Christ Almighty, you're far more likely to break your neck. That horse is far too dangerous. Leave him to Thomas and me."
"Excuse me for saying so, sir, but I've watched you try to break him and . . . ."
He chuckled. "And you're not impressed."
"'Tisn't strength but gentle persistence that will do the trick."
Andrea, made curious by the intensity of their conversation, moved to stand beside Levi. Resting a proprietary hand on his arm, she asked, "Who is this young lad, Levi, dear?"
"This is no lad. It's quite obvious she is female. A hardheaded one at that." As Levi twisted his head around to peer at Andrea, Jensen took the opportunity to poke her tongue out at his turned back.
"Is it? Well I'll take your word for it. But she's awfully young. You shouldn't be so harsh. My father says it's important that we show compassion to those in our charge." Still keeping a safe distance, Andrea gracefully inclined her head toward the mud-splattered person. "It isn't proper to show such disrespect. That's a very childish action."
Levi's head whipped around to find Jensen suppressing a smile. He bored holes in her with his hard stare. "She is not as young as you imagine. True, she is slight, and a horse may take her for an annoying gnat and try to swat her off its back . . . ," the last was said through clenched teeth, "but, the fact is she was old enough to be betrothed."
Throwing her muddy hands over her heart she said, "Oh my dear, departed Brant, now that was a man who knew how to tame a horse." To polish off her outlandish lie, Jensen expelled a tremulous sigh.
With care, Levi removed Andrea's gloved hand and moved so close to Jensen she had to crane her neck to peer up into his eyes.
"Would this be the same man who died falling from a horse?" Not waiting for a reply, he pointed in the direction of the bathhouse. "Go get cleaned up. And stay off that blasted horse."
The broad expanse of his crisp linen shirt proved t
oo tempting. She purposely stumbled forward, and as he caught her in his arms, she successfully transferred a satisfying amount of mud onto the snowy-white fabric.
"That was well planned, you little brat," he snarled. His angry grip tightened around her, and they simultaneously felt the hardening of his desire. "Confound it, woman." He thrust her away and discreetly buttoned his jacket over his breeches.
Blushing scarlet, Jensen swiveled on her heels and hurried away down the path, cringing as she heard Andrea lecture him about taking the cost of the shirt out of the disobedient chit's wages. She swallowed a hysterical laugh, thinking that would leave her with less than nothing, apparently Miss Trent's compassion for her underlings had its limits.
***
That night in bed, Jensen relived the day's humiliating scene. Miss Trent had looked so elegant and fashionable, while she had resembled a pig fresh from wallowing in the mud.
Seeing Celia sit up to adjust her mosquito netting, Jensen mentioned, in what she hoped was an offhand manner, Miss Trent's arrival at the plantation.
"I don't usually find fault with people, but I think she's a trifle peaked, and her eyes are a tad on the squinty side. Her clothes are lovely, though." Celia pursed her lips in envy before adding, "But, you know what they say, 'fine feathers don't make fine birds'."
"Do you know why she's staying at Moss Rose?" Jensen asked, trying to affect nonchalance.
Celia drew the panels of netting together and secured them with a pin. "Well, Jens, you know I'm not one for gossip, but that meddlesome Mrs. Kent told me Mr. North is going to make the betrothal official."
Jensen had expected that very answer, but hearing the words spoken aloud made her feel as though Celia had just taken the pin and twisted it in her heart.
"If you ask me, he deserves better," Celia said, as she crawled under the covers.
***
By noon of the next day, Jensen had something more serious to worry about than Levi North's impending nuptials. She walked purposefully toward Levi's study where most of his guns were displayed on a wooden rack on the wall. There was no one in the hall, and Jensen opened the door noiselessly.
Thankfully, the study was empty. She took down his English flintlock pistol and then rummaged in the wooden chest where she'd seen Levi store the ammunition. She grabbed a horn of gunpowder. As she lifted out the box of musket balls, she heard rustling coming from the leather couch. Shocked, her hand slipped, and the box fell to the ground with a rattle of metal. Some of the balls rolled out onto the mahogany floor.
She crouched down and was trying to hurriedly sweep them into a pile when she saw Levi's shiny black boots inches from her nose.
"And what do you think you're about, Miss Hawthorne?" he said with obvious irritation.
Reluctantly, she lifted her eyes. He was glowering down at her, wearing only his buckskin breeches and boots. Taking a fistful of the metal balls, she rammed them into her pocket and scrambled to her feet. "There is something I have to take care of," she said simply.
"Really! And you propose to do that with my gun and ammunition?" His eyebrow arched angrily.
"Where else would I get them from?" she asked.
"You have a point there," he said in a reasonable tone. "Now hand them over before you hurt yourself." Confident he had said all there was to say on the subject, he put out his palm.
Jamming the gun into the back of her waistband, she took two big steps backwards.
"Levi, what is all the commotion?" The lazy female voice came from the direction of the couch.
Jensen saw the flaming red head of Andrea Trent pop up and peer at them over the back of the couch. With a sick feeling in her heart, Jensen's eyes lit on Levi's jacket and shirt strewn carelessly on the floor. Clearly, she thought, the chaperone wasn't worth her weight in salt.
Andrea sat up a little higher exposing her bare shoulders. Embarrassed, Jensen returned her gaze to Levi who had begun inching closer.
"Levi, answer me!" Andrea's voice was rising in indignation.
Levi chose to ignore her, his steely gray eyes remained on Jensen.
He raised his hands in supplication. "Jensen, let me have the gun. Just tell me what this is all about, and I'll handle it for you."
"You are not my protector, Mr. North."
"That I am and more." His eyes found the angry red slash marking her neck. "What happened?" he asked, passing his fingers across his own throat.
"An accident," she replied with a shrug.
Andrea, heaving an impatient sigh, came to stand by Levi. She had donned Levi's shirt. Her legs were bare. Hugging Levi's arm to her breasts, she looked disdainfully at Jensen. "This girl of yours seems an awful lot of trouble, Levi. Why don't you get rid of her?"
His eyes narrowed to slits. "Get dressed, Andrea," he said harshly. "And don't involve yourself in my business."
"But, sweetheart, I was just trying to help." She kissed his arm in way of apology. Disconcerted by her affectionate display, he ran his fingers nervously through his hair.
"Andrea, please," he said with frustration, taking his eyes from Jensen to look at her. Andrea batted her baby blue eyes at him and pouted her mouth provocatively. Jensen took advantage of the distraction and turned to leave.
"Wait, Jensen, I'm not through with you."
"Sir, it's obvious that I am disturbing you. Please let me take care of my business, and I'll let you get back to yours." She favored him with a sweetly sly smile.
Jensen froze for a moment as his eyes darkened with fury. It was obvious that he was no longer in the mood to placate her. Peeling Andrea's fingers from his arm, he made a lunge for her. She spun wildly around and ran like hell for the front door.
***
With astonishment, Levi watched as Jensen flew out of his reach. He snatched up his buckskin jacket, rifle, and ammunition, and followed, his long strides easily narrowing the distance between them.
By the time he'd opened the front door, she was at the bottom of the stairs. His horse, Archer, was tethered to the great oak. Jensen untied him quickly, put her foot in the iron, and flung herself into the saddle. Holding the musket with one hand across her lap and the reins in the other, she urged the horse forward, hunkering down over its neck for speed. Levi watched as the massive horse thundered along the path, kicking up clouds of dust in its wake.
Levi strode toward the stables. "Is the bay still saddled?" he asked Thomas who was leaning against the fence, enjoying a smoke.
"I think so, sir," Thomas answered and hurried to fetch the horse.
"What the devil was Jensen so upset about?" Levi vaulted into the saddle in one fluid motion.
"Don't know, sir. She came back from Miller's Stud Farm with fire in her eyes."
"Did she go with Samuel to take the mare to breed?" He rolled up the jacket and stuffed it into the saddlebag. The sky was almost white in the blazing heat. The air could be seen wavering above the tobacco fields.
"You see, sir, Samuel was feeling a little under the weather. And Jensen insisted she could handle it on her own," he said frowning.
"Ha, under the weather. You mean he's sick from drink, don't you? Dammit Thomas, how could you let her go by herself!" He wheeled his horse around and galloped down the dirt path in swift pursuit.
Levi honed in on the sound of Jensen's husky voice as he neared the fork in the road, a fork that led to neither Moss Rose nor Miller's Stud Farm, leading him to the disheartening conclusion that the little runt was still hell-bent on escaping. With a string of muttered curses, he slowed his horse to a trot. Easily spotting his massive stallion, he watched as his runaway servant, sporting her unsightly felt hat, slid down from her high perch. In the distance, he made out a crude campsite.
Treading noiselessly along the path's forested border, he stopped a good two hundred yards from the campsite so as not to be seen. He propped his slender Pennsylvania rifle on his shoulder, confident that it could shoot accurately even at this distance.
Chapter 15
/> "I said, give me my jacket or get a slug in your head. As I see it, your choice is really quite simple." The bright sunlight caused Jensen to squint, yet her gaze did not waver from the raggedy man propped beneath the makeshift lean-to. His back was to the tree with his legs flopped out in front of him. With a steady hand, she trained the gun at his head.
He laughed heartily at her, revealing a mouthful of rotten, brown teeth. "Girl, I bet you couldn't hit a buffalo if he was standin' on your toes. Never known any fool woman to shoot worth a damn. Why, I wager that thing ain't even loaded," he snorted derisively before guzzling from the bottle.
"Are you willing to take the chance that you might not be right?" she asked in a bold tone. Sweat was dripping into her eyes, and she cleared it with her sleeve.
He removed his filthy hat and tossed it aside, combed his fingers through his greasy, stringy hair, and dared her with a smile. "Go ahead, missy, I'm a'ready."
Jensen took aim and shot the bottle from his hand. The glass splintered, and a piece sliced across his cheek. Angrily swiping the blood and liquor from his face, he looked at Jensen as though she'd just grown antlers. Like a man awakening from a nightmare, he rubbed his eyes and struggled to his feet, his sluggish movements allowing her more than enough time to reload the musket.
"My jacket. Now!" she said, taking a step forward.
Levi, seeing another man approaching from the shelter of the trees, cocked his gun and took aim.
The first man, hearing his friend approach, turned a nasty smile on Jensen. "Fred, this little missy here wants us to return her property. I have a better idea, I think we should take her into yonder woods and have a little fun. What you say, Fred?"
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