The faintest shade of pink bloomed in her cheeks, but Emily shook her head. “No. My stepmother and great-aunt will be anxious to hear Mr. Meek’s news.”
Hurrying through the kitchen to the back door of the inn, Emily was waylaid by Molly and Harriet both in a dither over Lord Joslyn’s presence. “Oh, miss,” cried Harriet, at eighteen, the next to youngest daughter, “did you know that Lord Joslyn is here? And his man, Lamb?” Pretty face full of mischief, she added, “Now that Mr. Lamb is the handsomest man I’ve ever seen—I wouldn’t mind a tumble with him.”
Molly fluttered her lashes. “I may be a happily married woman, but I can tell you that just one look from Lord Joslyn and I came near to swooning.”
Despite her problems, Emily laughed. Molly was madly in love with her sailor husband and Harriet had been keeping company with a young farmer she was besotted about—everyone expected a wedding before too many more months went by.
“Shame on the pair of you!” Emily teased. “What would your Billy say?” she asked Molly. “And would you,” she said, pointing a finger at Harriet, “throw away Hampton’s heart for a brief romp?”
Molly smiled and Harriet giggled.
The kitchen was warm and cozy and the Gilbert daughters were hard to get away from, and it was several minutes later before Emily was able to leave.
Halfway across the muddy yard she heard someone say her name. Turning a startled face in the direction of the voice, her heart unaccountably leapt when she recognized the big man leading his horse around the corner of the inn. Lord Joslyn.
She smiled politely and said, “Milord! I did not expect to see you here.”
Leading his horse, Barnaby strolled up to her. “That’s probably,” he said with a smile, “because you have a habit of slipping away at the first opportunity.”
Her chin lifted and a belligerent sparkle in her eyes, she said, “I do not know what you are talking about.”
“What a rapper! But I’m too much a gentleman to argue with a lady.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Emily muttered, not certain whether to be pleased or offended when he laughed. Edging toward the stables, she added, “Now if you will excuse me, I must be on my way.”
“Yes, I know. Mrs. Gilbert mentioned something to that effect.”
Her head whipped around. “Mrs. Gilbert told you I was here?” she demanded incredulously.
He nodded. “Yes.” Eyes twinkling, he added, “And she suggested that since you were unescorted that I might do nicely as your groom.”
Torn between amusement and embarrassment at Mrs. Gilbert’s flagrant matchmaking, Emily set off with determined strides toward the stables. “I appreciate your offer,” she said politely, “but I have no need of a groom—I have roamed this countryside all my life and I’m quite capable of finding my way home by myself.”
“And leave me to face Mrs. Gilbert with my mission unaccomplished?” Barnaby asked in tones of horror.
Emily fought back the laugh that bubbled up in her throat and walked faster. The man was irrepressible and handsome and attractive and she feared that with very little effort he could charm her into acting like a foolish green girl. And she wasn’t about to let that happen, she reminded herself. She had too many people dependent upon her to lose her head over Lord Joslyn.
Caleb had heard their voices and appeared in the doorway of the stable with her horse. Relieved that the creaking of the saddle and the rattle of her horse’s bit covered the muted clink of the coins concealed on her person, a moment later, Emily was mounted and with Barnaby riding by her side was on her way home.
As the inn receded behind them, Emily asked, “Your man, Lamb? Where is he?”
“Ah, so you did know I was there,” he commented, watching the delightful blush spread across her cheeks.
“As I was leaving one of the Gilberts may have mentioned it,” she mumbled, keeping her gaze fixed between her horse’s ears and damning herself for the slip.
“Yes, I’m sure they did,” Barnaby agreed. “As for Lamb, he is a great favorite amongst the females—of any age—and I left him charming Mrs. Gilbert and Faith.”
Seeking a polite topic of conversation, Emily inquired, “Are your cousins still visiting at Windmere?”
“Yes. Mathew has been manfully suppressing the urge to murder me in order to step into my shoes; Tom has been annoying both myself and Simon by echoing Mathew’s pronouncements and Simon continues to throw the cat amongst the pigeons to see what will result.” He shook his head, a smile lurking in his eyes. “I sought refuge at The Crown before I did one of them harm.”
“Your presence at the inn will be a boon for Mrs. Gilbert,” Emily said. “The Ram’s Head has managed to, er, lure many of her clients away. Perhaps when they hear that Lord Joslyn patronizes The Crown some of them will return.”
“I intended to sample the charms of The Ram’s Head later this afternoon,” Barnaby admitted. “But Lamb wanted to reacquaint himself with The Crown and Mrs. Gilbert and her daughters first.”
Emily looked at him, astonished. “Do you usually allow your manservant to decide what you do?”
Barnaby laughed. “I’ve known Lamb all of my life and he is hard to persuade differently when his mind is made up.”
“But he’s your servant!”
“I wouldn’t tell him that,” he replied. “I’m quite certain he’d take great offense.”
His reply baffled her. Lord Joslyn did not appear to be a man who allowed others to direct him, yet he had deferred his own plans because of the wishes of his manservant. She tried to envision Jeffery accommodating his valet, Bundy, in such a manner, or even her father changing his plans to suit one of his servants, any servant, but she could not. It was unthinkable, yet Lord Joslyn apparently had done just that and thought nothing of it.
She eyed him, noting the strong features, the firm chin and hard jaw, the powerful build. A big man, he sat his horse with a careless grace that she admired and she was, she admitted, far, far too aware of him in ways that alarmed her. Her gaze dropped down to the masculine hands holding the reins, a curious thrill racing through her as she remembered the warmth of those hands around her waist when he had tossed her into the buggy the other night.
Ignoring her silly reaction to him, she concluded that there was nothing about him that indicated a weak nature. Quite the contrary, he exuded strength and confidence and gave the impression that this was a man used to having his own way.
She looked up and realized he had been watching her as she studied him. Embarrassment flooded her and, jerking her eyes away from him, she babbled, “It’s a lovely day for January, isn’t it? Oh, you wouldn’t know, would you—this is your first January in England. Is the weather here comparable to that in, in . . . Virginia, isn’t it?”
Barnaby suppressed a laugh. She was enchanting—even when trying to keep him at a distance. He enjoyed fencing with her and seeing the vivid color come and go in that lovely face, and he had discovered that provoking that flash of temper in those long-lidded gray eyes delighted him. Emily Townsend amused, intrigued and fascinated him, and he suspected uneasily that she always would. And then there were all those fierce emotions she evoked within him, and that wasn’t counting the allure of her long, supple, luscious body. . . . She was, he admitted, a great temptation to a man that had never thought to marry. . . .
Not quite certain what he was going to do about her, he followed her lead and said, “Virginia is warmer and perhaps not as wet as England.”
Feeling on safer ground, Emily glanced at him. “Do you like it here?”
Barnaby shrugged. “I don’t dislike it and as time goes by and I become more familiar with the land and the people, I assume that it will feel like home.”
Emily steered the talk away from anything personal and kept the conversation firmly on neutral topics. Lord Joslyn seemed perfectly agreeable, but now and then she had the unsettling sensation that he knew precisely what she was doing and was laughing at her.
/> The ancient birches that marked the driveway and gave the house its name came into view and Emily barely suppressed a sigh of relief. Lord Joslyn aroused emotions she’d never felt before and she was having a difficult time dealing with them. Her heart was behaving in a most unseemly manner and she was experiencing all sorts of other strange physical reactions to his presence. Her entire body tingled, and when she risked a glance at his face, her gaze was irresistibly drawn to his mouth. . . . What would it be like to kiss him? she wondered. Or to feel those strong arms curl around her and crush her against that hard body . . . ? Unsettled by the trend of her thoughts, she was anxious to get away from him.
“We’ll turn off the main road where you see those big birches,” she said brightly, grateful that escape was close at hand. She cleared her throat. “You, um, don’t have to escort me the whole way. I can ride alone from here.”
“And deny me the pleasure of furthering my acquaintance with your charming stepmother and, perhaps, meeting your great-aunt, Cornelia?”
She pulled her horse to a stop. “Jeffery will most likely be there,” she warned. “And no doubt will fawn all over you.”
“Well, it’ll certainly be a novel experience to have someone in your family appreciate me,” Barnaby drawled, stopping his horse beside hers.
Emily’s lips twitched but she managed not to laugh. This man confounded her. She wanted nothing to do with him, and yet . . .
Their horses were side by side, Barnaby’s leg brushing against her. He bent forward, his hand capturing her chin. With his face only inches from hers, he said softly, “I promise to be on my best behavior.”
As she fumbled for a reply, the angry sound of a shot exploded through the cold winter air. She jumped. “Now that was too close—” she began, only to stop in horror as blood gushed from Barnaby’s head and he fell forward into her arms.
She struggled to hold him, but he was too heavy and he tumbled to the ground. Leaping from her horse, she sank to the muddy ground and cradled his head in her lap. Staring down at his bloodstained features, with shaking fingers, she gently touched his forehead. Merciful heavens, she thought wildly, someone just shot Lord Joslyn.
Chapter 9
Furious and frightened, Emily shouted, “Hold your fire, you fool! There are riders on the road.”
Guessing the shot had been fired by a poacher, she didn’t expect anyone to appear and as the seconds passed, the only sound she heard was the ghostly whisper of the freshening wind in the bare branches of a nearby scraggly stand of trees. They were alone, she realized uneasily. Whoever had fired that shot had vanished. No one was coming to help them.
Her gaze dropped to Barnaby’s bloodied head and anguish ripped through her. Was he dead? Please dear God, no! Her heart thumping in her breast, Emily examined him, almost bursting into tears when she realized that he was alive. She couldn’t determine how dangerous the wound was, but two things were clear: he was alive and he needed a physician.
She gnawed her lip, looking around. The Birches was over a mile away but she dared not leave him here alone. This wasn’t a main road and traffic was never heavy, and late on a winter afternoon the possibility of a farmer or even a servant on an errand coming along was unlikely.
The day was fleeing, the air growing colder by the minute and aware she was wasting time, Emily reluctantly laid his head down and staggered to her feet. She glanced frantically around for the horses: without the horses there would be no hope of moving Lord Joslyn or of her riding for help.
The animals had not gone far and she quickly caught them up and tied them to a pair of saplings at the edge of the road. Hurrying back to where Barnaby lay so still and pale, she struggled to drag him out of the mud to the grassy verge adjacent to the road. She was strong for a woman, but he was a big man and she despaired of being able to move him. Yet inch by precious inch she made progress until at last he was stretched out on the sparse brown grass, with the white flannel petticoat she’d worn beneath her habit tucked under his head.
He was still unconscious and that worried her more than anything else did. Staring down at him, she shivered in the wind, wondering at her next move. If he was awake, even wounded he would have been able to help her and she might have been able to get him on his horse, but that wasn’t an option. The wound had bled copiously and that added to her anxiety. The severity of the damage done by the bullet had to be assessed by someone with more knowledge than she possessed and that meant a physician had to see him and soon.
Fighting panic, she bit her lip. How bad was the wound? It was still bleeding sluggishly. She looked around again. No one in sight. Her gaze swung back to him. She watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and that encouraged her. Perhaps the wound wasn’t serious. . . . She swallowed. There was only one way to find out.
Dropping to her knees beside him, after stripping off her gloves, she ripped off a small piece of the soft flannel petticoat and gingerly wiped away some of the blood. She worked cautiously, fearful of making a bad situation worse, and after she had removed most of the blood, she could see that the bullet had dug a deep furrow across the side of his head, the thick black hair hiding the extent of the wound. Her heart shook. The wound was serious, but if the bullet had been an inch or two lower . . .
With shaking fingers she caressed the lean cheek and the wide mouth. This man, this stranger, could so easily infuriate her and just as easily make her laugh. And with a desperation that surprised her, she wanted him awake, teasing and mocking her. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how much she looked forward to seeing him—even if he made her want to comb his hair with a stool! Lord Joslyn had become in some indefinable way, she admitted dazedly, vitally important to her. . . .
Fighting back tears and terror, she leaned forward and hissed in his ear, “Don’t you dare die on me! I will never forgive you if you do!” She shook his shoulder. “Do you hear me? Don’t you dare die!”
He remained motionless and, feeling silly, she lifted her head and went back to soaking up the blood that trickled from the wound. The bleeding appeared to be slowing and she took that as a good sign.
She cast an anxious glance up and down the road, her heart leaping when she saw a horseman riding in their direction. In one bound she was on her feet, and picking up the skirts of her riding habit she ran down the road toward the approaching horseman.
Still some distance from the horse and rider, she shouted, “Sir! Oh, please hurry! I beg you lend us assistance. Lord Joslyn has been shot. Come quickly!”
The man heard her words because he reacted instantly, kicking his horse into a gallop and nearly knocking Emily down as he sped by. Emily spun on her heels and stared astonished as the man, a stranger to her, sprang from his horse and knelt by Lord Joslyn’s side.
“God damn you, Barnaby, I warned you to be careful,” the newcomer snarled, confidently examining the wound. “But do you listen to me? Oh, no. Someone may be trying to kill you and you have to do things your way—and just look where the bloody hell it gets you. I’ve a mind to murder you myself.”
His words alarmed Emily. Good God! Was the man mad? Was he about to do Lord Joslyn more harm? Ready to intervene, although what she could do against a brute this size escaped her, she ran back to Lord Joslyn’s side. Seeing the gentleness of the big man’s hands as they moved over Barnaby’s head, the idea that he meant Lord Joslyn harm vanished. She knelt beside the stranger, only to gasp when she looked into his face. His resemblance to the members of the Joslyn family was stunning, but he was no Joslyn she had ever met. It occurred to her that this impressively big and exceedingly handsome man looked more a Joslyn than Lord Joslyn himself did and that he could have passed for Mathew, Thomas or Simon’s brother. His skin was darker and the black hair possessed a tighter curl, but the stunning Joslyn azure eyes and the chiseled cast to his face smacked of Joslyn ancestry.
Aware of her reaction, Lamb said testily, “Yes, yes, I know, I look like the rest of that pack of Joslyns, but tell
me what happened to Barnaby.”
Emily swallowed and quickly related the events. The whole time she was talking, the stranger was busy assessing the extent of the wound, his hands moving quick and sure over Barnaby’s head.
Sinking back on his heels, he frowned. “I want to get him cleaned up and comfortable. Where can we take him?”
“Uh, my home, The Birches, is not more than a mile away,” Emily said, bowled over by the way the newcomer had taken command. Hesitantly, she asked, “Are you Lamb?”
He smiled a singularly dazzling smile and she blinked. “Yes, I am Lamb and I apologize for my rudeness. You are Miss Townsend.”
“Er, yes,” Emily said, beginning to have a glimmer of understanding of the relationship between Lord Joslyn and his servant.
Barnaby groaned and both Lamb and Emily looked down at him. Barnaby’s eyes fluttered and he groaned again. “My head,” Barnaby muttered, reaching up to touch the wound. “Christ!” he swore, and with Lamb’s help struggled upright. “What the devil happened?”
“Someone accidentally shot you,” Emily said, relief flooding through her at his return to consciousness.
She saw the look that Barnaby and Lamb exchanged. Glancing from one grim face to the other, she asked, “What?”
Ignoring her, Lamb said, “How do you want to handle this? Do we return to Windmere? Or are you going to try to keep this attack a secret too?”
Emily’s breath caught. Attack? Too?
Frowning at Barnaby, she demanded, “What do you mean ‘attack’? Are you saying that this wasn’t an accident?” When Barnaby remained silent, she said slowly, “You think that someone deliberately shot you. That they tried to murder you.” The idea that Lord Joslyn had just missed being murdered was incredible to her, but he and Lamb seemed to have no trouble believing it. Thinking over Lamb’s outburst and recalling the night they had first met, how close he had come to death, her eyes widened. “You don’t believe that it was an accident that you nearly drowned in the Channel either, do you?”
Rapture Becomes Her Page 13