Gaylord folded his frame into a straight-backed chair and crossed his legs before he sipped more of the tea.
“Ah, well, no matter. I trust I shall have a lifetime to teach you the niceties of good British gentlefolk.”
Shanna quickly raised her cup and lowered her gaze while Berta paused in her puttering to glare at the knight.
“Shanna, my dear,”—Sir Gaylord leaned back and contemplated her—“you have no idea what simply being near you can do to even a peer of the realm. ‘Tis sore upon my heart that we find so little time alone, or I would speak of the wonderful passions that stir my heart.”
Shanna gave a small shudder and hastily excused it as she saw he had taken note. “Too much sugar, I’m afraid.”
She freshened her cup from the pot and dared not glance at Berta. The housekeeper stood by the doorway leading into the foyer and fingered a heavy figurine, narrowing her eyes in a most uncharacteristic fashion. The old woman seemed to come to a decision and marched forward boldly.
“Ay got tings to do,” she informed Shanna, bringing a note of despair to her mistress’s face and a shine of new hope in Gaylord’s eyes. “You need me, yust call.”
Before Shanna could protest, Berta gave a last doubtful glare at Sir Gaylord and left. The room was still for a while as Shanna stared after her, and she almost jumped when the knight cleared his throat and rose from his chair to stand before her again. He fixed her with a limpid stare and set out to pay serious court.
“My dear Shanna, there are so many things we must discuss. ‘Tis so rare I can find someone willing to understand the needs of the blooded elite. You are so beautiful and so wealth—uh, desirable. No one else can ease my plight. I am stricken to the quick.”
He came a pace nearer, and Shanna was caught in a dilemma. She was equally afraid that he would take her hand or that she would burst into laughter. Some of her struggle must have shown, for he continued apace.
“I pray, do not distress yourself, my dear. Be aware that nothing of what has happened has in any way affected my respect for you,” he assured her.
Shanna was nearly frantic. Reason deserted her, and she could summon no rationale for excusal. She felt trapped, but Gaylord read her unease as indecision and grew bolder. His knee had already started to flex as if he would kneel before her when his eyes strayed behind her and he suddenly stiffened.
“Good morning.” The voice rang cheerfully from the doorway. “And a fine beautiful day it is.”
With a gasp Shanna twisted around on the settee to stare in amazement at Ruark, the last person she had expected to rescue her.
“Mister Ruark! Are you sure you should be up and about?” She forced as much worry and concern into her tone as she could manage so that the burgeoning relief that flooded her might be disguised. “What of your leg? Is it so much improved?”
She knew far better than anyone that three days of rest and well-diluted poultices had done wonders. Only last night the surgeon had changed the dressing and declared the wound pink and healthy. She caught Gaylord’s sigh of disappointment as he resigned himself to the obvious fate of further waiting.
Ruark limped in on her father’s staff and lowered himself to the sofa beside Shanna. Beneath Gaylord’s glower, his smile was bright and debonair, though a hint of mischief gleamed deep in those amber eyes that so quickly mirrored his changes of mood. Shanna hastened from her seat to fetch a footstool for him and propped his leg comfortably. As she bent low to slip a pillow underneath his calf, she gave no mind to her décolletage or the manner in which it displayed her bosom to Ruark. However, Gaylord chafed as he saw Ruark’s gaze roam freely over that which his own gaze craved. He was caught unaware when Ruark’s eyes lifted, meeting his, and the bondsman’s white teeth flashed in a broad grin of undisguised pleasure.
Covertly admiring Ruark’s appearance, Shanna missed the exchange. He had donned a loose white shirt and tan knee breeches over white stockings and, amazingly, brown brass-buckled shoes. She cringed inwardly at the idea of the pain he must have borne to put the left one on. Over the shirt he wore the long leather jerkin he had affected as a pirate captain. Above it, his face appeared darker and leaner, his eyes livelier, his teeth whiter, his hair blacker. She had never seen him more handsome, nor could she hide the soft glow that warmed her eyes as she stared at him.
“Madam Beauchamp!”
Shanna started in surprise, realizing that Gaylord was demanding her attention. “I beg your pardon? I did not hear—”
“Obviously, madam, since I had to repeat the question twice. I asked if you might care for a stroll in the garden. ‘Tis become a bit stuffy in here of a sudden.”
“Oh, well, I’ll open the doors, then.” She rushed to push them wide, ignoring any reply to his inquiry, and stood for a moment enjoying the refreshing touch of the morning breeze.
“ ‘Tis cool,” she informed the room at large, but when she turned, her eyes went to Ruark. “Late September always brings the cooler winds and the evening showers. The clouds gather on the south side of the island all afternoon, and just before dark they slip across the ridge to give us a wetting. This is the time when the cane grows highest.”
The glass doors framed her with a master’s touch, and the lush greens of the lawns beyond accentuated her loveliness until it was almost painful for Ruark to look at her. She was a vision. Her gown of aqua was just enough different from her eyes to set them asparkle behind the sooty lashes, and Ruark was completely captivated.
Suddenly the three of them were startled by a loud crash which came from the porch, unmistakably the shattering of glass. With a bemused frown Shanna turned and stepped out onto the veranda in time to see Milly skittering around a chair in her haste to leave an overturned planter which had been displaced from its perch near the drawing room doors.
“Milly! What are you doing?” Shanna inquired. She realized with amazement that the girl had to have been eavesdropping to be behind the chair in the first place. But then, she had done that before in the stables, and Shanna could only wonder what she was up to now.
Milly was caught and wheeled about, immediately defensive. “I didn’t break it. Ye can’t blame it on me!”
“Aye, the breeze is a bit strong today,” Shanna quipped with a hint of sarcasm. “But never mind that. What do you want here? Have you brought fish?”
“I—uh—I—” Milly glanced past Shanna into the drawing room then blurted, “I heard Mister Ruark was hurt, and I come to see if ‘ere was aught I could do for him.”
“You’re a trifle late, but come in. He’s here.”
Shanna led the girl into the room and waved her into a chair beside Ruark, avoiding his questioning glance. Despite his assurance that nothing was between them, Shanna felt a prick of ire at Milly’s apparent inability to leave him atone. Sir Gaylord had risen at the entrance of the newcomer, and the girl bobbed a quick curtsy.
“Milly Hawkins I be, gov’na,” the young woman boldly introduced herself before wiggling her small fanny into the chair. She eyed Ruark boldly. “Hear ye got it in the crotch, Mister Ruark. Hope ‘tweren’t nothing serious.”
Shanna closed her eyes as if to blot out the sight of Milly while Ruark struggled to contain his mirth. When he regained his poise, he grinned across to Shanna.
“ ‘Twas Madam Beauchamp’s attentions that brought me through, Milly, none other’s.”
“Oooh?” Milly queried, turning wide, dark eyes to Shanna. “Why, she must ‘ave sweetened to ye a mite since the last time I seen ye together. She lowered ‘at collar on ye pritty good.”
Gaylord’s interest perked smartly. “Eh? Collar? What do you say?”
“Never mind,” Shanna said quickly. “Would anyone care for tea?”
“Berta promised to bring me a tray in here,” Ruark rejoined. “I’ll have a cup when she comes.”
It suddenly occurred to Shanna why the housekeeper had left in such haste. No doubt she had seen Ruark entering the dining room from the foyer.
Berta was once more her cheerful self as she helped Milan serve Ruark his morning fare and Sir Gaylord stood apart from the group and fretted. He felt as if he had just heard a joke whose point had escaped him while others chortled in glee. It was almost more than a proper gentleman could bear, and, to make matters more intolerable, he could not even gracefully question this bondsman’s presence in Trahern’s parlor.
“Well!” Milly slapped her hands upon her thighs after a long pause of silence and got to her feet. “I didn’t mean to stay long. Just to see ‘ow ye were doing, Mister Ruark. ‘Sides, I can’t rightly chitchat with ye when ‘ere’s so many folk about.”
The young woman rolled her hips as she took herself to the door, giving Berta cause to shake her head as her blue eyes followed the gyration. The housekeeper bustled out on the heels of Milan, and Milly turned in the open portal leading into the foyer.
“I’ll see meself out the front here,” Milly announced to the three remaining. “Daren’t go along the porch. Might cut me foot.” She wiggled her bare toes as everyone’s attentions were drawn there. “I forgot me sandals again.”
Leaving them with that, she sauntered out, sending back a coy wave to Ruark and closing the door firmly behind her. Shanna almost breathed an audible sigh of relief but caught herself just in time as Gaylord faced her abruptly, folding his huge hands behind his back and bending slightly forward.
“Now, Madam Beauchamp, about that stroll—”
Shanna brightened. “Of course, Sir Gaylord,” and rose to her feet, smoothing her gown of airy lawn over the hooped panniers. “Would you care to join us, Mister Ruark? I think an outing might do you good.”
The Englishman’s face sagged into a distasteful, pinched frown. “Wouldn’t if I were he. Might slip and break his other leg.”
Ruark stood up with an ability that amazed Shanna and flashed the dour knight a wicked grin of dazzling whiteness.
“On the contrary, I agree that the exercise would be good for me.” He swept his arm before him in a half bow. “After you, madam, of course.”
“We’ll go through the front,” Shanna offered sweetly. “ ‘Twill be easier for Mister Ruark to go down the steps with the balustrade to aid him.”
She glided to the drawing room door and paused demurely for it to be opened. Gaylord was fast of foot and, bowing gallantly, held it wide for her. He was about to take a place at her side when he was interrupted.
“Thank you, Sir Gaylord.” Ruark brushed by him and took a place close behind Shanna. “You’re most considerate.”
Gaylord found himself with no choice but to fall in behind them like some attending lad. Even the sight of Milly still lingering in the hallway did not alter Shanna’s sense of relief at having outmaneuvered him.
“Aye, gov’na,” Milly’s voice echoed in the immensity of the hall as she caught the coin Ralston tossed to her. She immediately tied it safely in her bodice and sauntered to the door, calling back, “I’ll be there.”
Ralston greeted the three of them soberly and in the presence of Shanna barely managed a brief nod to Ruark. His eyes crossed Gaylord’s face, and he hurriedly returned his regard to Shanna.
“I came to fetch some papers from your father’s study. If you will excuse me, madam?”
“By all means,” Shanna consented coolly. “Shall I send Jason to help you find them?”
“No need, madam,” the agent replied stiffly. “Your father instructed me on their whereabouts.”
The small group ambled out the door onto the portico while Ralston stood and watched, his face dark with loathing. His fist was knotted about his quirt as if he longed to use it on the questionable Mister Ruark and it was a long moment before he turned and made his way toward the squire’s chambers. Taking a place in the squire’s chair, he casually began sorting through papers and sketches scattered across the top of the mammoth desk. He studied the drawings of the two mills closely. The construction of the sawmill had taken a hold on Trahern’s fancy, and Ralston noted recent markings on the parchment that could only have been made by the bondslave. No doubt the anxious squire had hastened to Mister Ruark’s bedside to discuss the project before aught else could delay it. At present Trahern was at the site, taking the place of the architect as much as he could.
Though Ralston carefully followed each line and read each notation, he could understand little of the plan and dismissed the drawings as a weapon to discredit the designer. Arrogantly he leaned back in the chair which seemed to diminish his narrow frame and mused on the success of John Ruark. It grated against his own sense of self-importance that the man had risen to such a state of worth to the squire as to be thought indispensable. Someday, Ralston promised himself, he would have the chance to deal with that bondslave in the manner deserving such a one.
Sir Gaylord also found it difficult to cope with John Ruark and his interference. However crippled the bondsman truly was, he somehow managed to maintain a position between the lady and himself. Gaylord longed only for a private moment to court her and was deeply aggravated to find himself forever speaking around the cocky knave. Finally he begged to be excused.
“Arrogant slaves and servants,” Gaylord muttered to himself as he crossed the lawns with his long, gangling gait, “should be horsewhipped, the lot of them.” He sneered to himself. “But come the marriage, I’ll see them well instructed on the subject of good servitude.”
Ruark leaned on the blackthorn staff and watched the man depart. “At least that oaf has the wits to know when he’s not wanted.”
But as he turned his gaze to Shanna, she was already moving away, strolling among the shrubs, plucking a dead leaf here, pausing to pull withered petals from a blossom, bending to clean a weed from the neatly raked soil. Ruark trailed along behind her, trying to work the stiffness from his leg, setting his weight upon it carefully before taking a step, relying as little as possible upon the cane.
Once they were left alone, Shanna had difficulty maintaining even an outward show of serenity. Her heart hammered in her breast, and she felt like a young girl smitten with her first suitor. Cautiously she kept her gaze averted from his and centered on the flowers and greenery. From the corner of her eye, she saw him stumble and, glancing at his face, caught the quick grimace of pain before he could hide it. Her stilted composure flew from her, and she was at his side in a second.
“Your leg!” It was as if the agony were her own. “It must be hurting you dreadfully.”
Ruark raised his eyes to meet hers, and time trembled to a halt. Shanna’s hand rested gently on his shoulder, and almost hungrily he searched her face for some sign. They stood motionless, touching, yearning, longing, and those soft, curving lips seemed to draw him closer, closer—
Shanna let out her breath in a rush. Nervously she stepped backward and rubbed her hand as if it still tingled from touching him. She gestured toward his thigh and lamely tried, “We should be getting back. You’re not used to this.”
“That is truth,” Ruark agreed hoarsely. “I am not used to being close to you, and you sorely test my restraint.”
Shanna turned away, not wanting to meet his gaze again. She toyed with a large poinciana bloom. Ruark watched her closely for a long moment, somewhat bemused, sensing her uncertainty but seeing no reason for it. He could not know how her pulse raced. He moved to stand close behind her and laid his hand upon her slim waist. Shanna started as if burned and whirled away from his embrace.
“Don’t!” She began
and struggled in an effort to control herself. “Don’t touch me.” She attempted to laugh in a gay manner, but it came out half choked and forced. “Must I remind you, sir, that we are unchaperoned? Keep your distance.”
The words sounded bare and heavy as she spoke them, not at all light and amusing as she had intended.
“Is it something I’ve said or done?” Ruark questioned softly.
“No.” Shanna tried to smile into those probing eyes, but the effort was a failure. Awkwardly she plucked the blossom, and her fingers whirled it restlessly.
“ ‘Tis been three nights since you—stayed with me,” Ruark murmured, his voice low and gentle. “I hear you moving about in your rooms late at night as if you were upset over something. Are you angry with me?”
“No!” The answer came out too sudden, too short, and clipped. Shanna shook her head, her lips tightly clenched.
Ruark leaned forward to caress a lock of her hair where it tumbled over her shoulder. His voice was hoarse, ragged. “May I touch—just for a moment?”
She gave him no answer, but crushed the blossom between hands which sought each other to keep from shaking.
“I want you.” His whisper crackled like fire in her ears.
“Oh, Ruark, don’t say that!” The words burst out of her in a half sob. “I can’t—”
Her hand pressed tightly across her quivering lips, and her eyes squeezed shut as she fought against the flood of emotions that washed apart her every resolve. The flower fluttered unnoticed to the ground.
“Don’t touch? Don’t say?” Ruark’s tone was harsh. “Shanna, are you afraid of me?”
Her eyes flew open and saw the glint of anger in his.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Her mind screamed until her skull ached with the pain of it, but her voice was gone, and her hands were clenched at her sides as she stared mutely at him. “Yes,” her thoughts raged silently. “I am afraid you will touch me and I will crumble. I am afraid you will say, ‘I love you,’ and I will melt at your feet. I am afraid that I cannot stand against you anymore. Don’t you understand? I am defenseless now. You’ve known me too closely, and I have known you too dearly. I’ve tended your hurts and calmed your ravings as you have mine. I have waited in fear for some word of hope from your lips and watched you weak and helpless on the bed. I cannot deny you longer.”
Shanna Page 55