The Blacksmith's Son

by Rebecca Thomas

  The rain—the wind—the colt, everything came at her in a rush. What was she doing here? And who was this man?

  “Are you all right?” he asked. The voice held a commanding tone, but within it, a strand of concern as well.

  “Yes.” Her gaze darted about the room before settling on the blanket covering her. She gasped. “Where are my clothes?” Panic seeped into her gut. She reached under the coverlet, feeling around. “And my pistol?” She studied the man who sat on the edge of her bed. “Who are you?”

  His gaze penetrated her. Unconsciously, she moved her hands in search of some kind of protection.

  “My name is Quentin Drake. I found you lying in a stall in the stables. You and your clothes were wet. I—”

  His voice was calm with reason, but fear welled up within her and, without her pistol by her side, she understood her vulnerability. “Give me my clothes back.”

  His jaw flexed before he spoke. “You were knocked out. A little appreciation might be—”

  “I’m without clothing in a room with a stranger. I hardly think I should appreciate my circumstances. Give me back my clothes.” She pulled the coverlet higher as though a piece of fabric could put distance between them.

  “Your boy’s clothes you mean, or do you have a dress stashed somewhere?” The tiniest hint of sarcasm laced his voice.

  She flinched. If he’d meant to harm her, certainly he would have done so by now. “My trousers and shirt should do nicely. Thank you.”

  He leaned back, assessing every corner of her face. “They are currently being laundered by the maid. I considered having her bring a dress for you to wear, but then I thought perhaps you didn’t want your little ruse out in the open.”

  His affable smile did little to dampen her distress, although it was probably safe to believe he didn’t know her real identity. She didn’t dare trust him, but something in his eyes settled her unease. Slightly. “Am I correct in assuming you’re the only person who knows you brought a woman to your room?”

  His eyes widened a fraction.

  “Does anyone else know I’m here?” Is this what her life had become? She was more frightened of someone finding out her identity than of being completely naked and alone in a room with a stranger.

  “The innkeeper assumes I brought a boy to my room, if that’s what you mean, but I have a few questions of my own.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and pinned her with a stare. “Name?”

  She pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders and pressed her lips together.

  “Why are you dressed like a boy? You sound as though you’ve had some education. If you’re a lady—”

  “I’m not going to answer any of your questions.”

  “I warn you.” Firelight reflected within the dark depths of his eyes. There was coldness in them. An emptiness. “I haven’t slept for days, and my patience is wearing thin. How did a woman of some education come to be in this situation?”

  She scooted straighter in the bed in an attempt to show she didn’t fear him. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a burden to you, er, Mr. Drake, and I thank you for not leaving me in that stall, but if you’ll get my clothes, I’ll just be on my way.”

  “I wouldn’t cast out an injured dog, let alone a young woman without protection.”

  Although the man’s size would intimidate most people, she sensed something more to him. A gentleness behind his penetrating gaze. He had saved her from Linford, after all, when he could have left her in the stable. She hadn’t spoken freely to anyone in so long and had so wished for a friend. Perhaps answering a few questions wouldn’t do any harm. “My name is Ally.”

  “That’s a start. Why are you dressed as a boy?”

  His nearness unsettled her, but not in the way she would have expected. She should be frightened. And while she was concerned, she didn’t fear for her safety the way she did when she was near the Earl of Linford. But her distrust of people, especially men, was rooted deep inside her. “That’s none of your business.”

  His brows pulled together. “Miss Ally, I’ll not harm you.” His tone soft, he asked, “What were you doing in that stall?”

  “I wanted to end that colt’s suffering. He has a broken leg. T’will never heal properly on its own. I had no idea who he belonged—” Where was the Earl of Linford? Her pulse hammered in her throat. Did he know she was here? How could she be so distracted by a handsome man she’d let herself forget about the earl?

  “The colt has been put down.” His face was solemn. “I’ve seen to it.”

  This man, a perfect stranger, sat on the side of her bed, looking keenly at every movement she made. Ally shifted her gaze away from his intense stare and exhaled a shaky breath. At least the colt no longer suffered. “W-where is the Earl of Linford?”

  “He’s gone. I assure you, he’ll not bother you again.”

  At hearing his words, her pulse slowed. For the moment, she was safe. But she needed her pistol.

  “You are acquainted with the Earl of Linford?” he asked.

  “No.” She answered too quickly. “Of course not.”

  His dark brown brows lifted, but his expression was unreadable. “He knocked you pretty hard. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m well.” She rubbed at the knot on her left temple. “Where’s my pistol?”

  “I wouldn’t chance leaving your pistol within reach.” He shrugged. “You might try to shoot me.”

  “I wouldn’t shoot you.” She shook her head.

  “Oh, wouldn’t you?” He eyed her with a glint of mischievousness. “I’m not taking any chances. I’ve been shot before. It doesn’t feel so good.”

  He stood and walked to the hearth. His long legs transported him with dignified grace and confidence, but she noticed a slight limp to his gait. He picked up the lone chair and brought it back to the bed. “I carried you into this room to tend to your wound, get you dry, and fed. Nothing more.”

  She should be afraid, but Mr. Drake confirmed she was safe from the earl. Her pulse strummed erratically through her veins, which had nothing to do with the Earl of Linford and everything to do with the man beside her. Now that she knew she was safe, another kind of nervous energy entered her consciousness.

  He straightened his spine. “After I undressed you, I had to determine whether to alert someone.” A shadow entered the storms of his gray eyes, causing her breath to catch. “But it occurred to me that, perhaps, you wouldn’t appreciate your little sham being exposed. So for the time being…I’ve decided this will remain our secret…if you wish it.”

  Ally opened her mouth to interrupt him, but he continued, “I wouldn’t have undressed you had I known…”

  Heat crept up her neck.

  “I assure you, you had to get out of those wet clothes. You’ll catch your death in this drafty shack.” A hesitant smile crept across his face. “It was a shock, but yet, a delightful surprise, to find a woman wrapped up under all those layers.”

  A spiraling sensation burned in the pit of her belly. She hadn’t been referred to as a woman in so long. She could only gape at him.

  Chapter Two

  Quentin simply stared. Her face would light up any number of ballrooms in London. The smudges of dirt he’d missed faded against her radiance. Of all the treasures he’d discovered during his travels abroad, the woman sitting before him had to be the most exquisite. His heart hammered against his chest, and he stood up to give himself some distance from her. From her fine features and diction, she was definitely a gentlewoman, and he should treat her as such. Somewhere in his past schooling he found the manners he knew he possessed.

  “I should introduce myself properly.” He made a sweeping bow. “I am Captain Quentin Drake.” He bent and reached for her hand. “At your service.”

  She hesitated a moment before she held out her arm from under the blankets to place her hand in his. His eyes lifted, and she met his gaze. His lips brushed the back of her fingers, and to his delight, her face flushe
d crimson.

  Ally pulled her hand free from his and tucked it under the blankets. “Ally is my name, or Al.”

  Quentin held her gaze a moment before padding across the room for the tray of food. Where were his manners? After placing the tray on the bed, he grabbed a shirt from his saddle bags. “Here’s something for you to wear while you wait for your clothes to dry.”

  “Thank you.” Cautiously, she took the shirt from his hands.

  “I’m sorry that’s all I have.” Giving her privacy, he turned his back and rubbed one hand down the leg of his breeches.

  “You can turn around now.”

  He cleared his throat, willing himself not to stare at the nipples protruding beneath the cotton fabric of his shirt she wore. “Ah, so am I to assume Al would be your boy’s name then?”

  “I suppose.” She straightened her back against the headboard.

  He returned to the chair. An educated woman masquerading as a scruffy boy named Al. The mystery about her intensified, but he realized he would never wring answers to his questions on an empty stomach. “You must be hungry.”

  The aroma of stew sat heavy between them. Reaching across the bedcovers, he handed her a spoon. From now on, he would be an exemplary gentleman, his bad manners left behind at sea. “That is quite a knot on your head. Are you sure it doesn’t bother you?”

  “Tis fine, milord.” She took the spoon from him, her fingers brushing his.

  “I’m not a lord. I have no titles.” No matter how hard he tried to ignore the erotic enticement of a woman wearing his shirt, he was increasingly aware of the hard ridge between his legs, which disrupted his concentration. “Please, call me Quentin.”

  “T’would not be proper for me to call you by your given name.”

  Relaxing his posture, he asked, “What is proper about tonight?”

  She eyed him warily. “Nothing, I suppose.”

  “I’m sorry. That was unkind.” What a horse’s ass he’d become, but he couldn’t help himself around her. Or mayhap he’d just been too long at sea. “You can call me Captain. That’s what my crew calls me.”

  Wetting her lips, she delved into a bite of stew. “Tell me about the sea. What kind of ship do you have, Captain?”

  Quentin was momentarily stunned. The opening of his shirt she wore gaped open, revealing the top swell of her breasts. Her hair splayed in all directions and he was mesmerized. Swallowing at the knot in his throat, he said, “A ship of the line.”

  Her eyes lit with intelligence, and her tongue poked out to lick a drop of stew from her plump bottom lip.

  She had no idea how alluring she appeared. And his erection, having no scruples, seemed not to care about his promise to behave.

  Ally needed protection from men like him.

  “Captain, do you have any women as crewmembers?”

  Her enthusiasm gave him pause, and a crinkle of a smile tugged on his lip. “Hardly. They are bad luck.”

  She sipped from the glass of ale and eyed him with a measured look. “I don’t believe in luck.”

  “Don’t you think it was lucky I found you when I did?”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  Was she warming to him at all, or did she put him in the same male category as Linford? “I’d like to hear about how you came to be dressed as a boy.”

  She scooped a dollop of stew and paused with the spoon midway to her mouth. “Perhaps we can agree on an exchange of information, then?” she said before swallowing the bite of stew.

  Quentin watched helplessly as the muscles in her throat moved, and something inside him fractured. He clamped his mouth shut.

  She set down her spoon and snatched the buttered roll beside her bowl. “You aren’t eating?”

  “I ate while you slept.”

  “Was I asleep so long? What is the time?”

  “I would guess nearing midnight.” He stood and added more coal to the fire. It’s true he hadn’t been near a woman in months, but he must quit staring at her. She had to be uncomfortable enough without him ogling her. “So Miss Ally, are you going to tell me how you came to be dressed as you were?”

  “As a woman, no one would allow me to work as a blacksmith’s helper, except for Simon. After I left my former place of employment, he gave me a chance.” She set aside her bowl, pulled the covers up to her chin, and shrugged. “I have a way with horses. I help the blacksmith out with the troubled ones—the frightened ones. I soothe their fears while their shoes are being fitted. Simon has been pleased with my work and has agreed to keep my secret.”

  Something didn’t ring true, but Quentin couldn’t say exactly what it was. “Why did you leave your other job?”

  “Not your turn, Captain. Now, I may ask a question.”

  He chuckled. “So you may.”

  “How did you get that swollen eye, and why didn’t you just leave me in that stall?”

  “That’s two questions.” He grinned. “The eye is compliments of your friend, the Earl of Linford. And I couldn’t—”

  “He’s not my friend.” She bit down on each word.

  “I was just teasing… Of course, he isn’t your friend. You said you didn’t know him, and yet…you know his name.”

  “He made sure I knew his name.” She eyed him cautiously. “Do you know him? You act as though you do.”

  “Unfortunately, yes. He was a few years ahead of me at Eton. But he didn’t recognize me. He was in the same year as my older brother.” No reason to mention he was nearly a member of his family.

  Curiosity sparked in her eyes. “Ah, so your brother is the Lord of the family and you’re a second son, then?”

  “Yes, I’m a second son.” He removed the tray from the bed and placed it on the table.

  A rough pounding sounded from the corridor.

  “I’m sorry to be botherin’ ye, milord.” The innkeeper’s voice squeezed through the cracks in the door. “But there’s a man who insists on speaking with ye.”

  Ally’s eyes widened. “What if he’s here about the colt?”

  “It will be fine,” he whispered to her. Quentin opened the door an inch and spoke through the gap. “Can a man not have a night’s rest in peace?”

  “Apologies, milord, but there’s a man downstairs who insists on speaking with the boy. His colt is dead, or so he says, and he thinks the boy you have in here is responsible.”

  “I have no boy in here. After I cleaned up his wound, he felt better. I sent him home.”

  The innkeeper scratched his head. “I could have sworn me maid said there was someone else in yer room.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I do have someone in my room, but she isn’t the boy you speak of.”

  The innkeeper’s brows melded together.

  “Would you like to come in to see for yourself?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind. I think my customer downstairs would be happier knowing I inspected the room me-self.”

  Quentin glanced at Ally beneath the covers. All that peeked out were her eyes. He cocked his eyebrow hoping to garner her permission to let the man in. If he let the innkeeper see her, there would be no question the lad had disappeared.

  She nodded, but he noted the uncertainty in her eyes.

  He swung the door open and stepped aside.

  A flush crept up the innkeeper’s neck when he spotted Ally.

  “Will that be all?” Quentin asked.

  “The earl downstairs was quite insistent.” The innkeeper hesitated and glanced around the room again. “But I’ll tell him the lad’s gone.”

  “You can tell the earl I’ll speak with him about his colt in the morning. In the meantime, I haven’t slept for two days, so if you don’t mind?”

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, milord and missus, I won’t be botherin’ ye again. My apologies.” He took the empty tray, backed out of the room, and closed the door.

  “I need to leave.” Ally’s legs kicked beneath the blankets.

  “Why?” He locked the door an
d strode to edge of the bed. “The innkeeper doesn’t know who you are. Does he?”

  “No, but he’s still going to report to the earl that there’s a woman in your room.”

  “’Tis no matter.”

  “Maybe to you it’s no matter, but… I need to leave.” Her voice’s volume raised a smidgen. She tucked the blanket under her arms and gazed up at him from under dark lashes. “Please…can you see to my clothes?”

  “Of course.” She was so beautiful, and he wanted nothing more than to protect her, not only from the likes of the Earl of Linford, but from all the evils of the world. He’d failed Lenora, he didn’t want to fail Ally as well. But he shrugged the feeling away. She was none of his business. “I’ll check with the maid and return momentarily.”

  Quentin searched the halls of the inn for the maid he’d spoken with earlier. The only thing he knew for certain was he didn’t want Ally to leave his room—yet.

  …

  Ally gripped the edge of the mattress and blew out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She had to get out of here. Before today, Simon and his wife, Maggie, were the only ones who knew her secret. She couldn’t allow herself to get sucked into feeling secure and safe. No man could be trusted.

  She couldn’t afford to have her cover blown. Not when the Earl of Linford was nearby. The captain had ended the colt’s suffering, and Linford thought she was responsible. He might still be looking for her.

  A light tapping sounded, then the captain opened the door and entered the room. His potent bearing filled the space, and the air sizzled with his male vitality. She allowed her eyes to linger over his lean, muscled body. A white linen shirt parted at the collar and brown breeches clung lovingly to long legs encased in polished black boots.

  She hadn’t acted as a woman, nor had a man gazed at her knowing she was a woman, for almost six months. In fact, she hadn’t had a man’s attentions in over two years. She’d forgotten how it felt. Her pulse raced, and heat coursed through unmentionable places in her body.

  “I have your clothes. They’re still quite damp, unfortunately.” He set the folded shirt and trousers on the end of the bed. “I can step outside or behind the dressing screen, whichever you’d prefer.”