Instead, here she was, trapped on a doorstep, unwilling to go away and unable to go inside.
Not a sign of life showed from within the house—no smoke from any chimney, no light in any window. Had Sir Ashten gone away again? At that thought the faintest disappointment touched her heart. She pushed down the treacherous stirring. She ought to wish the man and his devil’s temptation of his smile gone. She had sons to raise, and kittens which needed her care.
That would be just what she would do.
With a deep breath, and a muttered prayer, she put her hand on the doorknob and let herself into the house.
Making for the library, she keep her steps light. Her heart pounded in her ears like thundering hoof beats, and she winced at every creaking floorboard. Well, if anyone appeared to ask what she was doing here she would say she had knocked and had thought them gone and could not allow her cat and kittens to be neglected.
However, instead of an accusing voice she heard laughter and familiar voices coming from the half-open library door. She strode toward the sound. Shock stopped her on the threshold of the room as if someone had dumped a bucket of snow over her.
Sir Ashten Ravenhill, the notorious gamester, sat cross-legged on the floor, looking more like a schoolboy himself than a dangerous sinner. Next to him sprawled her boys.
An instant’s fear flickered for her boys, but it faded with the realization that all seemed innocent. She huffed out a breath, but irritation flushed her skin and prickled in her chest that Will should look up at this man with such admiration glowing and that Thomas, usually so shy with strangers, should be chattering away about kitten names as if he had known Sir Ashten forever.
She swept away her irritation at once with a proper determination to end this unseemly gathering. Will and Thomas had done wrong in coming here uninvited, and she could not allow that to go unremarked. Only she felt the worst sort of hypocrite to blame them for doing what she had done herself.
And Sir Ashten...well, the man obviously had not an ounce of propriety or decorum in his body to be sitting on the floor with her boys in this fashion.
Clearing her throat, she strode into the room. Three pairs of eyes swung around to stare at her. Will and Thomas scrambled to their feet, their expressions suitably hangdogged. However, the smile that lit Sir Ashten’s fall-leaf eyes was anything but guilty.
That smile began as a deep and enticing glimmer in his eyes. It spread, lifting the corners of his wide, sinful mouth and relaxing the lids of his eyes. Emaline could only think he should not look at her so in front of her children.
“Thomas, Will, come here at once,” she said, her voice sharper than she had intended, but Sir Ashten had flustered her; she hated that she might show him that he had done so.
The boys came, their steps heavy, and with Thomas complaining. “We did not bother him, Mother.”
“We shall discuss that later,” she said. She glanced back to Sir Ashten.
His smile had faded, and he stared at her, his eyes narrowed as if trying to puzzle her out.
That focused attention of his unnerved her even more.
She turned to the boys, tugging straight their collars, smoothing the wrinkles from their jackets, brushing at invisible lint. “You will please return home at once and wait for me in your rooms. Now, off with you. And it is to be straight home, mind. No side trips to any fox dens today, if you please.”
She shooed them out the library door, but she did not look at them as they left, for she could not bear to see Will’s drooping shoulders and Thomas’ dejected scowl.
“They really were not bothering me, you know.”
She swung around toward that beguiling voice. Oh, how she wished she could blame him for this. But it was her own fault. She should have known the boys would not be able to stay away from Bea’s kittens any more than she could.
“Sir, I beg your pardon for these intrusions. Please be assured that I shall remove my cat and her kittens as soon as possible.”
Still sitting on the floor, he propped his chin on his hand and his elbow on his leg. And she thought with irritation, Has the man no manners that he cannot rise when a lady enters?
“Mrs. Pearson, if that is an apology then you are sadly out of practice. You’ve just begged my pardon with enough frost to put a permanent chill in the room.”
She stiffened and glared at him. “Oh, I see. I am to show decent manners, while you lounge there like...like some decadent Eastern potentate!”
“Is that what’s got your back up?” He started to rise, levering himself up by using the heavy chair for support. He got up on one knee and seemed to freeze as if caught by an invisible hand, and a soft mutter carried to her, “Oh, damn.”
She had seen enough of her Uncle Walter’s battles with gout to recognize a man in pain. And while she could not think that gout afflicted Sir Ashten, he had clearly stayed seated due to a physical difficulty.
She came to him at once, instinctively reaching for his arm. His hand clasped hers, and her own knees nearly buckled from taking his weight as he came to his feet. His strong arms now steadied her, coming around her, grasping her, and they swayed in an awkward embrace.
For a moment, she allowed herself to stand within the circle of his arms. Like a starving woman offered food, she could not help but reach for a taste of him—his touch, his scent, his presence. He seemed so blessedly sheltering. A haven of strength.
How long has it been since anyone’s held me? she thought.
But she should not want this. She began to pull away, tried to make herself not want this by telling herself that it was all illusion anyway. He could not be a gamester and be strong. Only weak men succumbed to such vice and sin. Men such as Cousin Newell. Her uncle had taught her that lesson well.
Stepping away from Sir Ashten’s grasp, she smoothed her already smooth hair and said to him, her voice stern, “You have too much pride, sir. You obviously have a bad leg and ought to ask for help.”
He grinned. “Lord, what a scold you are. You know, if you keep using that tone with your boys, you’re going to turn them into the scourge of the neighborhood.”
“I am not a scold,” she said. Biting her lower lip, she took hold of the ties to her cloak, tugged on them, and finally asked, “Do I really sound like one?”
“That tone would inspire any man to do his worst to live up to its condemnation. Why are you so harsh with everyone—yourself included? Haven’t you had any happiness in your life?”
She glared at him, affronted. “Of course, I have. I have the joy of two wonderful sons. And I was married to a man who loved me.”
“But did you love him?” he asked, his voice soft.
Her mouth fell open. She struggled for an answer, found her mind empty, and decided this conversation had gone beyond what two relative strangers ought to be saying to one another. Shutting her mouth, she turned away so she could look into the cupboard.
From inside, Bea stared back, her eyes half-slits, as if she really could not be bothered by all this human chattering. A good attitude to take, Emaline decided.
“That is not to the point,” she said. “I came merely to see that Bea was doing well.”
He let out a laugh and she straightened and glanced at him. He leaned against the chair, his eyes alight with mischief and so knowing, so sure of himself, so teasing that her palm itched with the urge to strike the smile from his face.
“And I thought you came here for your boys. Why, you’re no better than they are, stealing in for a glimpse of the kittens.”
“I…I…”
“Come, you’ll feel better for admitting the truth.”
“Fine words from a...a gamester. And a...a cheat!”
The laughter died in his eyes. He strode toward her and she fell back until the bare shelves of the bookcase dug into her shoulders blades and she could move no more. He filled her view. The heat from his body washed over her as if she had just opened a door to Hades. His eyes hardened to green agates, and his
jaw firmed into a daunting set. All she could think as her heart pounded was an inadequate Oh my!
His voice lashed at her as cold and sharp as the bite of an autumn wind. “Madam, I have few things in this world to call my own. I have the signet ring my father gave me when he wished me well on my sixteenth birthday and then set off with my mother for fresh horizons in the New World. I have the skin I was born in. I have my honor. So would you care to explain why you wish to strip the most precious of those possessions from me by naming me a cheat?”
Glancing down at her hands, she twisted her fingers together and stammered, “I…I should not have said that. I do not really believe it. I am so very sorry.”
He gripped her chin and forced her stare up to meet his. “But why did you say it?”
She tried not to cringe, but memories flashed into her mind of Uncle Walter’s temper. She had never received its full weight, but poor Newell had. And even having been in the same room with that red-faced rage had left its mark upon her.
Now Sir Ashten’s anger undid the last threads of her courage. She did not want to carry tales, but she could not stop the words that slipped out in a fast rush. “It was Newell’s excuse as to why he lost the house, for he wrote to me that you had cheated him out of it in a game of faro, but I do not think he told that to anyone, it is just that he so hates for me to think badly of him.”
Emaline bit her lower lip to stop her rambling words before she said anything more. Her heart pounded in her chest, as hard as the pulse beat in his tightened jaw.
For an instant, she could only stand still, watching him.
His mouth tightened, and Ash held himself back, anger a blazing heat, a round soft chin in his grip and wide, tawny eyes staring up at him. He gazed into those eyes, and forgot what it was he was supposed to be so angry about. The burn in his veins remained, churning along with some other emotion too long neglected to be recognizable.
She was staring up at him, eyes frightened, but some other spark kindled in the sherry depths. He knew hunger when he saw it in a woman’s eyes. An answering flicker of desire flared.
Lord, if she thought him a scoundrel now, what would she think if he kissed her soundly? He might as well find out. He started to lower his lips to hers, but a demanding yowl followed by sudden piteous mewing distracted him.
Glanced down, he saw Bea climbing out of her cupboard, leaving her kittens behind.
“What the—”
Mrs. Pearson slipped away from his touch, bending down to pick up her cat. “Oh, poor dear. She must need to go out. And you have fed her today, have you not? I shall just take her outside for a moment. Do mind the kittens and comfort them for just a moment.”
She strode from the room, and Ash turned to the five crying, forlorn kittens. He gave a frustrated sigh, and muttered to them, “Yes, and I know just how you feel to be so deprived.”
* * *
He was gone when she brought Bea back. She heard male voices coming from the back of the house—Sir Ashten and Knowles, no doubt. She did not stay to take her leave, but saw Bea settled happily with her kittens and fled.
The boys were waiting dutifully in their rooms for her and their punishment for disobedience. But she had not the heart for it. Not after Sir Ashten’s accurate assessment that she was as bad as they for sneaking over, and certainly not after his condemnation that she was a scold.
Oh, dear, is that what she had become?
As they sat down to dinner, she decided to try a new approach of reasoning with the boys about how they must not make any more visits to the manor. But Thomas insisted that Sir Ashten had said they were welcome on his property any time, and when Will asked if there was some reason why they should not know Sir Ashten, Emaline did not feel up to giving an answer.
What could she say, after all? That he was a man who valued his honor? That hardly qualified as a reason for the boys not to know him.
However, she could not like his gambling for a living; she had no wish for either Will or Thomas to begin to view that as a possible path open to them. But she also had no real reason to offer up as to why she should forbid the boys all access to the manor, and they had every reason to wish to see the kittens. Fortunately for her peace of mind, the weather turned to rain and for three days she had every excuse to remain indoors, and to keep the boys with her. And then the weather turned again.
The morning dawned warm and kind, another glorious autumn day, offering a memory of summer in its sunshine. A nip of cold lay in the air, enough for Emaline to bundle the boys into wool coats before she sent them off with fishing poles and her blessing. Sir Ashten, after all, had said they were welcome on his land—she would take that as permission for the boys to continue catching fish in the river that flowed across the Adair estate. After taking down her largest basket, and pulling on her cloak, she set off on her errand.
The kittens’ eyes would be opening soon. They should be strong enough to come home. She longed to see the tiny, furry creatures take their first glimpses of the world. She wanted the boys to share that with her and with Bea. With the kittens home, there would be no reason for the boys to visit Sir Ashten. And she would hope that he sold the house very soon.
On the walk up the drive to the manor, Emaline thought over all the possibilities of who might buy the estate.
She would not mind if Sir Ashten sold to Squire Wiberforce. He was a gentleman, and would no doubt allow her to keep her lease of the gate house. However, the Wilberforces had no need of additional property to enhance their standing. And what if Sir Ashten sold to Lord Rustard? He was only a baron, but Lady Rustard took her role as “first lady” of the neighborhood all too seriously. Emaline could easily picture them wanting a proper gatekeeper at the gate house, instead of a widow and her children. The whole situation seemed be a choice between lesser of evils rather than any goods.
With that lowering thought, she mounted the steps to the manor.
As with her last visit, she pounded on the door at least five times, but this time her patience was rewarded. Knowles opened the door for her.
“G’day, Mrs. Pearson,” he said, bowing her in. “Come to see your Begats?” She sent him a questioning glance and he added, “The boys told Sir Ash about the name.”
“Yes, well, you shall not have to be bothered any longer with them. I have come to take them home.”
Knowles frowned. “To be quite blunt, Mrs. Pearson, I’d just as soon we could raise the mites. We could do wiff a bit of mousing. Prime hunting territory for the little ones, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, well, they are weeks away from being of age to hunt. But I shall see if the next owners perhaps would like to keep a kitten. Now pray, do not allow me to keep you from your work.”
Knowles grinned, his wide face shinning. “I was only chasing a spider out of the teapot spout. Would you care to take a spot of tea with Sir Ash? It’s no bother to tell him you’ve come for your cats.”
“Oh, please don’t. I mean, please do not bother. I shall be gone before you know it. And thank you so much for looking after them.”
“No trouble, missus. Though I don’t think he’ll like you having taken them.”
She frowned. “Sir Ash? I mean Sir Ashten? He cannot be all that attached to them.”
Knowles gave a shrug. “Please yourself, missus.” He left her in the all, setting off toward the back of the house and the kitchen.
Emaline frowned at him for a moment—what an odd servant. She hurried to the library, determined to take her cats home.
Bea complained loudly as Emaline began to lift the tiny furry bodies from their mother’s side. “I am only taking you home,” Emaline told her. She rubbed Bea’s soft head, and picked up another kitten. This one, the multicolor tortoiseshell, had its eyes open, and wide blue orbs stared out of the tiny black and orange face. It gave a faint mew. Emaline cuddled its downy cheek to her own. “You shall be quite safe, my darling. I promise. And you shall have a lovely bed in a basket near the kitchen
fire.”
With all five kittens in her basket, Emaline covered it with a loose cloth. Bea wound around the basket, nosing it, meowing anxiously to her kittens. And a voice, low and teasing, said from the doorway, “First it was housebreaking, now stealing kittens. I fear, Mrs. Pearson, there is no end to your sinful ways.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Ash sauntered into the room, a little surprised at himself.
He had thought to be glad to see the end of these pesky kittens. Oh, they were amusing enough. With their eyes open, they were starting to poke about—at least the black one had already tumbled out of the cupboard twice and had had to be rescued and returned to its mother. Ash had already mentally christened him Trouble, despite the Pearson tradition for biblical names. Although he might yet allow Thomas and Will their way with Salah for the marmalade kitten.
But, yesterday, Ash had watched with disgust as Knowles constructed an earth closet of clay in one of the other empty library cupboards for the cats to answer nature’s call. That alone, he’d thought, was incentive enough to see them transferred to the stables as soon as possible. Or anywhere else outside of the house.
However, when Knowles had come into the kitchen and said that Mrs. Pearson was here to claim her kittens, a possessive streak of ownership flashed through Ash like a branding fire.
He did not want to give up his kittens. He certainly did not want to give up the only reason his pretty housebreaker had to visit him. The one maxim of his father’s that he actually followed was that no reasonable man should deny himself a reasonable amount of pleasure. It was pure pleasure to taunt and tease his pretty housebreaker. She was being unreasonable to attempt to deny him that amusement.
Strolling toward her, a smile in place for her, he said, his tone light, “I suppose I shall just have to have you up before the magistrate.”
She rose and held away her basket of mewing kittens, as if he were some sort of monster ready to devour them. The image pricked him like a sword tip. Why did she think so little of him? What reason had she to be so self-righteous?
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