Caroline's stays were laced in the modern style, allowing her to remove them herself, and when she pulled them off, she heaved a sigh of relief. That left her shift, and she hesitated. It was damp rather than soaked, and she decided it would be just fine to drape the blanket over her shift rather than be entirely bare underneath.
After all, she could think of several reasons not to be less clothed than she had to be with Brandt around.
Despite her caution, Brandt was engaged in building a fire in the wood stove. Soon enough, he had it crackling along, lighting up the room and bringing some much-needed warmth into it.
"That's better," he said with a sigh, straightening up and stripping his jacket from his shoulders and then his waistcoat.
Caroline found herself staring at the way his rain-drenched shirt clung to his broad shoulders and his muscled torso. Something about this man made her want to touch him, and from Brandt's slight chuckle, he knew it.
"I was only looking around at the cottage," Caroline said defiantly.
"Of course, you were. But before we get into discussing how you can't take your eyes from me, tell me how long the rain in this part of the country lasts."
She shrugged.
"It should not rain like this for too long. It may not stop entirely, but it will slow, and then we can dress and make our way home. And I am not staring!"
“Of course, you weren't. But I hope the rain slackens off soon. I want to be out of here as soon as possible."
Caroline sat on the bed, her bare feet tucked underneath her and her back to the wall. Outside, the rain hit the ground hard. It could be hours before it slackened.
"I am only sorry we had such a short time at the abbey," she said wistfully. "I suppose if it clears entirely, we can return today."
Brandt, warming his hands at the wood stove, shot her an irritated look.
"You don't seriously think that there's something out there, do you?"
"Of course, I do. The Massey treasure is something that's been written and spoken about for ages. There must be something to it."
"Yes, we say and write about many things that aren't true or that we only wish were true. When generations of your family have searched for a thing without finding it, at some point, you must admit to yourself that it is simply not there."
Caroline was silent for a few moments. It wasn't as if he was saying something she hadn't thought. Probably at some point, every Massey treasure hunter had thought the same.
"I must believe in it," she said at last. "It won't be me who gives up on the treasure. And besides, if it is so unlikely, if you truly think that it is a thing that is closer to myth than fact... why are you here?"
Brandt froze at that, and Caroline laughed.
"You do believe in it, at least a little. My goodness, the rational marquess, on a treasure hunt in the West Country, my, my."
"That's enough of that," Brandt said, but she could see behind the sharpness to something stranger underneath.
She tilted her head at him curiously.
"No, you really don't believe it, do you? Not the way I do."
"I'm a gambling man," Brandt said with an irritable shrug. "You offered me something potentially grand and valuable in exchange for just a month's worth of my time. I've taken more foolish bets in the past."
The air between them strung as tense as a violin wire. Caroline almost wanted to reach out to see if she could pluck it. A wiser person than she was would have let it go. She was already almost naked in an isolated gamekeeper's cottage with a man who made her blood race. There was no telling how much further things could go if she were not very careful.
She had never been all that good at being careful, unfortunately.
"Is that the only reason, Brandt?"
He spun on his heel and stalked over to the bed. Despite the dark look on his face, Caroline couldn't help but be aware of how handsome he was, how something in her body could not seem to help craving him.
"You are playing a very dangerous little game here, Caroline. What exactly is it you want me to say?"
"I only want to hear the truth from you. You came out of nowhere to threaten the very roof over my head. You give me an ultimatum, and you tell me you do not believe that I can really save my home. I want to hear why you did it when you barely believe in the treasure that I am looking for at all."
For a moment, she thought that Brandt would refuse to answer her.
"Because of your hair."
She hadn't been expecting that.
"My... hair?"
"Because of your hair. Because of the way your eyes look like melted chocolate, because of how your skin feels when I steal a kiss. Because of how you kiss me back sometimes. Because of how you taste, how you smell, how you laugh. All of it."
Caroline thought her heart would beat its way out of her chest. Her mouth was dry, and she held the blanket a little tighter around her.
"Brandt..."
"And now that you know that, prim little country miss, what in the hell are you going to do with it?"
That dangerous glint in Brandt's eyes made her heart bound even faster, and she could guess what he wanted to do with it. She should get up, push him away, run into the rain if she had to, but she knew that she couldn't. The gravity between them was too strong, and as he knelt by the bed, one hand grasping the edge of the blanket, Caroline felt something inside her give in. She didn't hang on to the blanket when Brandt started to pull it away from her.
"Brandt, I want..."
"I know, sweetheart. I do, too—"
He cut off, standing up suddenly. Caroline felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over her head. She started to ask Brandt what had happened, but he waved a hand for her silence.
When he made her listen, she could hear it as well. Over the roar of the rain, there were voices outside. Voices that were coming toward them.
Brandt cursed softly, and with one hand, tilted her down to lie on the bed.
"Stay very still," he growled. "Don't speak; don't move."
Poachers and bandits were the only folk who would be out in the forest on a day like this, and Caroline nodded.
"What about you?"
"I'll see what's going on." Brandt hesitated. "Don't worry. It'll be fine. I promise."
He gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead and then dropped his jacket and waistcoat over her.
* * *
8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
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Brandt cursed himself as he went to the door. The deadbolt had rotted out years ago, and there was no way to close it at all. He had no weapon, nothing with which to defend himself and Caroline, and he was under no misapprehensions as to the nature of the men who were approaching.
All right then. Time to bluff. I've taken worse gambles.
He only prayed that whatever happened, Caroline remained hidden, remained safe. It occurred to him to wonder why he needed her to stay safe so badly, but then the door was opening.
The two men were roughly clad, old-fashioned single-shot muskets carried over their shoulder. They stared at him, and Brandt felt his hackles rise.
"What are you doing in our cottage?" the bigger man asked.
"Did you bust your way in?"
"Unless I miss my guess, this place belongs to Shawly Grange. Who are you?" Brandt replied.
"We're gamekeepers," said the second. "Out walking the lines before the rain caught up with us."
"Is that right?" said Brandt flatly. "I was told that the gamekeeper who lived here had died years ago."
"Well, I suppose you heard wrong," said the first man. He seemed more dire, and Brandt angled himself a little to the right, putting himself between the men and Caroline's hiding place in the bed. "You're not from Shawly Grange, what the hell do you know?"
"I'm a guest there," Brandt said. "I was separated from Lord Wensley's
hunting party, and then I was thrown from my horse. They are going to be after me soon."
"Not until after the rain stops, I would wager."
Brandt heard the implicit threat in the man's tone. Poaching no longer carried a hanging sentence but it could still mean a stint in the local gaol until the assizes and then transportation to Australia.
Now both men were watching him with the predatory gazes of hunting animals.
"The earl won't hear a word out of me if you leave now," Brandt said, keeping his voice as level as he could. "We wouldn't be able to track you, and so long as you stay off the Grange, you could go on to live long and useful lives. But that is only if you leave now."
For a moment, he thought they would accept the offer. At least, the smaller man looked like he wanted to.
The bigger man never took his eyes off Brandt.
"I don't believe the gentry if they say the sky's blue," he spat. "He can identify us to the magistrate."
He brought the butt of his musket up to club Brandt over the head, but Brandt was already moving. He grabbed the musket on its way past, yanking hard to throw the man off balance. As the man stumbled, Brandt landed a blow to the back of his head. It was unsporting and ungentlemanly, but right now, Brandt didn't give a damn.
The smaller man made a half-hearted grab for Brandt, who used the larger man to block him.
"Get the hell out of here," Brand snarled. "If you are very lucky, I'll be satisfied having your friend hauled up for assault of a peer."
Brandt thanked heaven that there was no honor among thieves. The smaller man bolted out of the room and into the rain, but he still had the larger man to deal with.
"I'll knock your head in, and then I'll dump your body in the river," the man panted, lunging at Brandt.
Brandt didn't respond, only circling the man warily and watching for the end of the musket. He knew that a break in his concentration could mean the worst, but he couldn't tear his mind away from Caroline in the bed, helpless and vulnerable and afraid.
Stay still, stay still, please, for the love of God, stay still...
The poacher was larger than him, and after the first mad rush, seemed warier now. He feinted twice with the musket and then charged forward. This time, Brandt managed to tug the gun away from him, only to receive a hefty punch across the face. The gun went clattering off to one side, and the poacher ignored it, lunging for Brandt instead. The man's larger weight carried them both to the ground, and Brandt had to use all his strength and quickness to avoid being completely pinned down.
Now they were both on the floor, the man's hands reaching for Brandt's throat.
Brandt knocked his hands away and shoved the man off him partially. He had to get up and find a way to land a blow powerful enough to take the man out entirely...
The man was quicker than he looked, however, and he rose up to his knees faster than Brandt could gain his feet. Brandt tried to ward off the coming blow with one arm, but for some reason, it never came.
Instead, there was a noise like a plank hitting a side of beef, and as Brandt watched in confusion, the man's eyes rolled up in his head. The man wavered on his knees, and then he toppled to the side.
Brandt looked up to see Caroline in her shift, the gun in her hands and a wild look in her eyes.
"Oh my god," she whispered. "Is he dead?""
"I don't care," Brandt said automatically, but then he saw her stricken look. Reluctantly, he went down on one knee next to the man and felt for a pulse on the man's throat.
"His pulse is strong and steady. He doesn't deserve it, but he's alive."
"I... I think I'm glad. I've never wanted to kill anyone..."
Her skin seemed shocking pale against the blazing red of her hair.
Brandt realized that she was going into shock and that he had to keep her moving.
"I saw some rope near the stove. I'm tying him up, and you're getting dressed. After that, it doesn't matter if it's the return of the flood out there, we are getting back to Shawly Grange."
"Are you all right? You're bleeding!"
For the first time, Brandt realized that one of the man's blows had split his lip. He hadn't even noticed the pain in the rush of fighting for his life and for Caroline's. When he touched his chin, the blood had dripped down there and past to his neck.
He winced.
"I'm fine. Get your clothes on. We're leaving as soon as we can."
Thankfully, the rain had eased down to a drizzle when they left, the unconscious poacher tied up in the bed. There was something almost hysterically funny about the fact that Caroline had insisted on covering the man with a blanket before they left, but given what she had just been through, Brandt was willing to give it to her.
Outside, without thinking twice about it, he took her hand and they started the walk back to Shawly Grange.
* * *
Brandt looked up at the knock on his door. For a moment, he wanted to simply bellow at whoever had come knocking at this late hour to go away. He had already spent an unreasonable hour talking to the magistrate, and now he was trying to figure out how to best clean his lip. The split was deep, and every time he moved his mouth, it seemed to open more.
He was in no mood to deal with anything else, and he opened his mouth to say so. Then, instead of shouting, Brandt went to the door, and opened it instead.
"I thought it might be you," he said, speaking carefully around his lip.
Caroline entered his room with a small muslin bag, a basin of water, and a slight smile on her face. She still looked pale to him, as if shock had leached away some of her vital color, but the fact that she was smiling gave Brandt a profound feeling of relief.
"It is me. I finally calmed down Aunt Hawthorne, and she has gone to bed to have an attack of the vapors. With any luck, she will be up and about by dinner, though."
Brandt sighed.
"I can barely believe it's not even three yet. It feels like it's been years since we left the abbey. How are you feeling?"
She gave him a look that was surely too bright and cheerful.
"I am as well as can be expected, really..."
"Don't lie to me. You were stuttering all over yourself when you clubbed that man to the ground. And, I am not sure if I said earlier, thank you. I genuinely have no idea what might have happened if you hadn't."
She busied herself with the basin and the bag, laying them on the small table by his bed. He thought he wasn't going to get an answer out of her for a moment.
"I'm not sorry."
"Caroline..."
"That's the problem! I'm not sorry at all! I thought I was a compassionate person, that I could never do any kind of violence! Then I saw him on top of you, and I was afraid that he might hit you again. I... didn't know what I was doing until the musket was in my hands, and I was bringing it down on him."
She shuddered, hugging herself a little.
"It was terrible, but I'm not sorry. I would do it again."
Brandt couldn't help himself. He went to Caroline and pulled her into his arms. There was nothing sensual about the way their bodies fit together in that moment. All that mattered to him was how distressed Caroline was and how very much he wanted to make her feel better.
"It doesn't matter, I promise," he murmured into her hair. "It doesn't change who you are. You cannot be judged for what you did to save a life or when your own is in jeopardy. The man was as strong as an ox, and he was probably awake by the time we made it back to Shawly Grange. You're not a terrible person for protecting me, Caroline."
She shuddered against him. For a moment, he thought she would break down into sobs, but when she looked up at him with a slight smile, her eyes were dry.
"Thank you for saying that. I believe I would have gotten there eventually, but thank you."
She stepped back briskly as if suddenly aware of how close they were.
Brandt looked at her jars curiously.
"What's all that for?"
"It's for you, if y
ou'll let me use it, or at least show you how to use it. The poor magistrate looked quite shocked that you were speaking with him with traces of blood still on your face."
"Oh, was that why he was staring at me? I thought I had gotten all of it off."
"I think you had, but, well, you cracked your lip open again. Here, will you sit?"
"I'm not used to seeing you so very accommodating," he complained, sitting on a chair close to the window. "Perhaps I should get beaten by poachers more often."
"Don't even think such a thing! Today was awful enough." S
he dumped the contents of one of the jars into the gently steaming water. It released a sharp astringent scent into the air, and Caroline carefully soaked a cloth in the water before wringing it out.
"Tilt up your head, please?"
Brandt flinched as she dabbed at his lip with the damp cloth.
"Dammit, that stings."
"That's how you know it's working. Now sit still, and don't be such a great baby about it."
It was worth the sting, he decided, to hear Caroline being a little closer to her normal demanding self about it. He sat quietly as she cleaned the wound.
Now that the danger was passed, he could simply enjoy how close she stood to him, how warm she was, and how soft her hands were as she moved his face, making sure that she had gotten the last of the blood.
"All right, just one more thing."
He braced himself for something stinging, but instead the cream that she applied to his lip was soft and cool, soothing rather than harsh.
"Sit with it for a quarter of an hour. Don't talk, and for goodness sake, don't lick your lips."
He could feel a light numbing sensation spreading through his lower lip, and he gave her a questioning look.
"There are a number of things in that cream, but the main ingredient is clove oil. If you licked it, your tongue would go numb."
The Games the Earl Plays Page 26