The Gentleman's Quest

by Deborah Simmons

  Thoughts of what might have happened—and the dire consequences—robbed Hero of her breath, and she pulled at the material trapping her, only to hear the distinctive sound of it ripping. In an instant, she was staring into dark eyes, alert above her, and for a moment she felt the full weight of Kit’s hard body.

  “What the devil?” he murmured.

  Hero did not care to make her explanations while lying beneath warm, muscular male, and she slid out as best she could, trying not to think about the way he looked, the way he smelled, the way he felt against her. Stumbling to her feet, Hero clasped her arms about her, as though to ward off the man’s potent allure.

  “I—I think I tore your shirt,” she said.

  Having discovered no outside threat to either of them, Kit leaned back against the pillow, a lazy smile on his handsome features. “Did I miss something?”

  “No!” Realizing that she was reacting far too strongly, Hero tried to compose herself. Where was her cap? She grabbed at her hair, pulling it up tightly once more.

  “Look at how late it is. We’ve slept away half the morning,” Hero said, only to choke on the words. “We’ll have time to make up.”

  A grunt signaled that Kit was finally stirring from the bed, though Hero studiously avoided looking in that direction. She busied herself putting on her boots, donning the guise of a boy when she felt less like one every day.

  “It’s wasn’t my shirt that tore, just a bit of pillowcase,” Kit said, and Hero sighed in relief. She did not want to waste time trying to find someone to mend it in this awful place, while her own sewing skills were definitely lacking.

  She just wanted to leave, to escape the confines of the room, although she knew that the danger did not lie here, but would be traveling with her, ever present, ever tempting…Still, she turned to hurry Kit along, only to find him standing unmoving, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  “What?” Hero asked. For once, she couldn’t divine his mood. In fact, the man who usually was so relaxed appeared tense and awkward, and Hero braced herself for the worst.

  “I have a proposal for you,” he said.

  Hero drew in a sharp breath at the bald statement and what it might mean. Was Kit finally going to admit to some ulterior motive? Did he want to split the profits from the book when they found it? If so, Raven would never agree, and she could not return to Raven Hill empty-handed.

  “What is it?” Hero asked, despite the panic that threatened.

  “A proposal,” Kit said, as if the word explained itself. He cleared his throat. “Of marriage.”

  Hero felt the world spin again, and this time, she was so startled that she reached out to the wall in order to right herself. Surely, she had not heard Kit correctly?

  “Wh-what?”

  Kit smiled. “That’s not exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” he said. “I know I should be talking to your uncle, but these aren’t the usual circumstances, and knowing you, I assume you’d want a more straightforward approach.”

  But that was just it. He didn’t know her. So why was he asking her to marry him? The answer came to Hero all too quickly. It was the act of a gentleman.

  “Is this because of last night, because we shared a bed?” she demanded. But before he could answer, she remembered what else had occurred during the evening. Had she revealed too much of herself—and Raven—in drowsy conversation? “I don’t want your pity, thank you,” she said turning away.

  “I’m not offering you pity,” Kit protested.

  Although Hero didn’t believe him, the reasons for his proposal mattered little. She could not marry him—or anyone—and she answered automatically. “Thank you for doing me the honor, but I must decline.”

  “May I ask why?”

  Kit’s voice was curiously flat, and Hero wanted to explain, but how could she? Perhaps she had caught a chill after all, for she felt the same queasiness that she had yesterday, along with a sudden thickening of her throat that made speech difficult.

  In the end, she simply shook her head. Although another male might have stormed off, indignant or angry, Kit was no ordinary man, and perhaps his proposal was not typical, either. As though unaffected by her denial, he nodded curtly and turned to put on his coat.

  Hero told herself the offer had been a sham, an act of pity or some ruse to obtain the Mallory. Yet the very notion of wedding Kit Marchant made her chest hurt and her eyes sting. She hurried through the doorway past him, so that he could not see her weakness.

  Fighting back a sniffle, Hero realized that she truly was ill, but it was not a chill that afflicted her. She was heartsick. It was an ailment that she never expected to have, but she never could have anticipated Kit Marchant and his power over her, a power that rivaled Raven’s.

  Chapter Nine

  The foul weather didn’t let up, so they rode through a drizzle most of the day. Kit kept trying to veer east, but it seemed that the roads curved, turning back on themselves, and by the time the day was fading, their route had become a muddy track that seemed to lead nowhere.

  The proliferation of inns in the past decade had done much to eliminate the time-honored tradition of seeking shelter at private homes, but when Kit glimpsed a light in the distance, he did not hesitate, for soon they wouldn’t be able to see their way at all.

  The prospect of a night spent in the open put his own disgruntlement in perspective. But he could still not shake the mood that had settled over him after this morning’s ill-fated conversation. Obviously, he had learned nothing from Syd and Barto’s idiotic behavior, for he’d made a mess of things that equaled their own.

  He had spoken too soon. If he’d had time to consider his words, Kit would have handled the situation differently. But when he woke up in bed with a woman, a gentleman tried to make things right.

  Although nothing untoward had happened, any reasonable person would view their entire association as untoward, improper…scandalous. Kit’s motives were good, but this morning even he realized that things had gone too far and he must do the honorable thing.

  Of course, it was not as though he hadn’t toyed with the idea ever since first setting eyes upon Hero Ingram, so his heart was in perfect agreement with his head. And the rest of him wasn’t averse, either.

  But he had spoken too soon, tipping his hand when he should have bided his time, especially considering how little he had learned about the mysterious woman. There was a reason for her refusal, Kit was certain of it, unless he was entirely wrong in his perceptions, which was possible considering what had happened at Oakfield.

  Kit shook his head, only to dash his face with cold water from the brim of his hat. He was chilled to the bone, so he could only imagine how Hero must feel, and he spurred Bay forward, past farm fields, low stone fences and a barn. Finally, the light revealed itself to be a rambling farmhouse, with windows glowing and wafts of smoke trailing from its chimneys.

  Dismounting, they followed slippery flagstones to the worn door, and Kit knocked loudly to be heard above the rain. A sturdy, genial-looking fellow answered, and Kit doffed his hat, explaining that he and his brother were hopelessly lost.

  He had barely finished speaking when a stout female appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. “Oh, let the poor gentlemen in. They’ll be drowned out in that, I’ll warrant, if not frozen to death.”

  With a nod, the genial fellow motioned for them to enter, and Kit stepped inside, trying not to drip on the wooden floor inside the entrance.

  “Tad, see to their horses,” the woman said, and a scrawny lad ran past them like a blur. Two more hastened to follow, but the woman put out an arm. “Did I say Luke and Bill?” she asked the two boys, who were smaller than the blur. They shook their heads. “Then off with you!” But the youngsters, obviously curious about the arrivals, hung back, eyes wide.

  “You’ve got out of the way, that’s for certain. We don’t see many travelers here,” the woman said. “I’m Min Smallpeace, by the way, and this is Bert.”

  �
��Christopher Marchant,” Kit said. “And my brother Sid.”

  “Sid,” Bert said, with a nod. But Min only gave Hero a sharp glance and continued on. “As it happens, our nephew Clyde is away.”

  “Off trying to woo a young lady,” Bert said, with a chuckle.

  “So his room is empty, for the time being.”

  “Perhaps forever,” Bert said.

  “Nonsense. I told him he could bring Sal back here,” Min argued. “You two get out of those wet clothes, and I’ll see what I can find for you to wear. Where’s Cassie?”

  “Here, ma’am.” A young woman appeared, probably some sort of hired girl, and gaped at them, unable to hide her interest in the strangers.

  “See what you can find for these two to eat, some of the pork pie and potatoes and apple tart for starters.”

  “Oh, we can’t impose on you,” Kit said.

  “Nonsense! We can’t save you from drowning just to let you starve.”

  And before Kit knew it, they were in a cozy room under the eaves, with a fresh fire burning in the hearth and a pile of clean, dry clothes in hand.

  “Let me have all that you’ve got with you. I’ll wash everything tonight and string it up in the kitchen,” Min said, reaching for Kit’s pack. For a moment, Kit thought the woman was going to rifle through their things, which might prove awkward.

  “We’ll bring them out to you,” Hero said, stepping in front of the stolid female.

  Without pausing, Min turned away, heading toward a low cupboard. “See that you do, and I’ll have the boys bring up some hot water.” Pulling out a small tub, she eyed Kit up and down. “Not big enough for the likes of you, young man, but perhaps you can squeeze in with your knees up to your chin.”

  Kit laughed with delight. “Ma’am, if you were not already married, I’d have to propose to you right now, for surely you are the most wonderful of all women,” he said, sweeping into a low bow.

  “Oh, get on with you,” Min said, waving him away with a smile. Her cheeks flushed, she bustled out, shutting the door behind her.

  Kit sighed with pleasure in anticipation of a thorough wash, though Hero appeared less enthused. Perhaps she was concerned about his presence, Kit thought, his chill body surging with heat at the notion. But he had no intention of lingering. There was a limit to his control and sharing a bath definitely went beyond it.

  Kit slanted a speculative glance at her, for she was rooting through her pack, her back to him, curiously silent. And when she did speak, she tossed the words over her shoulder with a carelessness belied by the tone of her voice. “You’ve been busy with the proposals today, haven’t you?”

  “And twice denied,” Kit said. “I must be a poor bargain.”

  For a moment, he thought she might say more, but she shook her head, as though confused by his nonsense. But she needed more nonsense in her life, and Kit would be happy to provide it. If she let him.

  “Anyone who offers to feed me, clothe me, give me a clean bed and provide a bath deserves my devotion,” Kit said.

  “I don’t trust her,” Hero said, turning to face him. “And I’m certainly not giving her all of my male clothes.”

  Kit snorted, rolling his eyes heavenward at her suspicions. “Oh, yes, you are,” he said, stepping toward her purposefully. “Even if I have to remove them myself.”

  Fortunately—or unfortunately—it did not come to that. When the water arrived, carried by a troop of boys of varying sizes, Kit insisted that Hero take advantage of it, while he waited outside the narrow door. When she appeared, she was dressed in someone’s cast-offs, complete with a clean cap, and carried her own clothes in her arms.

  Ducking inside, Kit made sure that she had left nothing behind, then stripped down to his skin and poked one arm out the door to hand over his wet things, as well.

  Although the small tub provided the basic of necessities, Kit vowed then and there to install a bathing room at Oakfield, smaller and less grand than the one they had seen at Cheswick, but a room devoted to bathing nonetheless.

  Tossing the dirty water out the window, he could see little but blackness outside, where night had fallen and a steady rain continued. His garments were worn and ill fitting, but dry, and Kit heaved a sigh of relief at the turn in their fortunes.

  The neat farmhouse with its hospitable occupants loosed the tension that had gripped him for most of the day, and he was reminded of his childhood home. This place, with its tilted floors and narrow hallways, might not be as well-appointed, but it was comfortable and welcoming.

  As if in confirmation of his thoughts, Kit found a couple of boys waiting for him outside the room under the eaves, and they led him down the narrow stairs to the kitchen. When he did not immediately see Hero, Kit felt a momentary panic. Had she been right to suspect even these simple people lodged in the middle of nowhere? But before he could act, Min pushed him into a hard chair and nodded toward the line where Hero was helping Cassie hang up their wash.

  “Your brother is quite handy in the home, isn’t he?” Min asked.

  Kit could only nod. He might have given some explanation for Sid’s helpfulness, but then Min set a steaming plate in front of him, and all else left his head as he relished a hot meal that put any inn’s offerings to shame.

  “Your husband is a lucky man,” Kit said between mouthfuls.

  “Oh, go on with you,” said Min.

  Hero lay in bed, staring at the window where a subtle glow gave evidence to a new day, but the sound of raindrops continued. From the direction of the hearth, she could hear Kit’s soft breathing, as she had throughout the night, and she felt a sudden pressure behind her eyes.

  If she had not slept as well as the night before, Hero blamed her strange surroundings. Inns, with their impersonal accommodations, whether shabby or elegant, were a known commodity, while this place and the quiet farm life it represented was as foreign to her as an Indian dwelling.

  Even though the cozy space was warm and dry, the bed as clean as Hero was herself, she had tossed and turned all night. But she suspected it had more to do with what was missing than anything else. Lying there in the half-light, she had to admit that no number of blankets could produce the heat generated by Kit Marchant, who had chosen to bed down upon the floor.

  It was the only sensible decision, and yet Hero decried it. Even now she was tempted to join him on the floor, just to be beside him, a mad impulse that set Hero’s heart to pounding at the possibility that what she most feared was finally happening. Was she losing her heart or her mind?

  A knock on the door made her start, and she reached for the pistol tucked beneath her pillow, but no one tried to enter the room.

  “Breakfast is on,” the woman of the house called. “Come while it’s hot or go without.”

  Weapon at the ready, Hero watched the door for a long moment before her attention was drawn to the man in front of the hearth. The sound had woken him, and he rolled over, looking delightfully disheveled. His dark hair hung over his eyes, and Hero felt her throat thicken. The worn shirt he wore only made him look more appealing, more manly, more real. Or was it all part of her fantasy?

  “Ah, breakfast on the farm,” he said, his voice deep from sleep. “Who could want more than that?”

  Hero shook her head, though she had many more wants, all of them impossible and most of them generated by the man who rose to his feet with such casual grace. Wildly, she wondered whether he could hear her heart pounding at the sight of him, but he seemed oblivious.

  “Hurry, I don’t want to miss a bite,” he said, flicking a dark lock back from his face. “That tart last night was better than anything we’ve had on the road.”

  Food didn’t interest her at all, but Hero knew she could not remain in bed. Slipping out from the covers, she did the best she could with her hair, thankful for the cap that covered it. If questioned as to why she wore one in the house, she would claim that a scalp problem required constant covering and hope that fears of contracting it would silence
the family.

  Kit was out the door before she had her boots on, and Hero hurried to keep up with him, following as he veered toward the sound of voices. There, they found the whole family seated at a long table in a dining room, and Hero paused on the threshold to stare at the sight of children eating with adults. Min and Bert or one of the older boys were helping the little ones, but the six youngsters seemed to talk in unison and wiggle as though unable to keep still.

  Kit did not hesitate, but stepped forward, while Hero lingered, uncertain. In her dealings with Raven or his antiquarian acquaintances, she had never faced anything like this.

  “Here, come sit by me, sir!”

  “No, me!”

  It took Hero a moment to realize the boys were shouting at her. She looked around for Kit, but he was sandwiched between two of the older ones.

  “Settle down, now, lads,” Bert said. “Sid can find his seat without any help from you.”

  Sid? Again, it seemed like a good minute passed before Hero realized they were referring to her, and she hastened to the nearest spot, tucked between two of the smaller fellows.

  But her heart was hammering, for when was the last time she had forgotten her role? Although she had never masqueraded as a youth for long, she had always been able to keep her mind on her task. Always. Without such concentration, she was liable to make a mistake, a dangerous liability.

  Focusing her attention, Hero resolved to eat as quickly as possible in order to soon make her escape from the Smallpeace household and its sharp-eyed matriarch. But the boys kept trying to serve her helpings, and she had to stop them from slopping food all over the table. The one on her right, Max, even dropped a piece of toast in the milk she had been given.