"But my horse needs attending."
"So he does, by why must it be my underthings that attend him? What about yours?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I don't wear a petticoat."
"No, but you have a shirt on. Isn't it dry and protected under layers of waistcoat and cloaks?"
"I'd have to remove nearly everything I'm wearing to get to it," he said with some measure of astonishment that she would even suggest such a thing.
She was rather shocked to hear herself discussing such matters with a stranger, but he had already set the tone for absurdity, so she continued. "You think removing my petticoat would be any less difficult? Clearly you've not undressed enough women, sir."
That left him at an obvious loss for words. She enjoyed his discomfort, watching him struggle to decide whether to accept her accusation and admit a sad lack of experience, or deny it and admit a troubling lack of moral character.
In the end, practicality won out. He fumed silently, but began undoing the clasp of his great coat with its several capes.
"Very well. I acquiesce to your wishes, miss. I only hope gentle sensibilities will not be damaged by this necessary lapse in propriety."
"Would it be easier for you if I looked away?"
His eyes met hers and they burned with new heat. She forced herself not to give him the satisfaction of breaking the gaze, but as he took a step forward she wondered if she'd gone too far in challenging him this way. A smug smile caught the corner of his lips and he paused beside the unused stall to drape his wet coat over the wooden rail. His deft fingers worked the buttons on his jacket.
Seraphina was still in the doorway. She would have taken another step away from him if she could, but the wind and the rain already beat against her back and the loud rolls of thunder continued outside. Lightning cracked through the sky, brightening their shelter in brilliant bursts. The white of the man's shirtsleeves seemed to glow as he removed his riding coat and hung it with the other.
He took another deliberate step closer as he went to work on his very well tailored waist coat. The form of his torso was clearly visible now, the breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his hips. The polished top boots he wore sounded on the packed floor as he took yet another step nearer.
Seraphina couldn't move. Her heartbeat thudded in her chest and her eyes shifted from the man's forceful stare to the way his shirt clung to his body. He shrugged and the striped waist coat slid over his shoulders. She realized he was no longer near the stall with his horse or the spare stall next to it. He haphazardly hung his apparel on a peg jutting from the nearby support beam. Two more bootsteps and he stood before her, dashing and dangerous with nothing more than the thin linen of his fine shirt preventing her eyes from viewing every inch of his top half.
Indeed, this had been a horrible miscalculation on her part. She should have just given over her petticoat and been done with it. It tied about her waist; she could have discreetly lifted her skirts and removed it with ease. How could that have been worse than this? Somehow the man's calculated movements, his leering grin, his lack of wool overcoat left her feeling far too vulnerable in this scenario. He smiled down at her and for the life of her she could not look away. With wide open pasture behind her, she was completely held fast where she was.
"Perhaps you might help with the cravat?" he asked, his voice deeper and more deadly than the thunder outside.
If only she could run away, get as far from this man as possible! She couldn't, though. Lord save her, but more than anything in the world she wanted to help with the cravat.
He watched her watching him. Those green eyes darkened with a mixture of curiosity and terror that obviously warred within her. Thorston flattered himself that perhaps there was something more, something just a little bit carnal in the depths of those eyes as they gazed over his form. True, his reasons for today's journey left him no time for dalliance, but it was nice to know this worthy young woman was not completely immune to his charm. He'd been so busy of late that he'd begun to wonder if he'd ever find time for such pursuits again.
Unfortunately he did not have time now, but as the storm outside seemed to have temporarily delayed his plans, he might as well make the best of things. He intentionally fumbled at the damp knot of his cravat. One more step closer to the woman and he was practically breathing on her. She stood where she was, transfixed.
"I seem to be having trouble coming undone," he said after a meaningful pause.
She stammered a bit. "Maybe... maybe the storm will clear soon. The sun could come out and dry your horse for you."
Another prolific roll of thunder drowned out her optimism. A wild gust blew cold spray through the doorway and even Thorston shuddered from chill. The dog whined nervously and leaned into its mistress's legs. It was obvious none of them would be seeing sunshine anytime soon.
"If you could just help me with this knot..."
He let the request hang in the air between them. Her discomfort was obvious, but so was her determination not to let him win this odd competition. She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to boldly meet his.
"Of course, sir. For your horse. I have a soft heart for animals."
Without further pause, she stood straight and tall to reach for his neck. The cold fury in her eyes nearly made him worry for his safety, but her fingers merely went to work at the knot. If she had any inclination to choke him, she did not give in to it. At least not yet.
The knot was not complicated. Thorston had never been one to waste needless time with his appearance. This simple knot had been adequate, but not elaborate. The competent young woman had it untied in a quick moment.
"There," she said, her hands dropping away from him. "You are loose."
"So I am," he said, taking the cravat by one end and sliding it slowly from his neck. "Perhaps you might help pull my shirt over my head?"
She answered quickly. "No!"
He truly hadn't expected a positive response, but it had been a nice thought, no matter how fleeting.
"Very well." He gave her a disappointed sigh just before whisking his shirt off with an unnecessarily dramatic flourish.
Her gawking expression was priceless.
"I'm happy to see you're not overcome by maidenly virtue," he said.
"And I see you're determined to flatter yourself. Go tend to your horse, sir."
"Are you certain you wouldn't rather have me attend to you first?"
Her hateful glare was more than enough reply. Apparently this woman―no matter what Thorston had seen in her eyes moments ago―was done with him.
"A pity," he said, draping the shirt and cravat over his arm and turning his back on her. "I should think you might want someone to warm you up after taking such a chill."
"I'm quite warm enough," she assured him.
He turned to look over his shoulder and was pleased to find her eyes had been fully glued to his back. When he smiled a knowing grin, her cheeks flamed with color.
By God, he had no doubt she was quite warm, indeed. He would have loved to borrow some of that heat, as a matter of fact. Nothing would feel better right now than pulling a hot, blushing bundle into his arms. He wouldn't, of course. Despite the things he had been forced to do in the course of his service to the crown, he never misused a woman.
He would keep his eye on this one, though. Once they were out of this storm and he was on to his destination, there was a possibility their paths might cross again. After all, Lesser Crossing was a small village. His business at Northgate Hall was sure to keep him in the area for some time, and surely he might find reason to leave the estate and go into the village and surrounding areas. It was altogether likely that he might see her.
Especially if he managed to get her name. The obvious thing would be to ask her. The fact that her eyes flashed at him with more fury than the lightning outside seemed to hint that his questions would be futile. If he intended to learn more about her, he'd have to do so through less straightforward means.
To start with, he'd have to give her reason to trust him. It was always a good idea to make friends when he was on a mission, and she seemed just the right sort of friend. Clearly she was too prim to enjoy his suggestive teasing, so he'd have to find what would secure her regard.
So far, she had responded to his concern for Thunder's well-being. Given her efforts to preserve the sheep, and her obvious rapport with her dog, it was a certainty that she really did have a soft heart for animals. Fortunately, Thorston could honestly say that they had this in common.
Still feeling the woman's eyes on him, he made the effort to ignore her. Thunder stamped nervously as Thorston let himself into the stall. He stroked the animal's strong neck and spoke soothingly until he could sense those muscles calming, loosening, warming. Slowly, quietly, Thorston stooped and began rubbing his fine shirt over the beast's long, muscular legs.
The wind outside lashed at the exposed facade of their little shelter. Now that Thorston was occupied with his horse, the woman seemed to feel comfortable enough to inch away from the door. The sheep were restless so she sent her dog back to their corner to contain them. Thorston continued tending to Thunder. From the corner of his eye he noticed the young woman gingerly test out a wobbly stool she found in the shadows. She seemed to be poking through some of the debris she found there, a few empty bottles likely left behind by whatever farm worker usually used this place.
He was glad to see her distraction, though. It meant she was feeling more comfortable with him. Perhaps he could take advantage of that.
"The thunder seems to be moving farther away," he noted after quite a lengthy time of silence between them.
"Good. It will be safe to go out again soon."
"I'm sure you'll be eager to get home," he said, sensing an opportunity. "You must have someone who is worried for you after all this time."
"I do."
Dash it all, but he should have phrased his statement more carefully. He had wanted to lure her into conversation, into giving up information about herself and her identity. Obviously the simple answer she had given him accomplished neither of those goals. He would simply have to try again.
"You have family?"
"Of course. Everyone has family."
"But do you have family nearby, on a farm or in the village? Is there someone at home waiting for you?"
"I'm not alone in the world, if that is what you're asking," she replied. "Yes, someone is waiting for me, so you can discard any roguish ideas you may have had. No doubt my father has someone looking for me already."
"So you live with your father?"
"I do."
He was finished with Thunder's rub down, so he moved to stand just outside of the stall. By the sound of it, the storm had indeed begun to move off, although Thorston was in no hurry to rush back out into what remained of it. The wind and lightning may have eased a bit, but the rain continued unabated. Like it or not, this woman would be trapped here with him for some time yet.
"Your father must be worried by now," he said. "Since I found you playing with sheep, I am going to suppose that your father is a farmer."
"You may suppose whatever you like," she said.
The tone of disapproval and the careful way she pronounced every syllable convinced Thorston that her father was, in fact, not a farmer. This woman may have been herding sheep in the rain, but she displayed education and breeding. He could not yet work out her situation, but he had no doubt that she was gently born.
Why the devil, then, was she out here with these sheep?
"I thought you might prefer that I didn't suppose," he said, dropping his ruined shirt over the railing and leaning against a post. "Perhaps you ought to tell me about yourself."
"Why on earth should I do that? We will both of us be leaving here soon. I will go to my home, and you will continue on your way."
"What makes you so certain I will continue? Perhaps I've come to stay in your peaceful little village."
She actually laughed at that statement. "Don't be silly, sir. No one comes to stay in Lesser Crossing. There is nothing here of interest to anyone except those of us who live here, and there are fewer and fewer of us each day. No, the way things are right now, no one comes here to stay. They only come here to leave."
"And you are sure that is what I am doing?"
"With your fine horse and your fine clothes and your... your polished boots, sir, it is obvious you are bound for other places."
She almost sounded jealous of him. Did she long to be bound for other places herself? Perhaps she had been brought up in privilege, but her family's fortune had changed. How might this have affected her? What might she or her father have become involved with in the face of such hardship?
Years of experience had taught Thorston that no one was above suspicion. Good, decent men could be persuaded to do deplorable things when they became desperate. Honorable women, too. Her words clearly indicated that what he'd heard about Lesser Crossing was at least partially true. Things were tough here. Those who could leave, did. Those who could not were left to be easy prey for the foe he was after.
Indeed, Thorston was not merely passing through. Despite what this young woman assumed, he had plenty of interest in Lesser Crossing and he did intend to stay. At least until he completed his mission. His duty to the crown had brought him here―his duty to ferret out a web of traitors, pirates, and spies.
At first glance, this little village in Nottinhamshire would appear an unlikely place for such activity. In truth, though, it made perfect sense. The people were desperate, hungry. Many of their young men had gone off to fight on the Continent; those who remained were struggling to put food on the table as Napoleon's war drained every resource. For those with nefarious plans, a need for fresh recruits, and a pocket of ready blunt, a village like this one was ripe unto harvest.
Was she aware of this? He didn't see how she could not be, not in a close-knit community. She was bright, possessed a clever mind. Yes, she would know what was happening around her. Even now, in the gray light of their shelter, he could see uncountable secrets hidden behind her eyes.
"Perhaps I have found something in Lesser Crossing to pique my interest," he said, leaving his post and stalking toward her. "Perhaps I will choose to stay here a while, after all."
She was trapped, seated on a rickety stool, her back against the wall and her dog across the length of the shelter. Her eyes flashed warning, but he recognized worry in them, too. He had no wish to terrify her, but keeping her just a little off balance would be good. She might forget to govern her tongue and he could gather the answers he needed.
"What does your father do here?" he asked. "If he is not a farmer, why does he send you out with the sheep?"
"I thought you supposed that my father was a farmer?"
"Is he?"
"It's none of your business what my father is, sir. Please return to your horse. And put your clothes back on, if you please."
"But I don't please. That shirt is ruined, and my coats are quite damp. I prefer to remain as I am. Do you not like it?"
He intentionally stood broadly before her. She looked everywhere but at him, except that in her efforts her eyes seemed to keep trailing back to land squarely on him. Her blushes were bright enough to heat up the room.
"No. I do not like it."
"The rosy bloom in your cheeks seems to contradict that, my dear."
"I am not your dear! I am not anything to you, sir, and unless you'd like me to sic my dog on you them perhaps you should―"
Her words broke off as the distant rattle of a carriage caught their attention. A voice called out from the roadway down below. The dog left the sheep to stand at the door and issue a sharp bark in reply.
The woman leapt to her feet.
"It's my father! Oh, but no one can find you with me. Please sir, remain here, out of sight. And tell no one that you met me."
"What could I tell? I don't even know who you are."
That seemed to
sit well with her. "Indeed you do not."
"So you are not going to tell me? Not even a hint as to your name?"
"Of course not. Good day to you, sir. I am glad your horse is well and I am sorry about your shirt, but I must go. I trust the sheep will not be too much of a bother before you are off and on your way again."
"But how will I ever find you?"
She had started out the door but his words stopped her and she turned, her expression ripe with very real confusion . "Find me? Why on earth would you want to do that?"
Unfortunately, he couldn't very well tell her why. The less she knew about any of his plans or his motives, the better. Perhaps he'd been too slow in winning her trust. Now she would be gone and he'd have to rely on fate to put her in his path once more.
Or perhaps not. Whoever she was rushing out to meet was calling her name, a bit louder and nearer than at first.
"Miss Janesley!"
She gave up questioning Thorston and went back to glaring. "You did not hear that."
He grinned. "No. I'm suddenly deaf as a post."
She rolled her eyes in mild agitation. "I'm leaving now. You will stay here until you are certain no one might see you."
"Very well, Miss Janesley."
She clenched her fists and shuddered visibly at the sound of her name on his lips. The angry scowl she gave him spoke eloquently. Its effect was tempered, however, by the fact that her eyes only met his for a moment. Apparently an involuntary motion, her gaze roved over his torso one last time before she turned into the remnants of the storm outside.
Thorston smiled. Indeed, he and Miss Janesley most definitely would meet again. The moment he heard her called by name, he knew exactly where to find her. She had no idea of it now, of course, but Miss Janesley was about to become quite useful to him. After all, a certain Mr. Janesly―likely her father―was at the very heart of Thorston's current investigation.
Chapter 4
Breakfast the following morning was a quiet affair. Papa always enjoyed solitude with his toast, and the most recently delivered newspaper was pressed and laid out before him. Seraphina equally enjoyed the quiet, happy to enter the dining room to collect bits from the scant spread of eggs, breads and the occasional cheese that their cook had laid out for them. Food was not always in plenteous supply these days, but there was enough. Seraphina made it a habit of taking a plate and dining out of doors on warm sunny days.
The Marquis of Thunder (Heart of a Hero) Page 3