by Lois Greiman
During all this, the lady remained absolutely silent. Her expression was one Gallagher couldn’t quite place, but her eyes were wide and seemed unusually bright above the smudged beauty of her face.
“Now where did you learn how to do that, lass?” he asked finally.
She all but jumped at the sound of his voice. As if she had completely forgotten his presence. But in a moment she found herself, lifting her chin and clearing her throat.
“Well…” Glancing about, she spotted the wending creek not far away and turned abruptly toward it. “It’s not very complicated, is it?”
He watched the little family. One tiny twin had already found its mother’s udder and was gleefully wiggling its curly tail as it nursed. “I would have thought so, aye,” he said, and seeing she had already left, strode off behind her.
“Well…” She raised her nose and descended the escarpment down to the water. “You would have been wrong again, then, wouldn’t you, Wickerhauser?”
Squatting beside the stream, she dipped her hands into the water and scrubbed vigorously. He did the same. In a minute or two she rose, shaking the wetness from her fingers before unbuttoning his shirt. Removing it, she handed it over with just a momentary glance at his bare chest.
“Shall we go?”
“Shall we…” He lifted a hand toward the sheep, then shifted it toward her. “Who the devil are you?” He tried to keep the frustration from his voice but there wasn’t much hope.
She raised a regal brow at him. “Have you suffered some memory loss, Wickster?”
He ignored her wit or lack thereof and waved rather erratically toward the sheep. “One minute you’re all starched and pointy, and the next you’re…you’re giving birth.”
“Let us not be overly dramatic, Wickerhound,” she said, and turned away. “It was not I, after all, who—”
But he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Who the fook are you?” he asked. There was more passion in his tone than he had ever planned to allow. Tension strummed between them, but in a second she pulled her arm from his grasp.
“I’m a married woman,” she said, smoothing the sleeve he had recently crushed. “And married women care for their husbands’ property, do they not?”
“Well, aye, I suppose…” he began, but she was already striding past him.
In a matter of moments she had buttoned on her jacket and mounted the mare. As for Sean, he was still wrestling with this new turn of events. Alastar had said nothing of her being skilled with livestock. Indeed, he said she was polished and elite and sophisticated. Which made him think perhaps she was not the woman he had been searching for at all. Perhaps…
“I assure you I can control myself,” she said.
He shook the thoughts from his head and glanced toward her. “Your pardon?”
She motioned dismissively toward his naked chest. “There’s little point in you standing about half dressed. I’ll not be bedding you.”
“Oh, aye,” he said, and distractedly pulled on his shirt. “So…” He was nodding foolishly as he fastened the wooden buttons. “Born to humble crofters who kept their sheep like children, were you?”
She stared down at him. “Tell me, Wickerly, might you have been dropped on your head as a youngster?”
He scowled at her for a second, noticing that despite the proceeding ordeal, not a single strand of her hair had dared stray out of place. Her bonnet was perfectly placed atop it, her frilly cuffs still crisp and white. And though it seemed entirely unlikely, her fingernails appeared to be absolutely spotless.
“All right. Very well.” He tucked his shirt rapidly into his trousers, caught his gelding’s reins, and ventured a wild guess. “You have an inexplicable connection with sheep and—”
“Sheep stink,” she said, and didn’t deign to glance at the wee lambkins she had just delivered.
“Well, aye, they do that.” He scowled. “So perhaps you were a midwife before your marriage and—”
“Please!” She was scoffing.
“Your first husband was extremely involved in animal husbandry.”
“This is my first marriage.”
“You were once a poor milk maid.”
“I’ve never been a poor anything.”
He felt frustration build in him like a burbling fountain. “You’re a doctor. A farmer. A wolf in lamb’s clothing.”
She frowned down at him. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.
He stared up at her. She couldn’t be the woman who had scorned Alastar. She couldn’t. Yet, a good deal of evidence suggested the opposite. “I’m not entirely sure,” he said.
“Well, mount up,” she suggested. “Perhaps you shall figure it out on the way home.”
He nodded and did as suggested, but for just a moment she sat in silence, watching the lambs’ tails quiver with excitement as they nursed. Her chin was raised, her mouth slightly pursed, but in her eyes there was something that looked remarkably like unfettered joy. Like hope and pride, with just the tiniest hint of longing. Until she realized he was watching her, then she turned without a word, tapped her quirt against the chestnut’s right haunch, and cantered toward Knollcrest.
There was little he could do but follow.
“Gallagher.” The sun was just setting over the lacy leaves of the western woods when she finally spoke. Sean turned toward her, mind spinning. “Perhaps it would be best if we did not speak of this business of the sheep to the staff,” she said.
Who the bloody hell was she? he wondered, but carefully kept the fascination out of his tone. “And why is that, me lady? I think you were quite heroic.”
She breathed her disdain. “I helped birth a pair of lambs. Nothing more.”
She’d birthed lambs! He couldn’t even place that fact with the remainder of what he knew of her. “Then why not speak of it?”
“It’s my place to direct the servants. If they think me no different than they…” She lifted an elegant hand. “They will not respect me. Surely you see that.”
“No, lass, I don’t.”
Her scowl was firmly back in place when she turned toward him.
He smiled. “Indeed,” he added. “I believe they would think the more of you for your efforts.”
She raised both brows in unison. “And you believe I care what they think of me?”
He studied her in silence for a moment. It was no difficult task. “Aye, I do at that.”
For a moment he almost thought her expression softened, but then she pursed her lips and scowled. “If that’s the case you are even more ignorant than I believed!” she snapped. “Nevertheless, you will keep this news to yourself.” They were just entering the farmyard. “Do you understand?”
Somehow it was almost as much fun seeing her angry as it was seeing her enthralled. He shook his head as if bemused. “I cannot say that I do, me lady,” he said.
“Well, it would be in your best interest if you did,” she said, and pulling the mare to a halt, dismounted unaided. “Or you will find yourself on the road without a farthing to your name.” Leaving the reins dangling, she lifted her skirts in one hand and pivoted sharply toward the house.
Sean watched her go.
“And what was all that about?”
He turned quickly, only to find Emily just stepping out from behind a stack of loose fodder. He examined her. She was bonny and harmless, and he could think of no reason to keep the truth from her…except that Clarette had asked him to. Which was a damn good reason to do the opposite. After all, wasn’t that why he was here? To ruin her life just as she had ruined his brother’s? But perhaps the timing wasn’t right.
“What are you doing out and about?” he asked, and made sure he said the words sound like oot and aboot. Catching up the chestnut’s reins, he led the horses toward the stable.
“Me?” The comely maid gave him a sidelong glance as she fell in beside him. “Ain’t that a question better put to your own self?”
“I was riding horse with the lady
,” he said. “As you very well know.”
“You sure that’s all you were a’ridin’?” she asked, and grinned lasciviously.
He turned to watch her. “Whatever do you mean by that?”
She snorted a laugh. “A bloke like you don’t know?” she asked, and something inside him balked.
“I fear I don’t.”
She scowled, looking surprised and a little miffed. “You come back with your shirt soiled and Lady High and Mighty looking like she got her tail caught in a wine press. Don’t think I don’t know what’s happened.”
“Nothing happened,” he said.
“Very well,” she agreed, trailing one finger along the top of the nearest stall. “And you ain’t hopin’ to change that?”
He considered lying again, but it seemed like a stretch. “Even if I were, Miss Emily, the lady is married, and not the sort to break those holy vows.”
She stopped abruptly, staring at him. Anger and disappointment were stamped on her pretty face. “And here I thought you wasn’t the sort to be made a fool by a trim figure and an uppity title,” she said, and turning abruptly away, stomped off toward the house.
Sean stared after her, stunned. Truth was, he had rather thought the same thing.
What the devil was happening to him? Tugging the mare into her stall, he removed her bridle before doing the same with the gelding. Could it be that the lady was actually getting under his skin? Could she be duping him just as she had his brother?
To hell with that. He had loved and lost prettier women than…Well, maybe not prettier, he thought, remembering the light in her heaven-blue eyes as she’d watched the lambkins rise on shaky legs, her smile as she’d gazed after the fleeing gelding. And certainly no woman had been more intriguing. But he’d slept with ladies with fancier titles. That was for damn sure. And he’d bloody well sleep with her.
Chapter 10
It was as dark as sin beneath the towering walnut trees. No moon yet brightened the blue velvet sky, but Sean remained staring at Clarette’s window nevertheless. He planned to breach her chambers. But not in the hopes of finding her there. In fact, it was quite the opposite, for he’d had some time to consider the situation, to calm down after speaking with Emily.
Indeed, he’d found himself sleepless and restive, with too little to do and too much time to dwell on his peculiar circumstances. Just past full dark he had fired up the old forge that stood in a three-sided shed just east of the byre. Midnight found him pouring the boiling liquid into a cast he’d carved out on another restless night. ’Twas what he had long done when sleep eluded him. But that hallowed time did little to clear his thoughts, for the situation was too muddled. Too uncertain.
On the one hand, the lady in yonder, thatched manse looked all but identical to the portrait of one Milicent Hennessey, the woman who had broken his brother’s heart, broken her word, broken their father’s will to live. Likewise, all evidence he’d garnered from the man sent to investigate the woman suggested that she and Clarette were one and the same.
When Sean had met Lord Tilmont some weeks earlier, all the pieces of the devious puzzle seemed to have fallen neatly into place. Careful inquiry had led him to one of London’s infamous gambling hells. He’d intentionally taken a seat next to the table where Tilmont was playing a hand of piquet. After buying the baron a drink, he’d taken his departed opponent’s seat and proceeded to lose money with conscientious regularity. By the time the second bottle of gin had arrived, the baron had divulged a dozen little details that matched the description of Alastar’s supposed wife-to-be.
But on the other hand…
Memories of his time with Clarette crept in on Sean with quiet feet, softening his thoughts, hardening his body. It wasn’t her beauty that called to him. Well, perhaps that had a wee bit to do with the situation. But there was more. Her wit. Her boldness. Her softness. Her…
He drew a slow breath. In truth, he was no longer certain she was the woman for whom he searched, for whom he planned revenge. But there was one way to be sure. Alastar had given Milicent their mother’s ruby, the ring their grandfather crafted in his ancient forge near a hundred years before. Even without the sentimental value, it was a precious jewel and not something a woman with Milicent’s grasping ways would easily be rid of.
No, if Clarette and Milicent were one and the same, the ring would be in her bedchamber even now.
But he could hardly search her rooms with her watching from the settee. Could not rifle through her jewelry case while she lounged on her divan. He had come here every night since his arrival to watch her window and debate the best time to ransack her property. To attempt to—
His roiling thoughts stopped abruptly. What was that? He leaned forward, peering into the darkness. Had something moved on the tree outside her balcony? He stood, keeping to the shadows of the ancient walnut. Was someone trying to reach her chambers? he wondered. Perhaps she had a lover. The thought pierced him like an arrow to the heart, but then he caught himself. What would it matter to him? It would only confirm what he had come here to prove: that she was poison.
Nevertheless, his fists clenched at the images that raged through his mind.
If she wished for a lover, why not him? He had employed all his best banter, his most winsome smiles, his most charming—
But his thoughts stopped again, for suddenly he realized that the shadow was not ascending the tree. It was descending. Whoever was there was already leaving the house.
Merciful saints, it was barely past midnight. Whoever was there couldn’t have spent much time. If it were himself—
But now he stopped the thought intentionally. What the devil was he thinking? This was his chance to prove what a conniving vixen she was. All he had to do was inform Gregors about her philandering and he could leave this place.
He was moving in a moment, edging through the deepest shadows, hurrying toward the house. But by the time he reached the horse chestnuts that skirted the yard, the dark figure was already gone. He remained as he was, frozen, thinking. Had he imagined it? Or—
But no. There! A movement on the ground. He peered into the blackness, watched the figure rise to his full height. Bloody hell! The bastard wasn’t even tall. At least she could have chosen a manly lover. Someone with dark Celtic looks and—He gritted his teeth, driving the idiotic thoughts from his head as he stepped forward, but in that second the other disappeared. Like a wraith, like a dream. He was there, and then he was gone.
Sean hurried across the yard as silently as he could, searching the shadows that surrounded the house but finding nothing out of the ordinary. Thus he backtracked and tried another direction. But there was no one.
He stood in the exact spot where her lover had, trying to divine how he had disappeared. Then a new thought struck him. Maybe the silent wraith wasn’t a lover at all. Maybe he was a miscreant of some sort. If Lord Tilmont was coldhearted enough to hire someone to seduce her, what was to say he wouldn’t hire someone else to do her harm? Perhaps he hoped to be rid of her by even more nefarious means in case the seduction plan failed.
Sean was already heading toward the tree that towered over the balcony. He had no great affinity for heights and was no master at climbing, but he could hardly go through the front door to inquire about her health at this hour of the night. All kinds of ridiculous questions were apt to follow.
Thus he pried off his boots, set his bare feet against the rough bark, and ascended with painful slowness. By the time he reached the bough that grew parallel to the balcony, his arms ached and his lungs felt scoured. Glancing down, the earth seemed a lifetime below. Strengthening his flagging resolve, he inched onto the branch. No noise came from the darkened bedchamber before him, but he would have answers.
It was a leap of six feet to the balcony. He made it without an inch to spare, clung to the stone railing like a discombobulated spider monkey, and finally wrestled himself over.
By the time he reached her door, he was certain he must have a
wakened the dead. But not a sound was heard from inside the manse. That realization brought relief and trepidation all in one hard rush. What if she was inside? What if she was injured…or worse?
Able to wait no longer, he opened the door as quietly as humanly possible.
“My lady,” he whispered. No one answered. He stepped forward, impressed by his own silence. “Clarette, are you well?”
There was a lump under the covers but it remained absolutely still.
“Clarette!” Panic was rising. He reached out, touching the coverlet, and in that movement realized, even in the darkness, that there was no head on the pillow. He scowled and tugged the blankets aside. The bed was empty.
What the hell was going on? Straightening, he glanced toward the door as a dozen unlikely thoughts screamed through his buzzing brain. She’d been abducted. She was hiding in her wardrobe. She—
Bloody hell! The truth came suddenly: it had been Clarette herself whom he’d seen climbing down. It must have been.
But that was ridiculous. It had taken all his skill and strength to breach her chambers. Surely she could never have managed such a feat. But then, where was she? Certainly not in this room. He glanced about again, as if she might magically appear in a puff of smoke. But she was gone. Absolutely absent. If she was wandering through the house, she would have had no reason to close her door. And she would have taken a light. There had been no light in any of the windows. The entire house was as black as pitch.
What did it all mean?
The truth dawned on him with harsh certainty: Her lover hadn’t come to her. She had gone to meet him!
Anger squeezed through him, followed by frustration and foolish righteous ness and a few other emotions he refused to admit, but he pushed them all aside, for obviously he had been afforded a great opportunity. Her rooms were empty. No one knew he was there. ’Twas the perfect time to search for his mother’s ring. To prove for once and for all that she was the woman who had ruined his brother’s life.
Feeling his way silently along a wall, he found a lamp on the bedstead and carried it to the window. Once there, he pulled the heavy drapes across the thick panes. It was darker still now, but in a moment he had a tiny flame burning beneath the curved globe. And by that flame he saw the jewelry box atop her bedstead.