She remembered that he’d told her that first night that he had often slept in the stables. “And you slept with it there.”
He nodded. “Whenever I could. As unflattering as it is, watching Micah simply reminded me of the cat.”
“Did you have to leave the cat there when you came here?”
“No, he died some years back.”
His voice was flat, and yet it contained underlying currents of pain.
“How did he die?”
He shook his head and glanced at her. She saw the sorrow reflected in his gaze. “You don’t want to know.”
But she did. Suddenly she wanted to know this man, to understand what had shaped him into the kind of man who would notice more about her children than she did, who would give them more attention than their own father ever had. “Tell me.”
In the moonlight, she saw his jaw clench and his gaze harden. “The duke’s son was intrigued with the practice of drawing and quartering. He needed a victim.” He leaned toward her slightly. “If you don’t know what drawing and quartering is—I’m not going to enlighten you.”
Dear God, but she did know. She felt her stomach lurch and pressed a hand to her mouth, swallowing the bile that had risen in her throat. “Your brother sounds horrid.”
“He is not my brother. Being born under my unfortunate circumstance, I was not considered a relation—simply a reminder of the duke’s folly.”
“But you lived with them.”
“Yes, my father was adamant about that. Since he was a man of power, wealth, and influence, his generous treatment of me was tolerated.”
“And this cruel son will inherit.”
He gave her a mocking smile. “Everything.”
Shuddering, she shook her head vigorously. “That makes no sense to me. To give everything to someone simply because of his birth.”
“Yes, I fear the duke’s holdings will go to ruin once his son inherits.”
His son. Abbie realized that although he referred to the duke as his father, he did not truly consider himself the man’s son. He was the man’s bastard—a horrible label to inflict upon a child. How would it feel to grow up always balancing on the fringes of acceptance and love?
“I can’t believe the English hand everything over to someone just because of his birth. I think it’s stupid,” she said, feeling an irrational anger at the circumstances that had brought this man to Texas.
“I find it difficult to fathom myself. Take Kit for example. His brother emerged from the womb two minutes ahead of him so Christopher will inherit. Knowing Kit, he was probably first in line but stepped aside to let his brother pass.”
“Is his brother horrid?”
He smiled warmly. “No, but neither is he wise. Unknown to the Earl of Ravenleigh, Kit was forever advising his brother on the best manner in which to handle his affairs. Kit is as levelheaded as they come and his brother’s thoughts are constantly scattered upon the wind. Kit is a tad worried now that he’s not there to watch over him.”
“Surely he didn’t have to come—”
“You have to understand the world in which we were brought up. We are governed by obligation. When our fathers told us that they had made arrangements for us to come here, we came because it was expected that we would bow to their wishes.”
“You’re better off here,” she said indignantly.
His smile grew, his eyes warmed until Abbie almost felt them as a caress.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I am beginning to believe that we are.”
5
“Gray! Gray! You gotta get up. Hurry!”
Groggily Grayson awoke from a deep sleep, vaguely aware of the jerking on his shoulder and the frantic voice. He squinted against the yellow glow of the lantern until Johnny’s worried gaze came into focus. He bolted upright. “What is it, lad? What’s wrong?”
“We gotta go fishin’.”
Grayson’s heart slowed to a normal pace as he glanced toward the opening in the loft where stars sparkled against the blackened sky. “Good God, boy, it’s the middle of the night.”
“No, it ain’t. It’s four in the morning.”
He cringed at Johnny’s enthusiasm. “I thought today was supposed to be a day of rest.”
Smiling brightly, the boy bobbed his head like an apple in a bucket of water. “It is. That’s why we can go fishin’. Ma’s gonna milk the cow for me.”
Grayson buried his face in his hands and sighed heavily. “No respectable fish would be awake at this hour.”
The lad’s laughter echoed across the loft. “Come on. You’re burning daylight.”
Grayson lifted his head. It looked to him as though daylight had already burned to a cinder. Johnny hurried to the ladder and scrambled over the edge, calling, “Come on!”
With a groan, Grayson reached for his boots. Whatever had he been thinking when he agreed to go fishing?
Without bothering to straighten his clothes, he climbed out of the loft and stumbled from the barn. The only advantage to getting up at this ungodly hour was that it afforded him the opportunity to see Abbie a little sooner in the day.
Smiling warmly as he approached, she extended a cup. “Thought you might need a little something to get the blood moving.”
“The blood’s moving. It’s the rest of me that would rather still be abed.”
She laughed softly, and he thought the sound rivaled the beauty of a nightingale’s song. He took the cup from her and drank deeply of the black coffee, grimacing as he did so.
“Is it too strong?” she asked.
“Yes, but it seems to have worked.”
“Come on, Gray!” Johnny yelled as he bounded out of the house, Micah following closely on his heels.
“Johnny, call him Mr. Rhodes,” Abbie admonished.
“I’ve given the children permission to call me Gray,” he said.
“It shows a lack of respect on their part if they use your first name.”
“Or a depth of caring, a bond of friendship. Besides, I’m certain some rule exists that says you can only go fishing with someone if you call him by his first name.”
Within the pale light of the lantern hanging from the porch, he saw her blush and reveal the tiniest of smiles as she lowered her gaze to the porch. “It’s not proper.”
“It would please me greatly if you’d call me Gray as well,” he said quietly, ignoring her flimsy argument.
Her blush deepened. “I prefer Grayson.”
The shaft of pleasure that pierced him took him by surprise. “To whom do you prefer me?”
Horror swept over her face as she backed up a step. “No, I meant I prefer the name Grayson over Gray. I don’t prefer you over anyone.”
Studying Abbie’s flustered state, he was hit with the sudden realization that the woman knew nothing of flirtation. She took everything at face value. It was a wholesome yet disconcerting discovery. She wasn’t like the bold women he’d known in England who understood the risks and gambled with wit and flirtation to gain a moment’s pleasure. A careless word or gesture could hurt Abbie more readily than a sharpened rapier.
He extended the cup toward her. “I was only teasing, Abbie. I meant no harm.”
He was astonished to feel a slight trembling in her fingers as she took the cup from him.
“I never know what to make out of half the things you say.”
“I assure you that they’re all innocent. When they aren’t, you will have no doubts whatsoever.” He could almost see the thoughts spinning through her mind as she tried to decipher his words. She truly was a delight and if she didn’t have three children hanging onto her skirts, he would have thought she was as innocent as a newborn babe.
“Come on, Gray!” Johnny yelled.
“You’d best go,” Abbie suggested.
Unexpectedly, he loathed leaving her. “You’re not coming?”
She shook her head. “Lydia and I will join you later.”
“I’ll look forward to your arrival.”
He caught a glimpse of the red creeping beneath her collar before he began strolling toward the woods. The odd thing was—he was telling her the truth.
Abbie whipped the needle and thread through the material, effectively closing off the opening through which she had only moments before stuffed goose down and feathers. She tied a knot and bit off the thread. Then she stroked the pallet. It would provide some padding between Grayson’s body and the straw. She felt the heat scald her cheeks as she thought of him sleeping where her hand now rested.
She clenched her fists to stop them from trembling. She’d never in her life thought about a man as much as she found herself thinking of Grayson. Her heart had sped up at the sight of him rumpled from sleep this morning, and she had fought an incredible urge to comb his golden hair off his brow.
She had never felt these things around John—had never anticipated greeting the day with the sight of him, had never felt a sorrow when night took him beyond her vision. Her life with John had been practical, routine. She doubted that Grayson Rhodes had ever had a practical thought or a routine day. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to bring forth an image of John smiling. With a sadness, she realized she’d never seen her husband smile.
“Mama, I think the biscuits are burning,” Lydia said.
“Oh!” Abbie cast the pallet aside and bolted out of the rocker. Kneeling before the hearth, she wrapped a towel around the pan and brought the biscuits off the shelf. She tapped the dark brown bread. “I think they’re fine.”
“Were you sleeping?” Lydia asked, as though the very notion was unbelievable.
“No, I was thinking about your father,” she said quietly.
Lydia wrinkled her nose. “I don’t remember him much. Was he like Gray?”
“No!” Abbie said much too quickly, with too much force.
Lydia’s eyes widened as though surprised by her mother’s outburst. Abbie took a deep breath. “Your father…your father was a very serious man. Most of the men around here are. The Englishmen have never faced the possibility of starvation or crops not coming in if the weather doesn’t cooperate. Life shapes men differently.”
“Do you miss him?” Lydia asked.
Abbie felt her heart tighten. She didn’t want to deceive her daughter, and she didn’t want her to misinterpret the truth. She set the biscuits aside, stood, and tugged one of Lydia’s blonde braids. “Your father has been gone a long time. I missed his presence at first, but I began to accept his absence as part of my life. It’s best not to hanker for what we can’t change.”
Lydia nodded with a child’s understanding. “It won’t change anything if you miss him. It’ll just hurt.”
“That’s right. Now we’d best pack up the breakfast before your brothers get hungry and start eating their bait.”
“Oh, Ma!” Lydia screeched, sticking out her tongue. “Worms!”
Smiling, Abbie reached for the biscuits, wishing she wasn’t anticipating seeing Grayson quite as much as she was.
Abbie’s chest tightened, her heart pounded, her palms grew damp, and her step faltered as she neared the area where she knew her boys liked to fish. She wondered briefly if perhaps she were ill. She gripped the handle on the wicker basket more securely and pressed the quilt hanging over her arm against her side. She heard the rushing water of the river and her boys’ harsh whispers.
“Remember to be quiet,” she said to her daughter trudging along beside her. “We don’t want to frighten the fish away.”
“If there’s any fish to scare. Johnny and Micah make enough noise to keep them away.”
Abbie peered through the foliage. She saw her sons sitting at the edge of the bank, their poles dangling over the river. Nearby, Grayson was stretched out on the green clover, his hands folded beneath his head. Her mouth suddenly went dry.
She’d never been completely comfortable around John once she realized what passed between a man and a woman during the darkness of the night. Her reaction to the sight of Grayson was stranger than anything she’d ever experienced around John. It was downright ridiculous. She wasn’t married to Grayson—had plans to never again marry. Nothing would ever pass between them during the night.
She stepped into the clearing. Johnny jerked his head around, and she pressed a finger to her lips. He glanced at Grayson, and she saw his shoulders roll forward as he fought back his laughter. She crept toward the Englishman. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed. With his blond curls serving as a halo, he almost reminded her of an angel—a wicked angel who teased with a gleam in his eye and a smile that made her forget her name. She wished he’d stop teasing her—wished he would tease her more. Wished he’d leave—wished he’d stay. Wished he’d say her name—
He opened his eyes and lifted the corners of his mouth. “Abbie.”
Her heart pounded. “I thought you were sleeping.”
“Not with the boys so near the river.”
“They know not to go into the water.”
He lifted a brow. “What a boy knows and what a boy does aren’t always one and the same.”
She suddenly realized that she’d instinctively known he’d keep a careful watch over her sons. “Is that the voice of experience talking?”
“Most definitely.”
She glanced at the fishing pole resting on the ground beside him. “You’d have more luck catching fish if you put the hook in the water.”
He shook his head. “It seems we are responsible for baiting our own hooks. I had no desire to touch one of those squishy creatures.” He sat up and pointed toward her basket. “What have you there?”
“Breakfast.”
“Wonderful. I’m starving.” He unfolded his body and took the quilt from her. She watched him open it with a snap and settle it into place over the clover—so simple a task, a gesture John had never done for her. He took the basket from her and set it in the center of the quilt. Then he took her hand.
Abbie jerked free, cradling her hand against her chest. “What were you doing?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I was going to assist you in sitting on the quilt. It’s my understanding that it’s easier for a woman to sit with a man’s help.”
She glanced over to see Lydia staring at her, her youthful brows drawn together to form a deep crease. She didn’t want her only daughter to grow up harboring her mother’s fears.
“It means nothing, Abbie. Only a courtesy. The women I’ve known appreciated a man’s attention.”
She wanted to snap that she didn’t need a man’s attention, didn’t want it. Instead she looked at his hand. A week in the fields had shaded it a golden brown. He twisted his hand slightly, presenting his palm as an offering. His gesture hinted at nothing threatening, and yet the action terrified her. She felt like a horse that was being gently tamed to accept the saddle. An image of this man riding her swept through her mind, and the panic increased. She lifted her gaze to his. Something flitted through his eyes—an understanding perhaps.
With a seamless movement, he turned to Lydia and bowed slightly. “Miss Lydia.”
Giggling, Lydia covered her mouth with one hand, but her glittering eyes revealed her smile. She slipped her hand into Grayson’s and with an elegant dip, eased down to the quilt.
Grayson released her hand and tilted his head slightly. “You are supposed to say, ‘Thank you, kind sir.’”
Smiling brightly, Lydia mimicked his words. Abbie wondered if she’d ever warmed to a man’s attention like that.
Grayson raised a questioning brow slightly. She fought back her doubts and gave a shaky nod. He smiled warmly and wrapped his fingers around hers. The action could not have been more devastating if he’d wrapped his entire body around hers. She dropped down to the quilt. When she tried to pull her hand away, he tightened his grip. She jerked her head up and glared at him. He seemed to be waiting.
“Mama, you’re supposed to thank him,” Lydia reminded her.
Abbie forced herself to smile. “Thank you, kind sir.”
She
had expected him to release her hand. Instead, she was shocked to watch him lean over slightly and brush his lips over her knuckles.
“You are most welcome, gentle lady,” he said in a low voice, his warm breath skimming over her skin.
Then, mercifully, he let go of her hand and knelt beside her. “Was that so horrid?”
Ignoring him, she glanced over her shoulder. “Boys, come eat.”
The boys scrambled up from the bank. She lifted the lid on the basket and removed a bundle. Her hands were shaking so badly, she was surprised she was able to bring back the edges of the cloth to reveal biscuits slathered with butter and stuffed with crisp bacon. Each of the children grabbed a biscuit. She extended the bundle toward Grayson. “Help yourself.”
He took a biscuit, studied it from all angles, and began to eat. Abbie removed a jar from the basket and unwrapped the towel from around it before passing it off to Johnny.
The silence was awkward and suffocating. How could she have felt so comfortable with this man at dawn and so uneasy around him now because of a simple touch? John had only ever touched her within the intimacy of a bed.
“How many fish have you caught?” she asked.
Johnny wiped the back of his hand across his mouth before passing the jar to Micah. “None. Had some nibbles, though.”
Micah gulped the milk before passing the jar to Lydia. Reaching across, Abbie wiped the white mustache away from his lip.
“Lookit,” he said, baring his bottom teeth. With his tongue, he moved one tooth forward. He looked different, not so much like her little boy with the spectacles sitting on his face. He’d worn them to bed, and she’d had to gently remove them after he fell asleep.
“A loose tooth. You are growing up, aren’t you?”
He nodded, beaming.
She took the milk from Lydia. Turning slightly, she offered it to Grayson, his intense gaze causing the breath to back up in her lungs. She wondered what he was thinking, even though she’d never ask. “Would you like some?”
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