Retreat to her room was not an option. Rafe Drummond waited, a shoulder propped against a thick stone column, the wind whipping his hair around his face. With his mouth twisted and his eyes mere slits, he sought a confrontation. If that’s what he wanted, that’s what he’d get, blast the man.
Stonewell had offered to save Minerva from his dastardly clutches. That little toad. If he’d still been here, Rafe would have given him the beating of his life. Minerva Bellingham was his…at least for the next two months.
She was in quite a snit if her flashing eyes and jutting chin were any indication. Rightly so. He’d acted a complete arse all evening, insulting them both repeatedly. The brandy had done its dark work.
Stomping up the steps, she clapped her hands in a slow, ironic accolade. The wind pushed her dress against her body, outlining her long, lithe legs. The tantalizing sight of her flushed bosom distracted him, turning his anger into something infinitely more dangerous.
“Bravo, Lord Drummond. You put on quite the performance, I must say. You play the rude, boorish villain quite convincingly. Perhaps next time you could try something a bit more congenial and friendly.” Her voice was sharp enough to draw blood. She attempted to sweep by, but he stepped in her path, and she bumped against his chest.
Her breath caught, and she scurried backward. Dammit. Why should he care if she preferred the dandyish Stonewell’s touch to his? But he did care. It twisted his gut into knots of pain.
“I heard his kind offer. I’m surprised you didn’t take him up on it. Confess all and throw yourself on his mercy.”
“And leave Simon here with you?” She fought the wind, trying to tuck her hair back into place.
“Perhaps Stonewell would buy you out of our agreement. As long as you give him something he wants, and I believe I know exactly what his price would be.” Rafe backed her into one of the stone pillars that flanked the entry door. He crowded into her space, forced her to accept his physical dominance.
“And what would he have asked from me, Lord Drummond?” Her face tipped up, exposing the long, graceful line of her neck.
Rafe trailed the callused pad of his finger down and over the delicate arch of her collarbone. The rate of her breathing increased noticeably, drawing his finger farther down. He stroked across the white swells of her breasts, tracing the line of her bodice, wanting desperately to dip his hand inside.
“His price would be your body. The use of your lovely, delectable body,” Rafe whispered.
The wind crested around them like a wave, floating her skirts around his legs. Her back arched and pushed her breasts more firmly into his fingers for a moment. Until she shrank away from him.
“You…you said you wouldn’t hurt me. In any way, Lord Drummond.” She stumbled over her words, sounding innocent and unsure and completely unlike the Minerva he was used to.
His anger and lust dissipated, replaced by a throbbing headache and a healthy dose of shame. He punished her for something out of her control. Dropping his hand, he stepped back with a small courtly bow. “I won’t. I’m a cad when I’m in my cups. Lily learned to avoid me, but I forced myself on you. I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.”
He left her leaning against the pillar, her blue eyes wide and, for once, with nothing to say.
Buffeted by the increasingly wild wind, Minerva pressed against the cold pillar, her fingernails scratching at the rough stone. She’d waltzed with more gentlemen than she could count and let them trail their hands down her arms to hold her hand. That same hand had been bussed hundreds of times. She’d even had a few kisses stolen in darkened gardens. Just that evening she’d dispassionately catalogued all of Lord Stonewell’s favorable qualities. None of them had ever aroused anything resembling desire or passion.
With the touch of a single fingertip, Rafe Drummond had made her body thrum to life. Her nipples were peaked and achy and that secretive place between her legs had grown damp and throbbed. She been grateful for the pillar, both for the support and the lack of a retreat. Far from wanting to escape him, she’d wanted to guide his hand fully over her breast, sure he knew how to ease her discomfort.
In a moment of sheer madness, she’d wanted to kiss him—badly. Even after everything that had transpired that evening, she wanted to explore his hard, wicked lips. Cold needles of patchy rain brought a semblance of order to her chaotic body. Raising her face, she welcomed the onslaught, only leaving when the wind died and a steady, pouring rain forced her inside.
Chapter Seven
The next afternoon, Minerva accompanied Jenny in an old wooden cart into Lipton to pick up fresh vegetables and staples for the kitchen. The draft horse plodded toward town, a familiar trek for the beast, and she handled the reins while Jenny chattered on. She was glad to be outside on an adventure and away from the possibility of meeting Lord Drummond in the halls of Wintermarsh.
After dropping off the cart to be loaded, they stopped at Jenny’s cottage. It was filled with joyful chaos, little bodies running hither and yon. When word spread Jenny was in the kitchen, several of the children hurled themselves at her for hugs and kisses. She spent time with each one while her mother made a pot of weak tea for the three of them to share around the rough-hewn kitchen table.
Jenny’s mother was charming and energetic, much like her daughter. Minerva watched Jenny and her mother with a twinge of sadness. Her own mother had died so young that Minerva barely recalled her face. After their tea and another round of hugs from the children, she and Jenny picked up their cart and pulled up at the smithy.
Jenny jumped down from the wagon bed straight into her father’s arms for an enveloping hug. Minerva hopped down and stood to the side.
“Papa, here’s Minerva. She’s new to work at the big house. Came with excellent references.” Jenny winked in her direction. “We’ve had ever so much fun. This is my papa, or Black John as most people call him.”
Black John was a bear of a man and might have been intimidating if it weren’t for the twinkling in his eyes and the laughter lurking at the corners of his mouth. He reminded Minerva of a bigger, hairier version of Jenny.
Minerva dropped a quick curtsy. “Nice to make your acquaintance, sir. Jenny has told me so much about the family.”
“Any friend of Jenny’s is welcome at our house anytime, young miss. Now, what brings you to town during the week?” Black John turned back to his work on a horseshoe.
“We’re picking up supplies. In fact, I only stopped by so you could meet one another. We already had tea with Mama. We’d better head back before Mrs. Devlin thinks we’re wasting time.” Jenny regained her seat on the wagon. Pulling her skirts up, Minerva joined her.
“Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing, missy?” Black John asked.
“Right you are. We’d best make haste.” Jenny tossed a laugh over her shoulder as their horse plodded away.
“How’s Henry faring?” Her father called out.
“He’s grand, Papa. Loves the stables. See you Sunday.”
Minerva waited until they were out of town before teasing her friend. “Henry’s not the only one who loves the stables.”
Jenny’s face pinkened. Her gaze was downcast, and she kept uncharacteristically silent.
“What’s the matter?”
“Tom is too honorable.” Jenny sighed and propped her chin on a fist.
“He’s managed to resist you?”
“Don’t tease. I’m quite serious. He says I’m too young and don’t know what I want yet. But I do know. I need to convince him of it, is all.”
“The man must be missing a cog or two.”
“He’s stubborn, that’s for certain.” Jenny picked at the end of her braid, her voice small. “He’s hasn’t even tried to kiss me.”
A bit out of her depth, Minerva cut her gaze to Jenny. “Perhaps, the timing—”
“He’s had ample opportunity.
I’ve stepped in front of him and puckered up half a dozen times. He acts as if I’m going to bash him over the head and rob him. I wonder if I don’t need to try something more drastic.”
“Like what?” Minerva shifted to the edge of the bench.
“One of the other maids told me to wait in his room—” Jenny looked to make sure no trees could overhear, “—in a state of undress.”
“Please, don’t do it, Jenny. There must be another way.” If Tom wasn’t as honorable as Jenny supposed, she could be ruined and fired without a reference for such recklessness.
“Don’t worry, I’m not brave enough…or my morals aren’t loose enough, I suppose.”
“What if you kissed him? That wouldn’t be so scandalous, would it?” Minerva steered the cart onto the drive approaching the house.
“I could corner him in a stall, but what if he’s disgusted?” True worry drew Jenny’s face tight, and she searched for reassurance from Minerva. That, at least, she could offer.
“Jenny Mitchell. You should have no fears on that account. And if he should push you away, you’d have your pick of any of the other lads.”
“But I don’t want any other lad.” Jenny tried to smile, but her shoulders slumped. No one but Tom would make her friend happy.
A flash of Rafe Drummond standing over her with his finger caressing her collarbone quickened Minerva’s breathing as if it had just happened. My God, was she in a similar predicament? Would no one but the despicable Rafe Drummond ever rouse her passions?
Later in the evening, after finishing her dinner tray, she sponged her grey wool dress to little effect. She’d come to hate the dress with fervor. This was the loneliest part of her day, the hours between working and sleep. The other servants gathered below stairs for gossip, cards and sometimes even music. Simon was tucked away in the stables. Socializing with Lord Drummond was out of the question.
The scratch echoed in the oppressive silence. She slipped on a wrapper and cracked the door. A young kitchen maid balanced a tray on her hip. Several beeswax candles rolled into the poem by Scott. Minerva took the tray with shaking hands and a word of thanks, wondering if it might be booby trapped. It was the only explanation. A folded scrap of parchment lay on top. She plucked it up with two fingers and shook it open.
I apologize heartily for my behavior during and after dinner. Please take this as a peace offering. I’m certain you’re anxious to find out what befalls Malcolm and Ellen.
Rafe Drummond
His script was aggressive and bold, like the man himself. Was this truly a peace offering or was it an attempt to manipulate her? To do what, she couldn’t fathom. She refused to become mawkish over his thoughtfulness. Her uncertainty over his motivations didn’t stop the tingle of excitement when she settled into bed and picked up the book.
* * * * *
The next afternoon, humming a jaunty tune she’d learned from Jenny, Minerva hitched the wash basket farther up her hip and headed to the hanging line. Over the course of her day in London, so many people depended on her, but here in the last of summer’s warmth, only some sheets needed to be hung in the fresh sunshine. The temporary respite from responsibility was surprisingly freeing.
Movement on the edge of her vision stilled her feet. Two men stood close together at the corner of the stable. Shining blond hair gave Simon away. The other idly twirled a cane with a beaver hat perched on his head. Not Lord Drummond. The man was too thin and dandified.
Recognition dawned in a wave of fury. Viscount Hampton. What the devil was he doing here?
Minerva dropped the basket at her feet and stalked toward the stables. Before she got close enough unleash her wrath, Hampton tipped his hat, whispered something to Simon and was gone.
She took a deep breath. Dire prophecies rolled through her head, tightening her stomach. “How did he know you were here, Simon? What did he want?”
“I left him a note before we left London telling him where to find me if he was in the area. His grandfather has a house not far from Lipton.” Simon refused to meet her eyes, kicking at rocks.
“Was he trying to get you to meet him somewhere?”
“He was making sure Drummond hadn’t killed me is all.”
Minerva considered him for a moment. Dark circles ringed his eyes. He was lean but not skinny. In fact, he was noticeably broader across the shoulders and thicker in the neck. Lord Drummond was trying to break her brother through labor. Of course, she was concerned, but her methods of bringing her brother in line hadn’t worked.
“Do you think about what would’ve happened if Drummond hadn’t offered this unconventional proposal? He holds thousands of pounds of your vowels. He’s doing us a favor,” she said more sympathetically than he deserved.
“A gentleman would forgive those debts. I was foxed.”
“You are an outright fool to believe that. Any other man would have been on our doorstep the next morning to collect the money. Your supposed friend Hampton included. We would have had to sign over everything not entailed. This is your last chance. You need to make this work for both of our sakes. At the very least, do you not care what happens to me?” Minerva laid a pleading hand on his arm.
He shook her off. “Speaking of work, I need to finish mucking out the stalls. Who would have thought the Duke of Bellingham would be shoveling shit?” Not giving her a second glance, he strode around the corner and out of sight.
If Simon didn’t come to his senses, Lord Drummond could make things very unpleasant for them both. Minerva pressed the heels of her hands to her brow to stem the gathering tears. She didn’t have the time for a cry and was afraid if she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop.
Worry and a pressing sense of isolation replaced her earlier contentment.
Taking a deep breath of fall air, Rafe decided a hard gallop on Aries might divert his mind off his two indentured servants. Drawing even with the drying line, he spied a basket of laundry but no maid. Old instincts for trouble tingled, and he scanned the yard.
Minerva and Simon talked at the corner of the stables. Rafe backed into the shelter of a tree, hidden in shadows but able to observe the siblings. Their discussion was heated and ended with Simon stalking off. Minerva stared after her brother, her shoulders slumped as if her worries were lead weights.
A familiar stab of guilt had him ruffling his hair. Not only was he forcing her to work off a debt she hadn’t accrued, but his behavior at dinner with Stonewell had been deplorable…and afterwards. He couldn’t bear to think of her disgust at his touch.
The way she acted hardly assuaged his shame. Nursing a pint of ale in the inn and waiting for Black John to repair Aries’s shoe, he’d watched Minerva and Jenny arrive in Lipton for supplies. Minerva dropped a respectful curtsy and laughed gaily up at the blacksmith. She’d even handled the reins of the heavy cart. Was this the same lady that could bring the most hardened gentleman to his knees with a flinty, cutting look?
Pushing his guilt into shame was seeing her worry and love for her brother. She was obviously at her wit’s end with him, and he could understand why. Simon resisted him with a strength that surprised and even impressed Rafe. He did the work but not without resentment. The duke was stubborn, but not as stubborn as Rafe. It was a battle of wills and endurance Rafe was determined to win. If he didn’t, Simon would likely destroy his and Minerva’s future. What Rafe couldn’t fathom was why it felt so vital that he succeed.
Minerva trudged back up the hill. Exhaustion seemed to hold her in its grip, but he knew no amount of sleep would help. She tucked escaped pieces of hair behind her ears before taking a deep breath and pulling up the first sheet. She struggled to get the cloth over the line. Keeping the sheet between them like a shield, Rafe approached on wary cat-like feet.
“Allow me, my lady.” His height a distinct advantage, he pulled the sheet up to rest in halves over the string and peeked over a
t her.
A quick intake of breath was her only visible reaction. She picked up the basket and moved down the line, gathering the next sheet. “I don’t require your help, Lord Drummond. I’m perfectly capable of hanging sheets. I wouldn’t want you to accuse me of shirking my duties and extend our time in servitude.”
“I promise I won’t count my help against you.”
She carefully kept the ends of the next sheet from brushing the dusty ground. “Do you enjoy watching me work like a housemaid, Lord Drummond?” Her gaze stayed on her work, but red burnished her high cheekbones. She was either embarrassed or furious. Knowing her as he did, he guessed the latter.
Now. He should tell her now. Apologize and free her from the obligation of her brother’s debt. He opened his mouth and took a bracing breath.
“I suppose you enjoy having women under your thumb to torment and humiliate. Makes you feel more of a man, does it?”
Her words were like a punch to the chest, stealing his breath. His apology would have to wait. “Is there something amiss with Simon? Can I help?”
“You’ve done enough, don’t you think?” Sarcasm masked the dark worry reflected in her eyes.
Dammit. If only she would accept that he had Simon’s best interests at heart. His interest in her, on the other hand, was questionable. His motives unclear, even to himself. She’d been a constant fixture in his dreams since their meeting in London, her beauty and fire rousing him.
Her hands curled over the top of the cord, dainty and elegant. Peering closer, he picked one up and examined it front and back. Angry blisters ran along her fingers and onto her palm, the skin chaffed red.
“What in bloody hell happened to your hand?” he bellowed, harsher than he’d intended.
Flinching away from him, she tugged at her hand, but he squeezed it and grabbed her other one. He performed the same inspection and found it in much the same shape.
“I’m not used to washing and cleaning with the soaps and liniments. They’ll adjust.” Now he held both hands, and she tried to twist them free. He held on tighter.
A Brazen Bargain: Spies and Lovers, Book 2 Page 8