The Charmer

by CJ Archer

  ***

  Susanna lay in bed and stared up at the tester, her mind awhirl. Usually she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but not tonight. Tonight she couldn't stop marveling at how much work Orlando Holt had achieved in such a short time. The trees were pruned and the stakes in place for the canvas covering. He was a good worker, he never complained, and he rarely stopped, despite her insistence that he ought to. Indeed, the man always seemed to be smiling or jesting or flirting. She found herself liking him despite her instincts screaming at her to be wary, to not trust him.

  She sighed and rolled over, pulling the blanket up to her chin, but still she couldn't sleep. Her stomach rumbled, a sure sign sleep wasn't going to claim her. She got out of bed and put on a warm housecoat and soft slippers then grabbed the candle and used the embers in the fireplace to light it.

  She crept quietly out to the landing, not wanting to wake her father, and down the stairs. Halfway down, she stopped. Listened. All was silent. Yet she was sure she'd heard something. The click of a door opening or closing perhaps.

  "Father?" she whispered loudly. "Is that you?"

  Nothing. She went back up to the first floor and opened her father's study door. "Father?" Nothing, and the door to his bedchamber beyond was closed. She checked the other unoccupied chambers, but they too were empty, silent.

  With a shrug, she returned to the stairs and went down to the kitchen. It was still warm thanks to the glowing logs in the fireplace and she stood at the big hearth for a moment until the chill had left her bones. Another growl of her stomach forced her to investigate the pantry. She found bread and cheese and set them on the table. She was about to sit when Holt wandered in, yawning.

  He smothered it when he saw her. "I didn't know you were in here, m'lady. My apologies for disturbing your late night supper."

  "No need to apologize, Mr. Holt. I assume you couldn't sleep either, and your stomach led you here."

  He slid onto the bench seat at the table and chuckled. The flame on her candle wobbled before straightening again. It wasn't until that moment that she realized he didn't have a light of his own. How had he seen his way in the dark?

  "You have my measure, m'lady. I often wake with hunger in the middle of the night and can't sleep until I eat. You may soon regret your offer of board and food."

  She slid the bread across to him. "A body as big as yours must take some fueling."

  He looked down at himself. He was dressed in breeches and a shirt but not shoes. His feet must be freezing on the cold flagstone floor. "I am not that big."

  "You certainly are, Mr. Holt. Not fat, mind, just tall and strongly built."

  "Made for gardening," he said and laughed.

  "You achieved a lot today. Thank you," she added and meant it. She may not like the man, but he'd worked hard for little reward and deserved some thanks.

  He lifted one shoulder. "I did no more than any other gardener would."

  She shook her head. "I've had gardeners before and they weren't nearly as hard-working as you."

  He balanced a slice of cheese on the top of his bread and regarded her. "So you don't regret refusing Lord Lynden's and Farmer Cowdrey's offers?"

  "Not in the least. Their offers are not unconditional," she said without thinking. Perhaps she should be more careful—Holt was a stranger after all, and her business was none of his.

  He was also just a gardener and she the mistress of the house. The likes of Jeffrey would be shocked to learn she and Holt shared a meal in the kitchen late at night.

  "Oh?" he asked, watching her intently. "What do you mean?"

  "Nothing." She bit into her bread to stop herself saying more.

  He watched her a moment longer, and she was almost undone by the look of concern in his eyes, but then he blinked rapidly and shook his head, just a little, as if shaking off a thought. The curious movement intrigued her. What had he been thinking?

  But she knew the answer to that. It was what all men thought about, particularly late at night, alone with a woman. She'd best remember that.

  She returned her bread to the trencher and pushed it away, no longer hungry. "Good night, Mr. Holt," she said, her voice brittle.

  "You're going?"

  "I must." She had to get away from him. In quiet moments like this, she could feel her wariness dissolving, her defenses lowering. "Do you need the candle to light your way back to the servants' wing?"

  He stood too. "No, thank you." He sounded distracted. "Is everything all right? You seem a little upset all of a sudden."

  "I'm tired. That's all." She used her flame to light one of the candle stubs on the mantelpiece. "Take it," she said, holding it out to him. "I insist."

  "I can see. There's enough moonlight coming through the windows."

  "Take it." She shoved it into his hands. "I don't want you tripping and hurting yourself."

  "Too valuable, am I?" Candlelight twinkled in his eyes and shadows played around his smiling mouth. Good lord but he was the most handsome man she'd seen. Much, much too handsome and too charming. There must be an entire county of heartbroken women left behind in Sussex.

  "Ha! You're a gardener with no knowledge of fruit trees, Mr. Holt, I hardly call that valuable."

  "Ouch."

  She ignored him and nodded at the food still on the table. "Please eat your fill. There's always plenty of bread, cheese, and marmalade at Stoneleigh." The wheat for the bread came from Sutton Hall lands and the cheese from Cowdrey Farm, all reminders that she didn't need to be beholden to those men any more than she already was.

  "I've finished anyway," he said. "Good night, mistress. You go to bed and I'll tidy up."

  She paused at the door as a thought occurred to her. A thought that troubled her more than his flirting did. "Did you come straight from the servants' wing?"

  "Of course. Why?"

  "Nothing. It doesn't matter."

  He came up to her and took her elbow for an instant before dropping his hand to his side. "Tell me, m'lady. What's wrong?"

  "I thought I heard a noise upstairs near Father's study." She waved her hand in dismissal, but worry gnawed at her. She couldn't tell if he was lying. Indeed, his type were experts at lies, and she had no way of knowing when and if he spoke the truth.

  "I'll check for you."

  She was about to tell him no but decided to let him accompany her. Perhaps it hadn't been him. Perhaps there was someone else... Oh God. "Very well."

  Together they returned the bread and cheese to the pantry and, each carrying a candle, climbed the stairs to the main private chambers. He kept very close, a solid presence at her side that was both a comfort and distraction. Being near him made her heart race and her skin hot as if she suffered from a fever. Indeed, thinking clearly had suddenly become very difficult. She'd been close to him before, out in the garden, and that was distracting enough, but in the dark and quiet house, it was heady and thrilling. A small voice told her she shouldn’t be doing this with a strong man she hardly knew, but she didn't think she could tell him to leave. Not a single part of her wanted him to go, and all of her wanted him to stay. To move closer, to hold her so she could press her lips to his throat, his shoulder, his mouth.

  She heaved in a ragged breath. Her self-control hung by a thread.

  "Where did you hear the noise?" he asked.

  She blew out the breath slowly, calming her nerves a little. "Near Father's study." She pointed to a door. "I thought I heard it open or close."

  "Is it locked?"

  "No."

  "May I go in to check that no one is hiding inside?"

  She nodded. Her heart hammered as she watched him look around the study, under the desk, inside the large trunks. When he finished, she opened the door leading to her father's bedchamber. He was asleep in bed, softly snoring. Safe. She closed the door and almost laughed at her silliness. No one had been sneaking around Stoneleigh. Who would do that and why? She and her father had very little to steal and no secret
s. Even Mr. Holt, the only stranger in their midst, must realize that.

  She watched him closely for any sign of guilt but saw none. Either he was a good liar, or he hadn't been there at all earlier. Indeed, she'd begun to doubt her own hearing. A small click could be anything or nothing.

  If he was lying and he had crept through the house, he would have discovered her father kept no money in his study. What little they had she kept well hidden in the outbuildings.

  "Thank you," she said out on the landing. "Everything seemed in its right order."

  "Good. I'm glad."

  "Good night, Mr. Holt."

  He suddenly caught her hand and before she could withdraw it, he'd pressed it to his lips. Her sharp intake of breath was as much from shock as desire. Both shot through her like a lightning bolt, catching her unawares. She did not remove her hand.

  His mouth lingered, warm and soft, until all of a sudden he dropped her hand as if it had burned him. "I, uh...hell." He raked his fingers through his dark hair, making it stick out at distressed angles, and he looked to the beams overhead. "I'm sorry. I...you..." He completed the sentence with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry," he muttered again. "I'd better go."

  She nodded, not trusting her voice. Her entire body shook with barely contained emotion, but her mind shut down, went numb. She backed away until she came up against her bedchamber door. She fumbled for the handle and opened it. Without saying another word, she stumbled inside and leaned against the closed door.

  Breathe.

  Thank God she'd got away before she did something foolish. If she had not...

  The thought dangled like a tempting morsel within reach, so close yet too dangerous to even entertain it.

  Later, when she was once more tossing and turning in bed, she congratulated herself on not making yet another mistake with yet another charming man.