Corrected by the Colonel (3 page)

         
“I am an accomplished horsewoman, though I suppose the likes of your kind do not often see such things.” She jutted out her chin in an attempt to not feel quite so diminutive next to his muscular frame. It did her little good. The corners of his mouth turned up in what she now recognized as his usual smirk and when his gaze swept over her she realized that from his vantage point he could see a fair bit of her cleavage. The nerve. A stable hand manhandling her and gazing upon her in such a forward manner. She was of a mind to tell him then and there that he had best start looking for new employment because his days were numbered as a member of the Tyndall family staff.

         
She tried to pull away from his touch, but backed into the side of her horse and the startled animal’s whinny caused Cassandra to do the opposite of what she had intended and soon found herself leaning close to the nameless man, clutching at his lapels.

         
His warm eyes stared down into hers and he lowered his head as if to kiss. "You are correct. ‘My kind’ almost never gets to see such a thing.” His face inches from her own. He smelled of sunshine and fresh air. A part of her brain screamed for her to shriek and shove him away, yet she stood frozen in place.

         
“Cousin!” Lord Owen Tyndall and his sister had finally reached the stables and his voice broke through the static-filled haze surrounding Cassandra. She pushed away from the too forward and too familiar servant and glanced around the stable yard for the cousin whom Owen had addressed. “After you did not come to dinner last night, I feared you were ill.”

         
Cassandra put her hand on the flank of her horse to steady herself when the bawdy footman turned and greeted the Tyndalls with a hearty wave.
He was their cousin?
She clenched her fists in an effort to still her anger and indignation.

         
Fortunately the attention of the other three was on each other and not her. She took a couple of steadying breaths to calm the racing of her heart, which was of course due to her frustration with this man who masqueraded as a servant in order to embarrass her and not the fact that she could still feel the warmth of his fingers on her midsection.

         
By the time she joined them, Owen and Jane had dismounted and all the horses had been turned over to the care of actual stable hands. Introductions were made and the twinkle in the eye of Colonel Blaise Sinclair set her teeth on edge.

         
The foursome walked toward Hadley Hall and Cassandra did her best to ignore Colonel Sinclair, a task made exceedingly difficult since he insisted on walking next to her. His attention impeded her efforts to engage Lord Tyndall in conversation. Desperate to avoid contact or communication with Colonel Sinclair, she failed to watch her footing, tripped over a large stone and tumbled forward.

         
In the instant when she felt herself falling toward the ground her only thought was anger that Colonel Blaise Sinclair would be witness to her embarrassment.

         
She was angrier still when, instead of landing in the dirt, she found herself scooped into the arms of the ever aggravating Colonel who managed to not only prevent her from striking the ground, but in one movement had her cradled in his arms as though she was a child being put to bed.

         
Lord Tyndall merely watched the whole thing saying “Blaise, you certainly move quickly. They must teach you that in the army.”

         
From her vantage point, her head leaning on his shoulder and her arms involuntarily wrapped around his neck, Cassandra could see the muscle in Colonel Sinclair's jaw working to hold back a chuckle. He finally said “Yes, Owen. The army teaches a man many things.”

         
Once the shock of the situation cleared from her head, Cassandra removed her arms from around her rescuer's neck and said in her firmest tone, “I thank you for your kindness, Colonel, but I believe I can complete the rest of the journey on my own.” She pushed against his chest with her hands, the muscle beneath her fingers unyielding.

         
“I am solely concerned for your safety, Miss Sheridan,” he whispered in her ear. “Besides,” he continued, his warm breath sent shivers throughout her body which settled most oddly in her nether regions, “I am merely trying to assist you in your efforts to win the heart of my dear cousin.”

         
At the reference to Owen, Cassandra’s gaze searched him out and over Blaise’s shoulder she saw him bending over to pick up a rock. “Look how shiny it is,” he said showing it to his sister.

         
“Oh, he is a prize to be sought after, is he not?” Blaise said. “Sadly he is more interested in flashy stones than in you, my dear.”

         
“Put me down,” Cassandra hissed through clenched teeth. She too had noticed Owen’s lack of concern and attention and she certainly did not need anyone to point it out to her. Besides, it was his pliable nature which she intended to exploit.

         
“As you wish,” he said, but by this time they had already entered Hadley Hall and Lady Tyndall stood staring at Cassandra wrapped in the arms of her nephew.

         
“Miss Sheridan,” she said, “have you injured yourself?”

         
Finally Blaise, err, Colonel Sinclair, set her down and she gave his toe a firm crush under her riding boot. “I am fine, Lady Tyndall, thank you for your concern. I merely stumbled over a rock but I was not hurt and I could have easily walked back here on my own.”

         
She added emphasis to her words and gave Blaise a withering look. All of this went unnoticed by her, hopefully, future husband, Owen.

          
“Owen,” his mother scolded, “are you not concerned for the well-being of our guest?”

         
But by then, Lord Owen Tyndall had made his way to the breakfast room and did not hear his mother’s question.

***

          Cassandra changed from her riding habit and re-pinned her hair before joining the rest of the household for breakfast. Had she not been starving, she might have attempted to skip the meal, and the forced contact with one Colonel Blaise Sinclair. However, decorum and the rumbling in her tummy decreed otherwise.

         
She found a letter next to her seat. After she read its contents, her appetite disappeared.

         
Her sister had written and used the phrase ‘the crops are failing’, their code indicating the state of their father’s health.

         
Quick tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away and forced herself to focus on other things. It would do no good to burst into tears at the breakfast table. She folded the letter and slipped it under her plate so no one else could read what it said.

         
She looked up to find Colonel Sinclair’s ever hawkish eyes upon her. She met his gaze then purposefully glanced away, giving a clear indication he meant nothing to her.

         
“Is everything all right, Miss Sheridan?” Lady Tyndall shared her nephew's hawkish observational skills.

         
“Yes, my lady. Thank you for asking.”

          
“You appear upset.”

         
“Oh—” Cassandra feigned innocence. “I apologize if I alarmed you. I suppose I am simply missing my sisters.”

          
Lady Tyndall smiled indulgently. “I would be pleased to learn more about your sisters, and in fact your whole family. I have been thinking about our conversation last night and I am sure I must know your mother.”

         
Cassandra took a steadying breath. “My mother has been deceased for several years,” she said softly.

          
Suddenly the pressure and anxiety of her situation overwhelmed her. The death of her mother, the care and upbringing of her younger sisters, and now the perilous health of her father. She ached to rush back to her family and spend her father’s last hours with him.

         
She fought back against tears and finally composed herself. She had said her good byes to her father before she left and that would have to be good enough. She could not risk her future, and that of her sisters, for a mere batch of sentiment. Besides, her sister's letter also said "Miss Bonnet intends to announce her betrothal soon" additional code meaning Miss Eliza Collins had told people her betrothal to Lord Owen Tyndall was imminent. If Cassandra wished to provide a home for her sisters, there was no time to be wasted on melancholy.

         
She needed a husband and she needed him now. And only Lord Owen Tyndall would do.

         
In exchange for financial security and the prospect of good marriages for her sisters, Cassandra would be a dutiful and faithful wife to Owen.

         
The thought made her stomach lurch.

***

         Colonel Blaise Sinclair strode across the grounds of Hadley Hall toward the stable. He had need of privacy and physical activity.

         
Privacy was required to consider one Miss Cassandra Sheridan and the secrets he knew she hid. Even one who had not been trained in interrogation and torture techniques by the army could see she was not all she appeared to be.

          
He required physical activity to put distance between himself and the aforementioned mysterious Miss Sheridan. It had been a mistake to carry her in his arms, but once he had reacted out of instinct to keep her from falling the same instinct had forced him to lift her delicate body into his arms and hold her close. It had taken a formidable amount of will power not to carry her off to his rooms and have his way with her.

         
He had found her suspicious before. The shoe she had given him for repair had been patched repeatedly with more wear and tear than any lady of quality would tolerate, yet she had instructed him to continue to patch the shoe.

         
Of course, the idea that she had mistaken his military uniform for that of a mere footman was not only laughable but spoke volumes about her naiveté in matters of a proper English household.

         
And finally, and he was not proud to admit this, he had taken the letter she had left behind at breakfast. He saw her hide it under her plate, but after Lady Tyndall’s questioning had upset her, she left the room without it. It had been easy to slip it into his hand without anyone noticing.

         
Not only had he taken it, but he had read it. He told himself it was his duty to find out what she was up to in order to protect his cousin, the likeable and gullible Lord Owen Tyndall.

         
At the stable he pulled the letter out of his pocket, sat on a wooden bench and read it again. The letter had caused a noticeable alteration in Miss Sheridan's demeanor, yet there was nothing in the letter itself which would warrant such a reaction. Apparently the crops were not doing well, and someone named Bonnet intended to marry soon, but would any young lady find such matters worthy of upset?

         
Admittedly, Miss Sheridan, with her blonde curls and dainty little body was not just any young lady, but still, why would she find issues of agriculture unsettling?

         
He read the letter for a third time, puzzling over each word. So focused was he that when a riding crop whistled through the air and landed with a
crack
on the bench upon which he sat, he jumped in surprise.

         
Though he had not been on duty for several weeks, his years of army training were instinctual and before he, or his assailant, realized what was happening, he had attacked. In one smooth movement he had disarmed his would-be attacker and held her hands together behind her back.

         
He gazed down at the person who had attempted to assail him with a riding crop. Miss Cassandra Sheridan, fury in her eyes, glared back. “Unhand me,” she growled the words between labored breaths.

         
He gave a tug to the wrists he held together and the movement, as well as her gasping breaths, exposed much of her creamy bosom for his view.

         
Her exasperation fueled a desire which had been building in him since the moment she handed him her worn out shoe.

         
“I will not unhand you until I find out what game you are playing.” He guided her to the tack room where he found a set of leather reins which he expertly wound around her wrists. Once both of his hands were free, he grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to look up at him.

         
She kicked him in the shin.

Chapter Three

          Cold fury coursed through her body. Not only had he stolen her letter, but he had had the nerve to read it.

         
She had gone to the stable for a bit of privacy. When she saw Blaise enter the building she hid behind a stack of hay hoping he would mount up and leave her in peace. Instead, he had sat down and pulled out a letter— her letter— which he proceeded to read as casually as if it were the evening news.