Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Lord Havelock's List\Saved by the Viking Warrior\The Pirate Hunter (16 page)

‘About the caretaker and his wife. Gilbey found out— Stop loitering there in the doorway, man,' he barked at the groom over his shoulder. ‘Come in and shut it before you let all the heat out,' he said, depriving her of the opportunity of inviting him in herself.

The groom snatched off his hat, shuffled forward and closed the door behind him, while Lord Havelock sauntered over to the stove, holding out his hands to warm them.

‘Gilbey put up at the Dog and Ferret last night,' he said. ‘The landlord told him that the Brownlows have gone away to visit relatives of some sort for the season. They don't plan to come back until the twenty-eighth. It was a shock to everyone in the taproom to hear I'd come back, expecting to take up residence. God only knows where my letter to them has gone. Still at the receiving office, I shouldn't wonder. Is that a fresh pot of tea? Capital.'

To her intense irritation, he then pulled up a chair at the table and indicated the groom should do so, as well. Where had his insistence on keeping the groom in his place, and she in hers, gone? She was torn between wanting to hug him for being so affable, or slap him for depriving her of the opportunity to take a stand. In the end, all she did was pour both men a cup of tea.

She'd have to find some other way of showing him he couldn't speak to her like that. Only...if she launched into that kind of speech right now, wouldn't she look a bit shrewish?

‘Looks as though my wife has cooked enough to feed an army,' he said. Cheerfully.

He clearly had no idea what he'd done to her.

‘And even if you've had something at the Dog and Ferret, you should at least have a couple of these rolls,' he said, putting some on a plate and pushing them over, with what looked suspiciously like...pride. ‘They're first-rate.'

No, she definitely couldn't start complaining about the way he'd talked to her when he'd been in a temper, not when he was being so complimentary about her cooking. Lips pressed tightly together, she served both men with eggs and ham, then sank, deflated, on to her own seat.

‘Which leads me to the next question,' said her husband, in between mouthfuls. ‘What are we going to do until the Brownlows return, my Lady Havelock?'

‘I don't understand.'

He wasn't asking her opinion, was he? Men didn't do that. So what was he about now? And why was he addressing her so formally? When all through the night he'd used her given name. Over and over again.

Mary
, he'd whispered into her ear.

Mary
... he'd growled.

Oh, Mary
... he'd moaned.

Oh, it was all so confusing.
He
was confusing!

‘Well,' he said very slowly, as though explaining to a child, ‘we could go and rack up at the Dog and Ferret. We'll have plenty of food and a proper bed.'

‘If'n you don't mind damp sheets and bedbugs,' muttered Gilbey.

‘It doesn't sound very...appealing,' Mary agreed.

‘Trouble is,' said her husband, ‘the only alternative is to remain here. And you've already discovered how uncomfortable this place is, too, without servants.'

He laid down his knife and fork, and gave her a straight look.

Both her husband and groom were watching her intently, she realised after a moment or two.

Heavens, they really were waiting to hear what she thought. Her husband hadn't just told her what the choices were, before telling her what he was going to do. He really was going to let her decide. Well, she'd wanted the chance to take a stand. And though it wasn't exactly the topic she'd wanted to confront him about, it was better than nothing.

‘This is my home now,' she therefore stated firmly. ‘I would much rather stay here and try to make the place a bit more comfortable, than throw myself on the mercy of a landlord who sounds as though he doesn't care about the welfare of his guests one bit.'

‘Capital,' he said, beaming at her as though she'd just said the very thing he was waiting to hear. ‘I didn't really want you to have to put up with the rabble that frequent the Dog and Ferret. No offence to you, Gilbey.'

‘None taken. I've got no wish to go back there meself,' he said, scratching his neck. ‘There's the makings of decent quarters over the stables. Just want a bit of sorting, like.'

‘It's the same with this house, I'm sure,' said Mary.

Lord Havelock frowned. ‘But you are going to have to do it single-handed. Da—dash it, this isn't the Christmas I'd planned to give you,' he said, slamming his half-emptied cup down on to the table. ‘But I will make it up to you, I swear. I'll tell you what I'll do,' he said, his face brightening. ‘I'll go into the village and see if I can purchase the makings of Christmas dinner.'

‘That's a very...' she'd been going to say, a good idea. But he'd already reached the back door and was striding out into the yard.

‘That's his lordship all over,' said the groom, eyeing her astonishment with amusement. ‘Get's a notion in his cockloft and don't stop to consider if it's even possible, never mind sensible.'

‘R-really?' She hadn't known him long, but, yes, she could well believe that he was the type of man to act on impulse, rather than planning anything in great detail. He was so full of energy. And with the kind of confidence that came from being both wealthy and having a secure position in society. Yes, he could very easily set off into the unknown, assuming that everything would work out well for him.

Except when it had come to marriage. When he'd contemplated marriage, he'd sat down with a group of friends and got them to help him plan it all out down to the last detail.

Which only went to show how hard it must have been for a man who was used to doing as he pleased, whenever he pleased, to shackle himself to just one woman.

She supposed she ought to look upon his making of that list as a symptom of his determination to get it right. She'd seen several examples of that determination. That drive to do his best. Though it still hurt to read herself, the wife, described in such terms.

‘I'd best get back to the stables, if you will excuse me,' said Gilbey, getting to his feet. ‘Unless there's anything you want helping with, in the way of heavy work?'

‘That's very good of you, but I won't know until I've taken a good look about the place, to see what wants doing.'

‘Ah, you're just what his lordship needs,' observed the groom with a knowing air. ‘Sensible. And calm. Begging yer pardon for speaking so free, but...' He twisted his hat between his rather grubby fingers. ‘You oughtn't to listen to those who will tell you he's wild. Or worry about his temper,' he said knowingly.

‘I don't,' she replied firmly. She hadn't been afraid of him since...since...

Actually, she hadn't ever been really afraid of him. Nervous, yes, of the pull he exerted over her. Scared of her reactions to him. But of him, not really ever.

‘Sure, he's fought his duels,' Gilbey added. ‘But he's a good lad, at heart.'

‘Duels? He's fought duels?'

‘He didn't mean no harm by them,' hastily put in the groom. ‘It's just, he ain't never had nobody, not since his mother passed, to care what he did, one way or another, y'see. 'Twill make all the difference to him, to have someone steady, to be his...well, his anchor, like,' he finished gruffly, before slapping the hat on his head and scuttling off out of the door.

She reached for her cup of tea and took a long, sustaining drink. Now that the initial shock had worn off, she could see exactly how her husband could have stumbled into fighting a duel or two. Not only did he have a hair-trigger temper, but he also had a highly developed sense of his own honour. Only look at the way he'd reacted when she'd assumed he'd been making her an insulting proposition.

He'd calmed down as soon as she'd explained herself, though. Which only went to prove that whoever he'd fought hadn't attempted to apologise. So if he had shot them, it was entirely their own fault.

He was good at heart, the groom had insisted. And gone on to talk about Lord Havelock's mother. Which showed he'd stayed with the family for years, as well as sort of proving his point. Servants didn't stay with cruel masters. She should know. They'd gone through dozens of servants during the time they'd been able to afford to pay their wages.

Besides, she'd seen many instances of his deep-down goodness. Only look at the way he'd set to work hauling water for her. Or going to fetch coal in the middle of the night, shirtless, and come back shivering rather than deprive her of the warmth of his coat. Or let her sleep as long as she wanted, even though he wanted his breakfast.

She drained the cup and set it down on the table.

But what impressed her most of all was the way he'd apologised. And tried to make amends for all that had gone wrong. He'd even gone charging off, just now, to buy food in an attempt to
make it up to her
.

A smile played about her lips as she recalled the look on his face when he'd set off to the village as if he could purchase the answer to all his problems there. It was sweet of him, but she could think of far better ways he could make it up to her, if his conscience was troubling him.

None of which involved him
buying
anything at all.

Chapter Ten

‘D
uck,' he announced, some hours later, as he came in the door.

‘Why, are you going to throw something?'

‘Ha ha,' he said. ‘Very droll. Though I just might, if you provoke me like that, you minx. Anyway, what I meant is, I've got a duck for Christmas dinner,' announced her husband with pride as Gilbey followed him into the kitchen, carrying a game bag. ‘And a meat pie for tonight. There is cake, and fruit, too.'

‘All...all in that sack?' Oh, dear.

Gilbey solemnly laid the bag on the kitchen table and opened the tie at the neck. The first thing to come out of it was the pie. The crust was a little the worse for wear, but it was definitely still edible. As were the apples that had done most of the damage, to judge from the amount of gravy coating them.

‘Apples in gravy, how...novel,' she said diplomatically. ‘Is there gravy on the cake, too? No. Oh, well...' she sighed as she lifted it out and set it to one side ‘...I suppose I can bear to eat it without.'

‘Now look here,' snapped her husband. ‘I had the devil of a job to get hold of this little lot. You wouldn't believe the haggling I had to do.'

‘I'm very grateful,' she said soothingly. ‘This is the makings of a true feast.' It really was. She'd been worrying, ever since he'd set off in such a hurry, that he'd come back with all sorts of ridiculously inappropriate things. But in the event, the only thing he hadn't got quite right was the method of bringing everything home.

‘I shall have no qualms about sending you shopping in future.' Although she might hand him a shopping basket rather than let him snatch up a game bag, as if he was going out shooting.

‘Shopping,' he cried indignantly, planting his fists on his hips. ‘That was not shopping. That was...foraging.'

‘I see. Well, in that case, I have to say I am impressed by your foraging skills. In fact, I think you would make a good soldier.'

He would certainly look good in a uniform. All that scarlet cloth stretched across his broad shoulders, with a sword dangling from his slender hips to complete the very picture of masculine perfection....

‘A soldier, eh?'

‘Yes.' She sighed, dragging herself out of a brief vision of him pulling a pistol from his belt and shooting some random marauder. ‘Actually,' she said with one part of her mind while another was seeing him metamorphosed into the captain of a ship, his hair tousled by an Atlantic gale rather than his restless fingers, ‘I think you could be anything you set your mind to.'

* * *

Anything he set his mind to? No, surely she didn't mean
anything
. Oh, he had total confidence he could rise to any form of physical challenge. He was a crack shot, a bruising rider and a long-standing member of the Four-in-Hand club. But nobody, in his entire life, had ever expressed any faith in his ability to put his
mind
to work. And so far, surely, he'd demonstrated he was a total dunce when it came to organising anything. Even with the help of his lists, he'd overlooked several important issues that any man who exercised his brain occasionally would have thought of before he set off into the winter weather with a brand-new bride in tow.

Yet she was looking at him as though he'd just done something remarkable. As though he really did have it in him to accomplish...
anything
.

He stood quite still, basking in the completely novel sensation of having a female look at him with wholehearted admiration.

Totally unwarranted admiration, as far as he was concerned. If he hadn't made such a mull of opening up Mayfield, he wouldn't have had to go out on the foraging expedition in the first place.

She'd come to her senses before long. End up wishing him elsewhere, the way everybody always did, eventually.

She lowered her eyes to the spread on the table. Just as though she'd sensed him bracing himself against the day it happened.

‘I think—that is, I hope,' she said, darting him the kind of look from under those dark lashes that made him catch his breath, ‘that you will be pleased with what I have been about today, as well.'

‘I'm sure I shall,' he said. As far as he was concerned she could have been sitting in front of a fire toasting her toes all day, after looking at him the way she'd just done, merely because he'd managed to rectify
one
of the blunders he'd made.

But he couldn't help wondering what kind of treatment she must have been used to, if it took so little effort to get her to look at him as though he was some kind of...hero...stepped straight out of the pages of a romance novel.

Not that he'd ever read any, but a lot of girls seemed to do so, then spent hours sighing over characters with odd names and complaining he wasn't a bit like any of 'em.

‘I went exploring,' she said. ‘And I discovered that all the rooms in the part of the house that used to be let out are in very good order. It looks as if those caretakers of yours have kept them in readiness for tenants to come in at a moment's notice. So I lit a fire and aired the mattress in the one I liked best,' she said with a slightly defiant tilt to her chin, as though expecting him to object. ‘And I ironed the damp out of some sheets I found in a linen closet and made up a bed.'

‘That's wonderful news.'

‘Oh. I am so glad you don't mind which room we have tonight,' she said with evident relief. ‘Indeed, there are so many in a state of near readiness that if you don't like it you can soon choose another....'

‘No, no, I shall be glad to sleep in a real bed tonight, thank you.' He went to her, seized her hand and kissed it. She really was a treasure. ‘And I don't care which room you picked. I told you this is your home as much as mine. You must do whatever you like in it. But,' he added, ‘don't you see what this means? After the window came away in my hand last night I was beginning to think the whole place had fallen into ruin while I wasn't paying attention. But now I can write to Lady Peverell and tell her that Julia can come here as soon as she likes. I can get her safely out of that man's reach before he has a chance to—'

He shot a look at Gilbey, who was folding up the sack, with the wooden expression of a servant who was listening to a conversation not meant for his ears.

‘In fact, I think I shall go and write immediately. Gilbey, instead of hanging around in the kitchen, you can make yourself useful by riding down to the post with it as soon as I've written it.'

‘Yes, m'lord.'

* * *

Mary sat blinking at the swirl of dust that eddied across the kitchen floor after he'd slammed the door on his way out.

He'd been a bit like a whirlwind himself. Breezing in, delivering his mound of booty, then dashing off to his next task. She couldn't stop smiling as she pottered about the kitchen. The more she learned about her husband, the better she liked him.

* * *

She liked him even more when he turned up for supper on time, praised her cooking to the skies and then tried to prevent her from doing the dishes.

‘I thought I'd made my views on that sort of thing plain,' he growled when she started to carry a stack of plates to the scullery.

‘Yes, you did,' she said. ‘But if the Brownlows aren't going to return until the twenty-eighth, every useful surface will be covered with dirty dishes by then. It wouldn't be fair to them to have to come back to that sort of mess.'

‘It would serve 'em right for sloping off just when I particularly wanted 'em here.' He scowled. ‘And if you don't want the working surfaces cluttered, why don't you stack the dishes on the floor?'

‘I could do that, I suppose,' she said with a shudder. ‘If you want the house invaded by rats.'

‘Point taken,' he said. ‘Dishes need to be done. But I won't have you doing them. I made you a vow.'

For one moment she thought he was going to order Gilbey to do the dishes for her. But then, to her amazement, he stood up, removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves.

‘I shall need instruction,' he said, as he strode into the scullery.

He meant to do the dishes himself?

Well—she'd always thought that it was a man's actions that revealed his true nature. And after seeing him literally roll up his sleeves to perform such a lowly task, she would never make the mistake of suspecting he was anything like her father, ever again.

‘Not that it can possibly be all that hard,' he said airily. ‘I've never met a scullery maid yet with anything approaching half a brain.'

‘Have you met many scullery maids?' she heard herself say, inanely, as she tipped a bucket of hot water into one of the sinks. Still, it was better than blurting out any of the other thoughts swarming round her head. Or simply gazing at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed in wholly feminine appreciation.

For heaven's sakes! All he'd done was roll up his sleeves and she was practically dribbling at the sight of his forearms.

‘I'm sure I must have done,' he said, as she handed him a scrubbing brush. And only just managed to stop herself from running her hand up that enticing expanse of sinewy, hair-roughened flesh.

‘On their days off. At fairs and such,' he added, seizing the nearest plate and manfully dunking it into the soapy water. ‘And there was definitely one who used to prowl around the stables after the head groom at...well, never mind where. She couldn't have had much in her cockloft to throw herself at him the way she did. Without the slightest sign of encouragement, I might add. Remember her, Gilbey? I can see you loitering in the doorway, so don't bother trying to pretend you aren't listening to every word. Don't you have work to do?'

‘Yes, m'lord,' said the groom, before disappearing out into the night to do whatever it was he did for the horses.

Thank heaven she hadn't started stroking her husband's arms. She hadn't been aware the groom was there, so rapt had she been by the sight of a man, her man, cheerfully engaging in what her father would have scathingly described as woman's work.

‘The tale of me up to my elbows in soapsuds will spread like wildfire through the taverns,' Lord Havelock grumbled, holding out the plate he'd scrubbed for her inspection.

‘Perfect,' she said with a sigh. Then blushed. ‘The plate, I mean,' she added hastily. ‘At least it will be once you rinse it. Or perhaps I should rinse it.' She went to take it from him.

‘Oh, no, you don't,' he said, dunking the plate into the clean water in the next sink over and clasping her about the waist. ‘I am quite capable of doing this, you know.'

‘Yes, but if you don't want people to talk—'

‘I don't care what people might say about me,' he declared, before dipping his head to kiss her. ‘They can go hang for all I care.'

She totally lost the thread of what they'd been discussing as he kissed her over and over again, walking her backwards across the room until she fetched up against a wall. The slide of his wet hands up her legs as he impatiently thrust her skirts out of the way, and the thrill of complying as he murmured heated, explicit instructions into her ear.

The joy of having this man want her so much that he couldn't even wait to find a horizontal surface to lay her down on thrilled her.

And the gratitude that came from discovering that for all his impatience to have her, he possessed the self-control to wait until he'd satisfied her, before taking his own pleasure.

* * *

It got better every time, with Mary. He'd thought nothing could surpass their wedding night, yet sharing that mattress in front of the fire, the next night, had somehow been even better.

And as for last night...even when they'd eventually finished ‘doing the dishes', the fire between them hadn't gone out. They'd raced up the stairs to the room she'd prepared and torn each other's clothes off with such haste they hadn't bothered using the warming pan she'd insisted on filling with embers from the kitchen fire.

He raised himself on one elbow to look at her. Just look at her. How had he ever thought her plain? Not that she had one of those faces that attracted notice at first glance. No, what she had was an attraction that shone from the intelligence in her eyes, or the warmth of her smile.

He couldn't help just sifting her soft, silken hair through his fingers, then fanning it out across his pillow. He liked the fact she didn't wear it in bunches of fussy ringlets. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if she found it hard to make it take a curl. It was so straight—like her.

He wasn't a fanciful sort of man, not normally, but when it came to her hair, he'd surprised himself by comparing it to all sorts of things that another man, the kind of man who was bookish, might work up into a poem. It put him in mind of hot summer nights when, as a boy, he'd stolen away from this house to go swimming in the lake. Naked, he would float on his back in water that had felt like silk against his skin and gaze up at the stars. Stars whose reflection shimmered in the water that bore him up. There seemed hardly any distance between water and sky. He'd got the notion that if he stretched his hands up, he could have touched them, made them shiver the way their reflections all around him shivered. As though he was floating in sky, and stars, and water, all at the same time.

And when he plunged his fingers into her hair while he was plunging himself inside her, he got the feeling that what he was doing was not just slaking a physical urge, but something more...something almost mystical.

Her eyes fluttered open, fixed on him and...warmed. Welcomed his presence.

There was no pretence about it. There hadn't been a moment of hesitation, followed by the calculated smile he was used to getting from the women he'd taken to bed in the past. She was genuinely pleased to see him when she woke up.

A strange feeling stirred inside. A feeling of acceptance he hadn't felt since... Well, he wasn't sure he'd ever had anyone show such fondness for him, not once they'd got to know him as well as she'd done, over the past few days. He couldn't remember his mother all that well. He'd been too young when she'd died to work out whether those vague feelings of acceptance had truly come from her, or whether he'd just dreamed them up in his childish need for...for something he certainly never got from his father. His father had definitely never been
fond
of him. He'd seen him pet his hounds and horses, but never, not once, had he been anything but brusque with his own offspring.