Once an Innocent (16 page)

“Aunt Janine and Sir Randell seem to have had a row, don’t they?” There was a bewildered edge to her voice.

“I do believe they detest one another.” He pressed closer against her soft torso and tilted her face up. Her lips were sinfully plump and inviting; the bottom one trembled.

“I met your ward,” she blurted, “Enrique.”

Oh. That put a damper on things.

She panted as though it had been a physical effort on her part to reengage her mind when he knew she’d been as caught up in the moment as he.

Blast it all, he thought crossly, she should not have met Enrique. She was not to have
known
about Enrique. None of them were. That way lay danger, and he was supposed to steer Naomi away from harm.

He chuckled softly, still cradling her head in his hands. “You wanted to talk about my ward?” He presented the question as though he found the idea silly.

Naomi shook her head. “Something isn’t right. I was told he’s Spanish, but I heard the boy speak French.”

“He’s Spanish,” Jordan said flatly.

A frown creased her brow, and he saw a petulant look cross her face. She was going to argue. To question. There was only one thing to be done.

He kissed her.

Every thought flew from Naomi’s mind when Jordan suddenly brought his mouth down on hers, warm and firm. She closed her eyes in shock, then kept them closed, because she suddenly experienced a new world of sensation that did not require vision. She felt breathless. A frisson of pleasure shot through her, settling low in her belly. The coat wrapped her in his scent, contributing another note of intimacy.

Jordan still held her face in his hands. He parted his lips. Instinctively, she opened hers, as well, relishing the closer contact. At the first, soft melding of tongues, he withdrew.

He lifted his face and regarded her with surprise. “Forgive me,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t have.” His features still registering shock, Jordan led Naomi back toward the house at a brisk pace.

It took a moment for her mind to clear. The kiss had been brief, but Naomi’s heart pounded in her chest, as though she’d run a long distance. The tall male beside her was all hard lines in the dim light, no sign of the sensuality she’d felt in his kiss. The contact had been such a surprise. Certainly, she’d never expected it when they’d come outside to talk about —

“Enrique,” she said, pulling him to a stop. “I want to speak with you about him.”

He huffed. “What is there to discuss? The boy is my ward; I provide him a home and education.”

“How did you meet him?” Naomi asked, her eyes wide in the darkness.

Jordan made an exasperated sound and waved his hands. “My regiment was in Madrid, and I collared him trying to pick my pocket. Just a scruffy, little, street brat. An orphan. I paid him to act as my page. Took leave of my senses and offered him a home here.” He started walking again.

“And that’s it?” Naomi asked, incredulous at his perfunctory delivery, and moving fast to keep pace. So quickly had his demeanor turned, she could hardly believe this was the same man who had kissed her only a moment ago.

“What more should there be?” His tone took on an icy edge that Naomi wondered at. Why did he bristle so on the subject of his ward?

“For one,” she said, struggling to keep her own voice moderate, despite her frustration, “I wonder how a French boy came to be an urchin in Madrid.”

“He’s Spanish,” Jordan insisted.

Naomi stopped again and scoffed. “I have been thoroughly schooled in the French language; I know a native speaker when I hear one.”

She caught a hint of a sardonic smile. “I regret to inform you that you are sorely mistaken. You may know something of the French tongue, but your limited education seems not to have included the Basque region.”

Naomi’s cheeks burned as he heaped insults upon her head. Unfortunately, he had the best of her in this one particular, as she did not know anything about the Basque region, other than having seen the words on a map of Europe. “What has that to do with anything?”

They reached the house. Light from the torches out front lit Jordan’s face. He turned his charming smile on her, but his eyes were cold. “Merely that the Basque people speak a hodgepodge of French, Spanish, and their own tongue, which is akin to the Slavic languages. If you heard Enrique speak French, it is because he grew up speaking it, in part. That does not, however, negate the fact that the child is a Spanish national.”

She felt deflated. How could she have been so mistaken? “Perhaps,” she said. Shaking her head, she frowned. “He sounds so very
French,
though.”

“But he’s not,” Jordan said perfunctorily. He held the door for her as she slipped out of his coat. “You are mistaken on the matter. And Naomi … ” He touched her elbow. Her stomach flipped. For an instant, she felt the same intense draw she’d experienced just before he kissed her. Then his lips hardened. “It would be best if you forget you saw the boy,” he said flatly. “My ward is none of your concern.”

The next morning found Naomi amongst a group of ladies headed to the village. She walked arm in arm with Aunt Janine, who was unusually quiet. Ordinarily, Naomi’s relative would have commented upon every interesting feature in the landscape. Ordinarily, Naomi would have commented upon her aunt’s strange silence and inquired what was the matter. Today, though, she was distracted with last night’s events.

Jordan had kissed her and then cut her down the very next minute. She could only conclude the kiss had been a diversion to stop her questions about Enrique. For the life of her, she could not imagine why Jordan had gone to such an extreme measure, merely to avoid discussing his ward. It was beyond mystifying.

Naomi reflected on her sadly brief catalog of kisses. There had been Mr. Hayward in the library the night of the auction, and then Jordan last night. Of the two, only Mr. Hayward seemed to have kissed her because he felt anything. Jordan — the man she much preferred to Mr. Hayward — kissed her only to keep words from coming out of her mouth. How lowering! It was really too bad that kissing Jordan had been one of the most intense pleasures of her life, since he clearly did not share the sentiment.

“You’re awful quiet,” Aunt Janine said. “What’s rattling around in your head?”

Naomi raised a brow. “That should have been my question to you, Auntie. I was quiet because you were.” She pointed to a mountain in the distance. “What do you make of the white streak cutting through the cliff face over there?”

Aunt Janine sighed impatiently. “Oh, I don’t know, girl. Sir Randell has nothing at all to recommend him. That’s what I know.”

Up ahead, Kate walked beside her mother and trailed a hand through the tall grass growing alongside the road. Clara spoke with Lady Gray. At the front of the group, Trudy Price engaged in lively conversation, at least on her side, with the perennially frail-looking Miss Elton. Beside them, Miss Knight — engaged to marry Mr. Young, Naomi had learned — cast impatient glances in her companions’ direction. Though her coloring differed from Lily’s, Miss Knight’s manner reminded Naomi of her good friend’s no-nonsense attitude.

Gently leading Aunt Janine around a puddle in the path, Naomi asked in a neutral tone, “What was your disagreement with Sir Randell about?”

The older woman’s cheeks colored. “What disa — oh!” She let out a strangled huff. “I knew he was making too much noise, the great brute!”

Naomi smiled to herself. She did not tell her aunt it was
her
raised voice that had greeted them when she and Jordan had entered the room, not Sir Randell’s.

“I’ll tell you what the disagreement was about,” Aunt Janine stated. She proceeded to explain, word by word, just how the “insolent man” had wronged her.

Naomi tried to attend — something about a geologic survey — but she found herself thinking yet again about what had passed between her and Jordan last night. Had he really felt nothing when they’d kissed? Naomi had felt … well, quite a lot!

“Auntie,” she said, cutting off Janine’s diatribe, “perhaps you should try being more agreeable to people.”

Aunt Janine sputtered. “I’m all agreeableness!” she protested.

“No, you’re not,” Naomi countered. “You’re marvelous to those of whom you approve and rather cantankerous with everyone else, if you don’t mind my saying.”

A sniff from her aunt was the only reply.

They topped a rise and saw the village nestled in the valley a quarter mile away. Just outside the picturesque settlement, Naomi, Clara, and Kate called at the vicarage while the others continued to the shops. They met with the clergyman’s wife, Mrs. Barton, who was delighted to hear Naomi’s inquiry about local needs. She took them to a small outbuilding behind the house where she and The Reverend Mr. Barton were attempting to build up a store of foods to help sustain needy villagers through the coming winter. Two hams hung from the rafters, and a few crocks of preserves stood in a row. Other than those, the shelves were bare.

Naomi sighed to herself and shook her head. These were Jordan’s people. He should be aware of the need in the village; he should be the first and greatest contributor to this worthy endeavor. She and Clara assured the vicar’s wife they would begin preserving some of Lintern Abbey’s summer bounty the very next day.

“May I help, too?” Kate asked her mother as they walked into the village to rejoin the others.

“You have my permission,” Clara said, “but must ask approval from Lady Naomi. This is her cause.”

Naomi startled at her new friend’s statement. “No, no!” she insisted. “This is our project — all of ours.”

Unpersuaded by her words, Kate looked at her hopefully. “May I help, Lady Naomi? I could gather fruits, or stir the pot, or chop — ”

“No chopping!” Clara interrupted. “I’ll see you grown with your fingers intact, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Of course you may help,” Naomi said. “I would never turn away willing hands.”

The younger girl beamed.

“It’s unlucky my sister-in-law, the Duchess of Monthwaite, is not here,” Naomi said. “She’s a wonder in the kitchen and would preserve everything in a three-mile radius in a single afternoon.”

A smile split Kate’s freckled face, and she laughed in delight. “Is that true? A duchess who works in a kitchen?”

Naomi nodded, and a smile tugged at her lips as she recalled her party last year, which Isabelle had saved from disaster by single-handedly preparing the massive supper for the guests. A more recent memory, of Isabelle telling Naomi she was not needed at Helmsdale, chilled her heart. She tried to cheer herself with the thought that she was with new friends now and amongst people who
did
need her.

Lintern Village was too small to truly bustle with activity, but the high street was nevertheless populated with a fair number of people going about their daily business. There was a butcher shop and a general store. The engraved brass plate on one door indicated the presence of a surgeon. A mail coach stood in front of the inn. A young woman, no older than Kate, in simple garb, clambered up to a seat on top of the coach and waved goodbye to her mother and siblings huddled together on the curb as the vehicle pulled away.

“Going into service somewhere,” Clara murmured. A pained expression marked her face as she looked at the family the girl had just left behind.

“Why wasn’t she given a place at the Abbey?” Naomi wondered.

Clara shook her head and sighed. “Nothing goes on at the Abbey. It’s maintained by a skeletal staff who only has Sir Randell, young Enrique, and themselves to wait upon. If Jordan was married, if he did more entertaining, perhaps there would be need for more servants. But as it is … ” She shook her head sadly again and crossed the street to offer a handkerchief and a sympathetic shoulder to the weeping mother who had just sent her daughter out into the world to fend for herself.

Even as she told herself she had no right to be, Naomi found herself perturbed at Jordan. If he were more attentive to his estate and its dependent village, that poor child might not have had to leave her family. The wages of one more maid would be nothing to him, while the money would mean everything to the girl’s mother.

Kate waved her over to where she stood in front of a shop. “Will you go in with me?”

They entered the little business, an all-purpose women’s clothier. Bolts of colorful fabrics were neatly stacked on tables on one side of the space, while the other side was dedicated to headwear. Behind the counter, spools of ribbon and bins of buttons and other trimmings occupied several shelves.

A pleasant, middle-aged woman emerged from a back room. “Good morning, ladies. May I be of assistance?”

Naomi glanced out the window and saw Clara still speaking with the village woman. A pang shot through her chest. “I require a new bonnet.” She surprised herself with the declaration, as she’d had no intention of doing anything beyond settling on a charitable project this morning, but the brightening of the proprietress’s face confirmed that her patronage was most welcome. Her eyes flicked to Kate. “My young friend requires a new bonnet, as well.”

Kate’s cheeks went scarlet. “I haven’t any pin money,” she whispered.

“I didn’t ask if you did,” Naomi said with a fond smile. “I would like to make you a gift.”

Jordan’s sister grinned with surprised delight.

“Are you ladies from the Abbey?” the shopkeeper inquired.

“We are,” Naomi confirmed.

The woman smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid I have little ready-made, such as what you must be used to find in London.”

“Never mind,” Naomi said kindly, “I prefer to begin with a form. Shall we?”

The woman — Miss Scrimshire, as she identified herself — gestured Naomi to a little chair before a vanity. There followed a parade of bonnet forms and discussion of fabrics and trims, with Naomi consistently choosing more costly materials.

Then came Kate’s turn in the chair. Given the girl’s age, Naomi began by choosing a closer-cut form and directed Miss Scrimshire to the cottons and muslins, rather than the silks and satins Naomi had drawn from. Beyond that, however, she gave Kate free rein to choose what she pleased.