Rescuing Mr. Gracey (2 page)

Unlike the redheaded man’s clipped British accent, Mr. Alexander’s brogue, though educated, hinted at an Irish heritage.

“A pleasure to have your acquaintance, Miss Smyth,” he continued, bowing.

She tensed at his use of her last name. The information meant he or his friend had means to report her. Extending his coat, she said, “I fear your jacket has suffered.”

With careless disregard, he slung it over his shoulder. “On the contrary,” he murmured. As his smile broadened, the corners of his hypnotic blue eyes crinkled boyishly. “I think if the fortunate coat could talk, the garment would claim it suffered not at all.”

Heat radiated from her cheeks, likely igniting the dreaded freckles all over her nose. Snapping her focus away, Mary kept her gaze upon her friend.
Don’t pay attention to his charm, Mary Smyth.

“We must apologize for having disrupted your swim,” Mr. Alexander said.

Sporting a coy grin, Lily pointed a long finger at Mary. “Don’t be lumpin’ me with that fool. Everyone knows the lake ’tis too cold for sensible people.” She laughed, elbowing Mr. James. “Ye’re a wee bit fancy. Did ya say where ye’re from?”

Mr. James made a disapproving sound just as Mr. Alexander answered. “We’re from the south.”

“A wee visit, then?” Lily asked.

Mr. Alexander cleared his throat. “For the summer. Perhaps employment.”

Mary’s suspicion increased.
The man is weaving a tale.
Tailored clothes, English manners, and an educated accent exposed them as men of leisure and wealth. They did not seek employment. She would bet tonight’s potato on it.

Why is he lying to us? We are simple maids and of no concern to gentlemen.
Furthering her investigative study of the handsome man, she noted high cheekbones, strong, square jaw, and a long, straight nose perfectly placed upon a deeply bronzed face. Likely, he spent much time outdoors, yet he managed to smell so clean.
Delicious.

Startled by these odd, wayward thoughts, Mary folded tight arms across her chest and shifted attention to the safety of her own bare feet, listening to Lily’s uninterruptable, ill-spoken chatter.

Mary exhaled. Her rebellious eyes slid toward the polished boots standing a few inches away…very expensive. Gray trousers…tailored perfectly to fit his long, muscular legs. A fine linen shirt clung to a flat stomach. The shirt was devoid of a cravat, as if he rejected formality in favor of leisurely comfort. Very broad shoulders carried his six-foot frame with authority and confidence.

Her scrutiny lifted higher to the top of his head. Bluish-black hair, ruffled boyishly as if disturbed by frustrated fingers. One curl, restless and wavy, pointed toward a jagged scar just above his brow. She wondered how he acquired the surprising imperfection. A fight over a beautiful damsel? Perhaps an accident on a dark road or an encounter with a thief?

The scar disappeared into his brow, reappearing adjacent to long, black eyelashes that framed the bluest eyes…

He turned and captured her startled gaze with blue glittering pools that laughed without sound.

Stunned, she swallowed a frustrated scream and jerked her head toward the lake.
Appraising him as if he is some knight in shining armor like a scruffy street urchin longing for a crust of bread.
Fierce heat flushed her face as her eyes squeezed shut from the embarrassment. No doubt her hated nose freckles now scattered like brown seeds.

Never in her whole life had she dared observe a man in such a brazen way.
Shameless!
Mary stepped away. Narrowing her eyes, she refocused on Lily and mounted a defensive barrier against the ridiculous attraction.
He’s the devil himself
, she thought, regaining a bit of pride with her temper.

“Me da got his hut tumbled, so I dug a hole along a hill, ya know. Well, since the Gracey mill ain’t never goin’ to hire natives, I’m spanking to earn me a potato.”

Mr. Alexander startled, then stiffened before he recovered with a wipe of his expression.

Lily noticed his reaction and interpreted it as confusion. “I’m guessin’ a fine gentleman like yourself don’ know me meanin’, so I’ll tell ya, sir. Spanking is cuttin’ away turf. ’Bout breaks me back…and look at me hands.” Batting her eyelashes, she waved her torn hands in front of Mr. James. “What else is an unattached girl to do?”

Flicking a brief inspecting glance, Mr. James frowned. “Gruesome to think some must toil.” His nose lifted in the air. “Delighted it isn’t me.”

Mary bit her tongue and forced her itchy fingers not to slap the arrogant face.
British invader would not last one week cutting turf!

“I doubt anyone respectable would hire you, sir,” Mr. Alexander said sharply. “You obviously eat plenty of cake and lack the strength and endurance to perform any real work.”

Lily laughed. Mr. James’s face flushed. Both men glared at the other, their dislike obvious. The tension between the two made the afternoon sun seem all the warmer.

“We have commitments,” she said. “Thank you for the use of your frockcoat, sir.”

Mr. Alexander’s scowl cleared as he shifted his attention back toward Mary. “Miss Connelly and Miss Smyth, will you tarry long enough for a bit of refreshment? Sharing our small offering will ease my conscience for the carelessness of our carriage.”

Before Mary could refuse, Lily shouted approval. “Oh, t’ be sure. All we got is a petate ’tween us.”

With swift deliberation, Mr. Alexander swung a small satchel from his shoulder and lifted rare, delectable offerings. Wine, cheese, bread,
salted beef.

A hollow ache twisted her stomach, reminding her of her own poverty. The block of cheese and the long loaf of bread would feed her entire family for days. But the beef?

Lily’s eyes widened. “Mary,” she whispered. “Did ya ever see the likes?”

Mary’s heart thudded a warning. The hefty price of beef screamed the wealth of these two men…and wealthy men were something the native Irish feared.

“Lily…” she whispered. They needed to leave now.

Turning toward Mr. Alexander, Lily said, “We don’t eat like that since
an Gorta Mór
. The famine, brought on by the black blight, ya know?
”

Mr. Alexander hesitated, his hand paused over the satchel. “I came upon funds from…a relative.” The beef disappeared inside the bag. “I spent a portion on our empty stomachs…”

Lying. Again.
Mary tugged Lily’s thin arm, but her friend jerked away.

“We’d be pleased to eat a wee snack, sir.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any cups,” he said, extending the silver container. “Do you mind drinking from the flask?”

Lily’s devilish smile spread. “Are ya’ foolin’?” Snatching the wine flask, she rudely chugged, liquid overflowing from her mouth and dribbling onto her chin.

Mary recoiled. “Lily!” Dread, embarrassment, desperation tightened her voice until it sounded like an out-of-tune fiddle.

Lily flicked an irritated frown. “I’m thankin’ ya for the fine offering.” She tipped the container to her mouth again and gulped.

Mary heard her own blood pounding in her ears. Humiliation became a living, breathing thing that loomed over her, melting her burning face, her trembling hands. Why did she want to cry and cover her face with her torn apron all the while explaining that, despite her tattered dress and shoeless feet, she had not always been poor? She wanted to explain that, once, she had been educated by her father, the best Hedgemaster instructor in Ireland, and she wore pretty dresses and even ate cheese.

Once, a thousand hungry days past…before her dreams had faded to black, melted fungus.

“Try it, Mary.” Lily swiped her face with a dirty shirt sleeve. “’Tis no’ sour a’tall.”

Closing her eyes, Mary shut out the image of Lily stuffing her face.
What do you care if he thinks badly of you?
You’re full of foolish pride, Mary Smyth.

Braving a quick glance toward Mr. Alexander, she was startled to see his gentle, understanding smile. Beyond her own reasoning, she accepted the bread. “You are most kind, sir.”

He gave her a satisfied grin. “I’ve been away for a decade and had forgotten the beauty of the Mournes in the spring. Exquisite.”

The geniality of his voice—intimate, sincere—invited company. She refused by taking another nip of the bread.

“I did not know about this little lake,” he continued. “And this valley, tucked inside the forest like this. Do you swim here often?”

Mary nearly choked. Considering her strong suspicion regarding who they were, she prayed he would not discover how frequently she trespassed at the lake owned by Lord Roden. “I find it occasionally refreshing,” she managed.

“Ha,” Lily scoffed. “Me and Mary argue near every week. I say, ‘Mary, the lake ’tis a torture.’ Then Mary says, ‘Tis a treat to be clean,’ and in she goes.” Lily elbowed Mr. James and laughed with boisterous hilarity. “Damaged in the head, I says. ’Tis freezin’ even in summer.”

Mary fisted her hand, wishing it could clamp over her friend’s very loud mouth.

“You must try this cheese,” Mr. Alexander intervened. “It comes from a cheesemaker in Dublin and is, in my humble opinion, the finest ever made.”

Her mouth watered when she glanced at the tempting chunk of aromatic food, and she tried to remember the last time she had such a treat. “I must refuse,” she said, tightening her will.
Better to eat just the bread
.
The cheese is too expensive and may demand payment. “
Thank you all the same.”

“You don’t care for cheese?”

She felt her eyes widen at the question. “I enjoy it very well.” Indeed, it was her favorite food.

“I insist you try a sample.”

Her eyes would not unlock from the sumptuous delicacy. Perhaps just a wee tiny bite, as long as she remained standing and stayed steps from the forest’s edge in case an escape became necessary. Biting her lip, she tried to hold back desire. “Thank you for your kindness,” she relented. Holding on to the generous piece, she wondered should she eat it or share it with her family?

The internal debate ended when Mr. James stretched out to lie on his back on the sandy ground, as if to remind all that the present company of ladies was not worthy of gentlemanly manners or respect, elevating the threat. Alert and frightened by his disregard for manners, she was even more eager to leave.

“Taste the cheese,” Mr. Alexander said, drawing her attention back to him. His smile, boyish, one-sided, his tone seductive and commanding, tangled her resistance. “You won’t regret it.”

Her rigid posture melted into a puddle of confusion. She nibbled the yellow slice. Sharp, tantalizing, the cheese melted all over her tongue, surprising every sense. She closed her eyes when the superb taste slid down her throat.
“
It’s been so long,” she heard herself groan.

Did she say that aloud? Her eyes flew open. How could she do that…let him witness her pathetic need? Her poverty!
How could ya, Mary Smyth?

Mr. Alexander’s gaze lingered on her lips, then lifted to her distressed expression. Smiling gently, he whispered, “My reaction exactly.”

However, Mr. James erupted with rude laughter. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen that kind of appreciation from a bit of cheese and bread. These girls are entertaining, are they not, Alec?” He reached up and clasped Lily’s arm, then jerked in an effort to pull her down. She teetered, barely managing to stay standing.

“James.” Mr. Alexander’s bark, frightening, threatening, forced the heavy man to release Lily.

James’s lack of manners finally awoke Mary’s sleeping temper.
Arrogant man! English invader… An Orangeman, no doubt, from his cheap, shameful behavior.
Stepping forward, she speared Mr. James with her most insulting glare, then shoved the remaining chunk of cheese back into Mr. Alexander’s hand.

“We must be going, Lily.” She grabbed her friend’s arm and turned toward the forest. “We’ve been gone too long, and we’ll be missed.”

“Tarry long enough to finish the cheese,” Mr. Alexander said. Grasping Mary’s hand, he turned it to place the cheese in her palm. An immediate grimace escaped him before he hid his disgusted expression and replaced it with one of concern.

She knew her tortured palm shocked the man. A month’s worth of working in her da’s field with a broken, splintered spade had infected portions of her palm, leaving it blistered and cut.

As she clutched the offensive fist behind her back, surprising tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “Please excuse us, gentlemen.” She hated the wobble in her voice. Pulling Lily with force, Mary shoved her through the hedge opening.

“Are ya goin’ t’ the dance dis eve?” Lily called back.

Astonished at the unexpected invitation, Mary released a small cry. “Lily.”

“Perhaps we might meet you there,” Mr. Alexander responded.

“Come along. Now!”

Dragging the taller girl behind her, Mary was appalled that Lily resisted. “It’s at Dolly’s…”

Mary pinched Lily so fiercely her friend spewed a loud string of curses. “Lily!” Hauling her companion up the small hill, she dared not say one more word until they reached the bridge. “I canno’ believe ya. How could ya be so familiar? Canno’ ya see those men are no’ our kind? Did ya no’ notice their demeanor?”