The Lodestone (2 page)

“Wait, Lass,” William said, putting a hand out to stop Cleome. “I’ll go with you.”

“No,” she answered, hastily tying the pink ribbons of her straw bonnet under her chin. “You’ll make matters worse, Granda. Considering how many times you’ve emptied Lord Easton’s pockets at cards, he doesn’t need cause to become angrier than he will be if Molly has got to Major Domo again. And if there’s anyone who can give him cause, ’tis you.” As if to ease the sting of her words, she stood on tiptoe and quickly kissed his wrinkled cheek. Young Sam could only imagine the feel of her soft lips.

“Then take Old Sam,” William ordered. “I’ll not have you go there alone. ’Tis not seemly you should go a’tall, but if you must, then you’ll not go alone. I’ll tell him to ready the cart while Young Sam puts a saddle on Epitome.”

“Very well, but he’ll never keep up,” she agreed as she flew through the door, her skirts flapping about her ankles like the wings of an angry swan. She and Epitome would leave Old Sam and the cart trailing in a cloud of dust, but it was clear she didn’t intend to waste any time arguing with her grandfather. “Hurry, Samuel!” Cleome called out to Young Sam with growing vexation. “Or we’ll find Molly lying in her own blood!”

He ran ahead of her to the stable but he had scarcely got the bridle over the head of the stamping, impatient colt, when Cleome burst through the door.

“There’s no time for that! Help me up.”

“But you must have your saddle, miss,” he said, hoping to have her close to him for a moment, alone in the stables, where he could breathe in the sweet, velvety scent of her. But she was as skillful on bareback as she was in the saddle, so it would be useless to try and persuade her. He had wanted to volunteer to go with her to Easton Place but knowing what the master’s answer would be, he’d kept his silence. Mr. William would point out that he was needed at the inn, to help the guests on their way. He knew the truth in that, for he and his kin had served the inn for three generations. But how he wanted to watch Cleome ride bareback through the woods to Easton’s.

He leaned over and formed a stirrup with work-roughened hands; and in one swift movement, she had placed a dainty foot in it and was mounted on Epitome’s back. Such a featherweight she was that Young Sam felt hardly any pressure on his hands at all. He swore inwardly as she straddled the horse, her skirts billowing about her and finally settling mid-calf, making him burn for her all the more.

“Hold her, now!” Old Sam’s voice rang out behind them as he rushed in. “Miss Cleome, give me a moment to hitch up Dobbin. Hold that monster’s bridle, Samuel.”

“Yessir,” Young Sam said, tightening his grip as Old Sam scowled at him. He knew what his granda was thinking but he didn’t care. He knew as well as anybody that he could never have Cleome, not for keeps at any rate. In their narrow-minded hamlet, he could sooner marry the wanton serving wench, Fanny. At least that ’un had her father’s name, without having to borrow it. But thoughts of having Cleome, and having her soon, had been occupying his mind lately. She had grown up and grown well.

Epitome jerked his head away as if demanding to be off but Young Sam held him firmly. Cleome patted the horse’s neck and whispered soothingly, not even noticing how close the groom was leaning. He had but to reach out and his hand would brush her thigh, and such a movement could be taken for an accident. Her nearness made him drunk or half-demented—and her just the by-blow of a tinsmith, a pans and pots man who’d ended his sorry life fighting Napoleon for the king. At least the Eagle’s Head and surrounding land would go to her some day; and more than once, Young Sam had considered sacrificing his good name in exchange for such a dowry.

But then there was her ma to be considered and according to Fanny, the woman had lost her mind over losing Jimmy Parker. What man wanted an insane mother-in-law whose condition, mayhap, would be passed on to the next generation.

In her efforts to pacify the prancing colt, Cleome’s soft hand brushed against Young Sam’s strong, callused one, and the quick thrill of it almost paralyzed him. As Cleome took off down the lane toward Easton Place, her slippers fell off her feet, which she then dug into Epitome’s sides, urging him on. Young Sam leaned over to pick up her shoes, and the heat of desire engulfed his loins and coursed through his body like a bolt of lightning.

Chapter Two

As Drake untied his horse and led him away from the stream and through the thick copse of trees that edged it, he heard a sound like rolling thunder. A rider galloped past him on the lane, and his horse whinnied in protest as a cloud of dust kicked up around them. An oath escaped Drake’s lips as the grime of the road clung to him once again. Who the devil would ride a horse at such breakneck speed?

In the distance that quickly increased between himself and the reckless rider, he could see voluminous skirts billowing around shapely ankles and small, bare feet. Her bonnet flew off and, as if released by a catapult, a cascade of copper-colored curls tumbled down. Glinting in the sun like rubies, they bounced against shapely shoulders.

A woman!
The thought filled him with anticipation.
And she sits a horse as well as a man! But what in blazes is she running away from?
He stepped into the lane and picked up the straw hat with the pink satin ribbons that had fallen, unnoticed by its owner. As if in answer to his unspoken question, a tradesman’s cart wheeled complacently into view and its driver touched his forelock to Drake.

“By yer leave, sir,” the ancient groom spoke respectfully. “I’ll return the miss’s bonnet to her.” He held out a gnarled, callused hand.

Drake tied the bonnet to his saddle horn and mounted his chestnut stallion. “You’ll never catch up to her at that pace, old man,” he said with a grin as he urged his horse forward.

The old man’s voice rang out behind him like a challenge. “All due respects, sir! Ye’ll not be catching up to her, either! Not on that mount, nor any other!”

Drake Stoneham was a man who did not like to be challenged, because once the challenge had been set, it must be won. His pulse quickened as he dug his heels into Prince Talleyrand’s sides and leaned forward, speaking into the horse’s ear, coaxing the stallion onward.

He could scarcely believe his eyes, for his mount was fast and came of pure bloodlines. Drake had been urged more than once to race him but his interests lay elsewhere. Besides, a strong, fast horse was essential to him in his travels. It was much to his chagrin that he could come no closer than two full lengths behind the girl before she pulled away as if propelled by the wind itself. He caught up with her as she rode into the expansive yard of an imposing manor house, reined in her horse and slid gracefully from his back. Taking no heed of the footmen who came to assist her, she ran towards the rear of the house, her bare feet kicking up puffs of dust.

“What a horse,” Drake murmured, smiling with appreciation while the back of his mind whispered,
What a woman!
Who was so careless, he wondered, to allow such a beauty to gallop over the landscape like that, with no thought to her safety or reputation.

As he came around the side of the house, Drake had to pull Prince Talleyrand up short to keep from riding over the girl. She stood firm, her hands on trim but well-formed hips, and confronted the head groom who had stepped in front of her, blocking her way to the stables. “Tell your master that William Desmond’s granddaughter has come for the mare,” she said in a tone that would indulge no nonsense.

“Aye, Miss Cleome. She’s here,” the groom responded with a jerk of his thumb to indicate the stables behind him. “Lucky for her we got to ’em in time. If Major Domo had mated her again, she would have been done for, she would.”

“Not while there’s breath in my body!” the lovely Cleome declared, and Drake smiled, enjoying the sight of a pretty lass so ready to do battle for her horse. As the side door of the elegant mansion sprang open, she spun around to face a gentleman of at least threescore and five. He stormed across the marble patio and into the yard, heading straight toward the startled girl. Drake could tell by the set of his mouth and crimson blaze of his complexion that he was furious. Cleome’s groom and his pony cart were nowhere to be seen as yet, so Drake quickly dismounted. It appeared the enchanting equestrienne would be in need of assistance, which he would be happy to give.

“It will not be necessary to tell the master anything,” the old gentleman said gruffly. “For he is standing here before you.”

She froze, her face blanched as white as the king’s new linen. But then she took a deep breath and walked over to the gentleman with what Drake considered an admirable display of courage for one so small, and a woman at that.

“I have come for my horse,” she said stoutly.

“I’ve warned William Desmond repeatedly about that mare,” the man informed her in a pompous, nasal voice. “If it happens again, I swear I shall teach her with my own whip to mind her manners.”

“But Lord Easton,” Cleome reasoned. “Your groom has told me no harm was done. And even so, we are quite prepared to care for any result, as we did the last time.”

“My dear young woman,” his lordship snapped. “I would prefer that Major Domo save his—” here he paused a moment in deference to Cleome’s delicate sex. “Ah—save his
strength
for a thoroughbred.”

Color flooded Cleome’s face and anger flashed in her blue eyes and she replied quietly, “Please believe, milord, that I would prefer the same for my mare!”

It was all the footmen and groom could do to contain their mirth at such effrontery, but stifle it they did. Lord Easton’s eyebrows shot up in surprise that this slip of a girl would address him with such disrespect—and that she would also hurl such an insult upon his horse. He spluttered in vexation, at a complete loss for words.

Drake leaned against his horse, thoroughly enjoying the entertainment. The young beauty didn’t seem to need his aid after all. The door was again thrown open and manly laughter rang out behind Lord Easton and the girl. A handsome youth strode into the yard, grinning broadly. He was dressed in an elaborate riding costume and he cut a fine figure with his thin, wiry frame and his golden curls. He seemed quite as amused by the situation as Drake was.

“I say, Father,” he quipped brightly, smiling and aiming every ounce of his charm at Cleome. “It hardly seems honorable to whip a lady merely for following the dictates of nature—and, there was no
rendezvous
after all.” Cleome bristled at his words but he stepped up to her and caught her hand. “What? Not even a hello for me, after all these years? Why, Cleome . . . such manners!”

“Hello, Garnett,” she muttered.

“
Enchante
,” he murmured, bending to brush her hand with his lips. With no apology, she pulled it away from him.

“Get the damned horse!” Lord Easton barked at his groom and as the man led the errant mare into the stable yard, Easton warned Cleome anew. “I promise you, impertinent miss, that if she finds her way here unattended again, it will be the last time.”

Cleome led Molly to the edge of the lawn where the old man Drake had passed on the road was just pulling the Shetland to a halt. She quickly tied the mare to the back of the cart, and then she went to the splendid colt that had conveyed her to the Easton estate. With a slight bow, Drake held her bonnet out to her as she passed him.

“I believe this is yours, mademoiselle,” he said.

**

With a terrible shock, Cleome realized that a stranger had witnessed the entire uproar. If her Grandmamma were still alive, she would have punished Cleome severely for acting “like lowborn Liverpool trash.” A blush crept into her cheeks and heightened them to a warm glow as she looked up into smoky, hazel eyes that were thickly fringed with dark lashes and sparkling with unspent laughter.

“Thank you, sir,” she said as she took the bonnet from the tall stranger. She turned away from him and hastily replaced it, trying to restore her hair to some semblance of order. By the time she had tied the ribbons, this giant of a man was bending in front of her beside Epitome, his hands forming a stirrup; and she realized she had also lost her slippers somewhere along the way. Her blush deepened but she allowed him to help her up onto Epitome’s back; and his warm flesh cupping the naked arch of her foot inspired within her a longing such as she’d never experienced, and that she could not name.

She nodded with as much dignity as possible to the small company of gentlemen and motioned for Old Sam to follow her. He touched his brow to Lord Easton, the younger Easton and the stranger; and then he dutifully followed his mistress down the lane and into the forest.

**

“That piece of baggage is none of your business, sir,” Lord Easton informed him curtly. “I will thank you to remember your place and allow her to keep to hers.”

“Daresay, you do not take Desmond’s
place
into consideration when there’s cribbage or whist going on ever there!” the young man retorted pleasantly.

“
Yes . . . well. That’s different. All men are equal on the turf—and under it! Indeed, in any game of chance, if a man’s purse is sufficient to his daring. What you have in mind for that lass is considerably different, I wager.”

“’Pon my word, Father! What a low opinion you have of me. To think I would do such a comely maid any kind of dishonor!”

Lord Easton laughed at his son’s dry wit. “You, sir, are incorrigible!” he said proudly. “You think all it takes is a bit of nonsense to make me forget you were sent down from university in disgrace.”

“Disgrace? To be sent from that damnable, boring place?” Garnett countered. “They have no investigative courses on fine wine or women—and what else is there in life, after all?”

Drake cleared his throat and the two Eastons turned to face him. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I hesitate to interrupt your levity on such a lovely day but I seem to have lost my way in search of an inn.”