Wild Passion (9 page)

Chapter 1

Cumberland, 1857

There was something deliciously wicked about being
improper. But only, Meg decided, if no one was there to watch.

“Meg, do hurry.”

Her carefree mood was quickly destroyed by the
impatience of the child in front of her. The surface of the water
kissed Hanna’s knees, but the soothing motion did little to calm
the child. Hands on hips and lower lip pushed into a familiar pout,
she was obviously frustrated with Meg’s lack of speed.

Resisting the urge to laugh at Hanna’s disgruntled
frown, Meg settled onto the bank and set her knitting aside. With
deft fingers, she slid off her slippers. The grass underneath was
damp with last night’s rain and made quick work of soaking through
her skirts and petticoats. Meg shifted, resisting the urge to
curse.

“Patience is a virtue, Poppet.”

Hanna sighed the way only a child who’d had to wait
much too long could. “Not one of Grandpapa’s sermons now.”

Meg tucked her chin to her chest to hide her grin.
The moment they’d stepped near the stream, Hanna had dropped her
clothes like a heathen and now stood in her shift waiting for Meg
to do the same. As if it were that easy for an adult to be so free.
No, adults had propriety and rules to abide by. Still, as Julia had
once said, one must test those rules upon occasion, if only to stir
the tepidness that is life.

Meg kicked off her shoes and stockings. “For Julia,”
she whispered.

She wiggled her toes, appreciating the cool, crisp
grass that tickled her sensitive feet. With a contented sigh, she
stretched her legs and dipped her toes into the stream. Just as
quickly, she jerked her feet out again, goosebumps marring her
flesh.

“’Tis bitterly cold. Perhaps another day?” she teased
Hanna.

“’Twill warm soon enough, you’ll see.” Apparently,
unable to wait a moment longer, Hanna cried out and splashed like a
person having an apoplexy.

“I’m a bit old to be playing in the creek,” Meg
yelled over the noise, knowing Hanna wouldn’t give a fig, yet
feeling the need to argue her case all the same.

Hanna turned, her black hair plastered like tar to
her head. With fingers still pudgy from youth she shoved the wet
locks back. “Well, then I wish to always be young. Old people lead
rather boring lives.”

Meg couldn’t argue with that. Since Papa’s forced
retirement and Julia’s death, she was too tired to do much more
than the necessities dictated by life before collapsing onto her
bed at night. Even with two sisters and a niece to share the
responsibilities, there was still too much to do and too few hands
and even fewer coins.

“Do hurry,” Hanna pleaded, waving her over.

Meg sighed and stood. “Really, you should be playing
with Sally.”

Hanna frowned. “Ever since she turned thirteen, she
thinks she’s too old for play.”

“Since when is thirteen too old to enjoy life?” She
needed to have a talk with her youngest sister. There was no reason
to grow up so soon. No, Meg knew first-hand how precious childhood
was and how quickly it could be taken away. She loved her family,
truly she did, but at times they were bloody exhausting.

“Meg!” Hanna said once more, sticking out that full,
bottom lip.

The child was too sweet for her own good. Meg never
could resist Hanna when she turned those pleading green eyes on
her. With a quick glance around, Meg made sure the golden fields
lay empty. The trees lining the creek would provide shelter from
prying eyes, should anyone venture along. Since Papa had retired
from preaching, they rarely had visitors. And the spot was shaded
enough not to affect Hanna’s sensitive skin. Even so, she
shouldn’t...

“Meg?”

Although it was dreary and overcast, it most likely
was
the last warm day of autumn. With a grin, Meg pulled her
arms from the sleeves of her gown and let the dress pool at her
feet as she’d done so many times as a child. Wearing only her shift
and bloomers, she slid down the embankment. Black mud squished
between her pale toes.

“Ewww, Hanna.” The murky goo made disgusting slurping
noises not fit for a gently bred woman to hear.

Hanna giggled, her face flushed with heat and
amusement. Meg frowned and tucked the skirt of her shift into the
waistband of her bloomers.

“Come out further.” Hanna waved her nearer. “The
bottom has smooth pebbles and the water is clear.”

“Best be,” Meg muttered.

Hanna giggled again, pressing her hands to her mouth,
her eyes alight. Meg fought her grin. It was worth it, the freedom,
the joy on Hanna’s face, all worth Meg indecently undressing to her
shift.

Meg waded into the middle of the creek where the
water rose to her knees. Small, gray fish fought the current,
darting around her legs in their haste to do whatever it was fish
did. She looked up and noticed the mischievous glint in Hanna’s
eyes right before she cupped a handful of water and threw it toward
Meg. The frigid droplets hit her face and chest, soaking her shift
until the pinkness of skin shone through. If she hadn’t been
indecent enough before, surely she was now.

Meg swiped her face dry, flinging the water droplets
from her fingertips. Then, she gave the child her best glare, but
she’d never been good at punishing the younger girls, and they
often used the weakness against her.

Hanna pressed her lips together, her dancing eyes
showing absolutely no apology. “Sorry.”

“Hmm, I’m sure you are, little hellion.” She lifted
the edge of her shift and dabbed her face dry. “Vicar Young advised
his congregation to use wooden spoons on naughty children. Perhaps
I should have listened.” Meg waded to a fallen log and settled
atop, dangling her feet in the water.

But Hanna merely grinned. “I heard the new owner has
moved into Pease Manor.” She lay on her back, floating and
splashing her scrawny legs. The child was obviously trying to
change the subject, and Meg was curious enough to take the
bait.

“Really? So soon?” She peered through the trees. In
the distance, the large manor sprawled across the rolling hills.
Dark in stone, unlike the rest of the surrounding county, it stood
out like a foreign demon come to infect the countryside.

Hanna waved aside a green dragonfly as it danced
around her head. “I heard there are ghosts that roam the
halls.”

“Hmm.” Meg tugged the ribbon from her hair and tied
her damp locks further atop her head. She should just cut her hair.
Not having to upsweep the locks every morning would give her
precious moments to do other things.

Hanna stopped splashing and stood, her solemn gaze on
Meg. “Tis true, it is. My friend Annabel sneaked up to the windows
and saw something white inside.”

She looked so serious, Meg had to resist the urge to
laugh. “Well, hopefully the new owner won’t mind sharing his place
with the dead. Did anyone happen to learn his name?”

Hanna shrugged.

Meg frowned, wondering when she’d become so far
removed from society she had to procure town gossip from a nine
year old. She pushed aside thoughts of the new owner and focused on
her current task, finishing her book. A sale would mean coins to
buy new dresses for her sisters, books for Papa, someone to repair
the roof.

To gain Hanna’s flagging attention, she clapped her
hands, the sharp sound echoing through the trees and sending a
flock of squawking sparrows to flight. “Now then, enough playing.
Do you see the flower?”

No response.

Hanna lazily stroked through the water.

“Darling, have you seen the bloom we need for our
book?”

“Hmm?”

Meg sighed, but she wasn’t truly annoyed. She could
never be annoyed with the child. Hanna had changed so much since
that night in London, in more ways than just her name. The terror
was still there, at night when the memories and worries seeped into
her unconscious. But Meg had no doubt with love and patience, Hanna
would eventually forget. “You promised you’d help find the elusive
bloom.”

Hanna hopped to her feet and brushed away the wet
locks clinging to her face. “Of course. Your Mim...Mimu...”

“
Mimulus guttatus
. Monkey Flower.” Meg slipped
off the log and into the water with a small splash. It wasn’t often
that Hanna could play outside. Her pale skin did not accept the sun
well. A condition, according to Hanna, her mother had held. If the
day was bright, the poor child’s skin would redden and burn,
itching something fierce. Meg hated keeping her inside so much of
the year, but what else could she do?

“Right, Monkey Flower.” Hanna frowned and gazed
downstream. “Perhaps I spotted it where the creek splits.”

Meg rested her hands on her hips. “Poppet, you are
certain you saw the flower?”

Hanna shrugged and rubbed the bridge of her nose, a
sure sign she was fibbing. “Rather sure, I’d say. It was yellow and
resembled a monkey? Perhaps I should look further down and you can
search here.”

“Or perhaps you should go home and glance at the book
to make sure you identified it correctly.”

Hanna sighed and started up the bank.

“And tell Sally she must come back and play with you.
This afternoon is the only chance I have to work on my book.” And
one of the few chances Hanna would have to play if the sun decided
to return tomorrow.

But Hanna had already disappeared into the trees and
Meg was alone. Finally alone. She breathed in the fresh scent of
the water and wildflowers, letting the gurgle of the stream and
soft chirp of birds lull her into a peaceful state. Humming, she
lifted her skirts higher and made her way into the current. Smooth
pebbles massaged the balls of her feet, while weak light filtered
through the trees.

Her gaze slid to the daisies that lined the bank,
hiding her in a heavenly cocoon where the burdens of life didn’t
dare penetrate. She couldn’t blame Hanna for wanting to play. In
fact, she felt the distinct swell of happiness just bursting
within, begging to be released. Dare she enjoy herself? Dare she
cease worrying about whether there’d be food on the table this eve?
Or how they would afford the next week’s meals?

She skimmed her hands over the surface of the creek
and scooped up the water. Closing her eyes, she poured the liquid
down her neck, letting the water slip between her breasts and wash
away the heat and stickiness of the day. Certainly there could not
be a more blessed moment. She grinned and wondered what it would be
like to swim in the creek nude, completely devoid of clothing as
she had as a child. She glanced at the bank. If Hanna weren’t
returning, she might be so bold as to try.

A rustle of leaves filtered through her hazy mind.
Meg stiffened, her smile falling. Too loud to be a bird. The
rustling stopped. Meg cocked her head to the side and listened. The
shadows remained still, not a leaf moved. Even the wind seemed to
have disappeared. Had she imagined the noise?

From behind, a twig snapped. She spun around, her
heart slamming wildly against her chest. Her dress still lay in a
puddle on the bank, but too far to reach in time.

“H…Hanna?” she called out.

No response.

Saints, if anyone from town noted her state of
undress, she’d die of mortification. She pressed her hand to her
neckline, where her breasts threatened to spill from the material.
Why hadn’t she splurged on a new shift that actually fit instead of
continuing to wear one two sizes too small?

Another snap rent the air. A deer? A squirrel? Surely
nothing else. So why couldn’t she calm her racing heart? She
started toward the bank when the branches parted. A scream bubbled
in her throat but refused to go past her lips.

From the shrubs, a dark-haired man stepped into view
not feet from where her dress lay. The scream died on her lips and
her mind went fuzzy. A God? King of the Fairies? Perhaps a knight
from King Arthur’s time? He was far too beautiful to be human.

His gaze met hers and he drew back, seemingly as
startled as she. Just when she thought he’d vanish, disappear back
to the mythical realm from whence he’d come, his lips parted and
she heard his soft gasp.

The sound rushed her back to reality on a torrent of
heated embarrassment. His attention traveled her form, from her
toes in the clear water, up to her stomach, lingering at her
neckline were the tops of her breasts glistened with moisture. Meg
was painfully aware of the way her wet shift clung to her body, the
way her damp tendrils hugged her neck, the way she stood
practically naked in front of a strange man. Painfully aware, yet
she couldn’t seem to move.

“I…I apologize.” His deep voice surprised her, so
strong, so unlike the quiet gentleness of nature. Yet smooth, like
warm honey on a hot summer day. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

Oh God, he was real, truly real! Meg gasped and
crossed her arms over her chest. Without a word she scurried toward
the bank. She attempted to climb the small hill, while covering her
breasts with her hands, but the deed remained impossible. With a
cry, she slipped to her knees. Groaning partly from pain, but
mostly from horrifying embarrassment, she glanced down. The
neckline of her shift gaped open, showing the valley between her
breasts. The thought of wading back into the creek and drowning
herself held certain appeal.

As if she needed further embarrassment, the tips of
his brown boots appeared in front of her. Daisies reflected in the
shiny leather and she had no doubt she’d be able to see her face
should she lean forward. Why couldn’t he just leave and let her die
of shame on her own? Swallowing hard, her gaze traveled up his
muscled legs, clad in tight buff riding breeches, up to the wide
expanse of his chest covered with a pristine white shirt.

Hell, this could
not
be happening.