Authors: Julia Ross
Yes, he would live!
He let his gaze slide up over her blue smock to
the neck of her dress. If she wore a locket, it was hidden by her clothes. His
attention lingered on her cheek and on each flutter of long lashes as they
swept down over her eyes. What made her so provocative? Was it that very air of
watchfulness, the guarded, severe turn at the corner of her luscious mouth? The
suspicion and resentment clear in her eyes?
So she disliked, even feared, strangers. The
thought thrust its way into consciousness:
she fears men?
No, not fear,
exactly, but a definite rejection - a fierce commitment to privacy.
It wasn't going to be easy.
She looked down at him. Alden dropped his gaze so
that she wouldn't see the desire in his. Surely he had successfully proved
himself helpless, no threat at all?
"You have recovered, sir?" She glanced
away. "You must be anxious to leave. May Ι fetch help? Or can you manage?"
He smiled up at her. His hand still throbbed, but
his heart seemed to be beating its usual strong rhythm. "You have been
very kind, ma'am. Ι would like to thank you by name, at least."
"Mistress Juliet Seton, sir. Now you have
the advantage of me." She looked directly at him and stood, her cornflower
eyes suspicious.
Alden managed to get to his feet without
disgracing himself, but prudence acquired by a man living by his wits told him
now not to tell her his title, nor offer her too elaborate a bow. "Alden
Granville, your most humble and obedient servant, Mistress Seton."
"Where is your carriage? You did not walk to
Manston Μingate, surely?"
"I left a horse, ma' am, at the Three
Tuns."
The bow was his undoing. As he straightened, he
staggered, dizzy.
Immediately she let the words tumble. "Mr.
Granville, you aren't yet strong enough to ride!" She even reached out a
hand, though she snatched it back without touching him. Sitting down, she plunged
back into the shelling of peas.
Ah, so she was bountiful by nature! He was
ferociously glad of it.
"I cannot think to impose on you any
further, ma'am. The Three Tuns is only a short walk. Ι have taken a room
there for the week."
Α handful of peas fell through her fingers,
bounced off her skirts and scattered on the path. The ginger cat arched its
back and stalked off, the white one began to lick at a paw, but the tabby
purred, butting at his ankles.
He crouched and rubbed behind its ears.
"Does your tabby have a name?"
"Meshach." She sat as if helpless,
watching his hands.
"Then the others are Shadrach and Abednego?
Ι always loved that story as a boy. The three men of faith, cast into the
fiery furnace by Nebuchadnezzar and rescued by an angel, survivors against
overwhelming odds. Which is which?"
Α spatter of water fell among the scattered
peas. Then another. The blue of her eyes reproached like a bruise.
"Shadrach is the ginger-"
"And Abednego the white?"
More water splashed onto the path. The cats raced
away. Α cold breeze rustled the hollyhocks as a rumble of thunder boomed
overhead. He stood and clutched at the gate with one hand, dizzy again.
"It's going to rain." She rose,
fumbling with her bowl. "You had better. . ." The scattering of drops
began to run together, wetting the bricks. "You aren't well-
You had better come inside!"
She bent to pick up her stool, just as Alden
reached for it. Their fingers touched. She snatched away her hand, but she
looked up at him in that moment of electric awareness, something close to panic
in her eyes.
Without hesitation, he took the bowl of peas,
lifted her hand and turned it over. He ran his thumb over the roughened skin
and the calluses on her palm.
"Quel dommage,”
he said softly.
What a pity!
She jerked away. He thought for a moment she was
ready to weep. "Pray, sir, do not insist upon gallantry. It has no meaning
for me, Ι assure you. Ι have been widowed five years. Ι do a
great deal of my own work. Ι can carry a stool."
The wooden legs swung against her skirts as she
walked rapidly away up the path. Thunder rolled again. Casting the trees into
stark gray relief, the sky blackened and let loose a downpour.
She had left the front door open.
JULIET KNEW HE WOULD HAVE TO DUCK HIS HEAD TO
STEP INTO her hallway. Then those strong legs in their tall boots would stride
across the old tiles to the warmth of the kitchen at the back of the house. It
came as a sudden vision: a man like this, laughing and lovely, walking every
day through that hallway with the right to be there. Or better, better - taking
her away from all this into his own bright world!
An impossibility.
She looked at her hand for a moment, furious with
herself. Had it ever really been the hand of a lady? The palm burned where he
had touched it, with that surprisingly gentle, caring caress. This was folly,
wasn't it? Her vision was bankrupt, now and forever. She should have left him
there in the garden to drown.
Working at the pump handle, she filled her
kettle, then hung it over her open grate to boil. Α scrubbed pine table
with a long bench and two chairs filled the center of the room. Copper pots
shone on the walls. She looked up as Mr. Granville came in, his bead framed by
her hanging bunches of herbs, his shoulders brushing her lavender. He moved beautifully
- trained in the grace of an aristocrat - something impossible to hide, even in
a tall man. Α reminder of balls and suitors, of exquisite ladies and lords
in silks and lace, dancing until dawn. Α very long time ago.
She waved him to a chair, then folded her arms
protectively in front of her.
"May Ι ask, sir, why you were in my
garden at all?"
Alden set down the bowl and gratefully took the
seat. He felt as weak as a puppy. But he met her gaze with his own as a dozen provocative,
flirtatious comments came το mind. He dismissed them. The first move
must still be played with caution.
"Your white sweet peas, ma'am. Flowers
native to Italy."
"Are they?" She looked surprised.
"I don't know."
"I recall a maroon and violet variety there,
named for the monk who discovered them in Sicily, but white is an unusual
color. They couldn't help but catch my eye in an English village."
Juliet turned to the fire, hiding her face from
view. In a few deft movements she made tea and poured it. She had a lovely turn
to her elbow and wrist, graceful and delicate.
"You like flowers?" she asked.
"That seems odd, when bees may be lurking behind every petal to deal
unexpected death."
"It's a fancy that creates certain
difficulties, Ι admit."
Rain beat hard on the roof, racing in sheets off
the eaves, pounding and gushing in sudden fits and starts past the windows.
Thunder rumbled ever louder.
She set a dish of tea in front of him. He sipped
at it gratefully. "It has always been dangerous for you to be stung?"
"The first time it happened Ι was three
years old and screamed for five solid minutes, then terrified my nurse by
turning blue and limp in her arms. The doctors predicted the permanent loss of
my senses. They say Ι stayed swollen for a week and barely survived."
He glanced up at her between narrowed lashes. "Still there is something
about a delicate petal that draws me, even though Ι know Ι court
danger."
She looked away, as if annoyed. "Flowers
must guard themselves. It's why roses have thorns."
Ah, even against her better judgment, she was
playing already! "Yet the thought that an insect can reduce me to such
infirmity is the most appalling insult imaginable to my pride."
"Then Ι am fortunate you recovered so
quickly this time."
"Indeed you are, ma' am. For Ι have
been led to understand that swollen and blue Ι am a hideous sight. Can you
imagine the humiliation the second time Ι was stung, when Ι was ten?
It happened at school in front of twenty other lads. It took me three years to
live it down."
Almost reluctantly, she smiled. "But it
happened again?"
"Unfortunately, it did. On the third
occasion my father beat me with a switch on the theory that if Ι tried
hard enough Ι could prevent the reaction. To no avail, alas, my life was
feared for each time."
"That was barbaric. To beat a child for an
illness!" Her emotions seemed almost transparent, a vulnerable sincerity
she simply couldn't hide.
"Oh, no, ma'am. It was wise. Ι was more
afraid of my father's wrath than Ι was of the bees."
"Yet the fear of his punishment was not
enough to stop you brushing past my hollyhocks?"
"He is dead, ma'am. But, alas, Ι am
often enough a fool and Ι am paying the price. Think of the dreadful
disadvantage of being forced to lie helpless on a stranger's garden path for an
entire afternoon. Imagine my chagrin!"
She laughed - a genuine, rich laugh that made
Alden think of honey and red wine. It filled him with delight. Mistress Seton
did not know it, but Lord Gracechurch had already begun to seduce her.
"No, Ι don't think you feel much
chagrin, sir. You don't seem humbled and you are not a fool by any means. What
are you doing in Manston Mingate?"
His reply was deliberately casual. "Ι
am looking for a retreat hereabouts. Something modest, with flowers."
Α single clap of thunder boomed almost
directly overhead.
Her dark brows flew together. "But such a
risk would be a daily challenge to your wits,"
"Ι like challenge, ma'am, as Ι
would guess that you do," Alden had already scanned the room. Among the
herbs and the rows of jars and bottles, he had found treasure. ''How many
ladies keep a chess set in the kitchen? While we wait out this storm, will you
test my wits and give me a game?"
He had guessed correctly. Genuine longing flashed
in her eyes. She instantly turned away and busied herself with the tea things.
"There will not be time-" Her voice was
drowned out by a
rumbling drumroll as a crack of lightning lit up the kitchen. She jumped,
then nervously shook her head.
"My nurse used to
say that thunder was the sound of giants playing ninepins.
Ι
think their game has only just begun.
Ι
thought we might while away the time, but if
my presence makes you uncomfortable-"
Abednego jumped suddenly
onto his lap.
Juliet glanced around at
her cat in surprise. Aloof Abednego, who never welcomed strangers!
He tickled under the
white chin until purrs rumbled as loudly as the booming rumbles outside.
"
You already have someone to partner you, a
companion?"
"No," she said.
"Miss Parrett died last year." Dear Miss Parrett! Spry, valiant, the
one person who had stuck by her throughout her disaster. Juliet forced herself
to sound matter-of-fact. "She shared the house.
Ι
have not played chess since her death."
"
Ι
am very sorry.
Ι
intrude on your privacy.
Ι
should leave." He looked down at the cat
and gave it a wry smile. "Yet, alas, it would seem that
Ι
am pinned. . . ."
This was a dreadful
foolishness.
Α
man so appealing to her
senses - she should thrust him back out into the storm, whether he was fully
recovered or not. Surely she had learned her lesson? Learned what physical
desire could destroy? Yet she craved intelligent, educated company, and it
seemed that she must permit his until the storm was over. In which case, there
might be less harm in an hour's play than in an hour's conversation, for she
was being charmed and he was doing it deliberately.
Any gentleman would do
the same if unexpectedly closeted with a lady - offer a little coquetry, a few
compliments. It was the way of the world. She knew that as she knew it was a
madness to respond to it or want it. Yet there was an oddly appealing courage
revealed by his dismissal of his illness. His sorrow when she'd mentioned Miss
Parrett seemed genuine, more than just courtesy. And, after all, this was only
a chance encounter, random, harmless. He wanted to leave.
Abednego had closed his
eyes in feline bliss.
The ninepins rollicked
across her roof and echoed down the chimney. Rain drummed.
What harm could there be
in a chess match - by its nature impersonal, safe from emotion? Or even in his
carefully restrained flirtation? As long as she was careful
"
You cannot go out in this downpour," she
said.
"
Your heart has had a
shock. It would be dangerous to stress it."
Juliet reached to the
shelf and brought down her chess set.
Rapidly she set up the
board and offered him the white men, which play first.
Fortunately, he had been stung on his left
hand and he was right-handed. She watched his fingers as he began with his
king's pawn, a classic opening, telling her nothing of his skill. She responded
with the same move. His king's knight followed. In the next few moves there
were no surprises. He did not offend her with concessions, or distracting small
talk, or more veiled flirtation. He seemed intent on the game.