Chapter 2 #2
He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, and followed the sisters into the aromatic kitchen.
He wondered how long it would be before someone made an irremediable mistake and revealed Charles to be .
. . what? Charlotte? He eyed the frosty-faced girl.
‘Charles’ suited her much better than ‘Charlotte.’
Nana beamed to see him free, and tried to settle him at the head of the table. “No, no,” said Cyn, gesturing toward Charles. “This must surely be your seat, sir, as head of the family.” He smiled at them all, blatantly using his considerable charm. “Am I to be favored by the family name?”
“No,” said Charles bluntly, taking the place. “Be grateful you’re getting your food.”
Nana placed a large pan of rabbit stew on the table.
“Wonderful food too,” Cyn said with a blissful smile.
Nana beamed. “It’s so satisfying to feed a man.”
Cyn turned a quizzical look at Charles. “But you stripling lads in the peak of your growth are usually voracious eaters.”
Charles turned red. “I am not a stripling lad.”
“My dear sir, my apologies. I know some men are slow to grow a beard . . .”
“Let me serve you, my lord,” said Verity hastily, and heaped a large portion of stew on his plate. “Potatoes?”
Cyn nobly forbore to tease for the rest of the meal.
“Now,” he said as they sat with cups of tea, “why don’t you tell me what you’re up to so I can help?”
“Why should you want to?” asked Charles stonily.
“I told you, I crave adventure. I cannot exist without it. I’ve always wanted to be a knight-errant.”
It was Verity who responded. “But why do you think I am a damsel in distress, my lord?”
He looked at her. “Are you not?”
She smiled sadly. “Damsels are usually maidens, and I am certainly not that, but I am in a certain amount of distress . . .”
“Don’t, Verity!” said Charles sharply. “Don’t trust him. Why must you always be so trusting? If you tell him, he’ll side with the rest of them.”
“What else are we to do?” Verity asked. “We need someone to help with the coach, and I’d feel better with . . .”
Cyn could hear the words with a man to help us hover in the room, and saw the glare in Charles’ eyes. Was it simply a case of one of those tedious hoydens who wanted to be a man? He hoped not.
“You’d feel better with someone older,” he supplied smoothly.
“My dear Charles, don’t poker up. It’s clear you are doing your best to support your sister in whatever trouble has befallen her, but it is never wise to refuse a genuine offer of help.
I must be close to ten years your senior, and have experience you lack.
If you tell me where you wish to go, I will do my best to get you there safely. ”
“Maidenhead,” said Verity firmly. “My promised husband, Major Nathaniel Frazer, is stationed there.”
Was he the father of her child? Cyn wondered. She wore a wedding band, but that could be false. “That should present no problem. I must admit,” he hazarded, “it doesn’t appear to present any problem at all.”
“Except money,” drawled Charles.
“Ah. Hence the highway robbery.”
“Quite.”
No one seemed ready to offer him more information, so Cyn probed again. “I understand the appeal of traveling in my very comfortable coach, but acquiring it presented certain risks. Wouldn’t it have been wiser to settle for the stage, or even those two thoroughbreds you were riding?”
“The horses weren’t ours,” explained Verity, “and if we kept them the fat would be in the fire. I do agree, however, that the stage would have been more prudent.”
“Yes,” said Charles abruptly. “You’re right. Tomorrow we’ll use his lordship’s coach to take us into Shaftesbury, and we’ll purchase seats on the stage.” She turned cold eyes on Cyn. “If, that is, we can trust you thus far, my lord.”
“You can trust me to hell and beyond,” he said simply, “but only if you allow me a place in your adventures. I will not be denied.”
“This isn’t a damned game!”
“Is there real danger then?”
“Yes.”
“From where?”
But she shut her firm lips on that information.
“I do think we should tell him, dearest,” said Verity.
“We’ll talk about it later.” Charles put an end to the discussion by rising to her feet. “For the moment the question is, where does he sleep?”
Cyn couldn’t resist. “Why not with you, sir?”
Charles froze, and Verity choked on her tea.
“It presents a problem?” Cyn asked Charles. “I assure you I don’t snore.”
“But I do,” she said hastily.
“Ah. Tell me, sir, where do you sleep?”
“Upstairs,” she said unwarily. Her color betrayed her agitation, and she added, “We have divided the space with a curtain.”
“Your sister and the baby being fortunately very sound sleepers.” At her blank look, he added, “The snoring.” Cyn held back a grin with considerable difficulty.
Heavens above, if eyes really could spit fire he’d be a cinder.
Those flaming eyes, those pure, firm lips, and the flush of anger in her cheeks all conspired to create astounding beauty.
A wave of pure lust surprised him, a desire to strip her here and now, and find the feminine secrets beneath her masculine appearance; to see those eyes flame with passion instead of rage, those cheeks heat with desire.
It was a good thing he was not still spread-eagled or his body would give her fits.
He hastily shielded his eyes with his lashes but determined again to see this adventure through.
It was quickly decided that he would sleep in the kitchen, but only one spare blanket was available to cushion the stone floor.
Since it was clear they had to trust him, they allowed him to go to the coach to collect his trunk.
With some of his clothes and his greatcoat he made a tolerable bed, far better than he’d had many a time with his regiment.
The kitchen was, after all, warm and dry.
Nana and Verity were clearing away the supper dishes. Charles went out and brought water from a well, then sat to read a book. Cyn made himself comfortable too.
He pulled off his boots and cleaned them with a rag.
Who knew how long they’d have to go without Jerome’s loving attention?
He hung his jacket and waistcoat on the back of a chair.
He untied the ribbons in his hair and combed it.
After a slight hesitation—being in the presence of ladies—he removed his cravat and unfastened the buttons of his shirt.
Nana and Verity paid him no attention, but it was Charles he watched. He saw one flickering glance up from her book, but no particular reaction. He’d have to try harder.
Nana retired. Verity fussed over Cyn for a minute or two, then went upstairs. Cyn yawned and slipped into his makeshift bed. He waited to see what the wench would do.
She closed her book and came to stand over him. Being unbound, Cyn had no problem with her looming over him if it made her comfortable. He put his hands behind his head and smiled up at her with all the seductive power he possessed. “Do you want to share my sleeping quarters after all?”
She caught her breath and stepped back, but collected herself immediately. “I just want to make it clear, my lord, that I’ll kill you if you play us false. The other two are softhearted, but I’m not.”
Not a wanton then, alas, alas. “Have you ever killed anyone, Charles?”
Her lips trembled with betraying weakness. “No.”
“I have.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Do you? I’m a captain with the 48th.”
She gaped slightly.
“I’m invalided out at the moment, but I’ve seen my share of death. It’s not as easy to kill as you think unless you have overwhelming cause.”
Any trace of weakness disappeared. “Then I should have no trouble at all.” She blew out the candles and left him with only the banked glow of the fire for light.
Cyn was sobered. He stared up at the shadowed beams of the dark ceiling. Who, he wondered, had hurt the girl so deeply that she wanted to kill? Who was responsible for her being here penniless, dressed as a man, and afraid? Without knowing the answers, he embraced her cause.
He had found his damsel in distress, but it wasn’t sweet Verity. It was the difficult, angry, beautiful Charles.