Chapter 9 - Stephen
Stephen
Stephen was returning from the stables when he spotted the figure scaling Penrose Hall’s eastern wall.
The Rutland stables lay nearly a mile from the main house, tucked against the far edge of the property where it bordered Penrose’s land.
The hour was late, well past eleven, and his breath clouded in the cold air as he walked.
He had spent the evening helping old Marcus repair a collapsed section of the tack room ceiling—the third repair this month alone.
The head groom was too proud to admit that his arthritis made the work difficult, too stubborn to ask for help outright, so Stephen had simply appeared with tools in hand and stayed until the job was done, as he always did.
The walk back had been pleasant enough despite the rain, his mind turned toward sleep and the few precious hours remaining before dawn service. He had been cutting through the field that separated the estates, a faster route than the road, when movement caught his eye.
Someone climbing. Someone small, struggling against wet stone.
Stephen changed direction without conscious thought, his pace quickening as he watched the figure haul themselves over the top and drop onto Penrose’s grounds with an audible thud.
Instinct drove him forward, the same instinct that drew him to Marcus’s silent struggles, to Mary’s letters, to problems he had no business solving.
He reached the wall and scaled it easily, pulling himself over in a few swift movements.
By the time he dropped soundlessly onto the manicured lawn, the intruder had already begun moving toward the house, using trees and hedges for cover.
Stephen followed at a distance, curiosity warring with unease. Who would be foolish enough to break into Penrose Hall? And in this weather?
The figure, clearly female now, from the way sodden skirts dragged through grass, approached a partially open window.
He watched her study the brick exterior, her fingers searching for handholds as she began her ascent with more determination than skill.
Her feet slipped. Once. Twice. But she hauled herself higher anyway, scrabbling against the stone, reaching for the window frame.
Stephen’s mind painted the inevitable conclusion in vivid detail.
She’d make it through that window—barely— and then what?
She’d stumble through darkened corridors, unfamiliar with the layout, leaving a trail of muddy footprints across polished floors.
Some displaced item would catch a maid’s eye during her rounds, or worse, a servant would hear her now and investigate.
Within the hour, Penrose would know someone had violated his sanctuary.
And Lord Penrose did not seem like a man who would forgive such a trespass.
Better to stop this now, to let her know she’d been seen, to offer her the chance to flee while she still possessed one. Whatever desperation had driven her to scale walls in weather like this, she didn’t deserve the consequences that awaited with discovery.
Stephen cleared his throat.
The shriek that followed cut through the silence.
His body responded before conscious thought caught up, arms shooting out to catch her as she fell, absorbing the impact as her weight crashed into his chest. The momentum drove him back a step, but he steadied them both, his grip firm around her waist.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then she looked up, and Stephen felt the earth shift beneath his feet.
Charlotte.
He had thought of her every day since the garden party, had memorized the glimpses he’d caught of her in that dark library, the cadence of her voice when she spoke.
He’d convinced himself that their meeting had been a fever dream rather than reality, that no one could be as captivating as memory insisted.
He’d been catastrophically wrong.
She was more beautiful up close, even drenched and muddied.
Rain had plastered auburn strands to her cheeks, and when she met his gaze—God.
He’d thought her eyes green in the library’s shadows, but this near, they were extraordinary.
The most unusual shade of emerald he’d ever seen, deep and rich and complex, flecked with gold that caught what little light remained.
They were wide with recognition as they met his, and something in Stephen’s chest shifted with the finality of a door closing, a point of no return.
A man could spend a lifetime learning every shade hidden in that gaze, and consider it time well spent.
Christ.
“You,” she breathed.
Stephen’s arms tightened reflexively around her waist. She remembered him.
Not vaguely, not with the polite confusion of someone trying to place a half-forgotten face, but with immediate certainty, as though their single encounter had carved itself into her memory with the same indelible permanence it had left in his.
She thought him a gentleman, of course. Some wellbred stranger she’d met at a ball, not the servant he actually was. The deception should have bothered him more than it did, but all he could focus on was the preciousness of her recognition.
Some distant, rational part of his mind insisted he release her—that a gentleman would set her carefully upright, step back a proper distance, murmur some appropriate acknowledgment before retreating. Every rule of propriety demanded it. Every instinct for self-preservation screamed it.
Yet his body refused. His arms remained exactly where they were, holding her against him as though she were something precious he’d found in the darkness and couldn’t bear to surrender back to the night.
“Me,” he agreed, his voice rougher than intended. “Though I wasn’t expecting a reunion quite this dramatic.”
Charlotte’s hands were pressed against his chest, and he could feel the tremor running through her, though whether from cold or surprise or something far more dangerous, he couldn’t say.
Her fingers curled slightly into his coat, and Stephen had to remind himself that breathing was generally considered essential to continued existence.
“You can let me go now,” she said, though she made no move to pull away, her words more suggestion than command.
“Only if you promise not to attempt any more climbing tonight. I’d hate for you to develop a habit of falling into my arms.”
A flush crept up her neck despite the cold, and he watched with deep satisfaction as she fought to maintain composure that was rapidly deserting them both. “How presumptuous to assume I’d fall again.”
“Given this evening’s evidence, I’d say it’s a reasonable assumption.” He began to reluctantly release his hold on her waist, his hands dropping away as he forced himself to step back. The loss of contact left an unexpected hollowness in its wake.
Charlotte retreated a pace, brushing at her sodden skirts. “I was managing perfectly well until you interfered.”
“Were you?” The urge to close the distance between them again pulled at him with alarming intensity, but he forced himself to remain still. “You’ll have to forgive my intrusion. Though between us, your technique needed work. The shrieking was a nice touch, but it does tend to alert the household.”
He watched her teeth catch her lower lip, fighting the smile that threatened to break through. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” she said, though her words carried no real bite. “Or your assistance.”
“And yet here we are.” He studied her face in the darkness, noting details he’d missed in his initial shock—the exhaustion shadowing her features, the way her jaw was set against the cold, the mud splattered across what had once been an elegant cloak.
How long had she been walking through the rain?
What desperation had driven her from safety into the night?
“Speaking of which, what exactly brings you to Lord Penrose’s estate at this ungodly hour, Miss Fairmont? ”
The formal address tasted wrong on his tongue after days of thinking of her simply as Charlotte, but he couldn’t very well presume greater familiarity
Her arms crossed over her chest, chin lifting in that gesture of defiance he was beginning to recognize as distinctly hers. “That’s none of your concern.”
Stephen gestured toward the house behind him.
“You’re breaking into one of the most prominent estates in the county.
In the middle of the night. During a rainstorm.
” He paused, letting each point settle between them.
“I’d say that makes it somewhat my concern, especially since I just prevented you from breaking your neck in the attempt. ”
“Why?” Challenge flashed across her face, bright enough to cut through the rain. Her gaze moved over him in one long, careful sweep, cataloging every detail. He held still and let her, quietly grateful for the unremarkable clothes he’d worn to the stable. “Are you one of Lord Penrose’s men?”
He very nearly laughed. “No. I was walking through the field when I noticed you. I’ve had the misfortune of encountering Lord Penrose on a number of occasions, and I thought it prudent to spare you whatever would have followed had you made it through that window.”
Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “So you are not planning to report me? Turn me over to the authorities for my criminal behavior?”
“Hardly.” The word came out low and certain, edged with something protective that had no business existing between them. “Though I confess myself curious what could drive a lady of your standing to scale walls in storms. It must be something rather desperate.”
She held his gaze for a long moment, and Stephen watched the war play out across her features. Caution warring with desperation, pride battling against a need for help so raw it sent a sharp pain through him.
When she finally spoke, her voice was steadier than he expected. “You know who I am, yet we haven’t been properly introduced. That seems rather unfair, don’t you think?”