Less Than a Gentleman

  So the women were now safe and he could return to Snow’s Island. He would have to exit the house without Agatha seeing him. The simplest solution was the servants’ stairway.

  Years earlier when Grandfather had built Loblolly, his Quaker upbringing had made him uncomfortable about owning slaves. Not that it had stopped him. To alleviate his guilt, Grandfather had built the house with a hidden passageway so the servants could move about unseen. That way, he was spared the humiliation and discomfort of passing a slave in the hall or on the grand staircase.

  Grandfather’s sons had contrasted sharply in their opinion of slaves. Whereas Matthias’s father, the elder son, accepted slavery without question, Richard’s father became a minister who preached against the evils of bondage. Even so, Uncle Nathaniel had swallowed his ire and allowed Richard to live at Loblolly during the winter months. That way, Richard had been able to share Matthias’s tutor and acquire a fine education.

  Matthias recalled playing with Richard in the hidden corridor. If memory served, the passageway began in a storeroom on the first floor. It ran between the library and dining room, then continued up a narrow staircase to the second floor.

  There, the corridor ran between his bedchamber and his father’s, with doors leading into both rooms. He had positioned a clothespress over the door to his room to block it off. But the servants had used the door to his father’s bedchamber. Unlike Grandfather, Father was quite comfortable around slaves. Particularly the young maids.

  Matthias located the door that accessed the passageway. Disguised as part of the wall, it opened with a hidden latch beneath the chair rail. He clicked the door open. Before him, a narrow staircase descended into darkness. He closed the door and felt along the wall as he stepped blindly down the stairs.

  On the second floor, he moved silently in case Agatha was still in his bedchamber. He descended to the first floor and stopped at the entrance to the library. His father had installed peepholes at each door so a servant could look before entering. He had always suspected this was his father’s way of keeping his lecherous activities from being interrupted.

  The small sliding door was situated above a row of books in the bookcase. He pushed it to the side and peered through the open rectangle. The library was empty.

  The door was part of the bookcase, hinged to swing back into the secret corridor. It opened with a creak. At the desk, he grabbed a piece of paper and dipped a quill into the inkwell.

  Dear Caroline,

  I must leave for a few days to attend to business.

  He hesitated, tempted to write that he would miss her, but decided against it. She didn’t want to get involved with a soldier, and he didn’t want to marry as long as the war continued. In a moment of weakness, he had kissed her, but it would be better from now on to keep a cordial distance from her.

  Wishing you and your family good health and happiness.

  He signed it with an H, then, letter in hand, he returned to the passageway and pushed the bookshelf door shut. At the end of the corridor, the final door opened into a storage room. He cracked it open.

  Betsy was stacking plates on the center table.

  “Betsy,” he whispered.

  She yelped and spun around.

  “Shh. Someone might hear you.” Matthias eased inside and shut the door.

  “Mr. Thomas! You gave me such a fright.” Betsy gave the secret door a curious look. “What were you doing in there?”

  “I’m sneaking out so Miss Ludlow won’t see me.”

  “Oh. I wish I could avoid her.” Betsy shuddered. “She brought those awful redcoats with her.”

  “They’re gone now. You’re safe.” Matthias folded the letter he had written in half. “Will you give this to Miss Munro? And don’t tell her who I really am.”

  Betsy gave him a quizzical look and stuffed the letter in her apron pocket. “Isn’t it dangerous for you to be here?”

  “Yes, but I’m leaving now.” He strode to the other door that opened into the dining room. “Where is everyone?”

  “In the morning parlor.”

  “Good. Take care of yourself, Betsy.” Matthias dashed across the dining room and exited the house through the servants’ entrance.

  As he entered the kitchen, he spotted Dottie in front of the great hearth, sliding loaves of bread into the brick oven. “Good morning, Dottie.”

  “Morning. Your mama told me you were here, so I started making some bread for your boys.” Her round face glistened from the heat of the kitchen fire. “Can you wait ’til it’s done?”

  “Aye, I’ll wait. Thank you.” Matthias filled a bowl with hot water from the kettle so he could wash and shave. Steam rose up to his face. “Your sleeping potion worked well on the redcoats.”

  Dottie nodded. “Poor Betsy couldn’t do a thing with them around.”

  Matt rolled up his sleeves. “I noticed she seemed edgy.”

  “More like terrified.” Dottie broke eggs into a skillet. “And with reason. She lost her father and two brothers in battle. Then her mother died. She couldn’t keep the farm going by herself and ended up selling herself to your mama.”

  “Damn.” Matthias touched the water to test its temperature. “I never knew.”

  “You never asked.” Dottie carried the skillet to the hearth and set it on a three-legged trivet.

  He’d never asked. Matthias stared at the bowl of water, listening to the sounds of Dottie’s cooking. Her spoon scraped against the cast iron. The fire crackled. Sausages in another skillet sizzled. “I never asked if you have family, Dottie.”

  She snorted. “Do you think I came from a cabbage patch? Of course I had a mother and father. And brothers and sisters. Haven’t seen them since the master brought me here.”

  Matthias swallowed hard. Dottie had been at Loblolly for twenty years. He washed and shaved in silence.

  Dottie heaped eggs and sausages onto a plate. “Come and eat.”

  “Thank you.” He sat at the kitchen table. “I’m sorry, Dottie. About your family.”

  “I know.” She patted his shoulder. “You’re a good boy. Always have been.”

  With a frown, he began eating. If he was good, he wouldn’t have made Caroline wait for the news that her father was well.

  As he finished the last bite, Betsy walked in with a tray of dirty dishes.

  “They finished eating in the Great House.” She set the tray next to the dishpan. “Miss Munro said she was taking the children to the garden.”

  Caroline. Maybe he could see her before he left. He handed his empty plate to Betsy. “Is Miss Ludlow with them?”

  “Lord, no.” Betsy scoffed. “She doesn’t care for the young’uns.”

  Matthias shrugged on his plain brown coat. “I’ll return for the bread in a little while. Betsy, can I have that letter back?”

  When she passed him the letter, he tossed it into the fire. With a grin, he headed for the garden. And Caroline.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  As he exited the kitchen, Matthias glanced around to make sure he wasn’t seen. He dashed to the pergola, and instantly, the temperature dropped as he was surrounded by green, living shade. The sun pierced through the vines here and there, dappling the ground with spots of light.

  He heard the children talking. Grasping a vine in his hand, he opened a peephole. There she was, in jasmine-yellow cotton, her red curls gleaming in the morning sun.

  “Miss Munro,” he whispered.

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  “Over here.”

  She squinted in his direction. He crooked a finger through the opening.

  She approached, a smile spreading across her sunny face. “Is that Haversham or a hedge that beckons me?”

  “Come in,” he whispered.

  As he walked to the entrance, he could spot her yellow gown on the other sid
e of the vines, moving on a parallel course. She reached the entrance. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the cool, leafy tunnel.

  She laughed. “Whatever are you doing here? Where were you at breakfast?”

  “I don’t work in the house anymore.” Still holding her hand, he backed into the pergola, taking her with him. “In fact, I have to go away for a while.”

  “You have more business matters to attend to?”

  “Aye.”

  “How long will you be gone?” She moved closer to him. A ray of sunshine shot through the vines, lighting her face. Tiny freckles dusted her little nose.

  Freckle-face. Memory of the dead redcoat flashed through Matt’s mind. He released her hand. He had no idea how many men he’d dispatched in the heat of battle. Who had time to think about it when fighting for survival? But Freckle-face was the last man he’d killed, and he’d watched the light extinguish in the soldier’s eyes.

  What the hell was he doing, flirting with Caroline? He’d made his decision in the library to keep a distance from her. But it was damned hard to honor that decision when he was in her presence. The minute he saw her, he wanted to hold her and kiss her. But he had vowed to remain unattached throughout the war. Timing is everything. And this was the wrong time.

  He stepped back. She must have noticed something in his expression for her smile faded.

  He took a deep breath. “Miss Munro, I must apologize for last night.”

  “Oh?” Her eyes darkened with a wary look.

  “I took far too much liberty. It won’t happen again.”

  Her back stiffened. “I see.”

  “I can explain.”

  “There’s no need.” She brushed back a curl with an impatient gesture. “I understand.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “ ’Tis simple enough,” she interrupted him. “I may have enjoyed it, but you were eager to leave. And now you no longer wish to see me. I understand perfectly. Good day.” She swiveled and headed for the pergola entrance.

  “Bloody hell, I liked it. Too much.”

  She halted.

  Damn. What was he doing? He should have let her go. “ ’Tis a matter of timing. I’m not . . . free at this time.”

  She turned slowly. “Because of your indenture? I thought you understood. I don’t care about that.”

  Was it possible that she could love him for himself? Not for the house, the land, or the wealth. He clenched his fists. He’d be a fool to give her up.

  But what choice did he have? He could be dead in a week, a month, a year. He couldn’t make promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.

  He had to withdraw. “I shouldn’t see you again. Times are too dangerous because of the war.”

  Her eyes reflected the hurt he caused. She wrapped her arms around herself as if she’d taken a chill. “I would agree if you were involved with the war. I vowed never to love a soldier again for that same reason. But you’re—”

  “You loved a soldier? When was this?”

  “Three years ago. He died at Brandywine. I never want to endure that pain again.” She wandered toward the hedge and fingered the small jasmine leaves. “You’re not a soldier. I thought you would be safe.”

  Matthias paced toward her. “Is that why you kissed me? Because I’m not a soldier?”

  She shrugged with a bewildered look. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I wasn’t fond of you. But I’ve avoided soldiers like smallpox for three years. I wouldn’t have talked to you if you were a soldier. I would never have let it progress to the point that we . . . kissed.”

  He cursed silently. He would have never believed that masquerading as a butler could cause such a mess. If he confessed to being a soldier, would she spurn him? It provided a way for him to end their relationship, but he damned well didn’t want to take it. She was so tempting. And she thought he was safe to fall in love with.

  God help him, he wanted that love. He wanted her.

  Suddenly, her answer was paramount. “What if I decided, now, to join the army? Would you refuse to see me again?”

  Her eyes glistened with tears. “I would beg you not to join.”

  “But if I did?”

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I—I’m not sure what I’m feeling. Everything is happening so quickly. I hardly know you but . . . I don’t want to lose you.”

  “I don’t want to lose you, either.”

  Her eyes locked with his. He knew the instant she understood the desire he struggled with. Her gaze lowered to his mouth with a languid, sensual, green-eyed invitation.

  He pulled her into his arms. She pressed against him, grabbing his shoulders. Their mouths met in a frantic reenactment of the evening before.

  He devoured her lips. He nibbled her neck. He savored the taste of her skin. She smelled of sunshine and magnolia, and felt warm and willing. She melted against him.

  And still, it wasn’t enough. He returned to her mouth. This was even better than last night. With her hands wrapped around his neck, she was kissing him back. He felt the tightening in his breeches. With a groan, he invaded her mouth with his tongue.

  She started and pulled back. “What was that?”

  “A kiss.” He leaned forward, wanting more.

  She stepped back. “Is that allowed? I mean . . . you meant to do that?”

  “ ’Twas no accident.”

  “Oh.” Her face grew pink. “Of course. People don’t accidentally stick out their tongues.”

  He grinned. “True.” So this soldier from her past had never given her a truly passionate kiss. The thought gladdened his heart.

  “When I was a little girl, I thought such things were— Never mind.” She shook her head. “I’ve said enough. My tongue is my worst enemy.”

  “It tasted friendly to me.”

  With an exasperated look, she gave his chest a playful push that didn’t budge him.

  He chuckled. “At least you didn’t bite me.”

  “Well, I wasn’t sure you were doing it on purpose.” Her blush deepened. “When I was young, I heard some women in the village talking about a woman named Polly. She went into the forest with a man and nine months later, voilà—a baby. So I thought it was some sort of accident.”

  “Like falling into a pond?”

  She laughed. “I suppose.”

  He gathered her back into his arms. With a shy glance at his face, she rested her hands on his chest.

  “Caroline.” He leaned forward to nuzzle her neck. Her scent and the softness of her skin made him instantly hard.

  “Hmm?” She skimmed her hands up to his neck.

  With each breath, her breasts rose toward him, enticing him to have a taste. He leaned her back.

  “Ow!” She jumped. “What was that?”

  He straightened. “Excuse me.” She must have felt the bulge that time.

  “Something jabbed me.” She pivoted. “Oh, no wonder. I backed into a stem from this climbing rose.”

  He glared at the rosebush. How come she never felt him?

  “I’m all right. ’Twas naught but a tiny twig.”

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

  “I should check on the children.” She peeked through an opening in the hedge. “Oh, dear, they’re digging in Jane’s flowerbed.” She turned to him with apologetic smile. “I should go before they destroy the garden.”

  Matthias peered through another peephole and spotted a blue parasol. “Miss Ludlow is coming.” Damn. How could he return to the kitchen without her seeing him?

  Caroline looked again through the hedge. “Another parasol? She must have one to match every gown.”

  Agatha sauntered into the garden and stopped at the sight of the children. “Oh, my, whatever are you doing?”

  “We’re digging.” Charlotte rose to her feet and wiped
her soiled hands on her gown. “Want to see what we found?”

  Agatha shuddered so hard her parasol shook. “How disgusting. What filthy urchins.”

  “They’re not urchins. They’re earthworms,” Edward announced.

  Agatha snorted. “Silly child, I was referring to you and your dirty sister.”

  Caroline stiffened. “I’m going to stuff that parasol down her throat and open it,” she muttered.

  “Wait.” Matthias looped an arm around her shoulders so she wouldn’t leave, then pushed back more vines to give them a better view.

  Charlotte lifted her chin. “I am not a worm. I’m a princess.”

  Edward jumped to his feet with an eight-inch earthworm in his hands. “Zounds! This is the biggest one yet!”

  Agatha jumped back. “A snake!”

  “ ’Tis not a snake.” Edward walked toward her, stretching the slimy worm out to its longest length. “See?”

  Agatha lunged back. “Keep that away from me.”

  “But, miss,” Edward said. “You should look behind—”

  “Stay away!” Agatha leapt back. She teetered on the edge of the reflecting pool, her parasol waving frantically in the air. With a screech, she tumbled backward into the water.

  Caroline gasped and whispered, “Oh, no!”

  Matthias grinned. “Oh, yes.”

  Agatha floundered about, slapping lily pads and splashing water all over herself. Her curls drooped on each side of her head like long dog ears. “Blast you, you bloody beggar! ’Twill be your fault if I drown in here.”

  Edward kicked off his shoes. “I tried to warn you.” He jumped into the pool and waded to her. The water only reached his knees.

  “Keep away from me!” Agatha shouted. “This is your fault.”

  “I just want to help you up.” Edward leaned over her.

  She swatted his hands away.

  “Oh, no, you made me drop the worm.” Edward inspected her gown. “There it is!” He pointed at her bodice.

  Agatha spotted the worm slithering up her gown toward her breasts and let out a window-shattering screech.

  Matthias bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Bravo, Edward.”