“I don’t care what you like,” she said before she thought better of it.
The unfortunate truth was, she did care. It mattered to her quite a bit that he was concerned about her.
A bit more than she was comfortable with, actually.
“In spite of that,” he said, looking as if he were making great efforts to be polite, “I would prefer that you remain here.”
“And I would prefer that you stop telling me what to do.”
He pursed his lips, then made her a low bow. “As my lady wishes,” he said coolly.
“French again, John,” she pointed out.
He glared at her, then turned and walked down her steps. He stopped on the courtyard floor, then turned and looked up at her. “Lock the door.”
“It’s the middle of the afternoon,” she said incredulously.
“Lock the bloody door, Tess,” he growled.
She started to slam it shut, then she paused and looked out the door at him. “Are we having a fight?”
“I believe so.”
“Is it going well?”
He swore. Then he took a deep breath and cursed a bit more. He walked up the steps, pulled her into his arms, and clutched her to him.
“Tess, please,” he whispered against her ear, “please stay home.”
She had to take a deep breath, and not just because he was holding her as if he never intended to let her go. “Please come with me.”
He held her for another very long moment, then released her without looking at her. He walked out the door and jogged down her trio of steps. He turned and motioned for her to shut the door.
She did, then turned and leaned back against it. The man was going to make her crazy. In fact, if she hadn’t known how to take him because of what he was hiding, she wouldn’t have taken him at all. Bossy, dictatorial, sheepdoggish.
Chivalrous, tender, fearless.
She had the feeling it was going to be a very long weekend without him.
Chapter 14
John stood in front of the small hearth in his rented cottage and forced himself to look at what was in front of him. He wasn’t one to shy away from the difficult, but even he had to admit that what was going on in his life was becoming a bit much.
Things were much as he’d come home to find them the evening before. His table had been laid out for tea with his Claymore propped up conveniently against his chair. It had been rather unsettling, truth be told, and he had seen his share of unsettling things. He’d scoured the inside of his cottage, the garden, and his shop for clues, but found nothing, not even any tyre tracks that were discernible from those already there.
Someone was stalking him.
He was beginning to fear that he might be drawing Tess into danger by passing any time at all in her company.
And the thought of that about did him in.
He’d slept very poorly, then been up at dawn in his garden, putting that Scottish broadsword to good use. A pity he didn’t have anyone to use it on. It certainly would have simplified things.
He’d spent the past two hours wrestling with himself. He wasn’t at all keen on the idea of Tess driving with Peaches all the way to Lincolnshire so she could put on Regency-era garb and have that damned Stephen de Piaget slobber all over her.
He took a deep breath. It wasn’t Stephen who bothered him. It was whoever else was out there that he couldn’t see and wasn’t sure of. He could hope that ’twas only him the soul had in his sights, but he couldn’t guarantee that.
And he didn’t like that at all.
He had showered, tossed gear into a backpack, and wrestled with himself a bit longer. He wasn’t sure what would be worse: dragging Tess into his unknown madness or sitting at home like a woman, wondering if she were being dragged into his madness just the same.
He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and dialed her number. It rang three times before she picked up.
“Yes?” she said coolly.
He wasn’t at all surprised by her tone. She was, he suspected, easily as stubborn as he was and well versed in the strategies of warfare, even if in a purely academic way. He had fired the opening salvo, as it were, without apology or hesitation. She wasn’t going to leave herself open to further attack. Obviously the only way to approach the battlefield and come away conqueror was to perpetrate a strategy she wouldn’t expect.
“I apologize,” he said without hesitation.
He could have sworn he heard the faintest huff of a laugh. “For what, you big bully?”
“For herding you,” he said. “Is it too late to accompany you north where I might attempt not to herd you a bit more?”
“I’m leaving in ten minutes,” she said, then hung up.
He snatched up his backpack and ran for the shop’s Range Rover. He would have preferred the Vanquish for its ability to outrun ruffians, but Tess and Peaches couldn’t share a seat, so the Rover it would have to be.
He pulled into their car park as Tess was putting her key into the Ford’s door. He hopped out of his car with alacrity and relieved Peaches of her wee suitcase and plopped it in his boot before she could protest. He held open the back door for her and smiled pleasantly.
“Allow me to help milady’s lovely sister into my carriage,” he said with a small bow.
“I’ve already bought what you’re selling,” she said with an amused smile. “Don’t waste any more time on me.”
“I might still see to your lunch on the way,” he offered.
“Done.”
He shut her door, then turned to the sterner test. Tess was simply watching him. He walked around her car, then gently removed the strap of her overnight bag from her shoulder. He put it where she couldn’t get at it without his keys, then returned for her. He started to clasp his hands behind his back in preparation for another bit of flowery sentiment, but only succeeded in dropping his keys.
It wasn’t that he was nervous. It was . . . well, it was because she had him so turned around, he scarce recognized himself any longer.
Or perhaps it had been Fate.
He squatted down to retrieve his keys near her front tyre, then froze. It took no especial skill to recognize the faint smell lingering there, but he supposed he wouldn’t have if he hadn’t spent so much time under the bonnet of his own cars.
Brake fluid.
He considered for a moment or two, then took a careful breath and rose. He looked at Tess with what he hoped was less of a grimace and more of a pleasant expression.
She wasn’t fooled. “What?” she asked immediately.
“Sore knee,” he lied without hesitation.
“You were sniffing.”
“I was trying to cover a grunt of pain,” he said.
She pursed her lips. “You’re not a very good liar, you know. In fact, you’ve been acting very strangely for more than just the last ten minutes. What aren’t you telling me?”
The list was very long, but he put it aside and settled for the most innocuous thing he could come up with. He sighed heavily, then made a production of looking heavenward. “I didn’t want to say anything before, but I’m honestly not sure I can manage it.”
“Manage what?”
“Hose and heels,” he said solemnly. “And short trousers.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m about to pull my sister out of your car, you know.”
He would have taken her hand, but she had her arms folded over her chest, no doubt to keep them out of range. The truth was, he would have put out his own eyes himself before he told her what had been happening to him—or what he’d just seen in her car park—but he supposed he couldn’t lie to her any longer.
But he’d be damned if he’d tell her everything.
He sighed deeply. “Very well, the truth. I have very good reason to believe the little brown Ford was following me. I have no idea who it is or what they want, I just know I don’t want whoever it is mistaking you for me and harming you.”
She let out her breath slowly. “Reall
y?”
He nodded. “Really. And that is why I didn’t want you to go today.”
“And why you’ve apparently mastered your fear of short trousers and cravats enough to come along?”
“The lengths I’ve gone to for you, Dr. Alexander, are truly appalling.”
She was now hugging herself instead of trying to intimidate him, which he supposed was progress. “You could have told me all this yesterday.”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I can take care of myself.”
He nodded as if he conceded the point when he most definitely had not. She had likely never in her life faced anything more intimidating than a feisty undergrad unhappy with his marks. Whoever was vexing him now had a very sharp sword—his sword—at his disposal. She wasn’t going to find herself facing the business end of it as long as he had anything to say about it.
She walked around him suddenly. “Let’s go. I want to get a good costume.”
He didn’t intend to argue with that. He saw her inside, shut her door, then pulled out his mobile phone and paused on the way around the back. Bobby, it seemed, was more than happy to hitch a ride to the castle and take Tess’s runabout to the shop to see about brake lines, no car key necessary.
John would have smiled to himself as he ended the call, but he was slightly ill, truth be told. Tess would have gotten as far as London and been cruising along the motorway only to find that her brakes were absolutely useless.
He took a deep breath, then climbed into the driver’s seat. He shoved his phone onto the dashboard, then wondered briefly if he shouldn’t have checked his own brake lines.
Well, that was what a petrol station was for, which he would find as soon as would seem reasonable.
He looked in the rearview mirror, winked at Peaches, then wondered how long he should wait before he attempted to hold Tess’s hand.
He stopped the first chance he had, had his surreptitious look at his own brakes, checked a thing or two under the bonnet as well, then got them back on the road without delay. If he continually looked behind them and watched the other cars they shared the road with more than he might have otherwise, who could blame him?
They were a pair of hours into the journey before he dared have a proper look at Tess. He was slightly surprised to find she was watching him. Gravely, but she was watching him. He attempted a smile.
“Plotting Regency torments for me?” he asked lightly.
“And what might those be?” she asked seriously.
“Dressing me as a servant and forcing me to attend you at all hours.”
“Well, Brer Rabbit, we won’t do that, then.”
He smiled. “If you want the truth, I daresay the worst you could do was lock yourself off with the ladies and leave me forced to spend the weekend shooting and drinking port with affected fops. Or, worse still, chatting with noblemen whilst indulging in cigars and brandy.”
“Does Lord Haulton count?” Tess asked mildly. “He called just after you did and was thrilled to know you’d be coming with us. I think he shares your aversion to whist and billiards.”
“Good of him,” John said grimly.
“He’s also managed to get you a bed,” she added. “He hopes that you won’t mind bunking with him.”
John supposed the only reason he didn’t wince was because he’d had so many years of practice at not. Real knights don’t flinch had been one of Robin’s favorite axioms, one John had heard so many times, he was fairly sure it had been burned into the very matter of his brain.
“Of course not,” he said, when he thought he could speak without any inflection in his voice. “He’s very accommodating.”
“Actually, I think he’s just hoping to have you to himself for a bit so he can investigate your genealogies. He’s fairly convinced you have to be related to him somewhere in the vast reaches of time. Distant cousins, no doubt.”
John supposed he couldn’t have expected anything else. He could, however, make damned sure he spent as little time privately as possible with the good viscount, lest they discover their genealogy was less distant than feared. Though how anyone could doubt the like, John didn’t know. He and Stephen were certainly not twins, but they could quite easily have passed for brothers, something he imagined wouldn’t escape the notice of quite a few people who cared to look.
He was beginning to wonder if he’d made a terrible mistake.
But since the alternative was letting Tess go on her own—and he now knew where that would have led—he had no choice but to carry on and keep a sharp eye out for escape routes.
He stopped for a bit of lunch when the furrow between Tess’s brow grew pronounced and ignored her insistence that they go Dutch treat. He exchanged a look with Peaches, who he was quite happy to discover was still lingering on his side of the battlefield, then hastened around the boot of his car to stop Tess before she climbed inside.
“Tess,” he began slowly, but found he couldn’t say anything else. She was remarkably beautiful, which he’d known, but she looked less at peace than she had over the past pair of days. It almost made him wish he’d limited himself to seeing her but once a se’nnight. Perhaps then he would have simply thought his mysterious sword-thief was lying in wait just for him. The thought of Tess being involved—
She stepped forward suddenly and put her arms around his waist. He didn’t hesitate to return the favor.
“You aren’t angry with me,” he said, hoping that by stating it as fact, it might be so.
“No,” she said with a deep sigh. “I know it’s just what you de Piaget men—I mean, what you men do.”
He pulled back and looked down at her. “What did you say?”
She returned his look, clear-eyed, though he could see the pulse in her throat beating furiously. “Stephen herds me as well,” she said easily. “You remind me of him.”
He would have pressed her a bit more—or bolted, which was his first inclination—but she leaned up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.
“I should be used to it by now.” She opened her own door, then got inside the car and pulled the door shut.
John wondered if he might at some point in the future not find himself winded by the woman one way or another. He managed to get himself into his own seat with a minimum of fuss, then glance at Tess, but she was only watching him in the same grave, serious way she’d been watching him all morning. He looked in the rearview mirror, but Peaches had her nose in a book. He took a careful breath, then let it out slowly before he turned the Rover on and got them back onto the road.
“John?”
“Aye?”
“Thank you for coming with me.”
“It is my pleasure,” he said sincerely.
She put her hand over his resting on his leg. “It might do us both a bit of good to put all things medieval behind us. You know,” she added, “reenactment crazies and castles and little brown Fords full of bawdy wenches wanting a closer look at your buff self.”
He managed a smile. “I think, my lady, that you’re simply trying to convince me that mincing about in high heels won’t damage my enormous ego.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. “Or it might just be that we both need a break from ordinary life.”
“Must it come thanks to eighteenth-century dress?” he asked, pained.
“You’re halfway to Payneswick,” she pointed out. “No sense in turning back now.”
“Nay,” he agreed, “’tis a bit too late for that.”
Actually, it was a bit too late for that in several areas of his life, places he would have protected a bit more ferociously if he’d known just how easily his defenses would have been breached. His cottage, for instance.
His heart, for certain.
Though he had to admit he was less worried about the latter. If Tess were leading the charge, perhaps the siege laid to his poor self wouldn’t be too painful.
He sincerely hoped he wasn’t underestimating the danger to the rest of his life.
/>
Six hours later, he was beginning to think he’d underestimated several things, beginning and ending with, as he’d suspected before, shoes that clicked as he walked.
He leaned against a handy wall and looked about the dancing hall. He saw nothing amiss, which should have reassured him, but he found he was too tightly strung for that. He attempted a pleasant expression as he scanned the hall, watching the dancers that marched about in precise formations, studying with even more care the servants who milled about or stood at attention as if they’d been extras in a film. At least it took his mind off the narrow misses he’d already had that afternoon.
They’d arrived shortly after two and been welcomed in grand style. Costumes had been assigned, and he’d found himself indeed sharing a bedchamber with his, ah, nephew. Fortunately for his peace of mind, Lord Haulton had apparently gone off to ingratiate himself with Lord Payneswick, no doubt in another attempt to pry the key to rare and interesting medieval texts from the poor man’s hands.
John had put himself into clothing that had seemed less like a costume and more like properly fitting garments with the aid of a valet who had been assigned to Stephen but seemingly didn’t mind tying the extra cravat. Properly dressed and well watered with a contraband glass of Lilt over ice, John had marched off into the fray, trying to ignore the fact that he felt as if he were tiptoeing.
He’d lost his breath when Tess and Peaches had come out of their bedchamber, absolutely resplendent in their finery. John had managed to bow to Peaches first before pointing out to her that she was going to leave every man in the house begging her to be his.
He’d turned to Tess and decided that there was no point in trying to cling to the notion that a man couldn’t fall in love with a woman in such a short time. His brother Nicholas had taken one look at his lady wife and abruptly turned into a testy, unpleasant whoreson until he’d finally relented and admitted that his heart was lost. John hadn’t been there to witness Miles’s vanquishment, but he imagined it had gone much the same way.
But as he’d supposed dropping to his knees and begging Tess to be his—and securing her consent before he told her the truth about his past with the hope that she wouldn’t have him committed to a Bedlam-like institution as a result—was premature, he’d merely offered his arms to both sisters and escorted them to supper.