Her trembling voice rolled through him like warm brandy. “This has been a trying day. Especially for you. I’m sure old ghosts abound tonight. We best retire.”
“I remember little of my life here. It was long ago,” he lied, rubbing the back of his neck as if he could rid the silken feel of her from his hand.
“The downstairs library boasts a large selection. Sometimes I read when my mind is overwhelmed.” She waved her book in a nervous little circle, watching him warily.
“A worthy suggestion. Tell me, what overwhelms you?” He reached for the book, unable to stop himself from stroking the soft inside of her wrist. As if burned, she quickly released the book. Reading the title, he asked, “You think Gulliver’s Travels will provide distraction from your worries?”
“I’m not worried, my lord.” Her voice lifted a notch as she worked to rub his touch from her skin.
“You’re a poor liar, my lady.”
Her eyes widened into luminous pools of green. “Of course I’m not.”
He chuckled. “Indeed?”
Shaking her head, she quickly corrected, “Not a liar, I mean—poor or otherwise.”
“It’s not a crime to confess that my arrival has discomfited you.”
“Your arrival has not discomfited me. Why should it?” she asked, fidgeting and looking nervous again.
Nick observed her curiously. Most women would have been glad to have a man step in and take charge. Not this one. From the moment he arrived, it was evident she wanted him gone. He handed the book back.
She gave a single curt nod. “Good night, my lord.”
“Good night.” He watched as she turned and walked down the corridor, scowling when he caught himself appreciating the natural sway of her hips. He remained where he was until she entered her room. The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Strange woman. Not the prig he initially thought. No woman could be too priggish with hair that inspired fantasies and a mouth that begged to be kissed. He stared at Lady Brookshire’s door for several moments, convinced of one thing. There was more to her than she would have him see.
Chapter 5
Meredith needed to escape. Two days of staying tucked away while Nicholas Caulfield surveyed her domain proved difficult to abide. She saw him at evening meals where he exhibited a polite reserve, never again revealing so much of himself as he had that night outside the nursery, never again being so bold as to touch her—for which she felt a small pang of relief and regret. She extended only the required hospitality and was neither warm nor effusive. It would only encourage him to remain, and the last thing she wanted was him underfoot, continually measuring Oak Run and herself for worth.
After glimpsing the wounded soul within him, she felt a curious urge to help him find the peace so obviously eluding him. A dangerous inclination. She could not bear to harbor a soft spot for the man she was cheating out of his birthright.
Outside, the lawn glimmered a verdant green from yesterday’s rain. Sunshine sparkled on the morning air. Meredith decided she had hidden indoors long enough. Sending word ahead for her mount to be readied, she quickly donned a riding habit of fawn-colored velvet. She supposed the color was not entirely appropriate for mourning, but as she did not own a black riding habit, it would simply have to do. Eyeing herself critically in a cheval mirror, she smoothed a hand over her torso and hips, wincing at the evidence of too many honeyed scones. Well, a woman with child—even in the early stage—might be a little thick about the middle. She and her aunt would soon have to come up with a way to fashion a bulging tummy for her. Maree would prove helpful in that endeavor.
Her mare, a spirited creature name Petunia, was saddled and waiting for her when she emerged outside. Petunia appeared to have missed her exercise as much as Meredith. Soon they were streaking across the countryside. She gave the mare her lead, delighting at the wind on her face as they raced over hills. After a while she reined Petunia toward the Finney farm, a large tract of land on Oak Run’s southern border. With a dozen children, the couple had no trouble managing so large a farm. Sally Finney was expecting yet another child and had recently taken to bed, no longer able to move about with ease. Meredith guessed the woman would not be averse to a little company.
The Finneys’ yard was oddly empty when she rode up. Dismounting, she tethered her mare to a post in front of the cottage’s well-tended garden. At the sound of a distant cry, she looked in the direction of the fields, where Tom Finney and his children hailed her.
Meredith’s heart skipped a beat when she saw another in their midst. What was he doing here?
The Finney children surrounded Nicholas Caulfield, chattering and vying for his attention. Little Meg Finney clung to his hand, hero worship glowing bright in her eyes. Meredith felt little better than the child as she devoured the sight of him. His bare chest glistened with perspiration, and his hair gleamed blue-black in the sun.
“Good day, Lady Brookshire,” Tom Finney greeted.
“Good morning, Mr. Finney. Children.” She nodded before turning to greet the man to whom her every nerve was achingly sensitized. “Good morning, Mr. Caulfield.” Even sweaty and dirt-spattered, he was beautiful to behold.
“Lady Brookshire,” he returned, his gaze raking her wind-chapped face and wild hair, reminding her of her mussed appearance. Heat stole into her face and she fumbled for her bonnet.
“Have you come to call on Sally?” Mr. Finney asked. “She’ll be pleased, sore for company as she is.”
“I suspected as much.” Meredith addressed the farmer and forced her gaze off Caulfield’s lean, sinewy body. Tying the ribbons of her bonnet beneath her chin, she noticed that Mr. Finney’s eldest daughter appeared equally captivated by Caulfield’s physique.
“Right lucky that his lordship happened along. He helped me free the plow from the field. The children and I have been trying at it half the morning.”
“Lucky indeed.” Once again Meredith felt the stirrings of resentment. For all that she had done for her tenants, she never helped pull a plow free. And by the glow in Mr. Finney’s eyes, this gesture from the new lord of the manor meant a great deal.
“Come inside. Sally will not like my keeping you from her, my lady.”
Mr. Finney led her inside. Caulfield, Meredith noted, didn’t follow. Undoubtedly, he had further things to do in order to undermine her—surely somewhere there was a baby to birth or a roof to thatch. The sour thought stayed with her as she settled herself in a chair and attempted to focus her attention on Sally Finney’s extensive complaints.
“The swelling’s got so bad I can’t even walk. It weren’t this bad the other times,” Sally complained, submerged in the bed beneath the huge mound of her stomach, several pillows propped behind her back.
“Perhaps a pillow beneath your feet will help eliminate the swelling,” Meredith suggested, standing to arrange a pillow beneath the woman’s feet.
Sally shrugged. “I’ll try anything, milady.”
Meredith took advantage of her standing position to search out the open window for Caulfield. “Has Maree brought you her special tea?” she asked distractedly.
“Aye, milady. She left the herbs and showed my Catie how to prepare it.”
“Good. And don’t hesitate to send for Maree when your time comes. She’s experienced with these things.”
“I’ve always delivered my babes fine, milady. I don’t need a fuss.” Sally batted a hand in the air as though she were shooing away flies.
“I insist.” Meredith tore her attention from the window to level a stern stare on Sally. “You’ll hear from me afterward if you do not.”
Sally smiled indulgently. “Ah, milady, you need not fret over me like a mother hen. I’ve done this lots of times.”
“Sally,” she warned in mock severity, “I’ll have your word.”
“Aye.” Sally threw her hands up in the air in good-natured defeat. “I promise, I’ll send for Maree when my time comes.”
Meredith vis
ited a bit longer, making Sally a fresh pot of Maree’s tea. Finally she stood to leave, promising to return in a week’s time.
“Hopefully, the babe will be here by then, milady.” Sally rubbed her abdomen absently. “Can’t take much more.”
“Then I’ll visit both of you.” Meredith smiled.
“With some of your cook’s honeyed scones?” Sally asked hopefully, fairly smacking her lips.
Meredith smiled. It had become tradition for her to bring a basket of honeyed sconces and other small gifts to every tenant family that delivered a child. “Of course. And with your growing brood, I think I shall ask cook to prepare two baskets.”
She departed, leaving a delighted Sally behind. Given the length of her visit, Meredith did not expect to find him outside. With his jacket slung carelessly over his shoulder, he was now decently clothed—although his appearance still fell short of proper. At least his lovely muscled torso was hidden from view. He went without a cravat, his very tanned throat a stark contrast to the white of his shirt, only half tucked into skintight riding breeches. Her mouth dried at the sight of his rakish mien. His wet hair glistened in the sunlight. The image of him washing up at the well, droplets of water clinging lovingly to every inch of his powerful flesh, teased her.
Shocked by her carnal thoughts, Meredith quickly averted her gaze, noticing that his horse stood tethered next to hers. Both beasts waited placidly as he chatted with the eldest Finney girl. Unnoticed, Meredith took in the cozy pair with mounting suspicion. A dark-haired girl far too buxom for fifteen years, Catie displayed more self-confidence than most women. Her fingers stroked Brookshire’s arm as she leaned in. Brookshire’s lips curved in the semblance of a smile, and Meredith searched hard to decipher that smile. On the surface it seemed a touch indulgent, but surely corrupt intent lurked within that devastating wolf’s grin. Perhaps he intended to play at the seduction of a young farm girl during his stay at Oak Run.
Meredith’s lips tightened as she advanced on the pair, her riding crop twitching a furious staccato at her side. She had her hands on Petunia’s reins before they even noticed her. Catie started guiltily and dropped her hand from his arm.
“I’m sure your mother could use you inside, Catie.” Meredith glared over the back of her mare at the girl.
Red-faced, the girl glanced at Caulfield before addressing her. “Yes, ma’am.” She executed a quick, clumsy curtsy to him. “Good day, milord.”
Meredith swung herself up into the saddle, struggling for a moment until a large hand on her bottom pushed her into place unceremoniously. Stifling an indignant screech, she righted herself in the saddle and glared down at him. Her fingers clenched her riding crop, itching to bring it across his smirking face and erase the amusement from his eyes. Inhaling deeply, she reminded herself to behave properly…even if he did not.
“I did not ask for your assistance, my lord.” She swiped furiously at the loose tendrils of hair that refused to stay confined beneath her bonnet.
“I thought I could be helpful.” He shrugged, smiling.
“I don’t need your kind of help.” Looking down her nose at him from atop her mare, she allowed just the right amount of ice to creep into her voice.
His eyes danced with laughter. “I could not resist.” He splayed a hand over his chest. “It’s my nature to help others.”
Still feeling the burning imprint of his hand, Meredith looked in the direction of the cottage and caught sight of Catie peeking longingly out the window.
He followed her gaze.
Catie visibly started at finding herself the subject of their attention and stepped back from the window, disappearing from view.
“I think I am coming to understand your nature, my lord.” Her voice rang with quiet condemnation as she looked away from the now empty window. He was a philanderer, out to seduce anything in skirts.
He met her eyes with a dark, brooding stare of his own. “You know me so well, then? You think I crave after little girls?”
With only the barest hesitation, she gave a quick nod of affirmation. He was a bold, sinful man—willing to ruin any poor country girl who stared moon-eyed after him. He had lived an improper life. That much he had made abundantly clear. A hard, godless existence. Whether of his making or not, it was nonetheless his life.
His voice dipped. “What is it you see when you look at me, Lady Brookshire?” The combination of his dark-eyed stare and that soft, rumbling voice sent a tremor rushing through her, heating her blood. Suddenly she was not so certain of what they discussed. What did she see when she looked at him? When the truth struck her, it could not have terrified her more.
She saw what she wanted and could never have.
Afraid to speak, in case the real, horrifying answer spilled forth, Meredith tugged her reins, but her mare did not move. She glanced down, seeing that he held the reins, impeding her escape.
His sudden, brief laugh rippled through the air and did strange things to her insides. “I don’t think you come close to understanding my nature. The last thing a man like me desires is a little girl.”
A man like him? A rake? Meredith could not hold back her caustic retort. “Indeed? It did not appear that way a moment ago.” Wishing to appear unruffled, she strove for an even tone and added, “Naive young girls like Catie are easy prey for someone as worldly as yourself.”
True enough. Had not Edmund swept her—a simple vicar’s daughter—off her feet with embarrassing ease? And this man was far more dangerous than Edmund. The sight of him reminded her of mythical heroes rising naked from hidden lagoons, water sluicing down their hard torsos, bodies steaming in the cool air. Meredith swallowed and gave herself a mental shake as she reined in her daydreams. Good God. If he caused such a reaction in her—someone who had long ago shelved thoughts of passion—what manner of thoughts raced through Catie’s mind?
“I take the welfare of my tenants to heart, my lord.”
“Rest assured, my lady, Catie is safe from the likes of me. My tastes run to more mature—” His dark stare slid over her, taking in her tumbling hair. “—experienced women.”
Meredith sensed he had just evaluated and placed her in the experienced and mature category. Ha! If he only knew that was but a half-truth. Surely he was accustomed to his choice of beautiful, sophisticated women in Town? Not a dull drab like her. Perhaps the thought of her carrying another man’s child did not bother him, and he saw her as an easy conquest—a widow already with child and with no one to hold him accountable should he take an unseemly interest in her. Perhaps he even thought she enjoyed bed play and missed such sport since her husband’s demise. Aside of the perfunctory peck on her wedding day, she had never kissed a man. Ironically, Catie probably possessed more experience than Meredith, a woman nearly twice her age.
With that humbling thought, Meredith wrenched the reins free. “But the mature, experienced woman has more sense than to dally with you.”
He chuckled again, a knowing, intimate sound that sent shivers up her arms and made her neck and breasts tingle. “It’s the experienced woman who usually seeks my company. They know I can provide what they want.”
Scandalized by his provocative words, his arrogance, and her own reaction, she sought an end to their conversation. “Just stay away from her, my lord.”
“Call me Nick,” he said unexpectedly.
“That would be improper.” Nick. So raw, bold. Meredith looked him up and down. It fit him perfectly.
“And I shall call you Meredith.” Most people pronounced her name harsh and clipped. Not him. The emphasis he placed on her name sounded strange, his deep voice softening the accents. It was all too alluring.
“I would rather you not.”
He smiled that wolf smile, his teeth a flash of white in his tanned face. “Why is that? We are family, are we not? I am your brother of a sort.”
Brother?
Meredith choked. Undeniably, her thoughts often became muddled in his presence, but one thought stood out clear
and confusion free. This man was not her brother.
One look into his laughing eyes told Meredith he did not regard her in a sisterly fashion either, that he merely mocked her with the ridiculous suggestion.
“Good day, my lord.” Meredith clung to the formality of his title, a much needed barrier. His hand on the bridle stopped her. “Release my horse,” she demanded. Petunia whinnied, the bridle jingling as she jerked her head up and down, either sensing her mistress’s distress or simply eager to be off.
All mockery gone, he asked, “I had not given it a thought until just now…is it wise to ride in your condition?”
She stared at him blankly, having no idea to what he referred. Then it dawned. Her fingers drifted to her abdomen, recalling the alleged life there, a life she had completely forgotten about because it did not exist. “The exercise is good for me.”
He frowned. “Do not most ladies in your condition abstain from riding?”
Naturally, he was correct. Most women did not ride during their confinement. It galled her to have overlooked such a consideration before she left this morning. “Honestly, it had not occurred to me that riding was inadvisable.”
His gaze narrowed. “Perhaps you need to adjust your reasoning. You no longer have only yourself to consider.”
Must his high-handedness extend to her person as well as Oak Run? She could not abide his interference. He did not control her.
“Do not scold me like a child. I am quite accustomed to caring for myself…and others. I have been doing that exact thing for years.”
“Then why did your judgment lapse today?” he countered, one black brow rising superciliously.
“Oh!” She fisted her reins in sheer frustration. “Please be so good as to mind your own affairs.”
“I thought we had established that for the time being you and your child are my concern.” He released the bridle and crossed his arms over his broad chest.