How to Treat a Lady

  It was faint praise, but coming from one of the Wards, for some reason, it was great praise indeed. Chase just grinned in return and brought out the shears.

  The rest of the morning passed quickly, and Chase got better and better at the process. Except for having to put up with Ophelia and Derrick, who seemed to be in extraordinarily good spirits, things went fairly smoothly. In fact, things went so smoothly that they finished shearing the sheep in their pen just as lunch was ready.

  Half an hour later, Chase found himself standing beside Harriet at a table under a tree where Mrs. Ward was overseeing a feast fit for an army.

  Harriet was hot and tired, her gown muddied, her hair falling from beneath the edges of her bonnet, hanging in loose tendrils down her back. But the wide grin she tossed him when she saw him was worth every bit of effort he’d expended this morning. “We’re ahead of schedule already!”

  He smiled down at her, noting that the sun had decorated her nose with a faint spray of freckles. Strange how he’d never considered freckles appealing, but on Harriet they were charming as could be.

  Under his close scrutiny, her smile wavered. “What…what is it?” She rubbed her nose. “Do I have mud on my nose—”

  “No. Not at all.” He looked around at the sun-drenched fields and neat barn. The faint sound of laughter came from the others as they talked and teased one another. The sweet scent of cut hay filled the air, as did the faint baaing of the sheep. It was an idyllic, wonderful moment. One destined to be etched in his mind forever.

  Chase looked back at Harriet. “You belong here.”

  That appeared to surprise her. She glanced around for a moment before saying softly. “Yes, I do. This is home.”

  “Do you ever see yourself going anywhere else?”

  She hesitated and he could see her weighing her words. After a moment, she shook her head. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I love this place. My parents moved here when I was six. And I’ve never wanted to live anywhere else. But…one never knows how one will feel in a year or more.”

  Chase tried to picture Harriet in town, dressed for dinner, or on her way to a ball. But somehow, he knew she’d be miserable. And London, with its penchant for the wealthy and the beautiful, would never stop long enough to see the true beauty in the woman before him. “I can’t imagine you in London.”

  Her smile seemed pained, though she said lightly enough, “And I can’t imagine you living in the country.”

  For some reason, the words caught at him. What was this? Maudlin nonsense at the thought of…of what? Of leaving Garrett Park? What foolishness.

  To be honest, he had to admit that what he truly enjoyed was the time he’d spent with the Wards. They reminded him of his own family before everyone had grown up and left home. And perhaps he felt a fondness for Harriet that was more intense than his usual flirts, but that was to be expected. After all, they’d spent untold hours together, talking and working, things he rarely did with his flirts in London.

  Chase realized that he rather enjoyed working. It was invigorating in a way, facing each day’s challenge. Town life was all he’d ever known, all he’d ever thought of knowing. Farming, after all, was hardly the pursuit of a true gentleman. It was possible to dabble in trade a bit, so long as one didn’t take it too seriously.

  Chase yanked his hat a little more firmly onto his head and glinted a smile at Harriet. “Regardless of where I used to be and where I will be going, I am in the country now.” He looked down at his muddied boots and grimaced. “Very much so.”

  “For the moment.” She tightened the ribbons beneath her chin. “You would be discontent indeed if you thought you would be stuck here for the rest of your life.”

  “Harri!” Ophelia called.

  Harriet turned toward the sheep pen. Everyone had left the table and was now lined along the fence where Ophelia had sat perched just a half hour earlier, giggling behind her hand.

  “Harri!” This time it was Stephen. “You need to come and see this.”

  Harriet glanced at Chase. “What did you do?”

  “Me? Nothing. Perhaps they are admiring how quickly we managed to get them done.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Harri!” This time it was Sophia, her voice breaking as if on a giggle.

  Harriet’s brow lowered. “I suppose I should see what they want.” With that, she walked to the gate.

  Chase stayed where he was for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his shoulders, the scent of hay and the fresh-baked bread they’d had for lunch. He felt amazingly well. There was something to be said for the simple life, he supposed. If only it wasn’t quite so…wholesome.

  Yes, that’s what it was—wholesome. Something Chase most decidedly wasn’t. The thought caught at his heart, and he realized that as welcoming as the Wards were now, they wouldn’t be once they realized what he really was. What he’d done. His heart sank.

  The sun seemed suddenly less bright. He made his way to the pen where the Wards were gathered, looking over the fence at his protégés, a lively spring breeze tugging at skirts and ruffling shirts. Chase came to stand beside Harriet, looking at his work critically.

  The sheep weren’t all perfectly sheared, of course. But this was his first time. Chase defied anyone else to have gotten as close or as even on their very first venture into the shearing business.

  He glanced at his companions. “Well?”

  Stephen raked a hand through his hair, his gaze fixed on the sheep that grazed before him. Sophia just looked stunned. Only Derrick looked happy, his face split in a wide grin, while Ophelia hid her mouth behind her hand, her eyes crinkled with laughter.

  What the hell? Chase looked at Harriet. Her eyes wide, her fingers pressed to her lips, she was regarding the sheep as if she’d never before seen one.

  “What?” he demanded, a feeling of unease flickering through him.

  Harriet’s gaze met his, laughter sparkling in her brown eyes.

  “Bloody hell,” he cursed. “You said the closer the better.” He knew he sounded defensive, but something was not right.

  “Yes, but—”

  Sophia burst out giggling. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she choked when Chase whirled to face her. “It’s just that…the sheep. They all look like poodles.”

  “Poodles?” Chase followed her gaze.

  Ophelia tilted her head to one side, her lips quivering. “Poodles or lions. Some definitely have a lion-ish appearance. I thought he did a very good job on the ram.”

  “Chase,” Harriet asked, laughter burbling in her voice, “why did you shear them like that?”

  Chase grit his teeth. “Because it’s what you have to do. I left the wool around their heads and tails so I wouldn’t snip anything vital. Derrick said that was often the way you had to…” Chase’s voice trailed off as he turned to look at the youth.

  But Derrick was nowhere to be found.

  Bloody hell! “That bast—”

  “Chase!” Harriet said, grinning as the others broke into loud shouts of laughter. “He was just funning you.”

  Ophelia wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You should have heard Derrick. Even I thought he was serious at first.”

  Chase clenched his hands into fists. They’d made him look a fool. “I’ve had enough funning.”

  “Nonsense.” She looked back at the sheep, a giggle escaping. “No one can have enough funning.”

  Chase thought glumly of all the work he’d done. “If I catch Derrick, I’ll—”

  “Oh, don’t be upset,” Harriet said, grinning up at him.

  “We don’t have time to play these games.”

  Her smile faded a little at that. “No, we don’t. But it’s not such a horrible thing, after all.”

  Stephen chuckled. “We can’t leave that much wool on those sheep, so we’ll trim them again.”

  Harriet nodded. “Actually, why don’t we allow Derrick to trim them. Pray find him and tell him that I want it done before the next batch is
brought in for shearing.”

  Stephen nodded, but before he left, he slapped Chase on the back. “I had no idea you were so talented with shears. If you’ve the time, perhaps you can do something with those bushes in the front of the house. A little topiary would not be amiss.”

  Ophelia giggled. “Since he made the sheep look like poodles, perhaps he can make the shrubbery look like sheep.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Chase said dryly, the beginning of a smile teasing his lips.

  He looked around at the sea of grinning faces that surrounded him, aware of a comfortable feeling of belonging. “What did I do to deserve being rescued by a family of sheepherding wits? Why could I not have been found by average, normal people with no sense of humor and not a single sheep on the premises?”

  Harriet lifted her brows in mock horror. “And what would you have done for three weeks without our wit or our sheep? You have to admit that you’ve learned some very important life lessons.”

  “Such as?”

  “The art of rising early.”

  Sophia nodded. “He’s still a bit surly, but Stephen no longer has to beat him about the head with his pillow.”

  “A lovely talent, that,” Chase said. “I suppose I would never have known how to get up at such an ungodly hour without your help.”

  “Yes,” Ophelia said, “and you’ve learned that sheep ointment is best used only on sheep.”

  “I believe I already knew that lesson. It is Harriet who did not.”

  “Oh, I never use it on myself,” Harriet said airily. “Just on braggarts who do not appreciate the efforts expended on their behalf.”

  “And you’ve learned to be far more pleasant,” Sophia said brightly. “Mother was just saying that she could not imagine dinner without your stories of town and the people there, although I still do not credit it that Lord Byron eats naught but potatoes and vinegar.”

  Chase sighed, though a grin tickled his mouth.

  Ophelia frowned. “How will we find Derrick to tell him he has work to do?”

  Stephen pushed himself from the gate railing and grabbed his crutches. “He’ll be in the library, reading a book. I’ll fetch him myself.”

  Harriet nodded and looked at Ophelia and Sophia. “Help Mother clean up luncheon. Chase and I will sharpen the shears in the barn and we’ll all be back here in an hour when the next batch of sheep is brought in.”

  They nodded and scurried off, laughing and talking as they went.

  Harriet watched them go, a bubble of laughter still in her throat. She collected the shears and walked toward the barn, aware of Chase falling into step beside her.

  As they neared the barn, she stole a glance up at him. He strode beside her, his shirt open at the throat, his sleeves rolled up, his skin already tanning a light brown. The breeze played with his hair, sending it over his brow.

  He looked different from the man they’d found in the woods, she suddenly realized, wondering what it was. He didn’t seem so…sullen. Angry. “Are you happy?”

  He looked down at her. “Happy?”

  She hadn’t meant to voice the question aloud. But since she had…“Yes. Are you happy? It’s an easy enough question.”

  “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.” He pursed his lips.

  Harriet tried not to watch, but she couldn’t help herself. Chase’s lips had kissed her, possessed her, tasted her in ways she’d never thought lips could.

  He caught her glance, and his gaze immediately darkened. He bent and said into her ear, “Don’t look at me like that unless you’re willing to pay the consequences.”

  His voice brushed over her, sending a trill of shivers down her back. “I didn’t look at you any particular way.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  His hand snaked about her wrist and suddenly, she was jerked into the barn, the shears tumbling to the barn floor. Harriet could only blink as Chase pushed the large doors closed and dropped the bar into place.

  He leaned against the doors, a devilish smile curving his lips. “Now I have you. And right where I want you, too.”

  Chapter 23

  We leave at first light. And I’m very sorry about your new rug.

  Mr. Devon St. John to his brother Marcus, the Marquis of Treymount at Treymount House in Mayfair

  “Wh—what are you doing?” Harriet asked, uncertainty and excitement warring for expression.

  “I am making sure we aren’t interrupted.” Chase tested the bar once, then turned and walked toward her, his boots crunching on the hay-strewn floor, his thigh muscles rippling with each step.

  Heaven help her but he had the most beautiful thighs…the memory of those thighs between her own made her close her eyes, a heated shiver rippling through her.

  He reached her side and traced his finger down her cheek. “Since that first night I arrived and your brothers and sisters tried to convince me that I had a liking for the barn, I’ve been wanting to visit the barn with you.”

  He captured the ties that held her hat. He twined the faded blue ribbons around his fingers and then gently drew her forth.

  Her eyes widened and she leaned away, one hand bracing the hat in place. “I—I don’t think that is necessary.”

  She was hot and disheveled, her hair falling in wisps from beneath the hat and sticking damply to her neck and cheek. Her flushed skin held a dewy moisture that begged to be tasted.

  In all his years, Chase had never been so close to a woman engaged in such physically demanding labor. He tugged the bonnet ties a bit harder, pulling her forward another reluctant pace.

  The neck of her washed-out dress was damp, as if beads of sweat had trickled to rest there. He marveled at her. This plain little woman would practically fade from sight when dressed in white muslin, sitting in a parlor. But here, in a musty barn, damp from her exertions, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling with mischief…she was beyond beautiful.

  She was bold and lovely, loud in actions and brave in thought. She was, in a word, the most amazing woman he’d ever met.

  He released one ribbon of her hat and ran the back of his finger over her cheek. “You are incredible.”

  The air about them thickened, deepened, as if the heat had slowed the pace of the earth. She licked her lips as if they were suddenly dry. The movement of her pink tongue was almost more than he could bear.

  She glanced wildly around, as if to find rescue from the fields, or perhaps the sheep. “We—I—you—”

  He raised his brows.

  She flushed, deeply, the color creeping up her neck to flood her hot cheeks with even brighter streaks of red. “We should get a drink of water.” She turned stiffly on her heel and marched to the bucket of water that hung from one of the loft poles as if on her way to the guillotine.

  He grinned even as a fat trickle of sweat ran between his shoulder blades. “You’re right.” He followed her closely, reaching past her to take the dipper that hung from the side of the barrel. “Allow me.”

  “I don’t need assistance getting a drink of water. I am perfectly capable of getting it myself.”

  “I know.” He plunged the dipper into the water, then lifted it clear. Water dripped from the shiny metal and pooled into the barrel below. Chase was suddenly aware of how thirsty he was. It was hot, sticky, dry work. Work he wasn’t accustomed to doing. The whole world seemed covered in a haze of dust that made the water seem all the more pure. All the tastier. He began to lift the dipper to his own mouth when he caught sight of Harriet’s face.

  Dust smeared a dark path from her temple to her chin. Her skin was flushed and ripe. As he looked at her, she ran the edge of her tongue along her lower lip as if in anticipation of the cold drink. Chase reached over with his free hand and pushed her hat from her hair.

  She blinked. “Wh—”

  He lifted the ladle and poured the water on her head. It cascaded down her face, drenching her shoulders, cooling her heated skin.

  She gaspe
d, sputtering. “You—Why—”

  “You were hot.” He dipped out more water and poured it over his own head. The water bathed him in an instant, cooling and cleansing.

  He opened his eyes to find Harriet looking at him, amusement warming her brown eyes.

  “You are impossible.”

  He grinned in return. “I just wanted to help.” He refilled the ladle and then handed it to her. “Drink.”

  Her gaze met his for the briefest of moments, the deep brown still sparkling with laughter. To his surprise, she didn’t say a word, but reached up and cupped the cool metal in both hands and took a deep, cold drink.

  Chase watched, all amusement leaving him as her soft lips closed over the curved metal bowl of the ladle. She drank deeply, unabashedly gulping the water, a thin trickle escaping her lips and running down her chin.

  Chase found his hands had curled into fists. Not out of anger, but out of need. He wanted this woman, wanted her so badly that his entire body ached with the effort to hide it.

  She dropped the ladle from her mouth, her eyes still closed as if in ecstasy. Chase could not breathe. He could not swallow. He could not do anything but stand numbly beside her as she sighed happily, her pink tongue tracing the last bit of moisture from her plump bottom lip.

  Suddenly, Chase knew that he was standing too close to her. Too near to stop himself. Before he realized what he was doing, his hands had come un-fisted and he was holding her—pulling her to him.

  She melted against him, warm and willing, her mouth curved in a welcoming smile.

  He wanted to kiss her. To taste her as deeply as she’d drunk the water. He wanted to devour her taste, her scent, claim her with his mouth, his tongue, every inch of him that pressed against her. But instead, he merely held her, imprisoning her within his arms. Then he reclaimed the ladle from her limp hands and reached behind her to dip it deep in the water.

  Harriet’s gaze followed his arm as he held it over their heads.

  She stared up at the ladle, her throat inadvertently exposed. Her gaze widened as he began to tilt it. “You wouldn’t da—”