Courtesan's Kiss (20 page)

D
AMN HIM TO HELL
times ninety, who did he think he was with?
Some dairymaid who would enjoy a casual tumble? A courtesan who thought an outdoor coupling would be different? He was with a virgin, a girl under his family’s protection.

David sat up and began to pull bits of grass from his suit. He felt her doing the same to his back and wanted to yell at her to leave him alone. Not to touch him. To run as far and fast as she could.

“No,” Mia said as if she could read his mind.

“I did not say a word.”

“You did not have to, Lord David. Your body is as tense as a string pulled taut. You do not want me to touch you. You want me to leave and never come back. That is what I said no to.”

“You don’t sound insulted.”

“Because I’m not. I think urging me to leave when you are so obviously, um, interested in something else is a very noble, or perhaps even a romantic declaration.”

“Oh, God, spare me the predictability of women.”

“I suspect that women are predictable because they are right.”

“I am not being noble, Miss Castellano.”

She laughed and took a pile of the grass she had just picked off him and rained it on his head. “Call me Mia, at least when we are in private, and admit that two kisses, two kisses like the ones we’ve shared, take us beyond ‘miss’ and ‘my lord.’”

“We will not be in private again.”

“We are in quarantine, David. We are in private no matter where we are.”

He stood up, did not offer her a hand. He knew what that would lead to. “I am going to collect the creel.”

“From where we kissed before?”

“Where I left it when I suspected what trouble you would find. I am going back to the house and changing my clothes, unless you are too cold and wish to go first.”

“Thank you, but I am quite dry now and too warm. How did that happen? I wonder.” She raised two fingers to her mouth as if she had to think very, very hard. She felt absurdly happy even as he turned and headed toward the house.

Then she remembered exactly why they were trapped there, alone.

“I
AM CERTAIN
that is a bug bite, my dear.”

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Cantwell.” Now Mia knew exactly how Catherine Morland felt in
Northanger Abbey
when she insisted that the dresser be moved only to find it did not cover a secret door to a hidden passage. Relief and embarrassment.

“It’s beyond strange to have life be so normal, or at least appear normal, and then all of a sudden I remember why I’m here and not at Pennford.”
Or London. Or Bath
.

Mia could have fastened her dress but turned around so that Mrs. Cantwell could help her. Gathering her hair, she held it over her head so that it was not in the way.

“How is the coachman?”

“He is not improving as quickly as Mr. Novins would like, miss, and the surgeon will not speculate on what is causing his illness.”

“How troublesome, or maybe he does not wish to be wrong.”

“Or he has no idea.” The housekeeper patted Mia’s shoulder. “There you are, my dear. Would you like help with your hair?”

“No, I am only going to tie it back.”

“Then I will see to the fish.” She paused at the door. “May I suggest, miss, that I cook the trout for dinner, perhaps stuffed with onion? And that you and Lord David have dinner at midday rather than in the evening? I will use the chicken bones for stock and make a soup for supper. It is hardly the sort of meal you are used to but I trust it will serve in an emergency.”

“That would be excellent, Mrs. Cantwell. Shall I come help you by cutting, or is it chopping, the onions?”

“Cutting or chopping will both serve the purpose and you will count as an angel if you are willing.”

She was being a help. She did not loll in her room all day reading her book and demanding someone bring her tea. And except for the sore arms from fishing she felt perfectly healthy. What a relief that was.

In the kitchen they found the bread and the basket with the meat pies.

“It will be a while before dinner is ready. After I clean the fish, I must make the beds and check on the sickroom before I start. If you are hungry, miss, have a meat pie now.”

“I should wait.” Mia’s protest was halfhearted but she firmed her resolve, ignored her hunger, and took the three onions that Mrs. Cantwell gave her. With an apron to protect her dress, Mia took up the knife. “I can make the beds when I am finished with the onions, Mrs. Cantwell.”

“No, miss. When he came in Lord David made it clear that I am the only one to go into his room.”

“He did? How insulting.” Anger surged through her.

Mia raised the knife and began cutting, or chopping, the onions, and despite the very sharp knife within a minute tears were flowing.

“The things I’ve seen, miss, they would shock you. Women are forever trying to find a way to hide in a gentleman’s bedroom. Gentlemen are much more direct.”

“I would never hide in a man’s bedroom. It would be
too demeaning.” She wanted men to come to her, would settle for nothing less.

“Of course not, miss. You have enough pride not to stoop to such behavior. You and Lord David are alike that way.”

Alike? That could not be, Mia thought but was too polite to say out loud. Though it could explain why the kiss had been so amazing.

Mia wiped the tears and grabbed the last onion. “Tell me more. Please,” she added with a smile that invited secrets.

“One lady hid in the armoire. Another had herself made up into the bed. There was a time when two ladies were both hiding in different places in the same bedroom. Neither one of them came out until morning.”

Did that mean that the gentleman found both of them and sent neither one away? Mia wanted to ask but did not want to betray her lack of sophistication.

She would look through the bookshelves more carefully this evening. Maybe she could find a book of drawings that would explain what three people could do together.

Mrs. Cantwell handed her some lemon soap to remove the smell of onion from her hands, and just as Mia was drying her fingers her stomach growled.

“Eat a meat pie, miss. You can pretend you are not hungry but your stomach insists otherwise.”

“All right. The only thing I’ve eaten today is one of Janina’s sweets. Indeed,” she said in surprise, “I was up at first light so it’s the middle of the day for me.”

Choosing the smallest of the four meat pies, she broke off a tiny portion and ate it. “Oh, it’s delicious. Made with minced pork, onions, and some seasoning I do not quite recognize. Coriander, I think.”

“Indeed? I thought that they would be from Mrs. Henderson’s recipe. She is a dab hand at meat pies. Her crust is as flaky as possible but she does not favor spices beyond salt and pepper.”

“Do you know who made the bread? I should like to send them our thanks.”

“I could guess it comes from Miss Horner. She always puts raisins and cinnamon in her Sunday bread.”

“Miss Horner? Then I will definitely write a note.” Writing to her would establish some contact and then, perhaps, Mia thought, she could suggest a meeting when they were free of the quarantine. Of course it was Mr. Novins who had to act but she would like to meet the lady who had won him so thoroughly.

“No special thanks are necessary. Helping in hard times is what people in Sandleton do.”

Mia took another bite and used a cloth nearby as a serviette. Hardly good manners, but the situation did allow for some leeway. No one needed to wash more plates and cutlery than absolutely necessary.

“Stop eating that!” Lord David commanded as he came into the kitchen. “We don’t know who made it.”

Mia’s answer was to pop the last bite into her mouth and swallow without chewing it. “Do you think the villagers are out to poison us?” Her tone added, “You, sir, have a problem with paranoia.”

“You’ve only had one, I trust.”

“Yes, and I am still hungry, but I will leave the rest for you just in case they are poisoned and have another of the sweets that Janina gave me.” She picked out the biggest, did not offer him any, and put the box, carefully rewrapped, back on the pantry shelf.

Without another word, Mia went to the door with every intention of staying in her room until dinner. She needed a small rest anyway after rising so early. The door almost toppled her as Basil pushed it open from the other side.

He charged into the room and hurried on without a word of apology.

“Mrs. Cantwell. Lord David.” He looked from one to the other. “Please come. John Coachman is not breathing. I think he’s dead!”

Basil had not commanded Mia’s attendance, but no one could keep her away. She followed the other three up the stairs to the sickroom. The second groom was wide-eyed and had moved as far away from the coachman as he could, pressing himself into a corner with a blanket wrapped around him.

There was no doubt John Coachman had gone to God. Mia knew that look at least as well as anyone in the room. The peace, the complete repose of the face, all the lines gone as though he had lost twenty years and was young again. It had been the same with her father and even Elena’s husband, though his death had been more sudden.

Mia stayed by the door, feeling slightly ill, and wondered
what had caused the coachman’s death and how long it would be before they all were sick.

“Listen to me, Basil,” Lord David said, giving the groom a steadying look. “Go to the gate and tell the man there to fetch Mr. Novins. The surgeon has been expecting this.”

Basil nodded at Lord David and hurried away.

“What did you say?” Mia left the door and went to stand in front of Lord David. “This is beyond tolerable, you mean-spirited dictator. You thought John Coachman would die and you did not tell any of us?” Mia looked from Lord David to an unsurprised Mrs. Cantwell. “Oh, I see. I was the only one you would not tell. Because you thought I would not handle it well. Let me tell you, keeping the truth from me is what I do not handle well.” She wanted to slap him but had some presence of mind, though not quite enough. As she spoke she pushed him once, twice, and would have done it a third time if he had not grabbed her wrists to stop her.

Lord David closed his eyes but she saw the anger and distress before he hid it from her. “Miss Castellano.” He spoke very, very quietly, in great contrast to her raised voice. “You are in the presence of a man who died in my service. You will treat him with the respect he deserves and stop shouting.”

He was right. Oh, God, he was right. The poor man was dead and she was acting like a fishwife.

Mrs. Cantwell put her arm around Mia and whispered, “It was Mr. Novins who suggested keeping it a secret. Even Basil did not know.”

Once again Mia Castellano was on a par with the servants, the lesser servants. They moved nearer the door. Mia found her self-control and prayed for John Coachman’s soul, for his family, for any sins that would keep him from heaven, even as her hands began to shake with fear.

After a few minutes, Mia left the room. Her stomach was beginning to ache in earnest. She should never have gobbled that meat pie so quickly. In her room she curled up on the bed, still dressed, and allowed herself tears.

How many days had it been since she swore she would never cry again? Well, someone’s death was a valid exception, was it not?

When she heard Mr. Novins arrive, she rose, washed her face, and went to the front parlor so she could have a word with him when he was ready to leave.

She was a grown woman and was determined to be treated like one. If she was going to die she wanted to know the details, every detail, from the man in charge. And that was not Lord David, who had a way of making her feel as big as a peach pit, and as important.

Her stomach rumbled, not from hunger this time, and she rubbed it with her hand, wishing that Janina was here to take care of her.

If Janina was still alive.

Mia sat down and began to sob in earnest. Not quiet tears that trailed down her cheeks but gasping sobs that sounded as though they were being ripped from her.

Oh, Janina, poor Nina, please be well soon
. With a monumental effort she controlled her gulping sobs, and with two shuddering breaths she was almost calm again.