He frowned and then sighed. “I can’t very well throw you out. You have saved my brother’s life and have played nursemaid to him … right then, one week, Miss White.”
“Thank you,” Myriah said, feeling wicked about keeping her true identity from him while she remained in his home.
He got up. “I think I’ll visit that scamp brother of mine.” He inclined his head. “Till later then.”
She watched him go and sighed. It was time to go to the kitchen to visit with Cook and pick up some more information about Lord Wimborne!
* * *
The cook greeted her warmly and asked how the young master was. Myriah smiled. “I am sure he will be calling for a man’s dinner this evening. In the meantime, I thought I would fix some tea and biscuits and take it up to him in a bit.”
“How kind of you, Miss,” Cook said, beaming.
“Oh … and I have taken a guestroom and polished it up, but I need some fresh linens and another blanket for the bed. I looked everywhere but couldn’t find them.”
“Lord love ye,” clucked Cook, “that was a job for m’lads, that was. I’ll have them take up what ye need.”
“Thank you,” Myriah said over her shoulder as she put a kettle on the fire.
“Wasn’t expecting his lordship back so soon,” Cook said, obvious looking to gossip. She put a stack of sweet tarts on the tray Myriah had set on the table.
“Yes, Mr. Wimborne was surprised as well—oh, and those look good.”
“They be young Wimborne’s favorite.”
“Have you been with them at Wimborne long?” asked Myriah.
“M’mother was cook at Wimborne before me … ’tis a
shame what hard times will do to a place.”
“And they have fallen onto hard times?” asked Myriah.
“That they ’ave … we used to have quite a staff running about … then something went wrong jest this past year—just after his lordship come home from fighting the Frenchies in Spain.
All
but me and my boys were let go.”
“How dreadful! Those poor people—did they find work?”
The cook cast her eyes away from Myriah’s face and suddenly busied herself again. “Oh, as to that … they make out all right.”
Odd
, thought Myriah. Why had the woman become suddenly secretive? She took up the tray, marveling to herself at its weight, and made her
way
to young Wimborne’s room.
Without knocking at the open door, she sauntered in, placed the heavily laden tray on a stained wood table, and pulled it to the bed. Exclaiming disapprovingly, she made her way to the long window-hangings and opened them. “There, that’s better!” she said, hands on hips. There wasn’t much light from the dismal day, but it was better than total darkness.
“Oh God, she’s back!” groaned young Wimborne. Myriah said nothing to this but went to his water pitcher, poured some of the cool water into the basin, and brought it to the bed. Dipping a washcloth in the water she moved it over her patient’s face and neck, then left it in his free hand while she brought him a towel.
“There,” she exclaimed with approval. “Now don’t you feel better?”
“She-devil, move aside and let me eat!” retorted her patient.
She laughed, drew up a chair for herself, and placed a tray of delectables on his knees. “Eat, puppy. I am told the strawberry tart is your favorite.”
“Aye, so it is.” He smiled widely.
“Sip your tea first,”
she said, placing them out of his reach.
“Fiend!” He snorted but took up the cup and did in fact sip with a sound of pleasure.
She sipped her own tea and slid his tart to him. Watching him eat with relish, she thought he was well on the mend. When he had finished, she poured him another cup and handed it over, spilling a bit as she did so.
“Careful, chit!” admonished Mr. Wimborne, grinning.
“Ungrateful scamp! Be satisfied it was not dropped on your head!”
“And is that how you treat your benefactor, Billy my lad?” said a male voice from the doorway.
“Back, Kit? Have some tea and one of those tarts, and aye, ’tis only what she deserves. She is a fiend.”
“Would you like some tea, my lord? I’ve brought an extra cup,” Myriah said, feeling for no apparent reason a sensation very much like shyness.
“Thank you, Miss White,” his lordship replied quite formally. Myriah peered at him, wondering if this tall, honey-haired man was indeed the same one who had leaned over her last evening. He seemed so distant and … cold.
His imposing figure loomed above them as he came over for the teacup. He took up a chair and sat across from her with the small table between them, and Myriah decided to ignore him by sipping her tea.
“Drink up,” Myriah ordered, returning her attention to Billy, who was staring out the window, his cup in mid-air.
“Fire-breather … no need for you to order me about—I was just about to,” returned Mr. Wimborne, grinning.
Lord Wimborne laughed, sat back, and relaxed as he watched the lively exchange between the two. He wondered about Miss White, as she called herself. She looked and behaved every bit the spoiled lady—certainly her clothes had come from none other than Madame Bertin’s Salon.
Then, too, there was something in her self-assurance—something that spoke of breeding and exposure to a London Season. Yet he had never heard of the White family name. Then there was her story—it seemed odd and, though he believed it, something in her eyes had hinted of falsehoods.
It annoyed him and hovered about his thoughts like a fretful child. He watched her get up. Instinctively, his eyes meandered slowly over her body, but his eyelids quickly veiled his appreciation of her form. This was one pretty his instincts cautioned him to pass!
“If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I am sure you two have matters to discuss, and
I
would dearly love a quick visit to the stables to look in on my Silkie,”
Myriah
said
,
brushing a few crumbs into a napkin and leaving it on the table.
“But it is raining,” his lordship offered with a frown.
“Ha! As though that could stop the she-devil,” teased Billy, waving her off.
With her departure Kit relaxed and chuckled as he watched his brother devour another strawberry tart. “Billy, you and Miss White seem to have progressed into an extremely comfortable relationship,” he said, eying him speculatively.
“Hmmm … she is a top sawyer! Don’t let her
bossi
ness fool you, Kit. She really is grand, you know!”
“And how came you to this profound conclusion about
a
young lady you hardly know?” his lordship asked drily.
“Kit!” Billy protested. “She saved my life!
If
Myriah had not found me and brought me home, I could have bled to death on the grass … or worse!”
“Very well, we will allow her that much. She did indeed deliver you into Fletcher’s hands instead of hauling you off to the doctor’s … which would have been the very devil to deal with.”
“Aye, but, Kit,” objected Billy once again, “she did far more than that! Lord—ain’t Fletcher told you? He told me … fastened some sort of thing … ah, a tourniquet that slowed my blood from spilling out altogether. And what’s more, she never asked
how
I came by my bullet! Not one question. Nor does she talk around it like some females do trying to get you to slip up and give over …”
Kit laughed and put up his hands. “That, of course makes her right ’un!”
“Yes, it does,” Billy said defensively. “She is plucky—for you must know her father has tried to bully her into marrying some chap she didn’t take to. Up she gets and runs away! How many females do you know have the backbone to take such a step?”
“She told you that, eh?” His lordship was mildly surprised and asked, “And that step meets with your approbation, Billy?”
“Now, Kit, come down a leg! Lord, it ain’t like you to get some preachy look over your face. ’Tis humbug you be pitching at me, and I want to know why!”
“Frankly, I don’t wish for you to become involved with a girl of her stamp—” started his lordship.
A gusty laugh drowned out Kit’s words.
“
Involved?
Egad, Kit … Myriah is a dazzler! Lord don’t know when I’ve clapped eyes on a brighter flower. But she no more wants
my
name than she wants that fellow’s she is
running
away from!”
“But what do
you
want, my bucko?” Kit asked.
“I want a fairy queen with china-blue eyes, corn silk hair blowing soft in the breeze … and I want her
ten
years from now!”
Billy grinned.
Kit smiled and stood up. “All right, lad. I’ll plague you no more—for the time being. Get some rest.”
“The devil I will!” retorted his brother. “’Tis your turn now, my brother.”
“My turn, brat?” Kit’s brow went up.
“Aye, what I want to know is why are you back … now?”
~ Four ~
MYRIAH MARVELED TO HERSELF at how different the land appeared during the daytime. The lawns, though overgrown, were a lush green and with but a little mending would once again be something pure and soft. The drive led to a winding, deeply etched, sea-green dyke. An apple orchard’s rich blossoms filled the blue sky, and Myriah felt strangely content as she strolled along.
She liked Billy Wimborne. He was open, honest, and didn’t try to flirt her to death … and all these traits were refreshing after her two seasons amongst the sophisticated London beaux!
Lord Wimborne was a different thing altogether. He was an experienced man—in many ways. She hadn’t made up her mind about him. His gray eyes held secrets, his manner sophistication … and she had no doubt he was something of a ladies’ man. He had been away fighting the French, which was why she had never encountered him at any of the London balls.
He had shown himself a dangerous libertine last
night. He had taken a liberty without caring who she was, why she had been there … and the memory of his touch still thrilled her body.
He behaved as though it had never happened. He seemed totally disinterested in her, and Myriah was irritated by the fact. W
hy did she care? Because, she told herself, there was a mystery here she would enjoy unraveling.
Why had Billy been shot? Why had the Wimbornes fallen on bad times? And if they had, how did his lordship manage to acquire such superbly cut garments? And the stables—some very prime blood horses were housed there!
Just as these thoughts flitted about her mind, Myriah’s feet felt the reverberation of horses’ hoofs. Without knowing why, her heart skipped nervously, and she turned and made a dash up the drive towards the house, cutting across the lawns and reaching the front doors just as a group of riders in military uniform appeared on the front drive.
She rushed into the house, went to
a
mirror, and tidied herself—and something deep in the pit of
her
stomach told her she would have to keep her wits about her.
A
moment later the heavy knocker sounded. Myriah smoothed her blue silk skirt, took a long breath, and moved slowly toward the door, fixing a becoming smile on her face as she did so.