Once an Innocent (17 page)

Kate quickly settled on a cream fabric for the exterior, and said she wanted a green lining. When offered fabrics in various shades of green, Kate bit her bottom lip and looked from one to the other. Finally she turned in her chair. “Which should I choose, Lady Naomi?”

“Whichever you like, dear.”

A worry line creased the skin between her brows. “But which will look
best?”

Naomi looked over the choices laid on the vanity. “They are all very fine,” she said. “Each will complement the cream muslin.”

“I’ll choose the sage,” Kate decided with a nod. “Jordan would like it better than the others.”

Naomi’s heart gave a lopsided thump. “This isn’t your brother’s bonnet,” she said in a lightly teasing tone, “it’s yours, Kate.”

“I know, but … ” Kate shrugged awkwardly. “I want him to like it.”

Naomi smiled wanly. “I’m sure he’ll like it very much.” She stood by while Kate and Miss Scrimshire chose trimmings.

Poor child
. Kate wanted so much to catch her brother’s notice, to win his love and approval.
And she’ll have it, too
, she acknowledged to herself.
For a time, at least.
But in the end, even the most doting brother could decide that his unmarried sister is in the way of his own little family.

Underfoot. Unwanted.

Jordan is not Marshall,
she reminded herself. But if Lord Freese couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to his estate and his ward, what chance did his sister have, in the long run?

When Kate finished making her selections, Miss Scrimshire drew up a bill for the two bonnets. Naomi insisted on paying in full right away. With profuse thanks and a promise to have the work complete in a few days, Miss Scrimshire curtsied the ladies out the door.

Kate drew a deep breath and turned her face to the sky. Sighing happily, she linked her arm through Naomi’s. The familiar gesture caught Naomi off guard, but she accepted it with good grace. She truly liked Kate very much and was happy the girl returned her regard.

They strolled together to meet Lady Clara, who stood outside the general store with Aunt Janine and Lady Gray.

“Kate,” Naomi said in a low voice before they’d reached the others, “may I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“When we met Sir Randell and Enrique yesterday morning, did you hear Enrique speak at all?”

Kate’s lips screwed up in thought. “No. I don’t think he speaks much English. He’s Spanish, you know.”

“Yes, but — ” Naomi bit her tongue. Kate was not the person with whom to discuss Enrique. Basque, Spanish, French … Whatever the boy’s nationality, it confounded all reason that he should have lived in England the last several years, received a gentleman’s education, yet not speak English.

Everything Naomi had encountered in the last week, since coming to Lintern Abbey, made her feel as though she was slamming against a wall. It was clear to her Jordan should be more attentive to his estate, to the village, to the people living there … yet he was not. It was clear to her that Enrique was a French child … yet he was not. It was abundantly clear that Jordan Atherton should be nothing to her — he was thoughtless, negligent, high handed — and yet he was not nothing to her. Far from it, much to her chagrin.

Lady Gray drew close to Naomi’s side. “What a horrid little backwater,” she murmured. “Some … person … in the general store actually suggested we attend a dance at the
assembly rooms.”
She hissed these last words with her lips curled in contempt.

Naomi shot an arch look at the other lady. “Lintern Village is just as pleasant and hospitable a place as anyone could hope for. The people are welcoming and good-hearted,” she said, thinking of the food pantry at the vicarage. “You couldn’t ask for a lovelier village.”

Lady Gray wrinkled her small nose. “I defer to your judgment in the matter, as there is no such thing as a pleasant or lovely village to my mind. Only unsophisticated provincials and boredom everywhere the eye falls.”

The woman’s unrepentant criticism of the village dismayed Naomi. Why couldn’t Lady Gray acknowledge the small community’s charms? Naomi already thought Lintern Village one of the most amiable she’d come across. There was something exceedingly comfortable about the neighborhood, which felt like slipping into a favorite pair of gloves.

The sound of pounding hooves immediately preceded the appearance of three horsemen barreling down the high street. Villagers scattered before the fast approaching beasts. When the three drew to a sharp halt in front of their small group, Naomi recognized gentlemen from the Abbey party.

“Ladies,” called Mr. Young, “here you are!” His eyes swept over the five present; his face blanched. “But where are the others? Where is Miss Knight?” He turned his horse in a tight circle. His hand disappeared inside his coat, reaching for something. The hairs on Naomi’s neck stood on end.

Just then, his fiancée stepped out of the general store, followed by Miss Price and Miss Elton. “Percy!” she exclaimed. “Whatever has happened? You look a fright.”

Mr. Young’s alarm drained away at the sight of his intended. “Nothing, Lucy. We only — ”

“We didn’t know you ladies were coming to the village this morning,” cut in Lord Sidney. He was slight of build, like Mr. Young, but his features could not have been more different. While Mr. Young’s delicate face could almost be called pretty, Lord Sidney’s bone structure was all sharp angles and hard lines.

The third gentleman, Mr. Richard, looked at each of them in turn, as though mentally performing a head count.

Clara stepped forward. “What is the problem, gentlemen? It is not my habit to inform the whole world of my goings and comings, nor do I see any reason for these ladies to do so. We were perfectly aware of our own whereabouts at all times.” Her words carried a hard edge.

Mr. Richard flashed a questioning look at Mr. Young. Lord Sidney’s dark eyes met Clara’s; his face was expressionless. “There is no problem, my lady. We’ve only come to offer our escort back to the Abbey now.”

Aunt Janine leaned close to Naomi. “No one said we were returning to the Abbey now,” she whispered.

“No,” Naomi murmured. The sudden arrival of the gentlemen was curious, and she didn’t know what to make of Lord Sidney’s explanation. When they’d first arrived, Mr. Young hadn’t possessed the look of a man who’d simply come to escort his fiancée — he’d been worried, if not fully frightened.

“Come along, ladies,” said Mr. Richard.

The men dismounted and walked their horses as they accompanied the women to Lintern Abbey, but there wasn’t anything sociable about their escort. Naomi rather felt as though they were cattle being herded back to the barn.

Jordan dismounted and handed Phantom’s reins to a waiting groom. The great stallion snorted and pawed with a heavy hoof, cutting a dark furrow in the ground. “Come now, old man,” Jordan said, patting the animal’s neck, “I didn’t drag you out
that
early.”

The sky gave lie to his claim. The first hints of purple and gray were just beginning to touch the horizon.

John Bates drew up alongside Phantom. He glared, bleary-eyed, from beneath the rim of his tall hat. The collar of his great coat was turned up against the early chill. “You’ve brought us on a fool’s errand, Freese,” he complained. “Even if we trip over a brace of grouse, it’s too dark to see a blasted thing.” He sniffed loudly and wiped his nose with the back of his gloved hand. “Don’t see why we must do this. We’re not here to hunt. Our time would be better spent on security.”

A short distance away, Lord Gray lithely hopped down from his horse, then retrieved his gun from where it was lashed behind the saddle. “Give over, Bates. You’ve heard the ladies ask why we haven’t brought down any birds. Even your own cousin thinks you’re a lousy shot.” His unlined face showed amusement. “Let’s have her believe that’s the worst of it and not suspect anything else.”

Bates glowered at the young aristocrat before finally giving up his saddle and gathering his hunting gear. His fingers tightened around the stock and barrel of his weapon, then he turned on a heel and strode through the dew-wet heather to stand apart from the others.

The fourth and final man of the group, Dylan Price, stared after Bates, his full lips slack. Suddenly, his mouth snapped closed and he turned to Jordan. “Well, I think you have the right of it, m’lord. It’s jus’ not good policy to have the ladies askin’ uncomfortable questions, if you want my opinion. Which I ’spect is the same as yours. Which I ’spect is why we’re out here right now, idnit?” He tapped the side of his thick nose and nodded once, knowingly.

Jordan picked up his fowling piece and drew a deep breath of the brisk, Yorkshire air. The ladies
were
growing suspicious. One, in particular, was already too curious for her own good.

With a jerk of his head, he collected the other men and started up the hillside.

When he’d invited Naomi Lockwood to Lintern Abbey, Jordan never imagined she would be the source of his greatest aggravation. She didn’t strike him as the type to nose and pry, but last night she’d asked questions about Enrique and pressured Jordan for answers he couldn’t give — even after he’d kissed her to distract her.

Kissed her!

The wet undergrowth bested the brown fabric of Jordan’s breeches; cold dew seeped through to his legs. He shivered.

That kiss overrode all other thoughts in his mind. Wanting unlike any he’d ever known had galloped through his body, shaking him to the core. Instinctively, he sought to deepen the kiss. To taste, to explore. Her scent intoxicated him. Holding her face in his hands wasn’t enough — wasn’t nearly enough. His arms hungered to wrap around her. His hands itched to feel her skin. Naomi’s skin.

Ah, Naomi.

Innocent, untouchable Naomi.

Only the painful recollection that this was a woman he could not have —
must
not have — had allowed him to pull his lips away from hers. But, oh, how loath he’d been to do it.

He still hadn’t collected his wits when he’d done the only thing he could do — flee. Jordan hadn’t trusted himself to remain alone with her. He wanted her too much.

His mind had been trained only on getting them back to the safe confines of polite company, when she’d started in again about Enrique. Naomi, he decided, must have far greater fortitude than he. She’d showed dogged determination in pursuing the subject.

That kiss had been for nothing, then, since he’d failed to divert her attention. It was
worse
than nothing. His attempt at manipulating her had fallen flat, but
he
was entirely discombobulated. Lust had still saturated every fiber of his being when she’d stopped him to talk about blasted Enrique. He’d wanted to touch her again, to quiet her with his mouth once more.

It made him angry with himself to feel so out of control — and a little upset at Naomi, too. Who was she to unexpectedly become the most desirable female he’d ever known? To have been benignly on the periphery of his life for the better part of a decade and then suddenly occupy center stage? He felt duped, somehow. Taken in.

His withering lecture about the Basque region and language
had
been a tad overboard. Her feelings had been bruised, he could see. But, deuce take it, she had no business poking her nose into Jordan’s affairs and tripping into harm’s way. It was better if she thought him loutish and kept her distance, since he could not trust himself to do so.

Off to his right and in front of the others, Bates stumbled over some unseen obstruction. His arms wheeled as he took several staggering steps. Steadying himself, he clenched his teeth and growled. “Dash it, Freese, we’re going to do the French’s job for them. We’ve no call bumbling around, breaking our necks in the dark.”

“The sun is nearly up.” Lord Gray pointed with his fowling gun to where the sky behind the hills transitioned from purple-gray to pink. “This is the best time of day to hunt.” He nodded to Jordan in a show of solidarity.

Jordan appreciated the young man’s loyalty, but he made an awful racket stomping through the heather. “Why don’t you take the lead, Gray?” he said to the fellow. “Act as beater for us; flush the grouse out.”

The young lord strode to the fore, casting a cool stare at Bates as he passed the angry man. Bates muttered something only Lord Gray could hear. The younger male scoffed. “Your cousin had no such complaints last night.”

Bates’s lips drew together in a tight line. “Come a little closer and say that again,” he challenged.

Gray slowly turned, disdain marking every line of his posture as he approached Bates. Stopping toe-to-toe with the other, Gray’s boyish face turned jeering. “Your cousin had no such complaints last night,” he repeated.

“If you have laid a single finger on Prudence … ” Bates growled through clenched teeth.

“Andrew, that’s enough,” Jordan snapped before the altercation dissolved into a brawl. “We’re not here for pistols at dawn.”

Lord Gray’s eyes narrowed, and his lips drew down in a petulant frown.

“Bates,” Jordan said, “stop provoking him. You brought that on yourself. I’m certain there’s no reason to fear for Miss Hunt’s honor.”

With a final, silent, hate-filled exchange, the two men separated. Gray turned to lead while Bates stalked to a distance away from the group.

Behind Gray, the others formed a line. Bates took the far right, Dylan Price the center, and Jordan the left. Mr. Price soon drifted closer to Jordan. “You handled that just right, m’lord,” he said in his peculiar, fast mumble. He chuffed a white cloud of breath into the morning chill. “Although,” he continued, “if I might say so, sir, there doesn’t seem to be much in the way of
esprit de corps
amongst the men. Why,” he said, pointing the butt of his shotgun toward Lord Gray, “take these two for example. If not for you, they’d’ve torn each other to bits and been happy to do so.”

It took a great deal of concentration on Jordan’s part to distinguish one word from the next in the man’s speech, but the trace of censure was clear.

Price sighed. “It’s like they don’t take the job seriously. What don’t they understand about the danger? Why can’t they stop arguing long enough to focus on finding the Bonapartists? What would they say if — ”