Once an Innocent (21 page)

“What did I do?” Bewildered, he flung his hands wide. “I know I hurt the chit’s feelings, but I couldn’t tell you how. Clara, you must believe it was not my intention to upset Kate. I should hope no man of nine-and-twenty makes sport of a young girl.”

Clara planted hands on her hips, her splayed fingers digging into the ivory fabric of her morning dress. “Are you truly so daft? What you did, Jordan, was squash Kate’s poor little heart. That girl thinks you hung the moon in the sky, and you behave like she’s an unwanted mongrel. When she said she wanted to surprise you with her new bonnet, she meant that she hoped you’d find her pretty in it — that you would approve.” Deep lines appeared between her eyes. “Naomi told me that she chose the colors with you in mind, hoping for your admiration.”

With a heavy sigh, Jordan pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t have time to coddle a child. Bonaparte’s men were on his land — the list they’d found yesterday proved it. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel like the world’s greatest cad for hurting Kate.

“I’ll make it up to her,” he assured Clara. “But I
will
drive you to the village. I’ll have the barouche brought around.”

Clara’s eyes narrowed in a treasonous glare, and Jordan prepared to deal the low blows. If he must, he would remind her that his father was out of the country, leaving Jordan to serve as head of the family and Clara obligated to do as he said.

Fortunately, his stepmother must have caught a hint of how deadly serious he was about this, because she did not voice any further objections. “I’ll tell Kate to finish her meal,” she said before turning on her heel.

Thirty minutes later, Jordan strode out to the waiting carriage, found Clara and Kate already inside and Naomi issuing directions to two footmen. In the half hour since he’d seen her, she had donned a pelisse and bonnet, both a darker blue than the dress beneath. Several fluffy white feathers adorned the hat, while the pelisse featured a scalloped hem and flowers worked in white piping, making Naomi look like a particularly delectable
petit four
. Under her watchful eye, the servants loaded baskets of preserves, hams, several parcels wrapped in butcher’s paper, two wheels of cheese, and bushels of carrots, onions, potatoes, and apples into the vehicle.

“You planned to carry all this?” he asked her, incredulous.

Her rosebud mouth pursed, and once more the desire to kiss her caught him unawares.

Briefly, he thought what a shame it was she had decided against marriage. Naomi might carry on affairs undetected for some time, but if she was ever found out, she would be banished from Society. Not even Marshall’s considerable influence could shield her from public scorn. The thought of never seeing her pretty face at the same dinner table again, never again dancing on the same floor as she felt … wrong. Jordan and every other man of the
ton
was free to do as he pleased sexually, to keep mistresses and paramours. Right or wrong, women were held to different standards than their male counterparts. He wondered if he ought not have a word with her, offer some advice for maintaining discretion, but that, too, sat uneasy with him.

“Of course we weren’t going to carry all this,” Naomi said, “just the preserves. But since you graciously offered the carriage, I decided to take some more.”

“You mean you raided my larder and root cellar.” The footmen packed the last of the stores into the carriage with Clara and Kate. His sister’s feet perched on top of the cheeses. There was no seat for Naomi. “Is there any food left for my household?”

Naomi dismissed his question with a flick of her wrist. “Oh, bosh. You have plenty to spare and then some. I spoke with the cook and this” — she nodded to the pile of food — “is only a small portion of your excess.” She turned a dazzling smile on him. Two dimples appeared on either side of her chin, and her eyes danced merrily. “Your generous support is most appreciated, my lord.”

He stifled a groan. As he took her hand to help her to the driver’s bench, he bent down to speak in her ear. A strand of her silken hair tickled his nose; he inhaled her gentle scent. “You’re a danger to yourself and everyone around you when you’re charming, Naomi. The Haywards of the world won’t be dissuaded forever.”

“Perhaps I wish they wouldn’t be,” she replied with a shrug and a smile. Grasping his hand harder, she stepped up into the carriage.

For an instant, Jordan was stunned into silence. Even though he had an idea of her course, to hear her say it aloud — and so blithely, without a scrap of shame! — was something of a shock.

He pulled himself up and settled beside Naomi on the driver’s seat. He gave her a long look. She smiled back, utterly guileless, looking every inch the polite lady.

He had to admire her frank attitude toward sex — what else could she have meant about not wanting to dissuade Hayward? If Jordan hadn’t intervened that night, the man would’ve had Naomi’s virginity before much longer. At the time, Jordan thought he’d done her a service, but maybe not. Perhaps Naomi had chosen Hayward as her first lover, and Jordan had interrupted not an assault but a rendezvous.

Then he remembered how that oafish, drunken ass had handled her so roughly. In excruciating detail, Jordan recalled Hayward’s hands nipping into Naomi’s arms, her soft flesh reddening between his fingers. The way his mouth had possessed hers, lips peeled back, teeth and tongue wet and scraping. His hand moving from arm to breast, taking what was not his …

Jordan’s vision went red at the edges, and suddenly he wished Wayland Hayward stood in the middle of the drive so Jordan could run him down with the pair of horses. And then, just for good measure, Jordan would run over him again. And kick him in the ribs. Twice.

“I believe we’re all quite settled.”

Naomi’s soft voice cut into his vengeful daydream. The white lining of her bonnet and lace ruff of her pelisse reflected light back onto her face, lending her skin a pearlescent glow. Combined with the coppery curls swaying around her cheeks, she was a heartbreaking angel — or a goddess.
Aphrodite
, he thought.
Destined to take lovers and shatter men.
Other men. Not he, of course. Jordan did not dally with virgins.

He gritted his teeth and repeated it to himself like a mantra as he snapped the reins.

Soon enough, Kate twisted around in the rear-facing seat to perch with her head hovering over Jordan and Naomi’s shoulders. She pointed out a beech tree in the distance, its immense canopy a green dome. Starlings perched in a row on a roadside fence next caught her attention, and then she wanted to know what was Jordan’s favorite bird.

“I’ve never considered it,” he said. He was still brooding about Naomi and her as-yet anonymous, future lovers, but because he’d vowed to do better by Kate, he returned the question to her. “What bird do you like best?”

She gave the matter some thought. A line creased the skin between her brows, in a manner that looked just like Clara. She turned to look at him. The brim of her bonnet clipped him on the cheek. “Oh, sorry!” she exclaimed.

“It’s all right.” He glanced at her and smiled. “That’s very fetching, by the by. It becomes you. If one must be dashed with a hat, it might as well be a pretty one.”

Kate’s face broke into a wide grin; a flush of pleasure colored her freckled cheeks.

“Turn around, Kaitlin,” Clara scolded. “We can’t have the neighborhood thinking Lord Freese’s sister a hoyden.”

The girl obeyed at once.

When he glanced Naomi’s way, she gave him an approving smile, her eyes soft and warm.

Soon enough, they pulled in front of the vicarage, a pretty situation on the edge of the village. Geese floated lazily on a small pond behind the house, while a trio of apple trees hung heavy with fruit.

“You didn’t need to steal my fruit, after all,” he teased Naomi, nodding to the trees.

As Jordan disembarked and handed the ladies down, the front door opened. The cottage’s inhabitants spilled out — Mrs. Barton, a maid, and two black spaniels excitedly yapping and jumping. The maid swatted the dogs with a rag. They twisted out of her reach and ran toward Jordan’s party, barking with great enthusiasm.

One of the beasts jumped straight for Jordan’s buff breeches, its slobbery tongue flapping like a banner in the breeze. Jordan caught the dog mid-leap by the scruff of the neck, swung it about and plopped it onto the ground. “No,” he said in an authoritative baritone. “Down.”

The animal sank to its haunches at once. The other dog, which had been making a beeline for Naomi, also sat. Jordan fixed a quelling look on his captive before releasing its fur.

“Gracious, me!” Mrs. Barton exclaimed. She dropped a hasty curtsy. “This is quite a surprise, my lord. A pleasant one, of course. Dolly,” she called over her shoulder to the maid — all the while waving her hand rapidly by her skirt — “set out a few more cakes.”

The servant shooed the dogs back into the house and scurried in behind them.

Mrs. Barton greeted the ladies before once more addressing Jordan. “Mr. Barton is with Mr. Gillows — the carpenter, you know. I fear he took a nasty fall from a ladder.”

“Is he all right?” Naomi asked.

“He suffered a dislocated shoulder,” the vicar’s wife said. “The surgeon expects he’ll do right enough. In the meantime, Gillows can’t so much as lift a spoon to his mouth. No wife to help him, poor fellow, so my husband and our manservant have gone to offer some assistance.”

“How dreadful,” Clara said, her face etched with concern. To Naomi, “Fortuitous you thought to bring all you did — it sounds as though Mr. Gillows will need some of this right away. With no income now that he’s abed … ”

Naomi made a sound of agreement while Mrs. Barton looked past them to the food heaped inside the carriage. She gasped in amazement and went to examine the bounty.

Jordan frowned. Should he have been informed of the carpenter’s injury sooner? He would have liked to have known. He could have … what? What had Jordan ever done for these people — his people?

“Dolly!” Mrs. Barton called. “Where has that girl gotten off to?” she muttered. “Dolly, come here and carry these things!”

“No need,” Jordan said as the maid appeared at the cottage door. He returned to the carriage to load his arms with provisions. “Point me in the right direction, and I shall take care of moving this.”

“My lord, are you sure?” Mrs. Barton fretted. She gestured frantically to the maid to come out.

Jordan shifted his burden so that a ham balanced securely on top of a cheese. “It’s no trouble, I assure you. Your girl need not be bothered.”

Dolly reached the little bower over the front walk just in time for Mrs. Barton to wave her back inside again. The maid glowered at the back of her mistress’s head before complying.

Once the food was tucked away in the shed, Mrs. Barton admired her stocked shelves. “Lady Naomi, how can I thank you?” She took Naomi’s hand and then reached for Clara. “And you, Lady Whithorn.”

While the women shared a moment of sorority, Jordan stepped out of the cramped food pantry. Ought he not to have known about this charity? Shouldn’t he have spearheaded something of the sort? He slapped his driving gloves against his thigh as he considered. The sound of his name drifting out of the pantry brought his attention back to the ladies.

“ — Lord Freese’s own stores,” Naomi was saying.

Mrs. Barton hustled across the short distance to clasp his hand. “Thank you so much, my lord. Your donation will make all the difference. Once word of your largesse makes its way around the village — which will be accomplished before tea, I’ve no doubt — I’m certain the rest of the community will feel inspired to do their share.”

Shame twisted his middle. “’Twas not my thoughtfulness that brought this to pass,” he said with a gesture to the pantry, “but that of the ladies ensconced at the Abbey. Especially Lady Naomi.”

“As you say, my lord,” Mrs. Barton demurred. “Such modesty is becoming in a gentleman. Now then, tea?” She led the group toward the house, where the pesky dogs could be heard pawing at the door.

Settled in the drawing room with refreshments, the vicar’s wife returned to the object of their visit. “Lady Naomi, I must pick your mind on the subject of soliciting donations. How best to go about it?”

The women discussed the matter for the remainder of the call. Jordan watched the older women nod at Naomi’s suggestions. Her gentle voice was the one that commanded attention. Pity, he thought, that Naomi would not be on hand to offer her continued support to Mrs. Barton’s pantry.

During the ride home, the ladies all sat in the open carriage while Jordan drove. The solitude gave him ample opportunity for reflection.

He still felt a great deal of self-recrimination. Jordan had spent so long trying to escape Lintern Abbey and its boring responsibilities that he’d neglected the greatest of those responsibilities — the people. Estate business wasn’t all crop rotations and grazing patterns, though those were the kinds of issues he had always associated with his home. The village depended on the success of Jordan’s lands.

In a few weeks, Naomi would leave Lintern Abbey. Jordan vowed to himself to pick up where she left off and become a more conscientious landlord and patron of the community.

Idly, he wondered what Naomi would do with herself once she left. Marshall and Isabelle’s child would be born soon. Naomi would undoubtedly make herself useful to Isabelle and the babe, but then what?

Clara murmured something that set Kate and Naomi off in laughter.

Jordan scowled. Mentally, he ran through an inventory of his memories of Naomi. In almost all of them, she was doing for others. When was Naomi ever on the receiving end of someone’s kind efforts?

He truly liked and admired Naomi Lockwood. She’d turned out to be a fine specimen of woman — beautiful and accomplished in all the ways Society deemed necessary. If it were ended there, Jordan would not feel one tenth the admiration he did. Such conventional beauties were a dime a dozen on the Marriage Mart.

Naomi, he decided, was a walking contradiction. On the surface, she was everything typical in terms of propriety. Beneath that cultivated exterior, Jordan had found a rare treasure. She was thoughtful and generous, kind and witty. But tenacious, too, he thought ruefully, recalling her determination in interrogating him about Enrique. She was virginal and guileless, yet possessed a downright shocking open-mindedness about sex and marriage.