Surrender the Night (15 page)

He shrugged. A breeze tugged at a loose tendril of his dark hair. “I passed the lieutenant’s exam with honors; how hard could it be?”

A giggle rose in her throat. This highbrow had no concept of hard work, at least not the kind required by the only male servant in the house. Perhaps that was how she could get rid of him. She would give him the most vile tasks—tasks that a man of his breeding would consider far beneath him. Tasks so repulsive that his pride—which was obviously enormous—could not suffer the humiliation. Then perhaps he’d leave when he promised. Or better yet, even sooner.

Picking up the pail, Rose held it out to him. “Milk Liverpool.”

“Milk who?” Mr. Reed stared at her as if she were an apparition floating outside his door.

“Milk the cow.” She gave him a supercilious smile. “Did you think this was merely a social call?”

Mr. Reed gazed past her, confusion wrinkling his face. “What hour is it? Where is the sun?”

“It is five thirty, Mr. Reed, and the sun shall make its appearance soon, I assure you.”

“Five thirty.” He yawned. “Only thieves and murderers lurk about at this hour, Miss McGuire. Go back to bed and call upon me in a few hours.” He started to close the door.

She shoved her foot against the wood and the pail against his chest. “We milk the cow before dawn.”

“Need I remind you, I am an officer, not a farmer?”

“Need I remind you that you are under my employ and will do what I say? Or”—she shrugged—“my uncle will discharge you, and you’ll have no choice but to return to your ship, Mr. Reed, injured leg or not.”

One side of his lips lifted in a smile. “So you plan on driving me
away with work?”

She released the bucket. It fell onto his good foot with a thud.

“Ouch.” Mr. Reed winced.

“I’ll meet you in the barn.”

An hour later, Alex found himself sitting on a stool staring at the underbelly of a huge, portly beast. A stench he dared not describe but one that had haunted his dreams while he’d been feverish assailed his senses. Beside him, Miss McGuire lowered herself to another stool and rubbed her hands together.

“Make sure your fingers are warm,” she began instructing him, but her words rummaged past his ears unintelligibly. Instead—as a rhythmic
splat, splat
echoed in the bucket—Alex found himself mesmerized by the slight tilt of Miss McGuire’s head, the way the lantern light glimmered over her curls, and the moist sheen covering her lips.

“There,” she sat back. “Now it is your turn.”

Alex shook his head. A rooster crowed in the distance. “My turn?”

“Yes.” She faced him with a satisfied smirk. “This will be your job every morning.”

Alex stared at the four pink teats with disgust. Yet how hard could it be? “Very well, allow me.” He slid onto the stool Miss McGuire vacated. Flexing his fingers, he leaned beneath the beast and grabbed hold of one of the teats. It was warm and slick to his touch.

The cow let out an ear-piercing bellow and swung her enormous face toward him. Alex grabbed his crutch and leaped off the stool in horror.

Miss McGuire giggled. “Afraid of a cow, Mr. Reed?”

“Only when she bares her teeth at me.” He regained his composure.

“She won’t bite.” Miss McGuire placed her hands on her hips. “Try warming your fingers first. I doubt you’d enjoy an icy touch to your …” She halted, dropped her arms to her side, and glanced away.

Alex withheld a laugh, enjoying the red blossoming over her fair cheeks. “No, I daresay, I wouldn’t.”

He took his seat again. Then, after rubbing his fingers together, he placed them on the teat and began to squeeze. The cow let out a long
and arduous moo.

Miss McGuire sat on the stool beside him, maintaining some distance between them. “Like this, Mr. Reed.” She pressed his fingers onto the top of the teat near the udder then ran them down to the tip. A squirt of milk shot into the pail. “See?” Her eyes met his. Too close. Her fresh feminine scent pushed the malodorous smells of the barn from his nose, and he resisted the temptation to bury his face in her hair. Her lips parted and he stared at them, moving closer.

She jerked her hands back and stood, retreating to the wall of the barn. He grinned, hoping their closeness had a similar effect on her.

But why? When he’d be gone in a few days?

Pushing the unwanted thoughts aside, he returned to his task and attempted to duplicate her action, but the cow stubbornly withheld her milk.

Miss McGuire giggled again.

Alex continued to coax the beast into compliance. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Immensely.” She smiled.

“I am no stranger to hard work, miss, if that is what you are trying to prove. I have served on His Majesty’s ships for the past nine years.” Finally a squirt of milk shot from the teat.

Onto the dirt.

“Try hitting the pail, Mr. Reed.”

He growled his frustration. “Perhaps people were not meant to milk cows. Have you ever considered that? It seems highly unnatural to me.”

“Unnatural or not, someone with your education and skills should have no trouble with a simple task that any milkmaid can perform.”

Alex shook his head and switched to a different teat. Liverpool let out a guttural groan as dawn painted a luminous glow outside the barn door. Miss McGuire swept past him, her cotton gown rustling.

“Have no fear. I am sure I will master the technique before too long.” He glanced up at her. The morning sun formed a golden halo around her head.

“I should hope so, Mr. Reed.” The halo faded beneath her biting tone. “You have many more tasks to complete before the day is done.”

Alex massaged the teat. Another squirt. This time into the pail.

“Now I have it.” He shot Miss McGuire a confident glare then squeezed the same teat again. A stream of warm milk shot him in the face. He slammed his eyes shut as the liquid dripped off his chin onto his shirt. Releasing the cow, he swiped the creamy fluid from his cheeks and neck.

“Yes, I’d say you have it now, Mr. Reed.” Miss McGuire’s feminine laughter bubbled over him. But instead of stirring his indignation, it had the opposite effect.

He smiled up at her. “Quite amusing, I’m sure.” They laughed together, and for a moment joy sparkled in her eyes. But then a cold shield lifted over them once again. She pursed her lips. “When you’re finished, bring the milk to Cora. Then ask her for the kitchen scraps and return to me in my garden. I’ll show you how to feed the pigs.”

“You named your pig Prinney?” Shock jarred Alex, followed by a disgust that halted him in midstride.

“I did.” Rose knelt to pet the massive beast.

“After the Prince Regent of England?” He still could not believe it.

“He does resemble him, don’t you think?” Miss McGuire scratched the pig behind the ears then moved her fingers to do the same beneath his chin. “There you go, Prinney. That’s a good boy.”

Indignation churned in Alex’s belly. How insolent, ungracious, and ill-mannered! He shifted his gaze to the cow in the barn, and he grew more outraged. “Liverpool. You named the cow after our Prime Minister, Lord Liverpool!”

Miss McGuire stood, a grin twisting her luscious lips. A smudge of dirt angled down her neck and despite her blatant disrespect, he longed to wipe it off.

She handed him a shovel. “Time to clean out the pigsty.”

Alex gazed up at the sun. Only halfway in its ascent, its hot rays already seared him. Sweat beaded on his neck. “Clean it of what?” He glanced at the clumps of mud and hay and other less desirous nuggets that covered the floor of the enclosure.

“Of the pigs’ messes, of course.” A sarcastic twinkle shone in her eyes. “You should be good at it by now. Being in
His Majesty’s Navy
, don’t you often have to shovel Prinney’s waste?”

Alex opened his mouth to respond but outrage strangled his voice.

“Afterward, you may clean out the barn as well. And chop the firewood.” She pointed toward a pile of thick branches stacked along the side of the barn. Then flashing him a curt smile, she sashayed away.

Rose poured a cup of tea and sat down at the preparation table in the center of the kitchen. Amelia and Cora jostled each other for a position at the window that pointed toward the barn.

“You sure got him working hard, child.” Cora returned to her spot at the table and began kneading a lump of dough.

“He’s a servant. He’s supposed to work hard.” Rose took a sip of the tea, bitter like the guilt that soured the back of her throat. She plopped another lump of sugar into the hot liquid and gave it a stir.

“But you never made Samuel do yer chores. I thought you loved carin’ for the animals yourself.” Cora’s tone was tinged with disapproval.

Amelia continued to gaze out the window. “Oh my.”

“Amelia, for goodness’ sakes, quit drooling.”

“He’s taken off his shirt,” Amelia responded breathlessly.

Rose and Cora both darted to the window, nudging against each other for a better view. Mr. Reed’s form came into shape beyond the blurry glass. His shirt hung limp over a fence post as he raised the ax over his head, bringing it crashing down onto a log. Muscles that were anything but limp swelled firm and round on his biceps and chest. Dark hair the color of cocoa loosened from his queue and feathered his broad shoulders gleaming in the sunlight. The sweat indicated he was working hard. But the muscles indicated that he, indeed, was no stranger to work. She should have realized that when she’d seen his bare chest that morning. Perhaps her plan would not succeed after all.

“My, my, my.” Cora clicked her tongue. “Ain’t seen nothin’ like that in quite some time.”

A flush of heat waved over Rose. She tried to pull her gaze away but found it riveted on the man. Forcing her eyes closed, she backed away, tugging Amelia with her. “We shouldn’t stare at him. It’s improper.”

But Amelia wouldn’t budge.

“Amelia!” Rose dragged the enamored lady from the window and forced her to sit down. “And where have you been all day? It’s nearly noon.” Rose had long since given up expecting Amelia to assist Rose
with her morning toilette.

“I did not feel well, miss. I’m sorry.” Amelia poured herself some tea and gave a little pout. “Too much excitement yesterday, I fear.”

Cora tugged at the red scarf she always wore tied around her head and picked up the lump of dough. She slapped it back down on the floured table. “What excitement you talkin’ ‘bout, Amelia? I thought you’d be glad to see a bunch o’ handsome soldiers pokin’ about here.”

Rose and Amelia shared a fearful glance.

“I suppose it’s just the idea that we could be invaded by the British at any moment.” Amelia tossed her raven curls over her shoulder. “And lose everything—this home, this farm, and the family I’ve come to love.”

“Humph.” Cora’s thick arms flapped as she pressed down on the dough. “You both don’t know nothin’ about losin’ everything. About bein’ torn from those you love when you was but five and sold as a slave to strangers.”

“I know you have suffered, Cora.” Rose laid a hand on the woman’s arm, stopping her kneading. “What happened to you was evil of the worst kind.”

Dark eyes lifted to hers and a rare glimpse of understanding crossed over them before they hardened again. “I know the both o’ you lost your parents too.” She looked at Amelia. “But at least you know they’re no longer on this earth. I have no idea where mine are. Probably still slaves somewhere, or died in their chains.”