Petals on the River (18 page)

more time.
 
She selected the green gown to wear only because it seemed a

trifle shorter.
 
After donning the shoes, she strapped on thin rawhide

laces to hold the light leather slippers on her feet and then wound the

cords up around her ankles and tied them in a knot.
 
She wrinkled her

nose in disgust at how red and marred her ankles had become from the

constant chafing of the shackles.
 
She could only imagine how much more

irritated they would become from the leather strips Shemaine checked the

dough and, much to her relief and delight, found that it had risen quite

well despite being rushed.
 
She added the next ingredients until the

batter became the right consistency.
 
Once again she set the mixture

near the fireplace.
 
Then she busied herself dusting and tidying the

cabin.

Once the dough had risen sufficiently for a second time, Shemaine laid a

griddle on a rack where it could be heated to the right temperature by

the flames.
 
Having every intention of presenting her new master with an

opportunity to enjoy a light, leisurely afternoon repast she set a pot

of tea to steep near the hearth, hoping fervently that he would return

in time to taste the crumpets and tea while both were still hot and

fresh.

Though the lessons had been learned years ago, they had undoubt i_ edly

been indelibly etched upon Shemaine's memory through constant

repetition, for the crumpets were an unblemished marvel.
 
For the first

time in her life, she was ecstatic over the results and wonderfully

grateful that Bess Huxley had demanded excellence in whatever cooking

assignment her student had undertaken.
 
If only, Shemaine sighed

forlornly, she could recall all of Bess's meticulous instructions with

the same success.

A rapid ascent of the front steps alerted her to the presence of

another, then three quick raps on the heavy door eased the prickling

along her nape.
 
Leaving several crumpets browning on the iron griddle,

Shemaine ran to the portal, lifted the bolt and swung the door wide to

admit the rain-drenched man.

For the length of his return journey and during his rapid flight to the

cabin, Gage Thornton had sought to keep both his young son, whom he now

carried, and a large basket of food, which he bore over an arm,

protected beneath a tarp.
 
He was still intent upon his mission even as

he stepped into the cabin.
 
He gave Shemaine little notice as she

hastened back to the hearth, but shoved the door closed with a shoulder

and dropped the basket on a rough-hewn table near the entrance before he

swept away the sheltering cover from his son.
 
When the boy saw a

stranger in the house, he pressed back against his father' s shoulder,

immediately shy and reluctant to be parted from the security of his

parent, but the aroma filling the cabin soon drew his amber-lit brown

eyes to the hearth.

"Daddee .
 
.
 
.
 
Andee .
 
.
 
.
 
hungee."

The delicious smell had attracted Gage's curiosity as well, and after

setting his son down beside him, he peered inquiringly toward the

griddle as he tugged the tail of his soaked shirt out of his buckskin

breeches.
 
"What smells so good?"

"I remembered how to make crumpets," Shemaine announced with a smile

that wavered between timidity and pride.

Whatever she had been about to add was stricken from her mind as Gage

dragged the sodden garment over his head and dropped it into an oaken

bucket near the door.
 
The sight of his lean waist, wide muscular

shoulders and taut chest rippling with thews was more than a little

unsettling for a young woman who, during her few excursions on the deck

of the London Pride, had been subjected to the sight of many potbellied

and narrow-shouldered sailors who had been amply disposed toward

strutting about shirtless in front of the women, as if they had imagined

themselves admirable examples of manly prowess, worthy of impressing the

most discriminating of the opposite gender.

In comparison, Gage Thornton had an extraordinarily fine physique,

possibly the best Shemaine could remember ever viewing in her limited

encounters with half-garbed men.
 
Yet, for all of that, he seemed

oblivious to his own exceptional appearance and the mental disarray it

caused his bondswoman.
 
Shemaine couldn't recall ever seeing a man who,

by simply shedding a shirt, could unnerve her.
 
With that invading

jitteriness came the realization that except for the child she was

completely alone with a strange man for the very first time in her life.

Any true lady would have been less awed by his anatomy and far more

cautious of the man, for under the circumstances she was really quite

vulnerable to the whims of her master.

Abashed by her own forwardness at openly admiring his lightly furred

chest and broad shoulders, and equally reluctant to be caught gaping,

Shemaine turned back to her cooking, adding with a decidedly shaky

comment, "I thought you and Andrew might enjoy some crumpets with your

afternoon tea."

"Let me get out of these wet clothes and I'll be right with you," Gage

replied eagerly as he hastened to his bedroom.
 
The one thing that had

spoiled his complete satisfaction with his indentured servant was his

concern over her inability to cook.
 
Despite his efforts not to, he had

continued to worry over the matter, wondering how his small family would

survive on poorly prepared meals.
 
It was a tremendous relief to realize

the girl knew more than she had first let on.
 
When she could cook

something that wafted so tantalizingly through his senses it could make

his mouth water, it spurred some hope that she would be capable of doing

even more.

"Daddee!" Andrew squealed in sudden anxiety, realizing his father had

left him.
 
He shot a wide-eyed look of panic at Shemaine and ran into

the bedroom screaming in terror.

Shemaine smiled as she heard Gage soothe the fears of his sobbing son.

"It's all right, Andy.
 
Shemaine is going to be living with us and

taking care of you while Daddy makes chests and tablesþ'' "An' big ship,

too, Daddee?" the boy asked through his tears.

"And big ship, too, Andy."

Shemaine set the teapot down on the table, added a cup and saucer two

small plates, utensils, and fruit preserves that she had found in the

cupboard.
 
A moment later Gage came out of the bedroom carrying his son,

having changed into a pair of dark brown hide breeches and a

loose-sleeved, homespun shirt.
 
Before her arrest, Shemaine had found

herself more inclined to admire men dressed to the hilt in elegant

attire Maurice had been an exceptionally garbed individual, looking the

most handsome in black silk frock coats, waistcoats and breeches to

match.

With hair and eyes of the same dark hue, the stark contrast between the

black silk garments and the snowy white shirts and stocks he usually

wore with them had been no less than dramatic.
 
Indeed, dressed out for

formal occasions, Maurice had been most effective in causing feminine

hearts to race in avid admiration.
 
Still, when her new master came nigh

to halting her breath wearing such rough garb, Shemaine had to wonder if

she would ever again be moved to awe by princely appareled lords in silk

stockings.

Gage sat the boy in the high chair at the end of the table, tied a bib

around his neck, and then settled himself on the bench to Andrew's q

left.
 
Shemaine leaned across the table to place the plate of crumpets

in the center, prompting Gage to glance up as he thanked her, but as the

hanging lantern cast its light upon her face, he saw her clearly for the

first time since his return.

If there was anything capable of disrupting that maddeningly cryptic

reserve of his or those sparse smiles, Shemaine guessed the change in

her appearance qualified.
 
When their gazes had first met on the London

Pride, she had been startled by the strength of those glittering brown

eyes, but there was something entirely different about the slow,

exacting way he looked her over now, as if he were seeing her for the

first time as a woman instead of a possession.
 
Shemaine held her breath

in trepidation, wondering if the sight of her wearing Victoria's clothes

would cause him to regret his kindness to her.

"You look different..." Gage murmured finally.
 
"Very nice, in fact."

Indeed!
 
Too beautiful for a man who's been without a woman for the last

year, he thought, dropping his gaze and fixing it with great

determination on the crumpets.
 
Almost mechanically he reached for one,

sliced it apart and spread preserves on one of the halves for his son.

"Should I pour Andrew some tea?" Shemaine asked uncertainly, still

unable to determine Gage's mood, for he seemed even more distant than he

had before.

Avoiding the folly of looking her way, Gage pushed himself to his feet.

It was a painful truth that abstinence had a way of sharpening a man's

senses to an agonizing intensity when a winsome maid was so near at

hand.
 
"I've got some milk cooling in the well," he answered at last.

"If you'd like, I'll show you where it's kept."

"Should I get the tarp?" she inquired, not wishing to get soaked and

cold again.
 
She hadn't ventured out to the well while he was gone, for

she had been anxious to bathe and had only waited until the water in the

kettle had gotten warm enough to use.

"No, there's no need.
 
I built a roof over the back porch and extended

it far enough over the well so we can stay dry even when it's raining."

Gage led her through the back corridor, lifted the bolt from the door,

and swung it open for her.
 
Stepping past him, Shemaine went out onto

the porch and once again had a chance to marvel at the diligent man.
 
It

was becoming increasingly evident to her that Gage Thornton enjoyed

creating things that were not only beautiful to behold but completely