Petals on the River (24 page)

"You've made yourself out to be a liar, Shemaine," he observed setting

the bucket and basket down on the side table near where she worked.
 
He

could hardly take his eyes off the rolls, for he seriously doubted he

had ever seen bread that looked so delicious.
 
But then, it may have

been his own hunger that befogged his memory.

His statement caused Shemaine immediate consternation.
 
"How so, sir?"

"Well, tis apparent you know how to cook," Gage replied, sweeping a hand

to indicate the food.
 
"Perhaps even well enough to put Roxanne Corbin

to shame.
 
Why did you let me believe the converse?"

Intent upon learning the reason, Gage bestowed his full attention on ,

her, but the thoughtful frown that had creased his brow gradually faded

as those warm brown orbs slowly descended, sweeping downward from her

untidy pigtails to the thin toes peaking from beneath her hem. Those

small extremities curled awkwardly beneath his casual contemplation

before he reversed his scrutiny.
 
This time his eyes glided upward,

pausing ever so briefly on the soft, rounded bosom that was obviously

unfettered beneath her night garb.

Painfully conscious of her disarray, Shemaine laid an arm at an angle

across her chest and dragged the lace-edged collar of the robe up close

around her neck.
 
Had the garments been transparent and her pale body

completely vulnerable to his unswerving regard, she would have found no

less cause to be disconcerted.
 
His close attention made her jittery to

a fault, for she had absolutely no assurance that he would continue

treating her with polite deference.
 
She was, after all, nothing more

than a slave.
 
She had no haven to which she could run and absolutely no

one from whom she could obtain protection.
 
Indeed, if she had correctly

discerned the timidity of the hamlet's inhabitants when Gage Thornton

had looked their way, then she could suppose they'd be far too cowardly

to confront the man on her behalf.
 
Others like Alma Pettycomb might

have the nerve, but if similarly averse to convicts, they certainly

wouldn't bother.

Gage finally dragged his gaze higher to meet hers, but Shemaine turned

away to hide her vivid blush and quickly busied herself spooning eggs

into a bowl.
 
For all of her effort to appear unruffled, he might as

well have been breathing down her neck.
 
Every fiber of her being

screamed of his nearness.

Trying to control the quaver in her voice, Shemaine hastened to answer

him, hoping he would then move away.
 
"When you questioned me about my

abilities, sir, I wasn't at all sure what I would be able to remember.

You see, my mother thought it essential that I be instructed by our

cook, but I detested the lessons and saw no future in them. They kept me

from what I really enjoyed doing."

Taking up the bowl and the platter of meat, Shemaine stepped to the

table and leaned across to place the serving dishes conveniently near

the two plates she had set out earlier for her master and his son.

She had no need to take note of the direction of her master's gaze, for

she could feel the weight of it roaming her back.

"And what was that, Shemaine?" Gage asked, intrigued by the way the

nightgown and wrapper molded her trim buttocks.
 
The degree of detail

she unwittingly presented him was definitely worth admiring for as long

as she afforded him the view.

"Riding, sir," Shemaine replied, feeling some chagrin over her passion

for horses.
 
Edith du Mercer had disdained the idea of a young woman

racing recklessly across the countryside on the back of a headstrong

stallion which many a man had proven incapable of handling. Shemus

O'Hearn had taught her to ride at an early age, and the two of them had

shared a great love for the sport.
 
Maurice was the only one she had

ever known who could ride as well as her sire.
 
"My father owned some of

the finest steeds in all of London.
 
He put me on the back of a mare

when I was only two, and my mother swore thereafter that that single

event proved my undoing in years to come.
 
I suppose she was right in a

way.

Twas clear the thieftaker knew where to wait for me, for twas in the

stable that he made his arrest."

"Are you suggesting that the thieftaker had been told of your penchant

for horses by your fiance's grandmother?" Gage queried, only slightly

disappointed when she faced him.
 
Her loosely garbed bosom was tempting

enough to draw more than a few surreptitious glances The soft peaks

teased him with random appearances, stirring his imagination no small

degree.

"Or at least by someone in her hire, sir," Shemaine replied. "That's

what I've come to believe.
 
I've had a lot of time to think it through

since my arrest, and the clandestine way in which it was all done

convinced me that someone wanted to keep my disappearance a secret, for

no one was around when I was taken.
 
The grooms had gone to feed grain

to the mares in the field.
 
If I'm wrong about what I've come to

surmise, then I've done a great disservice to the lady by judging her

unfairly."

"If you were found by your family, would your suspicions about this

woman hinder you from marrying your fiance?
 
This .
 
.
 
.
 
Maurice du

Mercer?"

That particular issue had monopolized Shemaine's thoughts almost from

the time of her arrest, and she was extremely weary of the mental

debate.
 
She certainly hadn't been able to arrive at any firm

conclusions but the need to do so didn't seem so crucial now, for she

could not imagine a marquess taking to wife a convict.
 
" Tis highly

unlikely that my parents or even Maurice would ever think of searching

for me here.

Besides, I rather doubt that Maurice would be able to spare the time for

such a quest.
 
He has many affairs and properties in England that demand

his constant attention, and I cannot imagine him lightly setting aside

his obligations to come here."

"Not even to seek his betrothed?" Gage was rather amazed at her

conclusion, for he couldn't conceive of any man forgetting a woman as

winsome as she.

\ Shemaine resented having to explain and did so succinctly. "Maurice

never had a shortage of titled ladies fawning over him before our

engagement.
 
I'm sure by now he's turned his thoughts and attentions

elsewhere."

Gage studied her closely as he posed a question.
 
"Then you've put that

part of your life behind you?"

Unable to trust the stability of her composure, Shemaine gave him a

jerky nod and busied herself putting butter and fruit preserves on the

table, lest she fall prey to feelings of loss and regret.

Thoughtfully Gage reached across the space between them and took a bun

from the breadbasket.
 
Tearing off a piece, he mulled over her reply as

he popped the morsel in his mouth and began to chew.
 
After a moment the

luscious flavor seized his full attention, and his eyes began to sparkle

with hearty pleasure.
 
It was a cold, hard fact that he hadn't tasted

anything so delectable since leaving his father's house.
 
Not even

Victoria had been able to make such delicious bread.

"I shouldn't have limited my comparison to Roxanne Corbin, Shemaine.

Tis no farfetched compliment to say that you may be the best cook in the

area."

Shemaine smoothed a wayward tendril back from her face as she peered up

at him.
 
"Does that mean you'll be keeping me, Mr. Thornton?"

Gage was surprised by her question.
 
"Of course, Shemaine!
 
I told you

before that I wouldn't be taking you back.
 
Didn't you believe me?"

"Some men say one thing, sir, and do something else entirely," she

answered diffidently.

"I'm not one of those men."

His bedroom door creaked slowly open, and they glanced around as Andrew

came padding barefoot across the floor.
 
The boy looked so adorable in

his little nightshirt and with his dark, curling hair rumpled and

falling into his eyes that Shemaine wanted to go to him herself and

gather him up in her arms, but she knew he was still leery of her.
 
She

was, after all, nothing more than a stranger.

Gage approached his son, and with a yawn Andrew trustingly raised his

arms.
 
His father swung him up high into the air, drawing a burst of

giggles from the youngster before he was settled on a shoulder.

"We'll be back in a couple of moments, Shemaine," Gage said, approaching

the back hall.
 
"Andy has been trained to use a chamber pot, but he

prefers to go outside to the privy.
 
You'll have to go with him when I

can't.
 
He tries to act like a man, but tis best to be careful."

"Of course, Mr.
 
Thornton." Shemaine turned away, fighting a blush.
 
In

England, she had occasionally passed through the countryside and, from

her carriage windows, seen young children playing naked in the rain or

in water-filled gullies.
 
As brief as those occurrences had been, she

had gained some insight into the anatomy of little boys. Still, she

suspected she was not quite as knowledgeable about the opposite gender

as her master might have supposed.

A short time later Gage returned to the washstand in the kitchen. There

he elicited more giggles from his son as he made a game of washing their

hands and the boy's face.

With the food now laid out for the family, Shemaine could foresee an

easy escape to her room.
 
She was reluctant to put a blight on their

morning meal with her disheveled appearance and had every intention of

leaving as Gage settled his son in the high chair.
 
She passed behind

them, heading for the rear corridor, but her master, sensing her

intentions, reached out and caught her arm, bringing her abruptly about