The Highwayman (7 page)

He grasped her hand before she could turn away, and said, “Come back to me when you are done.”

She looked down at her hand, which had never looked so dainty and feminine as it now did, clasped in his own larger, stronger one. She swallowed before saying doubtfully, “I don’t know. I have already spent hours with you, and...” Her voice trailed off.

“But there is so much more I wish to tell you about my life with the Indians. For instance, there are their courtship and marriage customs, which I know will fascinate you.”

Heat rose in her cheeks, but she gave him an indulgent smile as she said accusingly, “I believe you delight in making me blush, sir.”

“I do,” he admitted, “for it is vastly becoming to you.”

“I must go,” she said again, attempting to pull her hand free.

He retained it, saying, “I’ll not let you leave until I have your promise to return. You cannot know what a dead bore it is to lie here with none but my own company.”

“Well,” she conceded, “perhaps later, after dinner. But you must promise not to put me to the blush with your stories.”

He grinned. “You make it very difficult for me, my dear, but I shall do my best.”

Daringly, Jane cocked an eyebrow at him and asked, “Your best to make me blush, or to refrain from doing so?”

“You are too clever by half, sweetheart,” he answered.

Jane quickly left the room to the sound of his laughter. But she did not mind that in the least, for her heart was singing. He had called her “sweetheart.” Of course it meant nothing. But no one had ever called her that before and, foolish as it might be, she could not help but treasure the sound of it. Nor could she help wondering how it would be if he were ever to say it and mean it.

* * * *

After Jane had gone, Jon lay back, reviewing the past hours spent with her. He grinned as he recalled some of their conversation and her reactions, especially her blushes, which he indeed delighted in provoking. He wondered if she even realized that, at one point, she had used the phrase, “Good God,” which was one of his own habitual exclamations. Yes, she was definitely becoming more relaxed with him. Perhaps achieving the goal he had set himself would prove to be easier than he’d at first believed.

At that, he felt a momentary twinge of guilt, but was able to banish it almost instantly. After all, what he was doing was not simply for his own amusement; it was for her benefit as well. It could not be good for anyone to be so bound up in propriety. And it was not as if he meant to seduce or compromise her. He would not go beyond the line.

Glancing at the clock, he saw that it would be more than an hour until dinner and wondered how to spend the time. Surprisingly, he was not at all tired, which ruled out the possibility of sleep. Then be noticed the book Jane had left lying on the bedside table. He reached for it, but after a brief hesitation, he changed his mind and left it there. He preferred to wait until Jane could read it to him. She had a remarkably pleasant voice, rather low and musical, and he had discovered that he enjoyed listening to her.

He shifted his position and looked at the clock again. Good God! The damned hands had scarcely moved at all. It was truly amazing how quickly the hours with Jane seemed to pass and how slowly they went when he was alone. He even found himself resenting the unknown Mr. Phillips for having taken her away.

At last, however, the dinner hour came and went, and he began to wait impatiently for Jane to return as she had promised. But when darkness had fallen and still she had not come, irritability was added to impatience. She had likely gone out on another of her damned missions of mercy, he decided, and was a little ashamed and surprised to discover that he harboured so possessive an attitude. But, devil take it,
he
should be her first priority now.

He was considering shouting her name until she was forced to make an appearance, when he was distracted by a sound at the window. It was not until the sound was repeated that he realized what it was. Someone was outside, throwing pebbles.

With a swift glance at the closed door, he pushed the sheet aside and gingerly slid his legs over the side of the bed. Then he slowly stood—and immediately sat down again as a wave of faintness threatened to overwhelm him. Damnation! He had not realized that he was still so weak.

Another handful of pebbles hit the window, and he stood even more slowly and carefully, and this time managed to hobble to the aperture. He gave vent to a few more choice curses as he neared it, for some of the missiles had landed inside, on the floor.

Peering down into the darkness, he at first saw nothing, but then a shadow moved away from under the deeper blackness of a tree, and his suspicion was confirmed. He recognized Kearny, his man of all jobs and perhaps his only real friend. Though the former American fur trader would never have admitted to any of the softer emotions, he had proven his devotion to Jon by following him back to England and had even remained with him throughout his army career.

“I got yer message. Saint,” said Kearny in what was no doubt meant to be a whisper but might as well have been a shout. “I got to tell you, though, it took me a spell to figger out who the hell Mr. Sebast was.”

“Lower your voice,” hissed Jon. “And if you got my message, and ‘figgered out’ it was from me, why did you not remain at the inn as I directed?”

Kearny scratched his nose and lowered his voice a fraction. “Well now, I might have, only it seemed to me that’ somethin’ smelled kinda rotten in Denmark, if you know what I mean. Not
quite
up to snuff, as you Englishers say.”

Jon laughed softly, and said, “Well, as it happens, I am glad you are here. I haven’t time now to tell you the whole, but suffice it to say that I have been wounded and shall be laid up here for several days.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” growled Kearny. “Tell me who done it to you and I’ll take care of him.”

“Unnecessary,” Jon quickly assured him. “It was an accident. But there is something you can do for me. I have decided to remain in the neighbourhood for a time—”

“Ha!” interrupted Kearny. “That don’t surprise me, bein’ as how you been doin’ your damndest to shake off that woman what’s been chasin’ after you.”

It was Lydia Cathcart’s relentless pursuit of him which had driven Jon into the wilds of Yorkshire, but, having no wish to discuss the tenacious lady, he ignored Kearny’s comment. Instead, he quickly told his henchman what was required of him and had scarcely finished when he heard a sound outside his door. With a quick gesture be sent his man away, then turned just as the door opened and Jane entered the chamber.

She stopped abruptly when she saw him, obviously shocked. Then starting toward him again, she exclaimed, “Oh! You foolish man! What are you doing out of bed? How do you expect your wound to heal at this rate?”

“My wound is healing quite nicely, thanks to your excellent care. And as for being out of bed, I thought a bit of exercise might help me to regain my strength more rapidly.” He took several limping steps, then stopped, and with a rather sheepish smile said, “But I find that I am weaker than I thought. I fear I shall need your help in returning to bed.”

“Foolish beyond permission,” murmured Jane as she reached his side.

Apparently without a thought for propriety, and ignoring the fact that he was clad in nothing but a too-small nightshirt, she placed her left arm around his waist, while he placed his right one around her shoulders.

Though it was true that he was far from his usual strength, he leaned on her a trifle more than was necessary, tightening his arm and bringing her closer against his side.

She felt surprisingly good there, and it struck him quite suddenly that her height suited him very well. In fact, if he were to turn her and hold her in a full embrace, she would fit him perfectly. He would need only to lower his head slightly in order to kiss her.

At that moment, they reached the bed, and Jane looked up at him, her lips slightly parted as if she had been privy to his thoughts. He slowly dragged his gaze from those lips. They stared into each other’s eyes for long seconds, until it occurred to him that what he was thinking and feeling was dangerous. In truth, he wanted to do far more than simply kiss her. Old habits died hard, it seemed.

It took every ounce of his will-power to remove his arm from her shoulders and lower himself to the bed, but he did so, feeling quite noble, albeit extremely frustrated. He was aided, however, in this heroic effort by the fact that his wound had begun throbbing viciously again.

Jane tried not to think of what had just occurred between them as she saw to his wound and re-dressed it, and neither of them spoke as she worked.

But when she was done and had made him more comfortable, he said, “I waited for you to return to me after dinner. Why did you not come sooner?”

She thought of her discouraging meeting with Mr. Phillips, and of the equally disheartening time she had later spent poring over the account books. But that was her own problem. Forcing a smile, she said, “Oh, I became so engrossed in going over the accounts that I did not notice the time.”

Apparently her smile did not fool him, for he frowned and said, “I have not seen you looking so blue-devilled before. What is wrong?”

“Nothing to concern you,” she said with a lightness she did not feel. “It is simply that the numbers will never come out as I wish them to.”

Looking relieved, he said, “If that is all that is bothering you, bring the books up to me and I shall tally them for you. In any event, it is no job for a female.” He ignored her indignant gasp and, frowning again, added, “Although I do not see why your Mr. Phillips could not do it. Do you not trust him?”

“Why, of course I do. He has managed the estate since before my father’s death. And when I said the numbers did not come out as I wish, I did not mean that I am incapable of adding them up correctly. As Mr. Phillips explains it, the problem is simply a sign of the times. The cost of everything has risen out of all proportion to the amount of revenue an estate of this size can bring in.”

She had not meant to reveal so much of her financial situation to him, but now that she thought of it, perhaps it was just as well. So far she had done nothing about her resolve to try to reform him. Perhaps it would be a step in that direction if she did allow him to go over the accounts and become familiar with managing an estate. If he showed any aptitude for or interest in it, she might be able to help him find a position in that field.

Looking at her thoughtfully, he said, “Nevertheless, I should like to see those books. It will be killing two birds with one stone. I can, perhaps, help you while relieving my own boredom.”

“Very well,” she said lightly, “but not tonight, for it is very late. I shall have Melrose bring them to you first thing in the morning.”

From his look of astonishment, it was clear that he had expected more resistance from her, and she left the room just barely suppressing the urge to laugh. She was still smiling a short time later as she climbed into bed. She was surprised at how light-hearted she felt. Usually it took her much longer to throw off the dismals brought on by her meetings with the estate manager.

She fell asleep with the thought that, at least in some ways, Jon’s company seemed to be good for her.

CHAPTER SIX

Jane was still feeling exceptionally carefree the following morning when she came downstairs. Seeing Melrose in the hall, she stopped to make arrangements to have the account books taken to Jon when next the butler went up to care for their patient’s more intimate needs.

Without the least hint of the surprise he must have felt upon hearing such a request, Melrose agreed with his usual aplomb, then followed his mistress into the breakfast room.

But when Jane entered the room, she discovered that Agatha, who was there before her, looked as if a small black rain-cloud were hanging over her head.

Taking her own place at the table, Jane waited until Melrose had served her and left them alone before saying, “Good heavens, Agatha, you look as if you had received some dreadful news. I do hope that is not the case.”

Laying her napkin on the table, Agatha replied, “Oh, my dear, I fear it is so. At least—but perhaps I am wrong. Oh dear, it is so difficult to know what to think.”

“Why don’t you try telling me about it?” said Jane calmly.

“Yes,” agreed Agatha. “Perhaps I had better. You see, Mr. Simpson came by this morning to bring a chicken in payment for your treatment of that infected cut on his hand.”

Mr. Simpson was one of Jane’s tenants. She said automatically, “He needn’t have done that.” Then her lips quivered slightly as she added, “But I fail to see how that can be such terrible news—unless the poor chicken is very old and stringy?’’

“No, no!
That
is not the bad news. It is what he told Cook when he brought the chicken.”

“And what is that?” asked Jane.

Agatha sighed, then lowered her voice and declared dramatically, “It is the highwayman. He has struck again, and this time much closer to home, for it was the squire’s carriage he held up last night.”

“Oh, my,” Jane murmured with a frown. “So close to Dunby?”

“Well, no. He still seems to prefer the environs of Leeds. When I said that it had happened closer to home, I meant only that this time the victim was one of our own neighbours. I cannot say what Sir Alfred was doing, returning from Leeds so late at night, but you know what he is.”

Agatha did not approve of the squire, who was one of the Prince Regent’s rather decadent set.

Jane ignored her companion’s comment and said, “How terrible for the squire.” But her face had brightened considerably, and she continued, “But, in a way, it is good news.”

For a dreadful moment, she had feared that Jon had somehow managed to leave the house last night to ply his trade, but now she realized that such a thing was patently absurd. Even were it not for his wound, which would make riding extremely uncomfortable, if not impossible, he was far too weak to have ridden all the way to Leeds.