Chapter Sixteen
The carriage pulled into the driveway at Owltree Cottage where Sally waited on the porch. Montsimon assisted Althea down while Ben brought in the luggage.
“This is Lord Montsimon, Sally.”
The maid curtseyed. “How do you do, my lord.”
Montsimon smiled. “Good afternoon, Sally.”
“Please tell Mrs. Peebles we’ve arrived,” Althea said.
“She is shopping in the village, my lady.”
“Mrs. Peebles is my housekeeper,” Althea explained to Montsimon while Sally assisted her out of her redingote and hat, and Montsimon divested himself of his greatcoat.
Althea led the way into the salon. “Sally, please tell Cook to prepare tea, sandwiches, and cake, if there’s any.”
“Yes, my lady. She’s been at the oven since your message arrived. There’s gingerbread and seed cake, and for dinner, pease-soup, fricasseed pigeon, with chocolate pudding for dessert.”
“Sounds very tasty,” Montsimon said with an appreciative smile.
Althea was suddenly aware of the how big he was wandering about her small salon. “I trust she’s made enough for a gentleman’s appetite. I shall go and speak to her shortly.”
“The roof is leaking again, my lady.”
“Where is the leak this time, Sally?
“The smaller bedchamber, right over the bed. I had it moved, and I’m airing the mattress.
Unfortunately, it looks like it will rain again tonight.”
“The thatch will need to be repaired.”
“Yes, my lady. I sent the stable boy to fetch Tom to fix it, but he’s hurt his leg, so it will have to wait awhile.”
“Poor Tom. I trust it isn’t serious.” Althea narrowed her eyes at Montsimon who nodded sympathetically.
“And we found Jet wandering the gardens again this morning.” The maid shrugged. “I checked the windows before I retired. The one overlooking the rose garden was open again. I don’t know how that cat manages it.”
“Nor do I.” Althea drew in an uneasy breath.
“Was anything disturbed or damaged, Sally?” Montsimon asked.
The maid’s eyes widened. “No, my lord.”
The culprit under discussion stalked into the room. With a loud purr, he rubbed against Althea’s legs. “Naughty puss.” She swept him up, his fur soft against her cheek as her eyes scanned the room. All seemed in perfect order.
“So this is Jet.” The cat’s purr deepened as Montsimon stroked him. “He’s quite a size.”
“He’s too fat,” Althea said. “I fear he dines on all manner of wildlife.”
“He prefers mice,” Sally said. “Brings them into the house and places them at my feet.”
“Sally, you are the first here to learn of my marriage to Lord Montsimon.” As her body tensed at the lie, Jet leapt from her arms.
“Oh, my felicitations, my lady!” Sally cried. “And to you, my lord. That’s just grand, that is.”
“Thank you, Sally,” Montsimon said. He sat in a wing chair, spreading out his long legs.
“I’d like something stronger than tea, my love. Do you keep spirits here?”
“There’s a bottle of brandy Cook uses for the mince pies. Sally?”
The maid rushed from the room.
Montsimon cast his eye around at the wainscoting. “Brookwood could have secreted something away behind a panel.”
“He wasn’t familiar with the house. He so seldom came here.”
“Mmm.” Montsimon rose and began tapping the panels. The inquisitive cat followed along behind him.
Althea laughed at them. “I wonder what you got up to as a child.”
“The usual things, fishing, hunting. I enjoyed climbing trees searching for birds’ nests.”
He turned and grinned at her. “I recall you are an accomplished tree-climber yourself.”
“We were talking about you,” she said firmly while imagining him as a boy, all gangly limbs and floppy dark hair. It appeared his childhood hadn’t been a happy one.
“You make a far better subject for discussion.” He returned to the wall. “These old houses are notorious for secret panels, tunnels, and hidden rooms. We have one at Greystones Manor.”
“Old mansions are intriguing. There was a priest’s hole at Brookwood Park. But not here.
This is a humble cottage.”
“Your ancestor might have wished somewhere safe to hide his valuables.”
“He wouldn’t have been a man of great wealth.”
“All the more reason, in those uncertain times, to safeguard what you had.” Montsimon continued tapping. He finished one wall and moved along to the next. The cat, deciding it was a game, danced around his legs.
Althea opened the window that had been Jet’s method of escape. “Come and look at this, Montsimon.”
He leaned out and ran his finger along the wooden frame. “Deep gouges around the catch. It’s been forced.”
Althea shivered. “I’ll have the gardener nail it up.”
Montsimon’s arm came around her shoulders. “There’s no evidence of them being inside.
Though you might check the other rooms. “Perhaps they’ve already found whatever it is they sought.”
“You don’t believe that.” She couldn’t resist leaning into the taut smoothness of his shoulder. Ridiculous, how his familiar manly smell seemed to ease the knot of tension in her stomach.
“We won’t stay any longer than we need to.”
“Then I have much to do.” Althea moved out of the circle of his comforting arm as Sally entered with a tray. “Ah, here’s the tea, and we do have brandy. How fortunate.”
When the maid left the room, Montsimon raised his glass in a mock salute. “You should call me something more intimate. After all, we are married.”
“I don’t see the necessity of it. Married ladies often call their husbands by their title.”
“Don’t care for it. You might address me as Kieran, or use my surname, Flynn.”
Flynn suited him. But she couldn’t call him Kieran. It seemed far too intimate.
“Flynn, then.” She wondered why it mattered to him.
He drank the last of the brandy. Nibbling a macaroon, he continued examining the walls. Althea sipped her tea and admired his manly grace. She hadn’t realized how lonely she was. But she mustn’t grow used to him filling the void. At the sound of voices, she rose. “My housekeeper, Mrs. Peebles, has arrived back. I’d best introduce you to the rest of my staff.”
“How many servants here?”
“Five, counting the gardener and the stable boy.”
He shook his head. “This house is also understaffed. Did Brookwood not leave you well provided for?”
She stiffened, assailed by the undeniable and embarrassing truth. “Brookwood’s gambling debts.” She shrugged. “There was little left of my dowry.”
“I am sorry, Althea.” He gave a sympathetic smile and offered her his arm. “Let us make our announcement. Then we can don our coats and you can show me more of Owltree’s garden before it grows dark.”
“The property covers a mere ten acres, and in winter, it’s rather uninspiring.”
“Nevertheless, I’d like to take a look around,” he said.
He was more interested in searching for any disturbance, but she found she wanted to know more about him. “It can hardly compare with your Irish estate.”
“Nothing compares with the beauty of Ireland.” His Irish lilt became more evident and a proud gleam warmed his eyes.
Intrigued, she walked with him from the room. “Don’t you miss it?”
“I didn’t,” he confessed. “But now it’s mine, I do feel somewhat differently. If I had the money to improve it, I might go back. But as matters stand…” He shrugged.
She glanced at him as they descended the stairs to the servants’ quarters. It seemed they both had impossible dreams.
*
After dinner, Althea excused herself to prepare the bedchamber. When she returned to the salon, Flynn sat reading an old newspaper by candlelight, sipping brandy, while Sally bustled about seeing to the fire.
He yawned behind his hand. “The trip was fatiguing. I’m for bed.” He rose from the chair and stretched out his long arms. “Show me where we are to sleep, my love.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Yes, of course.”
In the upper corridor, he followed her to the bedchamber. Flynn stopped short of entering. “What is this?” he asked.
Althea had made up the chaise longue with pillows and a blanket in the alcove formed by the bay window. “Don’t fuss,” she said. “I plan to take the chaise. You are much too tall for it.”
He chuckled as he leaned back against the doorframe. “You had no need of this, as I intend to sleep downstairs once the servants have retired.”
“Oh! Well, you might have said.” She had struggled with that heavy chaise alone as she could hardly ask Sally to assist her. More disappointed than she cared to admit, she nodded. “That’s wise. Take a pillow and blanket with you.”
He smiled. “There’s an open invitation for you to join me.”
“The salon has only one sofa.”
His eyes drank her up. “We shall manage.”
She spun away to draw the curtains. “Not when I have a comfortable bed to sleep in, but thank you.”
Flynn tugged at his cravat. “Best I undress here.”
She swallowed. “I see no need. The servants will soon retire, and you will have the salon to yourself.”
“I’ll wait awhile to make sure. I don’t want to cause embarrassment. Do you need my expertise with your buttons?” He shrugged out of his coat.
“Not this time.”
She would manage her clothes herself. Montsimon was so devious, she considered it best to send Sally to bed. At least this dress did up in front. She smoothed the blanket on the chaise. At a creak from the bed, she turned. Flynn lay under the covers, and what she could see of him from the waist up was bare.
“You can’t go about the house like that! Don’t you have a nightshirt?”
He tucked his arms beneath his head. “Don’t use ’em.”
“You might have made an exception,” she said crossly, inspecting his wide muscular chest. He had very nice skin.
“Now it’s your turn,” he invited with a lazy, seductive grin.
She put her hands on her hips. “You are not going to watch me.”
“I rather thought I would. There’s a dearth of entertainment in the country. Even the newspapers are old.”
Althea gathered up her nightgown, slippers, and robe, grabbed a candle, and went to the door. She would undress in the spare bedchamber.
“You are an incurable wet blanket, Althea,” Flynn called after her.
She couldn’t prevent a giggle from escaping her lips. But for the seriousness of the situation, it would be amusing. But it was extremely worrying. Would robbers come during the night? Her mouth went dry at the thought. Would Flynn be at risk? She almost turned and advised him to remain in her bed. Almost, but not quite.
As she shed her clothing, she wondered how she would feel undressing before a man’s gaze. Nothing of the sort had occurred to her before; certainly, Brookwood had never demanded she do so. She was always abed with her nightgown buttoned up when her husband came to her chamber. She had to admit the idea stirred her a little. While performing the act of a contortionist, she managed to unlace her stays. The rest of her clothes easily managed, she tied her dressing gown belt firmly and returned to the bedchamber.
The room had dimmed, the candle guttering. “Is it time to go downstairs, Flynn?”
No reply came from the bed. “Obviously not,” she muttered. She blew out all the candles but one and climbed into her makeshift bed. The velvet covering had promised softness, but it was rigid, and the buttons dug into her hip. Rain lashed the window and a drop splattered on her head. Surely, this bay didn’t leak. She patted her hair and stared up at the top of the architrave. This was all she needed! But at least the weather might deter any burglars.
When she turned over seeking a comfortable spot, Flynn spoke from the bed, sounding wide awake. “Do you know why I pursued you last year, Althea?”
“The desire for another conquest?”
“You don’t pull your punches, do you?”
“I imagine that’s what rakes do.”
“I am not a rake.” He sounded offended. “Rakes seduce innocent young women and leave them to their fate. I have never made love to a lady who didn’t know what was what.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. Green girls in their first season can be sadly taken in by charming rakes, their lives quite ruined.”
“Girls just out of the schoolroom are flighty. They should be well-chaperoned,” he said sternly.
She was surprised again by this unpredictable man. “Is that the sort of papa you would be, Flynn?”
“I would, but I don’t expect to have children.”
“Don’t you like them?”
“I do as a matter of fact. But you are distracting me from what I wish to say, Althea. I was drawn to a need I sensed in you, apart from your obvious attractions.”
She huffed. “What nonsense.”
“I’ve been giving it considerable thought.”
“Then I wish you’d stop,” she said edgily, not liking where this was leading.
“You appeared to be vulnerable, and a man is inclined to want to help a woman in need, but it was more.”
“More?” She held her breath.
“You wanted me to pursue you.”
“Oh! I did not!”
“You wanted a lover, and you saw a likely one in me.”
“Oh, please go to sleep, Flynn, if you plan to. That is, if you can fit your big head on the pillow.”
“I’ve never caused hurt to any woman,” he said softly.
“Can you be sure?”
“Not entirely. But I certainly never planned to. And I wouldn’t want to hurt you. You may take umbrage at my morals, but you are wrong in thinking I don’t live by certain standards.”
“I don’t think badly of you, Flynn,” And how could she when he was so gallant? Although courtly knights would kiss her hem, she suspected Flynn had something else in mind entirely. “I have much to thank you for. Good night.”
“Good night, Althea.” Once he’d got that off his chest, Flynn promptly leapt out of the bed.
Althea blinked, expecting a naked male, but he still wore his trousers. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, cocked his gun, and, without another word left the room.
Well, really! He just did that to tease her. And what a good subject she was, she thought ruefully.
She shut her eyes on the image stamped into her mind of his broad chest, muscular stomach, and the trail of dark hair disappearing into his waistband. She threw back the blankets and deserted her makeshift bed. With a sigh, she climbed into her own bed, warmed by Flynn’s body, where a trace of his sandalwood soap lingered, and prayed he would be safe.
Restless, she kneaded the pillow. Had she unconsciously given Flynn an invitation to pursue her? She admitted there was a certain amount of pleasure in stirring a man like Flynn’s interest. Aunt Catherine had suggested such a thing herself. Apart from the fact it terrified her, it seemed dishonest somehow, and anyway, anything more between them would surely lead to heartache. He had never pretended to be anything other than what he was. Maybe not a rake, but certainly a confirmed bachelor.
Althea trusted Flynn to deal with these men, but when it was over, she would be back where she started, struggling to survive in a man’s world. She stared into the dark while she tried to tamp down the bitter, cold despair of her predicament. Ears straining for any unusual noise, she shut her eyes. It would be a long night.