Devil's Daughter

Phoebe stopped with a groan. “So much for our peaceful stroll out in nature.” She bent to pick up the little feline and winced as the cat dug its claws into her shoulder. Exasperated, she carried it to the pram. Before Nanny could object, she said, “I’ll take charge of Stephen.”

Nanny was expressionless. “You want me to push the cat in the pram, milady?”

“Yes, otherwise I’ll be a sieve by the time we return to Eversby Priory.”

Justin’s face brightened. “Are we going to keep her, Mama?”

“Only until we can find someone else to take her back to the barn.” Phoebe settled the cat on the white silk bedding of the pram. Stephen babbled with excited interest and reached for the furry creature, his little hands opening and closing like hungry starfish. With a laugh, Phoebe scooped him up before he could pull the cat’s tail. “Oh, no you don’t. Be gentle with kitty.”

The cat flattened her ears and gave the baby a baleful glance.

“Kitty!” Stephen exclaimed, leaning heavily in Phoebe’s arms to reach the cat. “Kitty!”

Phoebe lowered him to the ground and kept one of his chubby hands in hers. “Let’s walk beside the pram, darling.”

Eagerly Stephen started forward in his spraddling gait. As Nanny pushed the vehicle along the path, the black cat poked its head over the pram’s wicker edge, calmly viewing the passing scenery. For some reason, the sight of a cat riding in his pram struck the baby as uproariously funny, and he burst into giggles. Phoebe and Justin both chuckled, and even Nanny cracked a smile.

Before they crossed the bridge, they went down to have a look at the chalk stream, which was fringed with reeds, watercress, and yellow flag irises. The water flowing gently over the pebbled bed was gin clear, having been filtered through the Hampshire chalk hills.

“Mama, I want to put my feet in the water,” Justin exclaimed.

Phoebe sent Nanny a questioning glance. “Shall we stop here for a few minutes?”

The older woman, who was never averse to the prospect of a rest, nodded at once.

“Lovely,” Phoebe said. “Justin, do you need help with your shoes and stockings?”

“No, I can do it.” But as the boy bent to unfasten the buttons of his kid leather shoes, an unexpected noise caught his attention. He stopped and looked for the source of the sound, which was coming from downstream.

Phoebe frowned as she saw a lone man walking along the bank of the stream, idly whistling a folk tune. A battered hat with a wide brim shaded his face. His build was rangy and athletic, the loose, confident stride curbed by the hint of a strut. Curiously, his loose shirt and cotton canvas trousers looked as if he’d gone swimming in them, the fabric clinging wetly to the hard lines of his body.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t stop after all,” Phoebe murmured, her instincts warning her to leave as quickly as possible. A pair of women and two young children were easy marks for a man that size. “Come with me, Justin.”

To her astonishment, her son ignored the command and ran toward the disreputable-looking stranger with a gleeful yelp.

The man’s head lifted. A husky laugh sent a thrill of recognition along Phoebe’s nerves.

“Oh,” she said softly, watching as West Ravenel settled the battered hat on Justin’s head, lifted him high against his side, and carried him back to her.

Chapter 16

Phoebe hadn’t seen West since she’d visited his room yesterday. Since the unforgettable kiss she was supposed to forget. Except the sensations had somehow become woven into her skin, a subtle but constant stimulation she didn’t know how to erase. Her lips still felt a little swollen, aching to be pressed and stroked and soothed—that was an illusion, she knew—but the feeling only grew stronger as he approached.

Justin was talking animatedly to him. “. . . but Galoshes wouldn’t stay there. She followed us from the barn, and now she’s riding in Stephen’s pram.”

“Galoshes? Why did you name her that?”

“It’s what Mama says when the cat puts holes in her dress.”

“Poor Mama.” West’s deep voice was edged with amusement. But his gaze was intent and searching as he looked at Phoebe.

She had already promised herself that when next they met, she would be composed and pleasant. Sophisticated. But that plan had already vanished like the fluff of a dandelion gone to seed, whisked away at the will of a breeze. She was filled with pleasure and excitement, momentarily too flustered to speak.

West turned to greet Nanny and grinned at the sight of the cat lounging in the pram. He set Justin down and slowly lowered to his haunches in front of Stephen.

“Hello, Stephen,” he said in a gentle, vibrant tone. “What a handsome fellow you are. You have your mother’s eyes.”

The sturdy toddler half hid behind Phoebe’s skirts and peeked at the engaging stranger while chewing on a finger. A shy grin split his face, revealing a row of little white teeth.

Phoebe noticed a dark bruise forming on West’s forearm, which was exposed by a rolled-up shirtsleeve. “Mr. Ravenel,” she asked in concern, “has some accident befallen you? What happened to your arm?”

He rose to his feet, his wet hair hanging over his brow in shiny dark ribbons. “It’s sheep-washing day. One of them caught my arm with a hoof as she tried to turn over in the water.”

“What about your stitches? Heaven knows what kind of filth your wound was absorbing while you stood in a filthy sheep bath.”

He seemed amused by her worry. “It’s not bothering me in the slightest.”

“It will bother you quite a bit if the wound turns sour!”

Justin was far more interested in the subject of sheep than hygiene. “How do you wash a sheep?”

“We created a temporary pool in the stream by damming it with a pair of old doors. Some of us stood waist-deep in the water while others handed over the sheep. My job was to help turn a sheep on its back and swish its wool in the water until it was clean. Most of them liked it, but every now and then one of them struggled to turn itself upright.”

“How do you turn a sheep over?” Justin asked.

“You grasp a handful of fleece near its cheek, then take a hold of the opposite foreleg, and—“West paused, giving Justin a considering glance. “It would be easier to show you. Let’s pretend you’re a sheep.” He lunged for the boy, who leaped back with a delighted yelp.

“I’m a sheep who likes to be dirty!” Justin cried, scampering away. “And you can’t catch me.”

“Oh, can’t I?” Adroitly West dodged and pounced, snatching up the boy and making him squeal with laughter. “Now I’ll show you how I wash a sheep.”

“Wait,” Phoebe said sharply, her heart thundering with anxiety. All her instincts stung in warning at the sight of her son being handled so roughly. “He’ll catch a chill. He—”

West stopped and turned toward her with Justin clasped securely in his arms. He regarded Phoebe with a mocking lift of his brows, and she realized too late that he’d had no intention of throwing Justin into the stream. They had only been playing.

After setting Justin down with exaggerated care, West approached her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Well, then. I’ll have to demonstrate on you.”

Before her mind had quite registered the words, Phoebe was stunned to find herself being seized and lifted off her feet. A shock went through her as she was hoisted high against a rock-hard chest, his wet shirt soaking the thin fabric of her bodice. “Don’t you dare,” she gasped, giggling and squirming. “Oh, God, you smell like a barnyard—put me down, you lout—” She was laughing uncontrollably in a way she hadn’t done since childhood. Her arms clutched his neck. “If you drop me into that water,” she managed to threaten, “I’ll take you with me!”

“It’s worth it,” he said casually, carrying her toward the stream.

No one in Phoebe’s adult life had dared to manhandle her like this. She pushed against him helplessly, but any effort to escape was futile. His arms were like steel bands.

“I’ll never forgive you,” Phoebe said, but ruined the effect with another burst of wild giggles. “I mean it!”

West’s low laugh tickled her ear. “I suppose you’re not big enough for a sheep-washing demonstration. You’re only lamb size.” He stopped, and for a few seconds he kept her like that, cradled and close against him. Phoebe held very still in that stolen embrace, while her mind conjured a stunning image of his body weighting hers to the ground, human warmth above and cool earth below. A shiver chased down her spine.

“Easy, now,” West said gently. “I wasn’t going to drop you.” He cuddled her a little closer. “Poor lamb, did I give you a fright?” His voice was so dark and tender that it almost made her shiver again. With great care, he lowered her feet to the ground. But her arms didn’t want to unlock from around his neck. A strange feeling had come over her, as if she were listening to the haunting prelude of a song that would never be written. Slowly she let go and stepped back.

Justin collided into her from behind, hugging her tightly and chuckling. A moment later, Stephen dove against her and clutched her skirts, grinning upward. The boys had loved seeing someone play rough-and-tumble with their mother.