The Rake to Reveal Her

As he would. Feeling better about his condition than he could remember since his wounding, Dom motioned for the stable lad to release the horse and jump up behind them.

After yesterday’s fiasco with Diablo left him doubting his ability to do anything, his spirits rose further as he discovered he could handle the single horse and simple carriage with ease. The expertise honed through years of practice returned without thought, and as the trap rattled down the lane, he found himself relishing the business of driving.

As Miss Branwell had predicted, the rain had ceased, leaving the air cool and scrubbed clean. Dom exulted in the wind ruffling his hair, the scenery flashing by, the taut feel of the reins in his hand and the horse responding to his commands. With a rush of gratitude to the Almighty, he realised at least one of the pleasures of his former life wasn’t totally lost to him.

Of course, this was only a pony trap, the nag pulling it far from a high-stepping carriage horse. But effortlessly controlling horse and vehicle felt...good. He told himself to stop equivocating and just enjoy it.

His mastery of the reins allowed him to enjoy watching Miss Branwell as well. After noting her chattiness at the house, he was encouraged to discover she could remain silent as well. Sitting relaxed, her hands resting on the rail to steady her over the bumps, she gazed from side to side, her eyes bright with interest. Trusting this one-armed soldier to drive her safely while she investigated her new surroundings, he thought, buoyed by her confidence.

The spring woods just coming into leaf were lovely, and so was his companion. Though, he noted in a reprise of the discriminating standards from his days as ‘Dandy Dom’, the battered-looking bonnet and well-used cloak would go, if he had the dressing of her.

Then again, he’d rather have the undressing of her.

Preoccupied by reining in that line of thought before it bolted into ever more inappropriate directions, he started when she cried out, ‘Goodness, what is that, just ahead?’

Squinting in the direction of her pointing finger, he saw around the corner a stretch of lane bordered on both sides by an expanse of flowers. ‘It’s a bluebell wood,’ he replied. Not having been at Bildenstone during the spring for years, he’d forgotten this part of the lane, less densely treed than the one they’d travelled yesterday, was home to thousands of the little bulbs.

‘Can you slow down?’

‘Of course,’ he said, reining the horse to a stop.

She gazed around her in delight at the sea of blooms surrounding them. ‘It’s as if an ocean had been cast down under the trees! How beautiful!’

Looking at the expanse, he realised it was beautiful. And that, had she not been with him, he would have passed through it, preoccupied by his own problems, with scarcely a glance.

Turning back to him, she said, ‘I can’t get enough of gazing at the woodlands here, the tall trees with their leafy canopies. After the dry plains of India and the scrub of Portugal and Spain, I find them endlessly fascinating.’

He, too, would do well to appreciate every simple pleasure, instead of brooding on what he’d lost. To the attraction and interest she’d generated in him today, he added gratitude for bringing him to recognise that truth.

‘We are fortunate in our forests,’ Dom replied, clicking the horse back into motion, ‘especially those lucky enough to possess a bluebell wood. Now, what was it you were going to tell me and decided not to?’

He laughed at the surprise on her face. ‘Did you think I had forgotten? I must warn you, I have a mind like a poacher’s trap. So...confess.’

‘Very well, but as I had resolved to say nothing, you may not afterwards accuse me of interfering! It’s just...I noticed that your butler is rather elderly. I expect, having been around him for years, you haven’t marked the passing of time, but the truth is, he struggles to open that heavy door. Does he still bring in the tea tray? I imagine it’s difficult for him. Of course, that’s only my observation. It’s really none of my business.’

Dom recalled Wilton carrying in the service to his callers yesterday, lugging a tray full of victuals from the kitchen up to the library for him this afternoon.

‘It’s been more than seven years since I visited, and years before that since the family resided here,’ he admitted. ‘Beyond noting in a general way that Wilton had aged, I’m ashamed to say I never considered whether resuming duties he’d not had to perform for years would be hard on him.’

He’d come up from London in a laudanum haze that enabled him to bear the jolting of the journey, then shut himself in the master’s chamber and, until yesterday, hadn’t set foot out of the house. To his mortification, he hadn’t given a thought to how his unexpected arrival must have upset the routine of the handful of servants who’d remained to oversee Bildenstone Hall during the family’s long absence, or the strain on all of them required to extract the place from its holland covers and make it habitable.

‘Even though I don’t intend to entertain, I should probably hire more servants,’ he admitted. ‘While I’m at it, perhaps I will put Wilton out to pasture.’

‘Oh, I don’t think—’ she began before closing her lips.

Dom laughed outright. ‘You might as well tell me the whole. I promise not to accuse you of interfering.’

‘Wilton has been long at Bildenstone Hall?’

‘He’s been butler since I was a lad.’

‘Then I don’t think I’d retire him—not immediately, after such a long absence, lest he feel you are dissatisfied with his service. Why not find someone to serve as under-butler, whom Wilton can train up as his eventual replacement? Then, after a suitable interval, you can offer him a cottage nearby and a generous settlement for his lifetime of loyalty. If the family hasn’t resided here for some time, it probably would be wise to hire more staff, which will also earn you the good will of the neighbourhood— paying jobs are always prized, especially now, with so many being let go from the army.’

‘That sounds like excellent advice. If you have any other suggestions, pray offer them.’

She uttered a delightful gurgle of a laugh. ‘As if you thought I could keep my opinions to myself! Goodness, though, your family must possess some magnificent properties, if they chose to leave the beauties of Bildenstone for another location.’

‘It’s worse than that—Papa actually had to purchase the other property. Having always loved hunting, both haring and fox, he happened to meet Hugh Meynell, now of Quorn Hall in Leicestershire.’

He paused, but as no hint of recognition dawned in her eyes, he continued. ‘Meynell, another hunting enthusiast, believed there was no reason that hounds couldn’t be bred for a good nose and for speed, which would allow fox hunting at any time of the day, not just early in the morning when the foxes, weary after a night of hunting, return to their dens too tired to outrun the slow hounds. My father thought it an intriguing idea, and along with Meynell and some others, experimented with producing fast-running hounds. So absorbed did he become in the project, he determined to obtain a property in Quorn country, where he could continue the breeding experiments and hunt with Meynell’s pack.’

He paused, remembering. ‘I’d just outgrown my first pony when we relocated to Upton Park. It took only one hunt to make me as keen about the chase as my father. So I can’t say I regretted leaving Bildenstone, despite the beauties of its bluebell wood.’

‘Appreciation for flowers isn’t generally a trait possessed by young boys,’ she replied. ‘I don’t wonder you found the excitement of Leicestershire much more to your liking. So you devoted yourself to the hunt?’

‘Single-mindedly. Which reminds me,’ he said, recalling her hours waiting on his wall. ‘What would you have done if I’d not relented and admitted you today?’

Following the sudden change in topic without a blink, she said, ‘Waited a bit longer, then tracked down your estate agent. When I first proposed to lease Thornfield, I was told your family hadn’t occupied the property for years, so finding an owner in residence was an unwelcome surprise. If the agent thought you were indifferent to the use of the building, or were not planning to remain long at Bildenstone, I would have proceeded. Otherwise, I would have made plans to go elsewhere.’

He had to laugh. ‘You really are resourceful!’

‘Papa always said you can never count on the enemy to do what you expect; for a sound battle plan, one must devise alternates for every imaginable contingency.’

He smiled down at her. ‘I hope you don’t consider me the enemy.’

She gazed up into his eyes. ‘No, I consider you...’ Her words trailed off, her lips slightly parted as she stared at his face...his mouth.

Attraction crackled like heat lightning between them again, scorching his face, leaving his mouth tingling. Immobilised by its force, Dom wasn’t able to tear his gaze from hers until the jolting of the vehicle over a particularly large bump forced him to return his attention to his driving.

Chapter Five (#ulink_173e16b5-023f-5856-9a31-511efde145ec)

Patting her flaming cheeks with one hand, Theo took a deep breath, her heart thudding as she surreptitiously watched Mr Ransleigh manoeuvre the pony trap.

Goodness, what was wrong with her? First her runaway tongue, and now this firestorm of sensual awareness!

Granted, she’d never been shy about expressing her opinions, but what had possessed her to be so free with her advice—to a man she’d scarcely met, and one with whom she needed to establish good relations, if she hoped to settle her orphans at this location? If that almost instantaneous sense of rapport she’d felt with him was an illusion, she might have doomed her mission before it even began.

And yet, she was convinced Mr Ransleigh, too, felt the connection between them.

After an initial surprise and dismay upon discovering her potential landlord to be the one-armed man she’d been so rude to in the lane, she’d been immediately drawn to this ex-soldier, who matched her apology with a generous one of his own. Then, to confirm that his life had, like hers, been upended in the aftermath of Waterloo and to learn they shared the same army experiences...

Having made her awkward way these last few months through an unfamiliar civilian society in an unfamiliar land, to stumble upon someone who’d been part of the world she’d lost was like coming home. Within a few moments, she’d been more comfortable in his company than she’d felt since leaving the regiment in Belgium.

Yet at the same time, upon meeting the man again, properly garbed and in his own element, she’d been struck by the potent masculinity he radiated, in spite of his injuries. The fever-induced thinness of his frame only served to emphasise his impressive height and the broadness of his shoulders. Caught up in gazing at the strong chin, sensual lips and brilliant blue eye, she’d several times, like a moment ago, lost track of where she was in the conversation.

A fact as sobering and even more dismaying than learning the identity of her new landlord.

Just sitting beside him in the pony trap, close enough that the next bump in the road might bounce her into contact with his body, kept her heartbeat skipping at an accelerated pace. The air between them seemed to simmer with a palpable tension.