The Secret Life of Miss Anna Marsh (3 page)

“You've just taken your seat in the Lords,” Anna said. “How will you vote?”

His steady gray gaze regarded her for a moment. “There is much to be said for the more forward thinkers in our party. I shall consider all sides before I make a decision.” He took a sip of wine.

“Could you see,” she forged ahead, “your views being swayed by a wife, if she had valid arguments to put forward?”

He took a drink of wine. “With the right lady, of course.”

She was not going to let him off that easily. “Do you plan to become more involved in politics?”

He gave a small sigh. “If I had the proper support. You know it's impossible for a single man to have much influence. One is not taken seriously until one marries.”

“You would not marry for that alone.”

“No. There are other reasons I wish to wed.”

Well, he'd danced around that very prettily. “Do you have schools on your estates?”

He stared at her again. Good. Maybe soon he'd leave her alone.

“It is something I've been considering,” Rutherford said. “Though our need is not as pressing as in other areas of England.”

The soup was served. Anna picked up her spoon. “Indeed, I assume you are referring to the opportunities the children have for employment in our area.”

“Of course.”

“I believe education must always be something to be desired,” she responded, “whether it leads to a job or not. It would not be possible for me to condone keeping one's dependents in ignorance.”

Rutherford held his soup spoon suspended for a moment before dipping it in the bowl. “I cannot disagree with you. I suppose you would require all landlords to provide schools?”

“I would. Though I doubt the proposal would make it through the Lords,” she said, chagrined.

His lips tilted up in amusement. “That is a debate I'd like to see.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “I, as well. I wonder if it will ever happen, schools for everyone.”

“An interesting thought. I very much doubt it.”

“I hope you're wrong. This country cannot properly develop if its people are kept in ignorance.” She'd finished her soup, and it was removed. “Someday, there will be universal suffrage.”

The silence stretched until the second course was served, when Anna, her father, and Rutherford once again picked up the debate.

After dessert, Aunt Lillian asked, “Do you gentlemen plan to drink your port in here? Or will you join us in the drawing room?”

Sir William rose. “We'll come with you if Rutherford has no objection.”

“Port in the drawing room sounds fine to me, sir.” Rutherford stood and held out his hand to Anna. “Shall we?”

Anna glanced quickly at the clock in the corner of the room. “Of course, though I'd like to retire early. I'm feeling a little tired.”

Rutherford did not stay long after tea was served. He thanked Sir William, bowed to Lillian. Anna walked him to the door.

He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Thank you for the use of your coach. I'll have it returned in the morning. Would you do me the honor of riding with me tomorrow afternoon?”

She wished he hadn't asked. Surely he could see she was not the wife for him. Anna smiled. “I'd like that. Come for me after luncheon.”

“Until then.”

She closed the door after him. Unfortunately, it would be fun to ride with him again. Her groom always went too slow. She wished her horse, Thunderer, was here and not still in London.

Anna walked back to the drawing room, preparing to make her excuses to retire, but her father and aunt weren't ready to let her go just yet. It was another half an hour before she could make her escape. She hurried up to her chamber. “Lizzy, what time did you tell Kev I'd meet him?”

“You've got less than an hour, miss,” Lizzy said. “Here, let's get you out of your gown.”

Anna was soon dressed in a serviceable pair of breeches, linen shirt, scarf, and dark brown wool jacket. Lizzy braided her hair and pinned it up to fit easily under her hat. Anna pulled on her boots and donned a warm frieze coat. Her maid handed her a muffler, which she wrapped around her throat and the bottom part of her face, before putting the wide-brimmed black felt hat over her braids.

“I'll not be long, maybe an hour.” She picked up her gloves from the dressing table and slipped down the back stairs and out a side door.

Fortunately, her wing was on the stable yard side of the house. Taking long strides, she reached the stable door. Humphrey, Harry's old groom, helped her mount, then swung up on to his hack. “Humphrey, I'll be fine by myself.”

“Yes, miss, so you always say. I promised Mr. Harry I'd take care of you. That's just what I'm doing.”

Anna sighed. “Come on then. Let's go. Remember, you must stay back once we see the stand.”

“Yes, miss. Just like all the other times.”

She didn't know why she bothered. Humphrey would do exactly as Harry had instructed. They walked as quietly as possible out of the stable yard to a nearby meadow, before allowing the horses to canter. Once Thunderer, her horse, arrived, Humphrey wouldn't be so protective. Thunderer could outrun any steed for three counties. She hugged the horse with her knees, guiding him. As she leaned low, the cold wind rushed by, stinging her cheeks. Moonlight lit their way, and before long she could smell the salt air. Anna inhaled the scent deeply. This was one of the parts of her Rutherford wouldn't like, the wildness she felt when she rode by the sea.

When she and Humphrey arrived at the grove, Kev was waiting.

“Thanks for comin' so fast, Mr. Arnold.”

Mr. Arnold was the pseudonym Harry had used and passed to her when he'd gone away.

“You're welcome,” Anna said. “Now what's happened?”

“T'were a man, a Town swell. Come snooping around looking for a smuggling gang. Petey, he directed him to me. Told me he had some wool he wanted to ship to France. I said I weren't the leader, and I'd have to talk wi' my man.”

Anna's concern grew. This could be the very thing they were trying to avoid. “Wool? I don't believe it. There are no duties for him to ship out of England, and the French are still in a state of flux.”

Kev shook his head. “Didn't sound right to me neither.”

“Did he tell you when he wanted to meet with me?” Anna asked.

“No, said he'd be back. Didn't give no time. He were mighty fixed on leavin' fast like.”

Anna frowned. “With luck we won't hear from him again.”

Kev scratched his head. “Can't say I think we're goin' to be lucky.”

“I must do all I am able to keep him from using us for the wrong purpose. Keep your ears open, and let me know if you hear anything else. What else do we have going?”

“Well, we got some brandy a-comin' in two days, on Saturday night. Might you be wantin' to call a meetin'?”

“Yes, we'll need to ensure that if anyone else is approached, they know what to say,” Anna said. “Let's meet at the old barn near the cutter's cottage at eleven o'clock on Saturday. That will still give the men plenty of time to take delivery of the brandy and unload it.”

“Yes, that'll do it,” Kev replied. “You'd best be gettin' back now. I don't want Lizzy upset. She'll give me what for if you're late.”

Anna nodded. “Kev, you take care. I'll see you Saturday.”

Kev made his way down the trail to the beach. From there he'd walk, keeping close to the cliffs, to the docks in the village.

“Humphrey, you heard?”

“Yes, miss. Looks like we'll be seeing some action. Sure wish Mr. Harry was still here.”

“You're not the only one. We'll just have to make him proud.” Anna blinked back her tears. “Here, help me up.”

She let her horse have its head, but it wasn't fast enough to outrun her grief.

By the time they'd snuck back into the stable, Anna had herself under control. She brushed down her horse and watered him before walking to the house.

Lizzy was waiting for her.

“What's happened, Miss Anna?”

“We may have a problem.” She told her maid about the gentleman from London.

Lizzy nodded. “Let's get you out of those clothes. You wash up. I'll have a bath for you in the morning.”

Anna cleaned herself and changed into her night rail.

“Good night, miss,” Lizzy said, folding the male clothing. “You'll need to take these to the cottage. It'll be the devil to pay if you're caught in them in the house.”

“You're right. There is no point in running the risk. I'll do it after breakfast.”

“Yes, miss. To bed with you now.”

“Good night, Lizzy.” She got between the covers of her large four-poster bed, whilst Lizzy drew the curtains around two sides, leaving the side toward the windows open.

Anna's mind drifted back to her dead brother. Silent tears slid over her cheeks and down her neck. Harry had been gone over two years now. Yet she could still hear him guiding her, giving her advice. She hoped the contact at the Home Office he'd given her was still there. Once she discovered what she needed to know, she'd send a carefully worded message using the code Harry had left with her.

Her mind turned to Rutherford. She prayed he'd soon discover she was not what he wanted. She could never betray herself or Harry's trust.

“H
ell and damnation. Is that all you were able to discover?” Rutherford paced the floor in his study. He'd been home nearly a week and had discovered precisely nothing about the smugglers. He'd sent Jeb, one of his under-grooms, to learn what he could.

Jeb shuffled his feet. “Yes, my lord. Like as much, they're all a bit leery knowin' I work here at the Priory, you bein' the magistrate and all.”

“There has got to be a way to find out who their leader is,” Rutherford growled. “Any idea what they're supplying and to whom?”

Jeb scratched his head. “I think it's mostly brandy, my lord. The innkeeper might know more. But he ain't goin' to talk to me.”

“He'll speak with me, by God.” Rutherford snapped.

The groom hung his head. “Yes, my lord.”

“Jeb, you did the best you could under the circumstances,” Rutherford said. “Thank you for your effort. See my steward, Mr. Stanley, and tell him he's to pay you an extra ten shillings.”

Jeb's jaw dropped. “Thank you, my lord. I never expected that much.”

Rutherford sat at his desk. “Don't mention any of this to anyone.”

“Me mouth's shut tight, my lord.”

Rutherford had a different incentive planned for the innkeeper. After Jeb left, Rutherford stared out the windows on to a lawn.

According to a missive from Jamison, things were starting to heat up. One of France's known spies had been spotted in a Whitechapel tavern. Rutherford tugged the bell pull and gave the footman a message for the stables to ready his horse and to have Mr. Robertson, his valet, meet Rutherford in his chamber.

Within twenty minutes, Rutherford was on his way to the small coastal town of Thanport. He rode into the yard of the Fish and Line, the town's main inn. After dismounting, he threw the reins to one of the ostlers. The old stone building had a sloping slate roof. The Priory had owned it since the late seventeenth century. Rutherford ducked as he went through the low doorway and surveyed the taproom, studying the crowd of men, who turned to look at him. He nodded a greeting before going to the bar.

The innkeeper, Mr. Norby, wiped his hands on his apron and came around to Rutherford. “Here, here, your lordship, no use you coming to the bar. I'll have Sally bring you what you want.”

“I came here to talk to you,” Rutherford said in a low voice. “Let's go into your office.”

Mr. Norby licked his lips. “If it's about the profits . . .”

“No,” Rutherford interrupted, “though we may discuss them later. Come.” He headed toward the back, and Norby had no choice but to follow.

Once in the small office, Rutherford closed the door. “I want you to tell me what you know about the local smuggling gang. Don't bother telling me you don't know anything about them. I am well aware of where your brandy and other wines come from.”

Norby shifted his eyes away. “No, my lord, you're mistaken. I got no truck with smugglers.”

Rutherford raised a brow. “Try again.”

The innkeeper swallowed. “I'll swear on me mother's grave, my lord. I never seen 'em.”

“You do realize I can terminate your lease in one month's time, do you not?” Rutherford asked, affecting a disinterested drawl.

Norby's mouth opened and closed like that of a fish. “No, my lord, please. I've got my family to support, and me mother's sick.”

“Is this the same mother upon whose grave you are willing to swear?” Rutherford asked humorlessly. “You have a week to get me a contact to the smuggling gang in this area, or you may prepare to find other employment and lodgings. My steward, Mr. Stanley, will be here to look at your books the day after tomorrow. I trust I've made myself clear.”

The innkeeper nodded. “Yes, my lord. I–I'll get what you want.”

Rutherford started out of the office and turned. “And Norby, I don't want it to get around that I'm the one seeking the information. I shall be extremely displeased if anyone finds out.”

The innkeeper shook his head several times. “No, my lord—I mean, yes, my lord.”

“Good, I'm pleased we have an understanding.” Rutherford gave the man a thin smile. “Send me a message when you have what I want.”

Rutherford left the office and returned to the tap where he sat with a few of the local men he knew at a long table by the thick glass windows.

Sally, the serving maid, swung her hips as she walked over to him, bending low to take his order and giving him a good view of her abundant breasts and dark pink nipples.

Trying to ignore her gaping bodice, he said, “I'll have a pint of your regular.”

She smiled and bent a little lower. “Are ye sure there's not somethin' else ye might want, my lord?”

One of the other men reached out to grab her and spared Rutherford from answering. She danced deftly away. “Here now, they ain't on offer for ye.”

“Ah, Sally, just a little feel is all I'm askin'. Be fair now, girl.”

“When ye get made a lord, you can have a touch. 'Til then ye can keep them hands to yerself.” She winked at Rutherford. “I'll get you your ale, my lord.”

“She's a bold piece, Sally is,” a man called Kev said.

“Hmm,” Rutherford said, not wanting to be drawn into a discussion regarding Sally's dubious charms.

“You back with us for a while, me lord?” another man asked.

“Yes,” Rutherford replied. “Until late March or April. I need to attend to business here. Have you noticed any problems around?”

“No, been real quiet here. Not much happening.” Kev rubbed his chin. “Not like when Mr. Harry was around, kickin' up larks.”

“There was no one who could get things going better than Mr. Harry.” Another man said and nodded.

“Let's have a toast then to Harry Marsh.” Kev raised his mug, and the rest followed. “Here's to Harry, who led a merry life and had a quick death.”

“To Harry,” the rest of the table toasted.

On the Isle of Guernsey, a young man of thirty-one years wept beside the grave of his wife and small child, buried together. He was tall, with broad shoulders, chestnut brown hair, and deep blue eyes. An older man stood next to him, his hand on the other man's shoulder.

The younger man tried to keep his tears from falling. “Why did it have to happen?” A question he'd asked almost every day for the past eleven months.

“There was naught you could have done, and it was no fault of yours, Harry, me boy. The Good Lord gives and takes as He pleases,” his father-in-law, Mr. Marest, said. “She loved you, lad, and she wouldn't have wanted to see you mourn overlong for her.”

He patted Harry's back affectionately. “It's been almost a year. You know you can stay here as long as you like. But do you want to, now that you know who you are?”

He glanced at his father-in-law. “I don't know. I still don't have all my memory back. There are large holes.”

“That's true,” Marest replied. “But you know your last name and from where you hail. You don't know if your family thinks you're dead, or are still looking for you. They could be worried about you.”

Harry nodded and gave his attention to the twin graves of his wife, Marcella, and his infant daughter. He'd loved Marcella with all his heart. After her death, in his grief, his memory had begun to come back, and, with it, the image of a young woman with dark curls and laughing blue eyes. He should know her.

His heart ached when he thought of the woman. He wished he could remember why he cared so much for her, and who she was.

“If you're going to go, you'd best do it soon, or you'll not get off the Isle until spring. You still have the money?”

“Yes.”

When the Marest family had found Harry washed up on to the beach, he'd had a large pouch of gold coins with him. Not knowing whose they were, Harry had used them sparingly.

His rescuers had brought him, half dead, to their large old farmhouse. Marcella, the middle daughter, had sat with him and nursed him through the worst of it. She'd fed him when he'd been too weak to hold a spoon. When she finally got around to asking his name, the only one he could remember was “Harry.” The rest had been a mystery.

He'd remembered nothing about his life or where he was from, but he'd known how to sail, and quite a bit about farming. Marcella had turned it into a guessing game to try to bring back his memory. He had a lot of money, yet his clothes weren't expensive. His manners and speech marked him as a gentleman. He could recite poetry, though most of it was either erotic or romantic, which made Marcella laugh.

Harry had fallen deeply in love with her, but wouldn't ask her to marry him. How could he? He didn't know what he had to give her or who he really was. Then one night she came to him. They married two weeks later. He took Marcella's last name, Marest, French for marsh, which seemed vaguely right. She would have thought it a good joke if she had known it really was his own last name.

Harry glanced at his father-in-law. “You're right. I should go.”

“I'll make arrangements for a ship to take you to Weymouth. It's the best route this time of year.” Mr. Marest squeezed Harry's shoulder. “We'll miss you, son, but you know you have a family, and staying here will do you no good. Marcella wouldn't have wanted to see you like this.” Marest pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “How will you travel to Kent?”

“I'll buy a horse in Weymouth and ride up,” Harry said. “There's no reason to hurry. Maybe I'll remember more on my way.”

His father-in-law said, “I'll give you a letter to give to the innkeeper at the Boot in Weymouth. He'll take care of you and help you find what you need.”

Harry's throat closed, and he couldn't speak, so he nodded. He was leaving the only home he'd known for more than two years, and returning to a life he still knew very little about.

The two men turned in unison to walk back to the house. Harry went to the room he'd shared with his wife and stayed there until called for dinner.

Marie, his mother-in-law, embraced him. “Harry, it's for the best.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he replied. If only he knew who the dark-haired woman was.

Two days later, Harry boarded the ship the
Flying Angel
for his trip to Weymouth. He'd dressed warmly in a wool frieze coat and muffler. After assuring the captain he knew his way around a ship, Harry was happy to be given a job helping trim the sails to take his mind off leaving. They arrived in Weymouth's port late that afternoon.

Harry thanked the captain, who'd given him directions to the Boot.

“Good luck to you, young man. Anytime you want a job, let me know. You're a born sailor.”

Harry laughed. “I'll be sure to do that. Thank you, again, for bringing me across. Safe passage back.”

After reaching the inn, Harry handed his letter to the landlord, who showed him to a large chamber overlooking the docks. The landlord promised to help Harry purchase a good horse and the other provisions he'd need for the trip home. Home, what a strange thought. Would they welcome him, he wondered.

Anna had been home for just over a week and, between resuming her normal duties at home, Rutherford, her smuggling gang, and an unexpected irritant in the form of Percival Blanchard, the squire's eldest son, she'd had no time to have a good conversation with Aunt Lillian. Anna was in the breakfast room when her aunt appeared.

“Good morning, my dear,” Aunt Lillian greeted her. “Are you riding with Lord Rutherford again today?”

Anna swallowed. “Yes, he should be here soon. I need your advice. How do I convince Percy that I have no interest in him? The man is a coxcomb and a dead bore.”

Lillian laughed. “Get betrothed. That will stop him. Unfortunately, he is the type of man who cannot understand that he is not irresistible to women.”

Anna took a sip of tea and said thoughtfully, “I wonder if I can deny him when he comes to visit.”

Her aunt raised a brow. “That's rather hard to do when he brings his mother along.”

Almost every day since Anna's return, Lady Blanchard had come to call, accompanied by Percy. “I suppose you're right.”

“You're spending quite a bit of time with Lord Rutherford. Do you have intentions?”

Anna shook her head. “No. He does.”

“I thought you liked him.”

Anna set her cup down. “I do, but we won't suit.”

Lillian frowned slightly. “This conversation is becoming distressingly akin to an interrogation. If you don't wish me to know . . .”

“Oh, no. It's not that.” Anna rushed to reassure her aunt. It would be good to talk with someone. “Rutherford wants to marry me, but I heard him describing what he wants in a bride, and it is not who I am.”

“Ah, I see.” Her aunt's eyes sparkled. “A challenge?”

“Not really. We haven't spent much time together since shortly after Harry's death. He will soon come to realize I am not for him. We will be no more than friends.”

Aunt Lillian brought her cup to her lips. “Are you quite sure?”

Anna sighed. “Yes. So you see, Rutherford is not the problem. Percy is.”

“I take your point. He is rather a bother.” Lillian's brow wrinkled. “Let me put my mind to it and see what I can come up with.”

“Who is rather a bother?” a pleasantly deep voice asked from the door. “I hope you don't mind. I told Ledster not to announce me.”

Anna couldn't help smiling. Having him around was like old times. Still, it hurt, and she wished he'd figure out soon that he didn't want to marry her. “Good morning, Rutherford. No, I don't mind. Would you like some tea?”

“Tea would be nice.”

“Have you already eaten?” Anna asked.

“Yes. Who's a bother?”

She poured him a cup, handed it to him, and scowled. “Percy Blanchard.”

Rutherford looked out from under lowered brows. “What's he doing?”

“Persistently following me,” Anna said with a huff of frustration. “Percy brings his mother here when he calls, so that I must see him. He tried to catch me alone in the garden the other day. Fortunately, the gardener was there.”

Rutherford's eyes turned to silver. A sure sign he was unhappy. “You may leave Percy to me. When does he usually call?”

Anna smiled inwardly. “Around tea time.”

“Well, if you don't mind seeing me more often,” Rutherford said, “I think I'll come to tea.”

“Will you throw Percy in the fountain?” she asked, harking back to an incident from their childhood.

Rutherford gave a bark of laughter. “Rather cold this time of year, but I might. That will depend on how well Percy listens. Come, I saw Thunderer in the stable being saddled.” Rutherford finished his tea and stood. “I know you can't wait to ride him.”

Anna rose quickly. “Yes, give me just a few minutes.”

She picked up her skirts and started to run, before changing it into a fast walk, out the door and up the stairs to fetch her hat.

Rutherford's gaze followed her until she was out of sight. How different she was here. In London Anna would never have left a room running. She wasn't at all what he thought she'd be. She expressed her political ideas more forcefully here, and they were well thought out. Of course, single, young ladies were not encouraged to discuss politics at all in Town. Rather than tame and predictable, she was turning out to be the most refreshing female he knew. Not to mention the most stubborn. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. Strange as it seemed, his attraction to this new person was growing, quickly. He'd always loved her, but his feelings were changing, growing deeper. Maybe he was seeing her as a separate person now, and not an extension of Harry. Perhaps he was actually falling in love. There ought to be a sign of some sort.

“Anna is one of a kind, don't you think?” Lady Tully asked.

“Yes. I do.” Much better than the quiet, predictable woman he'd thought he'd wanted.

Lady Tully leaned forward and put her elbows on the table. “Tell me, what do you plan to do to dampen Percy's pretensions?”

“I shall have a brief discussion with him,” Rutherford replied. And if the man didn't take the hint, he'd plant him a facer.

“You do know”—Lady Tully's gaze focused on the serviette she was refolding—“if you were to convince Anna to marry you, men like Percy would not be a problem.”

Rutherford stared at Anna's aunt. She had a point. If they were betrothed, he'd have every right to protect Anna. A duty even. “I'm working on it.”

“You must decide whether you want her enough to allow Anna to be herself.” Lady Tully raised a brow. “Ah, here Anna comes now. I'll bid you farewell until tea.”

Rutherford stood when she did. What did Lady Tully mean? Anna had always been herself. “I'll see you then.”

Anna paused at the door. “I'm ready to go.”

He bowed to Lady Tully and followed Anna to the stables, where her dapple gray, Thunderer, pawed the ground. The large gelding nuzzled her. Anna grabbed an apple from a nearby barrel and held it out to him.

Humphrey came over to help her mount, but Rutherford shook his head. “Allow me.”

He picked Anna up and tossed her on to her horse.

The moment he placed his hand on her waist, it was as if he'd touched a live flame. When he went to place her booted foot into the stirrup, his hands shook.

Rutherford stopped and breathed deeply. Fate had it out for him. He glanced quickly at Anna. Her eyes widened, her color rose, and her mouth formed an
O
. Good, it wasn't just him. He gained his saddle. Now if she'd just realize that they should marry, and quickly.

He could control his countenance, but not the gruffness in his voice. “Let's allow them to shake out their fidgets.”

“Yes, let's,” Anna said a little breathlessly.

When their horses' hooves clattered out of the stable yard, Anna took the lead, jumping the fence out of the paddock and racing into a meadow. There was still a light frost on the ground. Black trees flew by as they galloped swiftly toward the cliffs.

They rode along for a good while, not speaking. Though, after his revelation, he relished the silence. In the time it took his heart to beat once, Anna had seduced him, and she didn't even know it. What he'd thought was love for her was a far cry from what he now felt. Despite his completely idiotic idea of the perfect wife, Rutherford knew he'd give up everything just to keep Anna in his life.

When she finally reined in, he reached out, needing to touch her, but she spurred her horse and rode toward the cliff before quickly slipping off Thunderer and running to the clump of trees overlooking the English Channel.

Anna crossed her arms in front of her, and her chest rose and fell as if she were catching her breath. Rutherford ambled up behind her and bent his head to kiss her hair.

“
Don't
. Please don't.”

He stopped. “You felt it, I know you did. Why can't I kiss you?”

Anna shook her head. “Because kissing leads to other things, and—and we don't have a commitment. I don't know if we ever will. I am not what you want, and lust doesn't equate to love.”

Lust!
She thought it was lust?
Damn,
now what was he to say? “Anna, look at me.”

Her eyes swam in unshed tears, and she blinked rapidly. “Don't tell me you love me now. Everything cannot possibly have changed from one minute to the next.”

Nothing but the awareness of how wrong-headed he'd been. “May I hold you? I promise not to do anything else.”

She nodded.

He put his arms around her, drawing her close. Taking care not to crush the small hat she wore, he propped his chin on the top of her head. “Anna . . .”

She shook her head, her voice muffled in his jacket. “No, please don't spoil this.”

“All right.”
I love you.
“Let's go into town. Surely you need to buy something. My mother and sisters always do.”

Anna chuckled wetly. “I don't have any money with me.”

“I might have some. If not, I'm sure one of us has good credit. Then maybe some cider and a coffyn,” he said, referring to the local savory meat pies.

That got a laugh out of her. “You are always hungry.”

Rutherford drew back and gave her his best boyish smile. “Always. I seem to remember you have a good appetite as well.”

“I know that if I can't eat all of mine, you'll finish it for me,” she retorted.

They walked back to their horses. Anna stood next to Thunderer gazing up at Rutherford as he leaned toward her. Her eyes widened, and she tensed. He stopped.
Damn
. If he tried to kiss her now, she'd never trust him. What a fix this was. How long would it take him to convince her that what they were feeling was not lust? And what was this nonsense that she wasn't right for him? She was the only woman he was meant to be with.

“Give me your foot.” That had to be better than touching her waist. The second he touched her boot, lightning streaked up his arm. If this kept up, he'd soon be fit for Bedlam.