Her Lord and Protector (formerly titled On Silent Wings) (11 page)

Katherine
ridiculed the sympathetic tug in her heart. Why should she waste compassion on
him? Yet she nodded her understanding. She knew sadness.

“Please have
patience with him,” Elizabeth said. “I think by his actions that he means only
to protect you.”

I will try. But
I dislike him so!
It
was not the absolute truth, but Elizabeth didn’t need to know otherwise.

As Katherine
capped the inkwell, a ghost of a smile played on Elizabeth’s lips. “There are
times that I dislike him, too.”

It gladdened
Katherine that Elizabeth had at least a spark of pluck within her.

The next
morning, after a lone breakfast in the dining room—Lord Drayton, wisely, had
not sent the maid with another tray—Millie informed Katherine that he and
Elizabeth were not home. Katherine decided to leave the letter in his study.

Millie stood
fidgeting by the study door and spoke up in muted tones. “If I may be so bold,
m’lady. Lord Drayton does not like anyone goin’ in there.”

Katherine looked
pointedly at Millie and then at the door handle.

“M’lady, Lord
Drayton—”

Katherine set
her lips and opened the door herself.

She stepped
inside, breathing in his masculine scent...warm and spicy with a hint of sandalwood,
and none of the body stink that clung to some men.

The slanted top
of the oak desk had been left open, and her gaze roved over the papers and
ledgers that littered the surface. How was he ever able to get any work done?
Her letter would be lost among this mess. She turned to the small table nearby.
Its surface was not quite as cluttered.

Carefully, she
stacked papers to leave room for her letter so he’d see it. Then, she couldn’t
resist turning back to his desk and sliding into his chair, watching Millie
slap a hand over her mouth in shock.

Engulfed by the
oversized leather chair, Katherine caressed its smooth arms, closed her eyes,
and inhaled deeply. His essence surrounded her, a comforting, cocooning sensation.

She opened her
eyes and shoved away the feeling. He’d only tried to make her life miserable.

Pursing her lips
in thought, she regarded his papers. Then, curiously, she leaned forward and
spread open one of his ledgers.

“Oh, Lady
Katherine! Oh, my!” Millie muffled through her hand.

Katherine stood
and waved Millie toward the door.

She asked with
wide eyes, “D’ye wish me t’leave?”

At Katherine’s
nod, Millie, with a wounded glance, went out.

Now, Katherine
would see how Lord Drayton kept his books.

Sliding her
finger along the poorly written numbers, she stopped in consternation about halfway
down. The subtraction was wrong. He’d forgotten to add a zero back in and his
total was off by at least three hundred pounds.

She closed this
book and selected another, titled Estate—Sheep Count. This one should be
accurate. How difficult could it be to count the smelly things, anyway? But it,
too, was off by fifty-seven sheep. He’d skipped two lines and continued down
the column.

Could the man
not add and subtract?

Thoroughly
engrossed, she examined two other ledgers, one on crops and the other on
household goods—candles and rushlights were listed regularly—and both contained
errors that were costing him a great deal of money.

And his
correspondence! She tossed the ledgers aside and picked up one of his letters,
and squinted as she held the paper near her face. How could anyone make sense
of his terrible handwriting?

He needed help.
Taking care of her father’s estate books had honed her lightning-quick addition
and subtraction.

Pulling a ledger
back toward her, she uncapped the inkwell and set to work.

Minutes later,
her quill scratching rapidly down the column, Katherine vaguely heard a door
open and then shut. When she heard voices speaking—one older and feminine, the
other childlike—she jerked up her head and slammed the ledger closed. Someone
had entered from the hall to the withdrawing room next to the study.

She shot to her
feet, cursing her forgetfulness when the chair scraped on the wood floor.

Holding her
hands to her skirts to keep them from swishing, she trotted to the door leading
to the corridor, and opened it. As she stepped from the room, however, a large,
shadowy form entered the corridor from the Hall and headed her way.

Lord Drayton!

Katherine ducked
back into the room. The people in the withdrawing room would see her if she went
out through the connecting door. Where would she go from there?

There was no
place to hide. And he would see the neat stacks she’d made on his table, and
then turn and see her....

She dashed to
the table and swept the papers to and fro in an attempt to make the surface
look undisturbed. Then, as the booted footsteps echoed closer, she raced to the
wall beside the door hinges and pressed herself against it.

The door flew
open, almost hitting her. Heart pounding so hard she feared it would burst, she
watched Lord Drayton stride in. His presence filled the room.

An intense,
ragged cough threatened to burst forth. She clamped both hands to her mouth and
fought the spasms in her chest and throat.

He strode across
the room and paused at his desk. Oh, mercy. Would he sit?

He did not, but
rather lifted the candle on his desk—the candle she’d brought with her—and then
opened the door to his withdrawing room. He stepped through, pulling the door
closed behind him. But it didn’t latch.

“Come here,” she
heard him say. “No need to cower in the corner.”

Now was her
chance to escape. Yet she listened, the cough feeling finally subsiding.
Someone was in the next room, cowering from him in the corner. What had happened?

Alex studied the
skinny, shivering boy—not yet seven years old, and clearly frightened. He
looked like he hadn’t eaten a decent meal in days.

The child drew
near, his lower lip trembling. Tears stood on the brink of spilling down his
filthy face. He wrapped his thin arms around himself.

“What has
befallen you, Stephen?”

“I have stolen a
cloak from town, m’lord.” The child fixed his gaze to the floor. “I been hidin’
in your keep to get away from the merchants, but Mama needed my help on the
farm.”

From the looks
of him, he badly needed a cloak. But his family should have money to buy needed
items. Why had he stolen it?

“What should I
do with you?” Alex asked, towering over him with his hands on his hips. It
would not do to show warmth toward his serfs. “Do you suppose a thrashing would
cure your stealing tendencies?”

“Y-yes sir,” the
boy faltered. “As you wish, m’lord.” Tears escaped his eyes and made cleansing
tracks through the dirt on his bony cheeks.

Alex kept his
expression pitiless. He knew Stephen’s father had died recently, but had no
idea the widow and her son had fallen to such despair. His mind raced. Hadn’t
he set aside a penance for them? Was it something his former steward had
overlooked? “Your mother, does she know of your crime?”

He heard a sound
near the door that led to the hall. A woman tottered up from a chair in the
dark corner and waddled toward him, hair matted and skin dark with dirt. From
the looks of her swollen belly, her babe would come forth very soon.

“M’lord, I beg
yer kindness,” she said. “Please, if y’would but take the rod to my back and
spare his. He’s a sickly lad, and a whippin’ such as ye’d give might be the
death of him.”

“No, Mama!” the
boy cried in horror as he spun toward her. “No. ’Twas my wrong and I’ll pay for
it.” He swung to Alex and raised himself to his full, small height. “I am
ready.” He knelt.

After a moment
of gazing at the mop of dull, tangled black curls crowning Stephen’s head, Alex
thought of his little used rod hanging from the hook in his study. He could
flog the child and perhaps the mother—simply dole out justice as Robert did so
freely with his whip—and send them both on their way, bruised and bleeding,
with a severe warning.

“Stand,” he
ordered the boy.

Immediately Stephen
did so, and his emaciated body tensed. He shut his eyes, bowed his head, and pressed
his lips together to stifle a moan as he waited, clearly expecting Alex to
strike him. A tear splashed onto the worn planks of the floor.

Although a part
of Alex yearned to draw back into his comforting waters of detachment, he
pulled several coins from his waistcoat pocket. Lifting the boy’s filthy hand,
he placed them onto his palm. Stephen opened his eyes at his mother’s gasp and
stared at the coins.

“This money will
buy you food and clothing,” Alex said as he turned to the mother. “Why have you
not asked me for help, Clara?”

Clara bowed her
head. “My husband died o’ the pox. ’Twas after I became great with child. He
went to Patsy’s brothel.”

It was widely
considered a man’s right to satisfy his needs in any way he wished, but Alex
didn’t share this view. Nor did he voice it to Clara. “You have no cause for
shame,” he said. “’Tis not your fault he caught the disease.”

“I’m a
God-fearin’ woman, m’lord,” Clara said with a sob. “I must have sinned greatly
for such terrible judgment. Me and Stephen, we’re bein’ punished for some
wrongdoin’, I know.”

Stephen approached
Clara and wrapped his arms as far around her girth as he could. “Do not cry,
Mama,” he murmured, his cheek pressed to her rounded belly. “Pray don’t cry.”

Alex attributed
the tightening in his throat to impatience with the woman and child. He had no
time for this emotional blather. “You may leave now. Stephen can let me know
when the babe’s time comes, and I will send for a midwife. In the meantime, do
not hesitate to ask me for help.” He walked to the door leading to the corridor
and opened it. “No one on my land should suffer cold and hunger. You will be
fed and clothed as long as you remain.”

The woman gave a
cry and clutched her lower belly, and Alex had a moment of terror that she
would give birth right there in his withdrawing room.

But she was
crying for joy, and he wanted them gone. As the boy passed him on his way out
the door, Alex ruffled his hair. Stephen looked up at him with shining dark
eyes full of hope and admiration.

This was too
much. Alex cleared his throat and wheeled toward his study. And stopped
abruptly.

One bright eye
stared at him through the partly open door. The eye widened, then vanished.

“What the bloody
hell,” he muttered. He strode to the door and shoved it open with a thump of
his hand.

The room was
empty. But the door that led to the hall was wide open. Running footsteps—and
the sound of a familiar cough—receded down the dim corridor, drowned out by
Clara’s heavy tread and Stephen’s excited chatter.

Katherine. What
cause would she have to invade his study?

Unless she had
looked for the marriage contract, which he had drawn up and planned to take to
Wiltshire in Chiswick before nightfall. He started after her, and then turned
back to his desk.

Dropping into his
chair he searched for it—sweeping, flipping, tossing, until he was sure he’d
seen every document on his desk. Scratching his chin, he’d set his attention to
his table when he saw Sam in the open doorway.

“Do you need
assistance, m’lord?”

“I must take the
marriage contract to town for Wiltshire to look over,” Alex said. “I cannot
find the blasted thing, and I think I know why.” The contract wasn’t her
concern, wasn’t hers to look over and change. She had no cause to take it
unless she wanted to stay here, and he couldn’t imagine why she would want
that.

“Would you like
me to help you?”

“Yes. He is
waiting for me. At this rate I will not get back out there until dark.”

“Where is he?”

“Lobb’s Inn.”

“Do you really
want to go so late in the day? I can send a servant to let him know you will be
there tomorrow.”

“I need to,”
Alex said. “He is waiting.”

“Yes, you’ve
told me that.”

Alex
straightened and fixed a glower on Sam. “What are you getting at, old man?”

“I rarely see
you rush at anything. You must be in a hurry to get her from your life.”

“Yes? So?”

Sam’s craggy
face lit up in a smile. “You are smitten with her.”

Alex stared at
him a moment, then flipped through the papers on his table. “I do not have time
for your lovelorn tittle-tattle,” he growled. “Be useful and help me.”

As he rummaged,
the faintest scent of lavender reached his nose, and abruptly Alex stilled his
hands over the documents. In his mind flashed an image of Katherine lying naked
upon his own bed, her loose hair spread over the pillow.