Petals on the River (56 page)

"After I tend the mare," he answered, and left through the back

corridor.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Shemaine took Andrew into his bedroom to

change his clothes.
 
A few moments later the back door opened and

closed, and then, after a short delay, the floor in the parlor creaked

as silent footfalls advanced across it.
 
To give warning of her presence

in the boy's room, she began to sing a child's song, but she nearly

stumbled over the words as Gage entered wearing only the breeches he had

ridden in.
 
The fluttering of her heart started anew as her eyes

stealthily swept his wide shoulders and firmly muscled waist. Though she

would have willingly admired the sights as long as he was there, she

refused to allow herself to gawk at him like some mindless twit.
 
She

had to escape!

"Come, Andrew," Shemaine bade, taking his small hand in hers. "Let's go

into the kitchen by the fire and finish dressing you while your father

changes his clothes."

Before she could flee, Gage sauntered leisurely to his armoire, crossing

her path and halting her progress altogether as he opened the doors of

the cabinet.
 
To Shemaine, it seemed a deliberate impediment, especially

after she had just announced her intentions, but she could do naught but

wait until he completed his search.

Gage tossed a shirt over his shoulder and sailed a pair of hide breeches

onto the bed before he stepped back and closed the cabinet.

Shaking out the folds of the shirt, he turned to face her.
 
"Do you

dance as well as you ride, Shemaine?"

 
The question startled her, and she nodded warily.
 
Then she hurriedly

iL ._L shook her head as she realized he might think her boastful.
 
"I

mean, I have danced before .
 
.
 
.
 
often, in fact."

"Perhaps you'd care to attend a soiree they're having in the village

this coming Saturday.
 
I haven't gone to one since Victoria was alive,

but there's usually a lot of dancing and feasting.
 
I would imagine

nearly everyone in the hamlet will be there.
 
The fees that are usually

collected go to help the orphans in the area and the few women who care

for them.
 
So we'd be doing a good service by going.
 
If you're willing,

I'd like to."

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly!" Shemaine declared in an anxious rush.

"Surely not when everyone knows I'm your bondslave and a .
 
.
 
.

convict.

Twould be improper to force my presence on the townspeople like that.

Why, they'd likely be outraged if I went."

" Twould be nice to have a beautiful woman to dance with," he cajoled.

Her cheeks warmed with his compliment.
 
"I just don't think it would be

wise when circumstances are what they are, Mr.
 
Thornton. Andrew and I

will be fine here alone if you'd care to take another woman."

Gage's gaze snared hers.
 
"I don't care to take anyone else, Shemaine,

so if you insist upon staying home, so will I."

Confusion reigned in her thoughts as she struggled to find an

appropriate answer.
 
She didn't want to be the cause of him having to

stay away.
 
Neither could she imagine herself attending such an affair.

Her gaze lowered, and in a rather breathless tone, she asked to be

excused.
 
Gage stepped back against the armoire, giving her room to

pass, but Shemaine could feel his eyes following her to the door.

Escaping to the kitchen hearth, she dressed Andrew and then began to put

the meal on the table, but try as she might, she could not banish the

thought of dancing with her handsome master from her mind.

,,/ CHAPTER 12

When Shemaine retired to the loft the next evening, she was surprised to

find a pale pink-and-white-striped muslin gown lying upon her cot.
 
Its

square-neck collar was adorned with pink ruching, but the garment was

badly crushed and wrinkled from having been packed away in Victoria's

trunk.
 
Shemaine remembered having seen it near the bottom and had

concluded at the time that it was one of the better gowns the woman had

owned.
 
A chemise, no less than Victoria's best, had also been left.
 
It

lay alongside a pair of white stockings and soft leather slippers. There

were even riWons to tie them on with.

A brief note written in handsome script and signed by Gage lay atop the

garments.
 
He urged her to address her attention to whatever alterations

or washings the clothes would require before Saturday, for it would

greatly please him to take her to the social.
 
As for her concerns, he

would not allow a few sour souls to affect any decisions made in his

household.
 
Her only reprieve would be if she came down with some

serious malady for which a doctor would be required.
 
In other words, he

left her no option unless she was near death.

Shemaine mentally groaned at the idea of having to face the established

matrons of the area, some of whom she had seen fleeing before her

master's attention could come to bear upon them.
 
She hoped fervently

that they would prove equally as cautious about voicing their objections

when his bondslave entered upon his arm.

Saturday came, and shortly after his afternoon nap, Andrew was taken

over to the Fields's where he would stay the night.
 
Just before

Shemaine finished dressing, Gage called upstairs from the back door to

announce that he was going out to harness the gelding.
 
It seemed an

admonition to hurry, and Shemaine's fingers fairly flew as she wound the

ribbons around her ankles.
 
In a few short moments she was all but

racing down the path toward the corral.

At the sound of pattering footfalls on the stone steps, Gage tightened

the last strap on the shaft of the chaise and straightened. What had

been intended as a casual glance over the tall back of the gelding

turned into a long, slow scrutiny that swept upward from small, white

slippers to the pert lace cap adorning her upswept coiffure.
 
It was a

full moment before Gage realized his breath had nigh halted.

"Do I look acceptable?" Shemaine questioned worriedly, uneasy with his

lengthy silence.

"Aye," he sighed, "like a ray of light to a blind man."

A fleeting smile answered him before he came around the back of the

conveyance.
 
Once he stepped into full view, Shemaine felt inclined to

say something as lavish as his praise of her.
 
She greatly admired the

dashing figure he presented, for he was even more handsome in courtly

garb than she had dared to imagine.
 
The clothes were not nearly as

costly as those Maurice usually wore, but this man, by his exceptional

physique and good looks, made the garments seem far richer than their

cost.
 
The frock coat of deep burgundy complemented the taupe-colored

waistcoat, breeches, and stockings, while the white shirt and stock she

had ironed accentuated his bronzed skin.

Gage swept her a flamboyant bow, which gained a deep curtsy from his

companion.
 
"You smell as sweet as you look," he remarked, stepping near

to savor her delectable scent.
 
He was intrigued by every womanly detail

of her and, upon closer inspection, noticed where the seams over her

bosom had been let out and neatly resewn.
 
His gaze passed in ample

appreciation over the fullness before Shemaine turned with burning

cheeks to face the conveyance.
 
Catching hold of the dash, she lifted a

foot on the metal rung and felt Gage's hands on her waist as he boosted

her into the chaise.
 
Sitting back against the- seat, she swept up the

tricorn that lay on the cushion beside her and brushed her fingers

caressingly over the plain trim that finished the turned-up brim.
 
It

was so like the man to shun elaborate decorations.
 
But then, with his

face and form, he needed none.

"Your hat, m'lord," she murmured, offering it to him with a smile as he

climbed in beside her.
 
Her green eyes glowed with admiration as she

watched him slide it snugly into place, and she continued to I marvel at

his handsome profile as he unwound the reins from the dash and clicked

to the gelding.
 
In the narrow confines of the seat, there was not

enough space to allow them to sit apart.
 
Gage's shoulder overlapped

hers, and just as unavoidably, the back of his arm brushed her bosom.

Shemaine accepted the light strokes in silence, strangely pleasured by

his casual touch, and wondered if her master even noticed.

With an imperceptible sigh, she relaxed against the cushioned seat,

having every intention of enjoying the ride.

The gelding was a high-headed, high-stepping animal who apparently

enjoyed a fast trot.
 
They were soon being whisked along the road toward

Newportes Newes, and by their speed, it was easy to predict they would

reach the hamlet well before the sun even thought of setting.
 
If

Shemaine could surmise anything from the grin that flitted rather

frequently across her master's lips, she could believe that Gage

Thornton relished a brisk gait as well and was wont to encourage it. She

found herself smiling with the exhilaration of the ride, and once they

passed Sly Tucker and his wife in their horse-drawn chaise, laughed at

the race that quickly ensued.
 
It soon became apparent that the gelding

had a competitive heart and wouldn't be outdone by another steed.

Reaching out with his long legs, he left the Tuckers behind in short

order.

Once they reached the hamlet, Gage left the gelding at the livery

stable, where the animal would receive a cooling walk after his long

jaunt into town and, afterward, water to quench his thirst, for it

promised to be several hours before they embarked upon their journey

home.

From the livery, Gage escorted Shemaine along the boardwalk at a

leisurely pace, drawing shocked and curious stares from nearly everyone