The Charmer (18 page)

She felt him pull away so she
pressed her feet to his buttocks and held him inside her. "Stay," she
whispered between gasps.

He groaned, the low, keening
sound vibrating through her body, tipping her over the edge and launching her
into free-falling nothingness.

He exploded into her. The muscles
in his body trembled and his eyes screwed shut. The look on his face, of sheer
pleasure and fulfillment, made her climax linger.

They lay together, both breathing
hard, legs and arms entwined so that it was difficult to tell where one ended
and the other began. She could feel every aftershock rocking him, feel every
twitch of his muscles as if they were her own.

He kissed her throat near her
ear. "I like being inside you to the very end," he murmured.

She liked it too. Very much. But
not enough to take away the pain behind the reason
why
it was safe to
spill his seed inside her—she was barren. It was such a familiar pain now, but
different. It wasn't as sharp as it once was, but its aching heaviness pressed
down on her heart still.

It hadn't always been so. She'd
not fallen pregnant to John, her first husband, but with Phillip she'd lost a
babe soon after they wed. She'd only told Phillip, her father, and Bessie who'd
come to be her maidservant at Sutton Hall. She'd not even called for the wise
woman. Bessie assured her that losing a babe so early happened to many women,
and that she shouldn't worry.

Yet Susanna had grieved for that
unborn child. It had been her first.

Her second, however, was much
worse. Again, few knew she was in that state as it was very early. Phillip,
however, knew. That's why his actions had been particularly shocking. He'd slapped
her during their argument over her refusal to relinquish her friendships in the
village. Although it hadn't been hard enough to leave a permanent mark on her
cheek, she'd lost her balance and tripped over a small coffer near her feat.
She'd fallen heavily to the floor. Phillip had simply walked out.

She'd gone to bed that night with
a pain in her womb. The next morning, she'd woken up covered in blood. This
time the wise woman had been called, but she only told Susanna what she already
knew. The baby was lost. She cried for weeks and refused to see anyone, most of
all Phillip. He'd only asked to visit her once, but she'd sent him away with
vicious words of anger and accusation.

It was three months before he tried
again. He begged forgiveness, promised not to touch her except in loving
embrace. She'd allowed him into her bed because she wanted a child so much, but
there had been no pleasure in the act. He'd torn her heart to shreds, and it
was too late to gather up the pieces and mend it.

Despite their attempts, she
remained childless until his death. Losing her second babe must have damaged
her womb irreparably.

"Thank you for warming me
up." Orlando's voice startled her.

She shook off her melancholy and
touched his cheek. He smiled at her, a sweet, uncomplicated smile that buoyed
her spirits but got her thinking again. "Thank you for reminding me,"
she said. "You've been avoiding my question. Where did you go?"

"Not avoiding, my suspicious
little baroness." He kissed the end of her nose and rolled out of bed. He
picked up the shirt he'd dropped on the rushes and pulled it over his head.
"I was hungry. I went down to the kitchen."

"In your boots?" She
propped herself up on an elbow and watched him.

"I didn't want my feet to
get cold."

"How did they get
damp?"

He picked up a boot and studied
it. "I suppose they haven't dried from my afternoon walk yet." He set
the boot down but instead of getting dressed, cocked his head to the side and
regarded her with a curious expression. "Why the questions?"

Her gaze faltered and she pulled
the coverlet up to her chin. "I...I don't know. I suppose with the
intruder the other night, and now all these strangers appearing in Sutton
Grange, I'm on edge."

"Susanna." He sat on
the bed, causing the shirt to ride up and reveal his powerful thigh. She stared
at it because it was better than staring at his eyes. Orlando's eyes had a way
of pulling her into their depths and making her forget her convictions. "I
had nothing to do with the person at your window the other night. I know you're
frightened, but we'll find him." He smoothed the hair off her forehead and
tucked it behind her ear. Her heart lurched in her chest. His touch was so gentle,
his crooked smile so honest. "Don't be afraid."

She reached out and clasped his
hand in her own. "I'm not. Thank you, Orlando."

He kissed her forehead and stood.
"Now, I'd better go before Bessie arrives and boxes my ears."

Susanna grinned and watched as he
dressed, enjoying the performance immensely although the one where he removed
his clothes was better. Once his boots were on, he picked up his cloak and
draped it over his arm.

"Until later, fair maiden."
He bowed elaborately and backed out of her bedchamber into the parlor beyond.

Susanna lay very still, staring
at the closed door between them. Her heart had stopped in her chest and her
fingers curled into the coverlet, holding on.

He had a different cloak.

The liar.

CHAPTER 9

"Your cloak," Susanna
said, opening the door to her private parlor. She'd hurriedly dressed in her gardening
clothes to confront Orlando. Some things shouldn't be done while naked.
"It's different. Your other one was a darker gray and had a hood."

The blue of his eyes flared
briefly before flattening again. "I have two."

He couldn't have two. His pack
wasn't big enough and men like him—men who traveled and earned little—didn't
own two cloaks. They owned one. One pair of boots, one pair of gloves, one
cloak.

So where had he got it? More
importantly, whom did he meet? He must have switched cloaks with someone.

"Why are you lying to me?"
Her voice sounded small, but she might as well have shouted, it had such a
visible impact on him. He stepped back and his mouth fell open but he quickly
gathered himself.

He came to her and rested his
hands on her shoulders. He dipped his head lower and caught her gaze with his
own. She couldn't look away. "Susanna..." His gaze faltered for the
smallest of beats, then connected again. "Susanna, my goddess." He
leaned in and kissed her mouth, light as air but full of promise and desire.

She pushed him away. "Do not
avoid the question."

"I'm not avoiding it."

She cocked her head to the side
and crossed her arms. He would not distract her with his kisses and wide, blue
eyes. "Answer me then. You're lying to me about the cloak and I want to
know why. Whose cloak is that?"

He scrubbed a hand through his
hair. "It belongs to my friend. The stranger you saw yesterday in Sutton
Grange."

"The gentleman?"

"His servant." He took
her hand and gazed down at it as he circled his thumb over the knuckles. "We
are old friends and haven't seen each other in years. I ran into him yesterday
in the village, quite by coincidence. We didn't know the other was here. His
master never lets him out of his sight, so we decided to meet up in the woods
last night. We wanted to talk, exchange news, that sort of thing. He used to
have an affection for my sister."

"He wanted to speak to you
in the cold and damp of night?"

He shrugged. "It was the
only way. His master would not have let him go otherwise."

"Why is his master in Sutton
Grange at all?"

"My friend didn't
know."

She removed her hand and he
finally glanced up at her. Desire still smoldered in the depths of his eyes.
And something else—a raw, plaintive plea to be believed. If he was feeding her
falsehoods, he was an extremely good liar.

"It began to rain while we
were talking," he said, his gaze now locked with hers. "His cloak
didn’t have a hood and because he had to walk back to the village and I only
needed to return to the house, we swapped." He dipped his head but still
looked at her. Impish. "There. Happy now?"

She nodded. Yet doubt lingered.
He sounded honest enough, but the coincidence of meeting his friend in Sutton
Grange was great, and the notion that someone would come to the wood near Stoneleigh
on a late November night just to exchange news seemed equally unlikely.

A knock at the door banished any
further questions. "Come in," she said. Orlando stepped back to the
mattress but still his gaze remained on her.

The door opened on Hendricks. He
stepped aside to let Bessie through, carrying a tray. She set it down on the
table.

Hendricks pointed at Orlando. "Breakfast
is in the kitchen for you, not here." He bowed at Susanna. "Good
morning, m'lady. Did you sleep well?"

Susanna hoped her face didn't
give her away. "Yes, thank you. Is Father awake?"

"Aye. I just took in his
breakfast now."

"I'll go and say good morning."
She left without looking back but could hear Hendricks ordering Orlando to
return the mattress and bedcovers to the guest bedchamber.

Orlando responded with a
good-natured, "Aye, sir. I had a good night's sleep too, if you were
wondering. Best one since I arrived here."

Susanna hoped Hendricks and
Bessie didn't detect the note of satisfaction in his voice.

***

A tall, strongly built man was inspecting
the makeshift canvas structure over the orange trees when Susanna and Orlando
arrived in the walled garden. He looked around as they approached and Susanna
was struck by a set of shrewd gray eyes that took in her appearance with a swift
sweep. He gave no indication what he thought of her but removed his hat and
bowed. His hair was short and brown, his face clean-shaved and the jawline firm.
She could see why the chandler's wife said all the village women were talking
about him in the same breath as Orlando. He was handsome, not in the striking
and obvious manner of Orlando but more like a classic statue.

"Good morning," Susanna
said. "Mr. Monk, I assume?"

He nodded and Orlando introduced
them. A strange darkness threaded through his voice as he did so. She glanced
at him sharply. His passive face gave nothing away. That in itself was odd.
Orlando almost always had a friendliness about him.

"Ready?" Monk asked.

"Where's the timber?"
Orlando said.

"It's being loaded onto a
cart now. Lord Lynden will send someone to deliver it later."

"We have to remove the
canvases first," Orlando said. "You do that end. I'll start with
this."

"Wouldn't it be better if we
both worked at the same end?"

"Why? Can't you reach the
top?"

Monk's mouth twisted in a wry
smile. "You may have an inch on me, but don't underestimate me,
Holt."

"Enough," Susanna said
with a shake of her head. They had the decency to look sheepish at least.
"I thought I employed men, not boys."

"My apologies, Lady Lynden,
I should explain. Holt here thinks I may be hiding something from him and as
such, he's decided he doesn’t like me."

"I don't trust you,"
Orlando said.

"You don't need to trust
him," she said, "you need to work alongside him. Nothing will get
done while you two stand around and beat your chests."

Monk threw his head back and
laughed. It transformed him from austere to affable, and Susanna couldn't help
smiling along with him.

Orlando stormed off to the other
end of the line of orange trees.

"I think I'd better help him,"
Monk said, speaking in low conspiratorial tones. He touched the brim of his hat
and strolled after Orlando.

Susanna watched them, still
smiling, a sense of satisfaction rolling through her like a warm wave. She
couldn't identify the reason, but she knew it had something to do with
Orlando's reaction to Monk's presence.

The men worked together to remove
the canvases and the wooden stakes from the temporary structure. They spoke to
each other only to give directions, and those were curt. The morning was cool
and the air damp, but it wasn't raining. The men wore jerkins over their
doublets and shirts, the sleeves rolled up to keep them clean. By the time they
finished, they'd both discarded their jerkins. Orlando threw his over a hawthorn
bush to keep it off the muddy ground but Monk dropped his onto a leather pack
he'd left on the gravel path.

"Where do you want the
canvases?" Monk asked, rolling up one of the large coverings.

"The stables, in the far
corner," she said. "I'll show you."

"No," both men said.

"I'll show him,"
Orlando said.

"No need." Monk walked
toward the arch, the rolled canvas slung over his shoulder.

To her surprise, Orlando neither
argued nor tried to go with him. Once Monk was gone, he strode over to the
pack. "Watch for him returning."

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for clues as to the
real reason he's here."

"Jeffrey already told us. He
has business with Mr. Monk. You don't believe him?"

He regarded her from his
squatting position, the pack in his hand. "You do?"

She felt the sting of his
disbelief across her face. It was as if he were disappointed in her for
thinking Monk and Jeffrey told the truth. "I...I don't know."
That
was the truth. Jeffrey had no reason to lie to her, and yet he'd not explained
Monk's presence to her satisfaction.

Orlando, however,
had
lied.
He'd lied about his new cloak.