The Charmer (9 page)

"Hendricks, please lower the
knife," she said. "I can assure you, it was not Mr. Holt."

Hendricks obeyed. His frown
didn't disappear but became more uncertain, as if he was thinking something
through. He said nothing, however, just continued to glare at Orlando.

"Oh, my poor baby,"
Bessie said, "you could have been hurt." She held Susanna at arm's
length. "Look at you in your nightgown. You must be freezing. Get back in
bed."

"I'm all right,
Bessie." She looked over the little maid's head as Cook rolled through the
door, breathing hard. She pressed a hand to her bosom and held her candle high.

"What happened?" she
asked. "What's going on?"

"An intruder,"
Hendricks said.

"An intruder!"

"Mr. Holt scared him
away," Bessie said.

"Everyone's all right,"
Susanna added. "Now, please go back to bed. Nothing more can be done."

"Not yet," Bessie said.
"He might come back."

Was Orlando the only one who
could see the sheen of fear in Susanna's eyes again? He ached to comfort her.
Alone. In her bed.

"I'll check the
master." Hendricks shuffled off, apparently no longer thinking Orlando was
a threat. If he only knew...

"And I'll warm up some
milk," Cook said. "You used to like warm milk whenever you had
nightmares as a girl." Instead of leaving, she leaned a shoulder against
the door frame. "Just let me catch my breath first."

Bessie pulled back the covers on
the bed and patted the mattress. "Hop in before you catch your death, m'lady."

Susanna glanced at Orlando. There
was enough light to see that she struggled to control her emotions, but whether
those emotions were fear, embarrassment, or desire he couldn't tell. He really
hoped it was desire.

"Mr. Holt," she said,
"thank you for coming to my aid. I appreciate it."

"You don't need to thank me.
Rescuing damsels in distress is a hobby of mine. It's something I do when I'm
not gardening." He said it to lighten the mood and it almost worked. A
hint of a smile played around her lips. If they'd been alone, he would have
touched her mouth to tease it out again, but both maids were staring at him and
he could hear Hendricks's footsteps returning along the landing.

"The master's still
asleep," the servant said from the doorway. "He can't have heard
anything."

Susanna rubbed her temple. "Good.
Now, off to bed everyone. There's no need for us all to be tired
tomorrow."

"Not yet," Orlando
said. "I have some questions."

"
You
have some
questions for the mistress?" Hendricks's jaw went slack with disbelief.
"She has ordered you to leave. I think you should listen to her."

"It's all right,
Hendricks," Susanna said. "Ask away, Mr. Holt. If you think your
questions will shed some light on this incident, then please go ahead. I would
like to know who would do such a thing."

Orlando thanked her. "You
said you didn't see the intruder, is that right?"

"I didn't."

"Not even a little?"

"He wore a hood and it was
dark."

"He? Are you sure it was a
man?"

The notion that it could have
been a woman seemed to surprise her. "I, well, I don't know." She
shook her head. "It's difficult to gauge size from the bed and he or she
was only half way through the window when I screamed. I wasn't fully asleep so
I heard it open."

"Did the intruder say
anything?"

"No."

"Make any sound at all? Something
that could identify him or her?"

"Nothing." She folded
her arms over her chest and rubbed her shoulders.

"I think that's enough
questions for now, Mr. Holt," Bessie said, circling her arm around
Susanna's waist. "Maybe she'll think of something else overnight."

"Be sure to tell me if you
do."

"Aye, and then we'll tell Lord
Lynden too."

"Lynden?"

"He's the justice of the peace
for the parish," Susanna said. "He needs to know if someone tried to
steal from us."

What would a fool like Lynden do?
The man didn't look capable of holding a sword properly let alone actually
wielding it to apprehend someone. His lace cuffs would get in the way. Yet
Orlando knew appearances could be deceptive. Hughe was the best swordsman he'd
met, and he wore a ruff and an attitude of apathy to rival Lynden's.

As the justice of the peace,
Lynden didn't have to exert himself anyway, he could send others to make an
arrest—but first he needed to know who was guilty.

"I'll sleep with you
tonight, m'lady," Bessie said, pulling back the covers on the far side of
the large bed. "Cook, I'll have a cup of that warm milk too, if you don't
mind."

"I don't mind, but Hendricks
here'll have to bring it up. Those stairs will be the death of me. Don't know
how you do it, Bessie," Cook muttered as she left.

Orlando followed Cook and
Hendricks out of the bedchamber. He didn’t look back at Susanna. He didn't want
to see the fear in her eyes again. It unsettled him more than her beauty, and
he had an inexplicable urge to banish it.

"If it's all right with you,"
he said to the two servants when the door was closed, "I'll sleep here for
the rest of the night."

"What, in my lady's parlor?"
Cook asked.

"Yes."

"On the floor?"

"It's dry and not crawling
with lice—what more do I need?"

She huffed. "All right then.
Hendricks, fetch Mr. Holt a mattress and blankets."

Hendricks did as he was told, but
only after giving Orlando a glare that was as blunt and hard as a hammer blow.

"It might be a good idea not
to mention this to Lady Lynden," Orlando told them when the manservant
returned. "She may not want me here, so close to her bedchamber."

"She's not the only
one," Hendricks muttered.

Later, sitting on the mattress
with his back against the paneled parlor wall, Orlando sipped his warm cup of
milk and tried to push aside his emotional reaction to Susanna's fear and think
about the intruder.

Who would come into her room like
that, and why? A thief who didn't know she had nothing to steal? A kidnapper?

Or an assassin?

If it was the latter, who aside
from himself had been hired to kill Lady Lynden? And even more importantly, how
hard were they willing to investigate her before performing the deed?

He got no sleep for the rest of
the night.

***

Susanna managed to keep her
distance from Holt in the garden the next morning. It was easy enough to do the
weeding at one end while he did the other, her back to him most of the time. Some
of the weeds and grass reached to her thighs, but the work was relaxing and
satisfying if a little tiring. Unfortunately it also let her mind wander—straight
to the intruder.

Holt had asked more questions as
soon as they were alone in the garden but none that she hadn't already tried to
answer herself as she lay awake beside a softly snoring Bessie. Who would break
into Stoneleigh and why? It didn't make sense. They had nothing to steal except
for their marmalades and succades, and they needed a cart and horse to move
them. Besides, the jars were in the stables and any thief would search the
outbuildings first before venturing into the house. So it had to be someone who
didn't know the situation at Stoneleigh. A stranger. She'd told Holt so. He'd
simply nodded and set to work.

Holt. Orlando. He'd woken
something within her last night outside her bedchamber, something she'd thought
dormant. His simple kiss of her hand made her skin feel like it was on fire.
Her heart had never thumped so hard or so loud. Then later, after the intruder
left, she'd wanted to sink into Holt's strength and feel it envelop her, keep
her safe. To be held by such a man...to make love to him...

She shuddered despite the warmth
of the sun on her back. The emotions he'd triggered alarmed her. She'd tried so
hard to bury that side of herself. In the light of day, she thanked God she'd
been strong enough to walk away from Holt despite every part of her body
begging for him. He was not a man she wanted to know intimately.

He suddenly looked up as if he
knew she was watching. He didn't smile, didn't wink or do any of those
flirtatious things she'd come to expect from him, but simply looked, as if he
was trying to see into her.

She wrenched a particularly tough
weed out and threw it onto the growing pile of uprooted ones. She forced
herself to think about something other than Holt or the intruder, and planned the
formal garden directly in front of the house instead. Come spring, she could
plant lavender and roses. They smelled divine when in bloom and their flowers
were so pretty. The formal garden had been neglected since her father let the
gardeners go but Susanna wanted to restore it to its former beauty. Hopefully
she would soon secure a buyer for the succades and marmalades and there'd be
money to spare for plants.

"Let me help you with
that," said Holt.

At first Susanna thought he was
speaking to her, but when she turned, she saw him approach Hendricks who
struggled with a heavy chair.

"Mr. Farley wishes to sit in
the sun and watch you work," Hendricks said to Susanna, ignoring Holt even
as the gardener took the chair off him.

"Set it near the
oranges," she said. "That's his favorite spot."

"How will he get out
here?" Holt asked, setting the chair down.

"I'll help him walk,"
Hendricks said.

"Allow me."

"I can do it."

"You both can," Susanna
said. Honestly, men were worse than children sometimes.

They left together, and she
continued weeding until they brought her father into the garden. He limped
heavily and had one arm around Holt while Hendricks carried a blanket and cushion.
The servant looked unhappy and took great pains to plump the cushion and arrange
it on the chair.

"Ah," her father said,
sitting. "The fresh air pleases me."

"The air is certainly fresh
out here," Susanna said, placing the blanket across his lap. "Tell me
when you get cold, and Mr. Holt will take you back inside."

He waved off her concern.
"The sun is out. The sky is blue. It's a perfect autumn day."

Susanna glanced first at Holt
then at Hendricks. They'd all agreed not to trouble her father about the
intruder. There was no point upsetting him.

He fingered one of the orange
tree leaves hanging near his head. "I do look forward to spring, my dear. It's
my favorite time to sit here with the scent of the blossoms in the air to
remind me of your mother. She always smelled of orange blossom." Longing clouded
his eyes. He missed her mother. Theirs had been a love match. Being the second
son and not meant to inherit, he'd been allowed more freedom than his older
brother and chosen his own bride.

"What do orange blossoms
smell like?" The deep, velvety tones of Holt's voice drew her attention.

"Like Heaven," her
father murmured.

Holt regarded him with a curious
expression.

"My mother added dried
blossoms to her bathing water," Susanna said. "The scent is not like
anything you've smelled before, I can assure you."

"You have a jar of dried
blossoms, don't you?" her father asked. "To use for special
occasions."

"I have. Not that I attend
many special occasions these days." She dipped her head and hoped they didn't
see her blush. She'd added the blossoms to her bathing water the night before
because she missed their lovely scent. It had nothing to do with wanting to
smell nice
for
anyone.

"You would attend events if
you accepted more invitations," Farley grumbled.

Holt forked an eyebrow at her.
She ignored him and tried to walk off but her father caught her hand. "Why
don't you accept Lynden's invitations to dine? He's a good man. Not at all like
his cousin."

Out of the corner of her eye, she
saw Holt's other eyebrow join its mate. He watched her intently, waiting.
Beside him, Hendricks shifted awkwardly and glanced from her father to Holt to
her. The poor man wasn't sure what to do or say.

"I have no desire to travel
all the way to Sutton Hall in the middle of the day," she said. "I
have too much to do here and I'd rather stay with you."

"You don't dine with
me," Farley said huffily, "you eat with the servants. Now that you
have Holt to help, you can take some time away from the garden to pay your
respects to Lynden. He's our neighbor and your kin by marriage, and we are
dependent on his goodwill to a certain extent, and that of Cowdrey. Indeed I
urge you most insistently to pay attention to Farmer Cowdrey. He may not be as
witty as...other men, but he too is a good man and earnest."

At times like these, she thought
there was nothing wrong with her father's mind. It could be as sharp as ever.
He knew exactly how desperate their situation was or he would not be suggesting
she encourage Walter Cowdrey in his attentions. He knew she didn't want to
marry again, and he'd told her he respected her choice, but it was clear that
he didn't
like
it. Just how much he was prepared to argue with her over
it was not something she wanted to discover in front of the servants.

"Father, can we discuss this
another time please. When we're alone."

He waved a hand at Holt and
Hendricks. "Back to work, both of you."

Hendricks left and Holt returned
to his pocket of garden but stole glances at Susanna. She knew because she faced
him and couldn't stop looking up from her task of weeding. His mouth tilted in
a lazy smile but she knew his mind was mulling over the conversation she'd had
with her father. No doubt he was wondering why the mistress of Stoneleigh
refused to court Cowdrey when she was still of childbearing age. Walter might
be a step or two down in status for a baroness, but his wealth made up for his
lack of position in the eyes of the world.