Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (98 page)

She cared about Tom, that was obvious. Michael’s stomach clenched. Perhaps she would have been touched deeper still in the bedroom at the Dog and Whistle if Michael hadn’t interrupted things. He tossed his fountain pen down onto his desk. What did he care about running the farm when it was only pure luck that Katie woke up here at Farrenden instead of in the arms of her unreliable Irishman?

Michael hated luck. It was luck that he had landed on that roof and broken his back, and it was luck that he survived to tell the tale. Luck led him to meet Katie in the first place, and luck could just as easily steal her away from him again.

Unless he did something about it.

If he could only get well again he was sure she’d stay. And not just because she was sorry for him, either. If
he
could stand on his own two feet, strong and virile like Tom, then perhaps she would allow herself to fall in love again. He realized with a heart-searing pang through every part of his body that could still feel pain, that he longed for Katie to forget Tom and fall in love with him.

• • •

Katie was in the library on her hands and knees polishing the claw feet on the armchairs when she heard him call out for her. She sensed the anxiety in his voice — and something more, something like anger.

“Katie!”

Did he imagine she had nothing to do all day except to be at his beck and call?

“Katie! Come here this minute! I need to speak with you.”

She abandoned the duster and the furniture polish and stood up. She untied the strings of her apron and threw it into the armchair, and then she ran along the hallway to his study.

“What is it, sir?”

He looked flustered as she came into the room. “Those papers we brought back from London. The ones the doctor gave us. Where are they?”

Katie hesitated. Lying was never her best talent. “I … can’t remember, sir. Maybe Mrs. Jessop moved them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s banned from my study since the incident with the ration books. You are the only person who’s been in here except for me.”

Katie bit her lip and didn’t reply.

“Where have you put them?” he said, in a stern tone of voice.

She
knew
she couldn’t answer him with a lie. “In the outside toilet, sir.”

A look of shock flashed across his handsome face. “What?”

“I thought you’d finished with them. I … ”

“But I need them, Katie. I want to telephone the surgeon today. I want this bloody back of mine sorted out.”

“Now, sir. I don’t think you should rush into anything. I don’t think — ”

His blue eyes widened. “You don’t want me to do it. That’s why you took the papers. You’re hoping I’ll forget all about it?”

Katie’s heart thumped inside her. She knew how much the idea of getting better meant to him — however unrealistic it was. “Yes.”

“You admit it?” He looked incredulous. “You hid the papers, on purpose?”

“Yes.” She gazed back at him, trying to summon the courage to say what she needed to say. “There’s too much risk involved, sir. You’ve recovered so well from your accident. Why tempt fate and take a gamble with your health now?”

“I’d gamble anything to be able to stand on my own two feet.”

Katie gave a rueful laugh. “You would, would you?”

“Yes, I bloody well would. Think about it, Katie. Think how different my life could be.”

“The doctor said the surgery might make things worse, Michael. I was there, remember? You asked me to be there.”

“But, Katie. I want things to be like they used to be. I want — ”

“I know what you want.”

“Do you?” he said, bitterly. “I don’t think so.”

“Yes I do. You want to be the man you were before. You want to walk and run and impress everyone and go rushing back to win the war. But you’re in love with a dream, sir.”

He swallowed. “You don’t think those things are possible?”

“No. I don’t. I hate to be the one to break it to you,” she said, wanting to go over to him and reach out and touch his troubled face, but not daring to. “But … you are kidding yourself, if you think the surgeons can work miracles. They’re doctors, that’s all, with hopes and dreams of their own. Maybe one day they’ll be able to repair injuries like yours, and make people as good as new, but for now that’s just a wild hope. They’d all like to be the first doctor to make a breakthrough. You’re not a fool, sir. Don’t go and be a guinea pig in some medical experiment. You are too important. Too valuable. Don’t you see?”

He stared up at her with anguished blue eyes. Trying to make sense of what she was saying. “I’m useless, Katie. To you. To the war. To everyone.”

“Don’t say that!” The sound of her raised voice was a surprise, even to Katie, but she continued. “Don’t say it, and don’t think it, either. You are not useless. You have work to do the same as we all do. You have this huge farm to run.”

“Hammond runs the farm. You know that.”

“Hammond will run it into the ground if you don’t watch out. He’s too busy chasing skirt to care. You should stand up to him.”

“Stand up to him?” Michael’s face flushed with anger and bitterness. “Stand up to him! How the hell do I do that, exactly?”

“You know what I mean.” Katie didn’t know if she had the nerve to keep going, seeing him look at her like that. But she
had
to convince him. She had to talk him out of this. She owed him — for helping her out last night. She’d come so close to making a huge mistake with Tom and his lordship had saved her. She wanted to do the same for him. “For heaven’s sake, you are twice the man that Hammond is. That Tom is. You proved that to me last night.”

He blanched. They both knew that it cost her dearly to speak of her foolishness with Tom. But at that moment Katie would have said just about anything to convince him.

He nodded, as if grateful for her sacrifice, and his expression softened. “I always liked to be the one to save the day, Katie. And when I had my health and strength, it was easy to play the hero. These days, it’s more difficult.”

“You are the same man, sir. You can still win this war, but you’re fighting on a different battlefield now. Forget the past. Find your strength and your courage and put them to good use. Please.”

There was a long, long pause. Katie was terrified she’d overstepped the mark. He was not someone who took commands. He was someone who gave them. He could order her out of the house at a moment’s notice. She waited for his anger to erupt, for his pride and his fear to get the better of him. But his tone of voice was quiet, when he finally spoke.

“I’ll consider it.”

“You promise?” she asked, softly.

“Yes.”

• • •

Katie took the bus to Great Farrenden — where she knew there was a Catholic church. She heard mass for the first time since she got to Farrenden Manor and thought seriously about saying her confession. She hadn’t let Tom touch her, but she had been tempted. It wasn’t that she still loved Tom; in fact, she felt a fierce hatred for him. But he was part of her old life.

He was familiar, and he was all she had ever known. And he was her link with the little girl they had made in one of their brief, embarrassing trysts. Against the old oak tree, perhaps, or on the storeroom floor at Tom’s parents’ shop.

She felt a surge of shame that she had ever let Tom have his way with her, and vowed that things would be different from now on.

Not that she had been entirely successful in her resolve. She blushed at the thought of the scene outside the tavern. His lordship had put on a fine performance to help her escape Tom’s clutches. She had played along with it, and was very grateful for the rescue. But that didn’t mean that she and Michael were courting. Of course it didn’t. That was unthinkable.

She knew full well that Michael took a very liberal, modern view of sex — one the priest at the alter would certainly not approve of, she reminded herself sharply. She knelt down on the uncomfortable bench in the church pew to pray for a strengthened resolve and to become a more dignified person than she had ever yet managed to be.

Chapter Seventeen

Days went past, and Michael spent the best part of them sulking in his room. Katie knew he needed time, but the children were less understanding.

“Where’s Mister Lord?” George kept asking, “I want to play dogfights on the front lawn, and it’s no fun without him. Where is he?”

“In bed with a cold,” Katie lied.

Roy was too cynical to accept that. “Nursing his sorrows with a bottle of cognac, last time I looked.”

Katie gave him a hard stare to shut him up. “He’s not feeling the best. He’ll be up and about when he’s ready.”

She spoke with more confidence than she felt. She’d done her bit, and she’d said her piece. It was all a matter of waiting and hoping now.

On Thursday morning, Katie gathered up the mail from the past few days, and put it on his lordship’s breakfast tray. She went upstairs and gave the letters to Michael. He leafed through them, and lighted on one that looked official.

“This one’s from the RAF,” he said, as he tore it open.

Then he fell silent, scanning the words in horror and disbelief.

“What is it?” she asked, afraid of the answer. To her dismay, he gave a kind of sob, and then his shoulders heaved and she knew he was crying.

“Get out!” he said.

“No,” she said, fierce and determined. She snatched the letter off the bed and scanned the words herself. Discharge papers, as she suspected.

“For failing to fulfill the RAF physical requirements,” she read. “Oh, Michael, I’m sorry.” The words sounded woefully inadequate.

“Don’t.” His voice was hard and terse, while the tears glittered down his cheek. He made no effort to rub them away.

“It had to come sooner or later,” she said.

“It’s too soon. They haven’t given me enough time.”

She bit her lip. “It’s an honorable discharge. You’ve done your bit.”

“I wanted to do more, a lot more.”

“You’re already a hero,” she said. “They mention recommending you for medals.”

He grabbed the letter from her and started tearing it into pieces.

Katie tried to stop him, tried to fight him for it, but after a moment or two, the fight went out of him and she was able to hold him tightly in her arms.

“I don’t want medals,” he said, like a petulant child.

“I know,” she said.

• • •

When she had gone, Michael lay staring at the canopy of the four-poster bed, watching the breeze ruffle the decrepit old tassels that edged the curtains.

“Mister Lord?” Alfie approached the bed, shyly, holding his notebook.

Michael sighed. “What is it, Alfie?”

“You know how you said you’ll never fly again? Or dance, or ride a horse? I think I can solve the last one.” Alfie proffered his sketchbook.

Michael took it, reluctantly, but he didn’t flip it open. He wasn’t in the mood for one of Alfie’s inventions. He needed to concentrate on feeling miserable. But Alfie’s eyes shone full of hope, and the glass lenses in his little round spectacles flashed as he hopped onto the bed, waiting for Michael to open the book and be amazed.

“Before I open this, let’s get a few things clear. If this requires special equipment, large financial outlay or public embarrassment for me, I’m not likely to agree to it, do you understand?”

Alfie nodded, and licked his lips, still glancing hopefully at the notebook.

Michael opened the book. The drawing, rendered heavily in HB pencil, showed a contraption that might raise a broken man into the saddle. Alfie leaned forward and started bouncing on the bed in a quiver of anticipation.

“Steady on,” said Michael. “I’m trying to have a proper look at this.”

The idea was seductively simple. It worked using a system of pulleys, a strong cable, and a harness that went under the armpits of the brave (or foolhardy) person who wanted to ride.

“You see,” Alfie said, almost breathless with enthusiasm, “we could raise you up onto the horse like a knight in shining armor.”

Michael smiled. Who was he to tell Alfie that all those stories about knights being winched up onto their mounts were just myths and legends? Michael stabbed his finger at the sketch. “I’m assuming this bit has to be fixed fairly securely onto the stable roof?”

“No, sir. I’ve measured the stable roof, and it isn’t high enough. We’d have to construct a framework outside in the yard.”

Michael was doubtful, but he glanced again at the sketch and tried to imagine it. Alfie got his stubby pencil out of his pocket and snatched the sketchbook back. He licked his pencil and made a few adjustments.

After a moment, he handed it back to Michael, who scrutinized it carefully and gave a nervous laugh. “Ah, I see. A kind of gibbet, do you mean, for me to hang suspended above my horse?”

“You’ve got it, Mister.”

Michael turned the sketch around and looked at it from every possible angle.

“Your eyes are glinting,” said Alfie, with a smile.

• • •

Katie was counting the good silver, laying it out on a polishing cloth on the dining room table. She was surprised to see Michael dressed and wheeling himself about. An air of grim determination clung to him. She didn’t understand it, but she was glad to see it.

“I need a length of rope, Katie, strong enough to hold my weight.”

Katie heard the words and jumped to interpret his meaning. “Not a length of rope! Anything but that.”

Michael gave an impatient snort. “Don’t be ridiculous, Katie. Do you think I’d tell you if I was trying to kill myself?”

He plunked the sketch down on the dining room table for her to see. “We’re building this. I’ve telephoned through to Hammond. He’s bringing the wood.”

Katie examined the sketch and rolled her eyes. “This is one of Alfie’s ideas, isn’t it?”

“Yes. A good one.”

“It’s a monstrosity. Drawn by a very unusual child. You can’t be planning to put your safety at risk by trying it out, can you?”

Michael looked aloof. “I’m disappointed by your skepticism, Katie. I shall still need the rope on the terrace. Before lunch.”

• • •

They hastily constructed the wooden framework in about an hour. Michael grasped one of the upright posts that supported the timber frame and tried to shake it. It wouldn’t budge. It was a fine looking structure, made of sweet-smelling new pine, oozing resin here and there. They had bolted it to a fencepost for extra security. He smiled.