He saw her slip out of the kitchen before the others were done with supper, and this time he followed, managing to escape the other maids while they weren't looking for him.
It was dusk out, quiet and peaceful. The sort of thing he had never experienced in London, where there was always a lantern lit and an argument playing out somewhere. But funnily enough he was getting used to it already. The country air had seeped into his skin so that he felt as if he'd been there a long time. Perhaps even forever. He slept well there, better than he ever had. Must be the freshness of everything, he thought. When he put his head down on the pillow each night he slept almost immediately, despite the fact that he did not feel tired, and he woke refreshed, eager to get on with the day.
At this time of the evening, after supper, he felt quite lively, as if the blood fizzed through his veins with more vitality than usual, his senses more finely attuned. Enjoying a last vivid spurt before he lay down and closed his eyes, perhaps.
There was something mysterious and heavy in the air. Even the birds seemed to feel it, falling quieter, less frantic. Drowsy. Drunk on the day's fragrance.
There she was. He could just see her lighter shape moving among the dense trees. Off in her own world. He often thought that about her, even when she was in a room full of other folk.
Tonight he would find out where she went on her little evening jaunts. He'd tried, several times, to follow her, but there was always somebody in his way, the other staff wanting his attention, the girls flirting. At last he had his chance.
But then he saw that he was not the only one with an idea to follow Miss McKenna. Another fellow— one of the laborers hired by Mr. Wilding from Shrewsbury— also stalked the lady's maid through the grey light. Gideon watched the other man crouch by a tree as their prey approached the pond. What was he up to? No good probably.
Was this the man she crept out to meet?
Anger swept him from head to toe.
But she seemed unaware of her pursuers. Kneeling down by the water, she ran her fingertips across the surface. It was almost as if she was sleep-walking.
No, she had not arranged to meet the other man, for he, quite suddenly, leapt out of the trees and startled her.
"You shouldn't be out here all alone," the fellow said. "Night draws in."
She got to her feet, looking annoyed. "So it does. Fancy that. Night comes after day. How could I not have noticed?"
"I'll teach you another use for that sharp tongue."
"Thank you for the offer, but I am not interested."
"Why not? Think me beneath you, eh?"
"I do not think of you anywhere."
"You're a haughty wench, but I'll show you—" And he made a move toward her, grabbing hold of her wrist. As he tugged hard, she pulled back and her sleeve tore.
"How dare you!" she exclaimed.
At once Gideon sprang forward and intervened. Moments later the other man was curled on his side in the grass, wheezing and cursing as he nursed his belly. "I suggest you get off these grounds now and don't come back," said Gideon, standing over him.
"Who the devil are you to dismiss me?"
"Would you rather I tell Mr. Wilding about this and have him send you off?"
"I meant no harm."
"But you thought a woman walking alone was easy game. Go on. Off with you, before I take out your spleen."
The wounded man blinked up at him, still rolling about and holding his stomach. "You're the bleedin' valet. You don't tell me where to go."
Gideon reached down, gripped the man by the shoulders of his jerkin and pulled him upright. "I'll tell you or I'll show you," he hissed in his ear. "Your choice."
"This drama is entertaining but quite unnecessary," McKenna exclaimed. "I'm sure this man now realizes he made a mistake."
"I wouldn't be so sure of it," said Gideon. "He looks thick-headed to me."
"Let him go, Jones. You're making a dreadful fuss about nothing."
So he released his hold on the other man and let him slope off, still bent double thanks to the hefty fist Gideon had delivered into his windbag. "As long as you're alright then, McKenna."
"It's a merely a torn sleeve and can be mended in a trice. I am not so easily breakable."
"Could have been worse if I weren't here."
"Only for him." She now revealed a long hat pin, which she'd had concealed in her apron pocket. "See, I can take care of myself."
Gideon shook his head. "I didn't suppose you'd thank me for saving you. Might strain somethin'."
That almost earned him a smile as she tucked the lethal-looking hat pin away out of sight again. "Were you following me too? Intent on curing me of my sharp tongue?"
"No," he lied swiftly. "Just happened to be 'ere. Lucky for you."
"What happened? Did the maids finally lose interest in your stories?"
"I can take a stroll, can't I? Ain't against the rules." He looked at the water. "Ought to mind yerself. Lots of people drowned in there, so I'm told."
"Yes. I know."
"Hard to believe when the water is still and innocent like this."
"Do you think so? To me it seems more menacing when it's quiet and still. As if it’s waiting."
"Waitin' for what?"
"Another body." She shot him a devious look. "Yours perhaps."
He shuddered. "Well, that's given me a good chill down the spine."
Now she did smile. Fully, at last. "Why are you here? You're not really a valet, are you? You may as well confess."
"I am a valet for now."
"Until something else takes your fancy? You seem to be a jack-of-all-trades."
"Keeps life interesting, don't it?"
She sniffed, folding her arms. "I do not need life to be any more interesting than it is already. I prefer constancy. To know I've done a good job every day. That's all."
Glad she was finally sharing a little more about herself, he stayed quiet and let her talk. Did she ever let that hair loose, he wondered. It must be of considerable length. In the silky light of dusk it glowed like silver and made him think of winter frost, but not the sort that chilled a man to his bone marrow. This was a beauty that tempted like the prickly shards of ice crystals, only to burn and bite his bare fingers, should they be bold enough to venture forth.
"I wouldn't want to be anything else other than a lady's maid. It's all I ever wanted. For as long as I can remember." Then she looked at him again. "So I like to see others take their work seriously and responsibly. To be grateful for their post and loyal to their masters. To be constant and not changeable as the weather."
She was lecturing him, he realized. "You don't have to worry about me. I take my work seriously, and I'm here to help the Wildings. I'm not going anywhere until the job is done."
A slight frown crossed her face. "Why were you in the churchyard that day and why did you not come up to the house with me? It was very rude of you to go off like that. To disappear without warning"
"What? What day?" He had no idea what she was talking about. Thinking this must be some sort of teasing game, he laughed.
"You will pretend it wasn't you?"
"I don't understand."
"Stay beside me?" Her eyes gleamed angrily. "That's what you begged of me, under the lych-gate. When we were alone. In the rain. Then, not ten minutes later, you walked off and left me, without another word, and while I was looking the other way."
"Me?" What was she playing at? Apparently it was not a jest. Or else she was a very good actress.
"You deny it?"
"I've only been near the church on Sundays. With everybody else."
"So you have a twin then," she snapped. "A mischievous twin, who wanders in graveyards." She took a step closer. "I ought to stick that hat pin in you."
"Now who makes a bleedin' drama out of naught?"
"Naught? I know what I saw and heard. I even remember how it..." She looked away across the water.
"How what?"
Glancing down at her hands, she shook her head and then answered in that brisk way, "It hardly matters now. I don't know why I bothered bringing it up. I had decided I would not, since you seemed so keen to forget it."
"Bloody 'ell, what did this twin o' mine do to you, supposedly? Ravish your stockings off among the grave stones?"
"You kissed my hand." She caught her breath, face flushed in the dying light.
He stared at her. "And that's all?"
Her eyes widened. "It might not seem much to you, but I'm not the sort of girl who lets strange men kiss her hand." She turned away, as if to walk back toward the house, but Gideon reached for her arm. He did not want to grab it the way the other man had done, and so just caught the material of her sleeve in his fingers.
"I don't know why you thought it were me," he said. "How could it have been?"
Her lips trembled and then tightened. Bright, unfathomable and faraway as the moon, her gaze drifted away from him again, as if to say nothing he said or did mattered.
"But I wish it were me," he added. She might not have meant to tempt him— might not have known what she did— but the shape of her doubting lips drew Gideon closer. Just like the sight of dainty, sugary cakes in that bakery window. A luxury forbidden to an orphan and workhouse boy like him. "If that were me, I wouldn't kiss only your hand though. That sounds too gentlemanly to be me."
He almost expected her to run away— he gave her the time and opportunity— but she did not. She was still and quiet, like the pond beside them. Folded up in the gathering darkness her edges began to disappear. There were two things he wanted suddenly: to startle her out of this tranquil, dream-like state, and assure himself that she was truly there with him, because suddenly he began to wonder. Began to fear he was dreaming in this strange, whispering, humming place.
So Gideon leaned forward and kissed her. On those achingly soft, sweet lips.
Then he knew he was awake, she was real. And much warmer than she looked.
* * * *
Amalie knew she ought to be cross that he took without asking. But tonight it was different— not as it had been with Edward of the greasy tentacles— and she did not feel trapped, cornered, belittled and forced. The way Gideon Jones kissed her made her feel...powerful. What a strange idea.
Only a few months ago she had stood by this pond watching Mr. and Mrs. Wilding, and wishing that she might have known a kiss like those they shared.
It was as if the pond knew what was in her mind and had made it happen. Right in that very same spot.
And rather than take from her, leaving her bereft and angry, as she expected, this kiss gave her something: a new confidence in herself as a woman and pleasure of a sort she'd never imagined. She was twenty years of age, often felt older, and yet, in many ways, was a girl still. Until this moment with a man who kissed her slowly, gently, but firmly.
Yes, it was as she'd suspected; he had come there to finish her transformation to womanhood. That was why he had frightened her at first, why she had felt the need to keep him at arm's length. She had not felt ready. She was not so brave as she liked to think.
The back of his fingers brushed her cheek. "I washed me 'ands before I came out," he said, sounding odd, more like he had been that day in the graveyard.
"I'm flattered." She couldn't quite get all the sharpness out of her voice. It would take a while. She swallowed. "In the churchyard that day, you told me about the rattle in your chest, and how you were forced to stand out in the rain as punishment at the orphanage. How would I know that, if it was not you?"
He squinted.
"However, it was eight days before you walked up to this door," she continued. "By then I thought you must not be real."
"I can't explain it," he said with a shrug. "A man cleverer than me would have to do that."
"But you do believe me then, that I saw you that day?"
There was a pause while he studied her face and then he closed his hands gently around her cheeks. "I do. I'd believe anything you told me, I reckon."
"Good." She held his wrists and carefully tugged until he dropped his hands to his sides. "I promised Mrs. Wilding to help you, so perhaps now would be a good time, while the master is away in Shrewsbury."
* * * *
He wanted to kiss her again, but she moved away already, gliding through the dusk like a white lily bending in the breeze.
Hastily forcing his own feet forward— they seemed to have become stuck— he followed her. "You and this pond have something in common, Amalie McKenna. You're both pretty to look at, and dangerous to go near."
"Don't fret, Jones. I shall not use my hat pin unless you irritate me."
He reached for her hand, but at the same time she moved it to sweep a stray lock of hair behind her ear and he missed his chance.
They went into the house, collected lit candles and climbed the stairs to the room adjoining the Wildings' bedchamber, where the master of the house stored his clothes and to which his wife optimistically referred as the "dressing" room.
There, Amalie carefully went through every item of clothing to decide which was worth saving. She was ruthless, of course.
"He's not likely to be pleased," Gideon muttered, eyeing the tall pile destined for the bonfire.
"He'll feel better about it when he sees his wife in her new gown, once I've sewn it for her. Then he'll realize it's time he kept up."
"You're a sly one."
"I do what I must to keep my mistress happy and content. That is all that matters. Now, we must write to the tailor— I believe there is a very good one in Monk's Cross—and make an appointment for him to fit Mr. Wilding properly for new clothes. Once it is a done, he cannot complain, can he?"
"I wouldn't wager on it," he replied dourly, thinking the man's wrath was most likely to come down on his head when he returned from Shrewsbury. "He'll think you led me astray when he sees this."
"Then you can tell him it's all my fault."
He put his head on one side. "You'd take the blame for me?"
Her reply was tart. "If you're that big of a coward."
Gideon laughed. "I'm not frightened of anything."
"Really?" She looked skeptical.
"Not even you and your hat pin."
She walked up to him, passing the pile of clothes into his arms. "Have you given any further thought to the idea of seeking a physician for that concussion?"
"There's naught amiss with me, woman. I'm healthy as a prize seed-ox." Before she could walk away, he dropped the bundle and took her into his arms instead. Her eyes widened, reflecting and multiplying the candlelight until the temperature in the room felt like the crucible in Adam Wilding's forge. "I'll show you, if you're in any doubt."
"How kind of you to offer."
"I'm in a very generous frame o' mind. And there's something about you that makes me want to—" Hmm, better not finish that thought out loud. She was young and innocent. He didn't want to frighten her off, just when improvements were made. One step at a time, Jones.
She was different to other women he'd pursued.
He'd have to do this properly.
But then, to his shock, she put her palms around his ears, angled his face downward and placed a kiss to his mouth. Now he may not know a vast deal about manners, but that was definitely not proper.
He tightened his grip around her waist, but rather than hold her closer still, he found himself easing her gently away.
Damn. Perhaps he really was concussed.
He kept his hands on her in any case. Couldn't quite let her go, no matter how noble he tried to be.
"Amalie—"
"McKenna to you."
"Back to that again?"
"I'm still a lady's maid, whatever you might be." She arched a sensuous eyebrow that he just wanted to run his tongue across. "That remains to be seen."
"I'm Gideon Jones, and you'll be safe with me. 'Tis all that matters. I'm here to look after you. It's my job."
She threw a hand up, pressing it to her forehead. "Thank heavens you're here then. A poor girl can die of helplessness, waiting for her knight in shining armor. What would I have done without you? Now I am saved, for Gideon Jones has come. Let joy be unconfined."
As she spoke he had an odd sense of having heard that before. Like a premonition, but in reverse. Was such a thing possible? Since she kissed him, he'd begun to think anything might be possible. "Do I detect a note of sarcasm, McKenna? Or is that husky desire in your tone?"
"You detect whatever you like. I wouldn't want to argue with a big clumsy— what was it?" That wayward eyebrow quirked again. "Seed-ox."
He moved her backward now until she was against a stout old beam, his hands still holding her around the waist. "Do you know what a seed-ox does, Amalie?"
"McKenna to you! I won't tell you ag—"
Couldn't resist it. He ran the tip of his tongue over the haughty bend of her lively eyebrow. Thus she was silenced.
While her lips were still it would have been remiss of him not to take another kiss, would it not? He felt her hands on his arms, her fingers gripping his shirt sleeves, but she made not the slightest attempt to get away. Her lips parted this time, just a little, exhaling a gasp of shy pleasure and surprise. Then, when he began to pull away, her eagerness to keep his lips resulted in a quick bite of her teeth.
A thrilling jolt shook his body. It reminded him of riding on the back of that bumpy stage coach and feeling the wind in his face. "Duuucckk!"
"McKenna? Are you up here?"
In the next breath she was out of his hands and he, having dropped as if shot was fired overhead, scrambled for the spilled bundle of clothing again as her mistress came in.
Neither of them had heard Mrs. Wilding's footsteps, despite the creaks and groans this house generally made. Tonight it was mischievously silent.
"There you are. Oh, good, I see you've been busy. With Jones."
He cleared his throat and brushed down his sleeves. She had no idea how busy they'd been. "Yes, ma'am." He scratched his nose and looked over at Amalie, whose face was quite delightfully guilty. "McKenna has been very helpful."
"I am glad." If the lady suspected anything, she gave no sign. Looking around the dressing room, hands on her waist, she said, "I think we ought to put a bed in here and keep it made up for when Aunt Clothilde arrives."
"For your aunt, ma'am?"
"No. For my husband. One must keep up appearances."
"Pardon me, ma'am, but Mr. Wilding won't think much o' that," Gideon exclaimed, anxious on behalf of the man who had become a good friend in recent weeks. He would have gone to Shrewsbury too, but the master had asked him to stay and look after the household while he was gone. He trusted Gideon, liked him, laughed and drank with him. In many ways they were much alike, neither having time for hypocrisy and pretense. It occurred to him now that his friend was thinking of matters like these when he asked Gideon to stay behind and "keep an eye on things." Women putting their heads together and with no man to stand in their way could be trouble.
"It is only while my aunt is here," said Mrs. Wilding, eyes wide and innocent. "I'm sure he'll manage."
Poor Adam Wilding, away in Shrewsbury, happy in his ignorance, had no idea what the women plotted in his absence. Gideon felt sorry that he'd let himself be even part way involved.
But then he saw Amalie lick her lips and felt that excited jolt of danger again.
Before he knew what he was doing, he was helping them move furniture around all over the house. His loyalties to the master of the house were painfully torn when they came up against that lady's maid and her pink stockings. Did they know this? Had it all been a trap to get him involved in their devious plot? With the master away he was surrounded by women. They were everywhere. Probably even in the walls and the floor joists, he mused darkly.
"I'd like to put that almery somewhere else too, Jones. If you don't mind. You're a big strong fellow, and my husband refuses to touch it for some reason. It seems to catch skirts and ankles and toes all the time where it is now. I'll have to find some corner out of the way. Where it can do less mischief."
"Yes, ma'am." What else could he say with Amalie's warm kiss still tickling his lips and taunting his tongue with a naughty promise? He was a lost man.
He had the distinct impression that he'd been lost since he got there.
The almery, that big ugly box in the hall. Well, his master did not care for it, so perhaps he would not object to it being moved elsewhere while he was out. When Gideon lifted the almery that night, he thought he felt it trembling. As if with stifled rage.