Miranda watched as Chalgrove went to the window, knelt down, put his palms flat against the wall and pressed his eye to the opening. ‘Clouds might give us a strong rain,’ his voice so quiet she could barely hear the words. ‘What do you think?’
She moved to the opening beside him but, when her shoulder pressed his, awareness of the fortress beside her heightened.
‘If you turn your head down and stare overhead.’ He reached around her and put his hand on her shoulder and moved her into place at the opening. The movement took her so much by surprise, she tumbled.
He immediately clasped her waist in both hands.
‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to jostle you.’ He didn’t remove his hands.
‘I was unsteady. The situation has unnerved me.’
She put her face against the opening, feeling the cool air and the few sprinkles of raindrops blowing in.
And him.
She didn’t move and his hands stayed as they were.
Another drop of moisture blew against her face and the sensation jarred into her. The wind cooled her face, filling the room with the scent of rain, and the temperature had dropped. The air had chilled significantly, and she fought a shiver, but it wasn’t from the cold.
Even as she remained outwardly unmoving, the sensations in her body swirled and vibrated with such awareness she couldn’t believe her skin could contain them. And maybe it couldn’t. She brushed her thumb inside her clasped hands and felt a sheen of moisture on her palm.
The smell of the rain on the ground hit her nostrils and a light spray of it blew into the room, sprinkling her cheek.
She had to move, or Chalgrove would realise the effect his presence had on her. She couldn’t give him the knowledge.
The wind blew—louder than the sound of her heartbeats in her ears.
Suddenly he jumped and she turned face him. A drip of water ran from his forehead to his nose.
‘I think the roof might leak, Miss Manwaring.’
As he spoke, the rain slowed, but another breeze blew in. He strode over, picking up his coat and draping it around Miranda’s shoulders.
Miranda didn’t move, especially her eyes. The coat enveloped her, completely covering her hands. She raised one, flapping his sleeve. Her mind kept taking flight and letting her mouth pick its own words. ‘You seem sturdier than I would have expected you to be.’
‘I was born so. I’ve worked as a labourer alongside the farmers and they had trouble keeping up with me.’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘A lark. A respite. A challenge.’
Tension remained in his shoulders, but he expelled a breath. ‘Susanna was no longer in my life at my request. Everything seemed bleak. My favourite uncle had unexpectedly passed away and my aunt was in reduced circumstances. I found a home for her, but the life I’d expected to build with Susanna had been an illusion. Only memories remained. Of her. My uncle. My father. At that instant in my life, I felt I had no respite except for an empty country estate where I’d grown up. I decided to go back.’
He’d hated the part of himself that had mourned Susanna and he’d feared replacing her with another copy of the same, with only a different outer body.
Moving to the estate had hit him harder than he’d expected. His father was gone for ever and now the walls didn’t seem like a home, but like an elaborate crypt.
He’d been planning to return to London, but his estate steward had been struggling along with a broken leg, a poorly made crutch and gritting his teeth with every step.
Chalgrove found himself asking questions, learning from the man and walking the estate. When the tenants struggled with a physical chore, Chalgrove had pushed himself to prove, if only to himself, that he could do as well as they and he’d helped.
The physical labour had felt good, bolstered him and cleansed his mind of Susanna. The work was a novelty at first, then a salvation and then something to soothe him.
The fencing lessons he’d taken, the sparring and the riding had given him an edge he’d not known before.
At first, he’d found the usual deference at his estate. Then, as the months changed, the deference had as well—it transformed to a new kind of respect he’d never had before.
He’d slipped into a different culture which had existed right under his nose, yet he’d been oblivious to it. The same place he’d spent most summers of his childhood and which had the peaceful demeanour of a pond surface had come alive, vibrant and pulsating with different aspects of humanity. He’d not known of the bickering and squabbles and romances and jealousies that flourished and faded and sometimes flared into fist fights.
Over time, his estate steward had altered towards him, no longer telling him how wonderful everything was, but listing concerns he’d been undecided on and asking for a decision. His decision had been appreciated and esteemed, not from his position, but from its merit.
‘A duke doesn’t get invited to country dances if he doesn’t let it be known he wants to attend. I wanted to dance and drink and laugh with the men. I didn’t want my friends to know of my foolishness of falling under Susanna’s spell. The tenants didn’t know me. I could act that all was well with them and, within time, it was.’
‘You got over her quickly?’
‘I demanded it of myself. Another thing that surprised me and illustrated the shallowness of love.’
Then, when he’d returned to London, he’d moved on to the camaraderie he’d found at Gentleman Jackson’s and found less enjoyment in his old habits of drinking the night away without deeming anything important but laughter.
He’d stepped into his true heritage as easily as he’d stepped into the clubs in the past and the life of the tenants.
His fingertip steadied her elbow. His grip couldn’t have been lighter, yet he felt so much more than just the fabric of the sleeve. It was almost as if he could feel her heart beating and absorb the love she felt for the children.
He flashed a smile, changing his tone. ‘I can shoe a horse as fast as any blacksmith, but I still flounder at the simple task of putting on a saddle.’ He laughed silently without humour. ‘Someone had always taken care of that for me in the past and I’d never comprehended it. The beasts blow out their stomachs to fool me into thinking I’ve got the cinch tight when it’s loose. Some horses act as if they are too privileged to let me ride. A horse doesn’t understand if a titled man saddles him or a stable boy. Or he does and prefers to show the titled man his place. They’re good at showing me my place and you’ve not seen eyes twinkle so bright behind a serious face when a stable boy helps a duke to his feet.’
Her eyes mirrored the smile in the stable boy’s.
He left the window and put as much distance from her as he could in the enclosed space. Miss Manwaring reminded him of the life he’d found in the countryside. The vibrancy of it. The feeling of being strong and alive and able to conquer anything.
Anything but an old cottage.
With his coat around her, it seemed she could scent his shaving soap and that his arms surrounded her. She should give it back. She really should. The air wasn’t that chilled. In fact, the coat made it a little too warm in the room. Or just right.
Hunger moved her forward to the food.
She ate one of the apples, its tart taste refreshing her, and some of the hazelnuts, trying to escape from the feeling of being too close to him, yet unable to remove his coat.
He sat on the bed and examined the sole of his foot. ‘Horses are just like pieces of glass. Shards of glass don’t care whether it’s a titled man or a stable boy who steps on them. I suppose I should be more careful.’ He laughed, but he didn’t gather his boots.
When Chalgrove laughed, Miranda couldn’t take her eyes from him. His face changed, infused with the innocence of a youth.
This was a side of him she’d not seen before, perhaps a side of a person she’d never seen before. He merely laughed. Carefree.
The sound was enough to make her giddy—drunk, in a sense. He must never laugh again. A woman had no defence against a sound so entrancing.
They must escape. She must.
The night was falling, clouding up, and the air chilling rapidly. Light barely illuminated through the opening.
‘The sun is going down. You don’t have to concern yourself about me. But when I sleep or you sleep, you must let me stay between you and the door. You’re safe with me, Miss Manwaring, and if anyone comes in that door in the night, I’ll stop them.’ He rose and moved to get something to eat.
His consideration impressed her, but she knew her grandmother had no plans for any altercation in that room. Conception of a great-grandchild, perhaps...
Chalgrove steadied her when she stepped too close to the stump and almost stumbled.
She buttressed herself against whatever foolishness had invaded her. Soon she’d be no different from her grandmother and believing that stars could talk. They had to get out before her grandmother’s wishes came true.