A bead of sweat formed at the base of Thomas’ neck, gathering and sliding sap-like down his spine, collecting in the waistband of his pants. The shovel scraped satisfyingly along the barn floor as another glistening drop traveled down his bare back. He grunted once, hefting the shovelful of muck, flinging it out of the stall. Losing Miss Clemens irked him. He had followed her to a split in the path, one leading through the brambles and brush toward his fishing spot, the other toward the house. He assumed she’d taken the easier trail and underestimated her desire for solitude and her adventurous nature. What fire lurked behind her meek façade?
Leaning against the shovel, Thomas inhaled deeply—the intoxicating aroma of hay and horse filled his nostrils. Taking a second breath, a tinge of tobacco mixed with the scent, bringing an image of Uncle Benedict, leaning against Phantom’s gate and puffing on his pipe as he explained the importance of clean stalls. Thomas’ mouth twitched—the only person who loved horses more than he was his uncle, who nurtured Thomas’ equine interest, alongside his own son, Asher. Thomas spent most of his youth traveling by horseback between his uncle’s and his father’s abutting properties.
Benedict, the younger brother of Samuel Westwood, was an admirable man and a secondary father. The loss of Benedict three years ago was difficult for both Thomas and Asher, who lost his young wife less than a year later. Left to care for two small children, Asher retreated from society, refusing to return to his property in Wiltshire… until last week.
He should call upon Asher this afternoon. With the family’s attention on Morris’ vindictive revenge plot and the recovery of Miss Hastings after her abduction, Asher’s return was only just communicated to him that very morning by his mother when he popped his head into the dining room to snag some food.
A curious sloshing sound drew his attention. He cocked his head, listening intently. The sound came from the rear of the stables, more specifically, from outside the rear of the stables.
After wiping his hands on a towel, Thomas hung the shovel on a wooden column next to the stable in which he worked, closed the gate, and draped the towel over the top rail. He traversed the hay-strewn bay, walking quietly, and poked his head out the stable door. He burst into laughter.
Slogging around the corner came Miss Clemens, her linen dress—sopping and indecently sheer—clinging to her body. A shapeless yellow bonnet drooped over her face, covering her eyes, the brim resting on her nose. Thomas wondered how she could see where she was going.
“Sudden rainstorm?” Thomas asked, leaning against the doorway with a grin. Miss Clemens trudged past him with as much dignity as she could muster, refusing to acknowledge his comment. Thomas crossed his arms over his bare chest, watching her progress in amusement, his mouth twitching. “It’s impolite to ignore someone who is speaking to you, Miss Clemens.”
Miss Clemens paused in her trek across the courtyard, glanced upward, and sighed, speaking to the sky. “I fell in the river.”
“May I ask how you managed that incredible task so early in the day?”
“You may,” she replied and turned toward him. Gasping, her hands flew to her mouth, and she spun around again, whirling toward the house. “Mr. Reid!”
Thomas glanced down, confused by her reaction, and realized he was improperly dressed. He ducked into the barn, collected his shirt, which had been hung this morning to prevent spoiling, from a nearby stable gate, and whipped it over his head. Once he was dressed, Thomas returned to the doorway, pleased to find Miss Clemens, her back still to the barn, waiting for him.
“I’m now properly attired,” he said, resuming his position and crossing his arms again. “You may resume your story.”
Rotating in a sluggish half-circle, Miss Clemens hesitantly peeked through her fingers at Thomas. She flushed but held his gaze. Swallowing nervously, then spoke, her soft voice only just reaching his ears. “It’s quite simple. I merely lost my balance and fell into the river.”
Thomas tilted his head. “That’s all that occurred?”
“It has been alleged I am quite clumsy.” Miss Clemens offered him a tight smile.
Thomas studied her silently. His eyes unconsciously traveled over the transparent dress, drinking in the feminine shapes highlighted underneath, each breath causing the material to tighten over her chest.
“Are you?” he murmured, surprised by the direction of his thoughts.
“Apparently, I am.” She gestured to her saturated dress.
“Miss Clemens!” Mrs. Hastings bellowed from the veranda. She marched the length of the floor, muttering to herself. “Where is that girl? Samantha has been a terrible influence over her. They probably disappeared together this morning.”
Miss Clemens’ brown eyes rounded, pleading with Thomas. “Please,” she mouthed.
The mist in Thomas’ brain cleared. He shook his head free of the wicked images racing through his mind. His arm snaked out, grabbing her elbow, yanking her into the barn. She followed easily, her momentum carrying her forward and causing her to crash into Thomas’s chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around her as they toppled backward into the hay mound.
“Miss Clemens!” A hint of irritation accompanied Mrs. Hastings’ call as she stomped across the veranda, marched down the steps, and headed toward the stables.
Placing his finger over Miss Clemens’ lips, they froze, a hay-coated statue of entwined limbs, listening for Mrs. Hastings’ shoes to scrape across the courtyard. An audible sigh indicated her surrender, and she retreated, entering the house, the door slamming with her discontentment.
Miss Clemens exhaled, her sweet breath tickling Thomas’ lips, and a surprising tingle ran the length of his spine.
“Oh!” She pushed up and crawled off Thomas’ body. “I have ruined your clothing, as well.”
Sitting up, Thomas brushed the hay from his chest, inspecting his garments, and shrugged. “Don’t worry, I shall simply remove my shirt and hang it up to dry.”
“What about your pants?” Miss Clemens asked innocently.
“Miss Clemens, are you requesting I remove all my clothing?” Thomas wiggled his eyebrows, unable to resist teasing her.
Her jaw dropped, all color draining from her face. “N-n-no, Mr. Reid.”
“I’m teasing.” Rising, he helped her to her feet and led her to the rear of the stables, stopping at a tiny room. He opened the door, reached into the room, and extracted two heavy blankets. Shaking the first one open, he laid it over Miss Clemens’ shoulders. She shivered, staring into his eyes. Pulling the ends together, he wrapped the blanket tightly across her dress. “That will keep you warm… and decent.”
Miss Clemens blushed, glancing down at her dress. “How indecent am I?”
Thomas grinned. “Quite.”
Her blush deepening, she turned away as Thomas shook open the second blanket. A soft snort drew her attention. Floating over to the nearest stall, she tentatively stretched her hand toward the horse’s muzzle. It pulled back with a whinny, jerking its head. Miss Clemens froze, her arm trembling.
“He knows you’re afraid,” Thomas whispered, sliding beside her, his blanket brushed against her shoulder.
“How?” Miss Clemens asked, her eyes locked on the horse.
“He can feel it.” Reaching forward, he placed his hand on the stallion’s muzzle. When Miss Clemens mirrored his actions, the horse sniffed her hand, then bumped its nose in her palm.
“He’s soft,” she said, scooting closer to the gate, her second hand joining the first.
Tilting his head, Thomas studied Miss Clemens’ illuminated face. “Have you ever ridden a horse?”
“No.” She raised her eyes to him. “My mother forbade me to have lessons. She said the activity was too improper for a lady of my upbringing.”
Thomas snorted. “I’m certain Aunt Abigail will approve of the activity; she was an excellent rider in her youth. However, your request may not be scandalous enough for her liking.”
Glowing, Miss Clemens’ mouth curved into a wide smile. “That would be delightful. I shall ask her.”
Thomas’ head lifted, and he inhaled deeply. “I smell something delicious coming from the kitchen. Would you care to accompany me to breakfast?”
“Do you think I am dry enough not to draw any attention?” She opened the blanket.
Thomas’ mouth dried. Her dress, partially see-through, clung to her body, revealing her luscious curves. His body clenched, flooding with unexpected desire. Under his hungry gaze, Miss Clemens blushed, glancing down at her clothing.
“I think you should wear the blanket.” Thomas forced the words through his mouth.
“I’m never going to sneak into the house without notice.” Miss Clemens sighed, dropping her arms.
“I can help you.” He tapped the side of his head.
“If you could help me avoid Mrs. Hastings’ critical eye, I would owe you one extremely large debt.”
“I know exactly how you can repay that debt.” He stepped forward, brushing a stray hair from her face.
“How?” Innocence leaked from her eyes.
He could think of a half dozen things, and all of them involved Miss Clemens without her clothing or that wretched blanket. He shook his head, forcing the seductive thoughts from his mind. She was different, naïve, soaking wet… and his aunt’s charge.
“I want your friendship.” He grasped the edges of her blanket, snapping them together, covering temptation.
Miss Clemens offered him a wistful smile. “If my friendship is all you crave, it would delight me to give it to you.”
Dear Lord, it was not all he craved. His body protested as he stepped away from Miss Clemens. Bowing low, he comically brushed his hand across the barn floor.
She giggled, her melodious voice filling the barn. “Mr. Reid, my friendship is conditional; you have as yet to fulfill your side of the agreement. How am I to get into the manor unnoticed?”
“Do you not trust me, Miss Clemens?” Thomas’ hand flew to his chest in mock devastation. “I suppose I shall have to prove my worth,” he sighed dramatically, then leaned in, whispering, “You will have to trust me a little.”
“Why?”
Shrugging, Thomas pulled the blanket from his shoulders and laid it over a stall gate. “It’s going to be a bit dark.”
“How dark?” Hysteria crawled through Miss Clemens’ voice.
“I will be with you every step, I swear.”
Miss Clemens glanced at him, then back at the house. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly, then nodded. “I will trust you. However, if you turn out to be Mr. Morris’ accomplice, I will haunt you for the rest of your days.”
“I accept your terms.” He grinned, snaking his arm around her waist and guiding her to the rear of the stables.
“Should we not head toward the house?” Miss Clemens twisted to stare over her shoulder at the barn entrance.
“We are.” Winking, Thomas lifted the latch on an empty stall. The word Phantom flashed in the light.
“I’m attempting to humor you. However, I fail to see…” She gasped as Thomas kicked aside some loose hay, revealing a trapdoor. He stuck his finger through a small hole, yanking the door upward. “Does that lead to the house?”
“It does.” Thomas held out his hand, gesturing for Miss Clemens to enter.
Rolling her shoulders back, she stepped into the stall, closing the gate behind her. “Mr. Reid, your ingenuity surprises me.”
“I shall take that as a compliment.” He descended the ladder, disappearing into the dark hole,
Miss Clemens peeped her head over the opening. “What about the horse?”
“What horse?” Thomas’ head popped up, hovering just above the floorboards.
“Phantom.”
He snickered, climbing higher until the upper half of his body appeared. “He doesn’t mind.”
“I wish I was as comfortable around horses as you.”
“You shall be.” Nodding, he leaned back against the edge of the hole. “Miss Clemens, you will need to climb down this ladder to reach the passageway. I will wait at the bottom.”
She licked her lips, then muttered to herself, “I can do this. I traversed a log, fell in a river, and touched a horse, all in one morning.”
“What were you doing on a log?”
“Trying to act as Miss Hastings would.”
Thomas tilted his head. “Why?”
A light blush colored her cheeks. “Miss Hastings has such an interesting life.”
“She’s almost been murdered twice. Is that really the model you wish to follow?”
Miss Clemens shrugged. “My other option was Miss Shirely.”
Thomas choked. “I’d rather you act as Miss Hastings.”
“That seems to be the general suggestion.” She smiled, removing the blanket and hanging it over the stall gate. “And Miss Hastings would definitely climb into that hole.”
“Well, then, I shall not keep you from your adventure.” He ducked under the floor again, waiting. Would she follow?
Bits of hay and dirt rained down on him as Miss Clemens placed her foot on the top rung. Halfway down the ladder, her fingers slipped, and she fell back with a shriek. Thomas caught her before she crashed to the ground. Spinning her in his arms, he set her on her feet, his arms curiously despondent when he released her. Climbing back up the ladder, he yanked the trapdoor closed, plunging them into darkness.
“I cannot see anything.” Miss Clemens’ voice came from his left. “Mr. Reid?”
“Take my arm,” he said, lifting his hand. It brushed over something soft and damp, her hair perhaps. A delightful shiver raced down his spine. This was rapidly turning into an intriguing encounter. Miss Clemens wrapped her hand around his elbow, leaning into him.
He dragged her down the tunnel, following the familiar path. “Benjamin and I built this one summer.” Two boys with nothing to do and a mountain of imagination, not to mention a library stocked with books of all kinds…
As they neared the library, a tiny light appeared, shining through the small space between the bookshelf and the floor. Blindly trailing his hand over the wall, he searched for the lever. His fingers closed around the cool metal, and he yanked down. The bookshelf groaned, sliding to the side to reveal the library.
“That is incredible!” Miss Clemens glided into the room, spinning around to face him. “How long did it take you to build it?”
“Several months.” Thomas joined her in the library, sliding his hand along the books until he reached the false one. With one finger, he tipped it forward and pushed it back in one fluid movement. The bookshelf slid back into place. “However, it is a secret.”
“I shall say nothing,” Miss Clemens replied dutifully. Studying the wall, she frowned. “How can no one see it from outside?”
“The wall is a façade,” Thomas said and knocked on the bookshelf. “There is a space between this wall and the outer portion of the manor. Father told us the room was used to hide weapons and supplies during the war.”
“Extraordinary,” Miss Clemens said, her eyes glowed with curiosity. “That is how she got out.”
“Who?”
“Miss Hastings.” Gasping, Miss Clemens clamped her hands over her mouth, her eyes widening. “Oh! I didn’t mean to say that.”
Thomas’ gaze slid over her, a peculiar smile hovering on his face. “How did you know Miss Hastings left?”
Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, Miss Clemens glanced at the floor. “I was awake late last night, and I occupied myself with a book.”
“Miss Clemens, you are quite a surprising delight,”—he leaned in—“and I suspect you are correct in your hypothesis regarding Miss Hastings’ escape.” Bowing low, Thomas winked. “Now, I have fulfilled my portion of our agreement, and I expect you to do the same.”
“What agreement?” Mrs. Hastings asked, gliding into the room. Her mouth dropped. “Miss Clemens! What happened to your dress? I have never seen you in such a state.” Her disapproving gaze jumped to Thomas. “Is this your doing?”
“In this instance, I am innocent,” Thomas said, raising his hands in defense of Mrs. Hastings’ ire.
Mrs. Hastings’ eyes returned to Miss Clemens. “I had hoped, with the addition of Miss Randall, you would find more acceptable activities to fill your time. Instead, you followed Samantha’s inappropriate example,”—she glanced heavenward—“who is missing… again.”
Thomas and Miss Clemens exchanged a glance. Would Miss Clemens admit Miss Hastings’ true location?
Mrs. Hastings sighed, returning her gaze to Miss Clemens. “Given your state of dress, I am curious to know if Samantha’s clothing resembles your inappropriate attire.”
“I’m sorry, I have not seen Miss Hastings since last evening.” Miss Clemens gathered her skirt in her hand and curtsied, scattering droplets of water across the floor.
“Nor have I,” Thomas added, scooting out of the path of the freezing water drops.
“Perhaps your brother knows her location.” Mrs. Hastings frowned, clearly upset with the idea of Benjamin and Miss Hastings alone together. “Would you ask him?”
“I cannot,” Thomas replied, knowing his answer would cause trouble in the household. “Benjamin is also missing.”
A knock sounded on the front door. Footsteps echoed through the entrance hall. The door opened, a brief mumbled sentence was stated, too low for any of them to understand the words, then the door closed again. After a minute, Mr. Davis appeared in the library doorway and bowed low, extending a missive. “I have a message for Mr. Hastings from Lord and Lady Westwood.”
“Samantha married Lord Westwood?” Mrs. Hastings dragged a hand down her face, her gaze flicking toward the ceiling. “Edward is going to kill him.”