At the Highwayman's Pleasure(10)

‘I beg your pardon, madam, for bringing you into the kitchen, but it is the only room in the house with a fire.'

‘Oh, no, no, I am very comfortable, I assure you.' She smiled,  forgetting her unease in her eagerness not to be thought critical of his  hospitality. ‘I was merely thinking how much work there must be,  maintaining a house like this.'

‘It would take an army of servants to do so,' he replied frankly. ‘Most  of it is closed up until I have the funds to restore it. I have an  excellent housekeeper in Mrs Cummings, but she can only do so much. She  insists on keeping one parlour tidy for me, and my study, but I spend  very little time indoors so there is no point in having a fire anywhere  but here during the day.'

‘Very sensible.'

Charity sipped her tea. It was good. However poor he might be, her host  did not buy inferior bohea. Sitting by the fire, with a hot drink to  revive her, she began to relax a little.

‘I enjoyed your performance in The Rivals.'

‘Thank you. It was very well received.' She gently replaced her cup in  its saucer and would have got up to put it on the table, but he  forestalled her, reaching out to take the saucer, his fingers brushing  hers as he did so.

It was as much as she could do not to snatch her hand away. She was so  aware of him that her skin burned at his touch and little arrows of  excitement skimmed through her blood. It was like the heady excitement  of a first night, only worse, because she had no idea how to deal with  this. Nervously she began to chatter.

‘We open in a new play tonight, The Provok'd Husband. Do you know it? I  am very much looking forward to it, because I play Lady Townly.  Hywel-Mr Jenkin-is to play my long-suffering husband. We have played it  together before, but not for many a year. Perhaps you will come and see  it.'

‘No, I won't.'

His response was so blunt she blinked at him, but it also made her laugh.

‘Fie upon you, Mr Durden, I did not expect quite such a strong rebuttal.'

‘I beg your pardon. What I meant was that I rarely go into Allingford, save when there is business to attend to.'

‘Of course, and pray do not think that I shall be offended if you do  not come. I am not so conceited as to think people cannot go on quite  well without attending my performances.' Smiling, she rose to her feet.  ‘I have taken quite enough of your time and must be getting back. Thank  you, Mr Durden, for your hospitality.'

He grimaced. ‘Such as it was.'

Sympathy clenched at her heart. She did not think him embarrassed by  his straitened circumstances, but he was most clearly aware of how it  might look to others. Impulsively she put her hand on his arm.

‘A warm fire and a warming dish of bohea-I would ask for nothing finer, sir.'

He was staring at her fingers as they rested upon his bare forearm and  Charity wondered if he, too, felt the shock of attraction. She could  almost see it, a dangerous current rippling around them. Carefully, she  removed her hand and began to pull on her gloves. The dog had left his  box and was looking up at them, ears pricked expectantly. Glad of the  distraction, Charity smiled down at him.

‘Goodbye, Samson.'
                       
       
           



       
Embarrassed by the nervousness that had her addressing a mere animal,  she hurried to the door, biting down on her lip as Mr Durden reached  past her to open it. He was so close that if she leaned towards him,  just a little, their bodies would meet. Stifling the thought and the  heady excitement that came with it, she swept past him along the  corridor and opened the outer door herself.

Charity was almost surprised to step out into the cobbled yard. Some  part of her-the part that remembered her upbringing, she thought  bitterly-had almost expected to find the door opened directly into the  fiery jaws of hell. She welcomed the chill air; it gave her something to  think of other than the presence of the man beside her. She buttoned  her pelisse and smoothed her gloves over her hands while he called for  Jed to bring out the gig. Anything to fill the awkward silence. Her eyes  fell upon the basket and the large pile of unsplit logs by the chopping  block.

‘I interrupted your work, sir, I-'

‘It is no matter, the break was very welcome.' The words were polite,  his tone less so. He handed her into the waiting gig and shook out the  rug before placing it over her knees. She held her breath, not moving  lest he think she objected to his ministrations when in fact it was  quite the opposite. A strange, unfamiliar awareness tingled through her  body as he tucked the rug about her. She did not want him to stop.

‘It looks like rain.' He glanced up at the sky before fixing her with  his dark, sober gaze. ‘Go directly to Allingford, Mrs Weston. No more  exploring today!'

She tried to smile, but her mouth would not quite obey her, not while  he was subjecting her to such an intense stare. With a slight nod and a  deft flick of the reins she set off out of the yard. The track was  straight and the pony needed little guidance. She could easily look  back, to see if he was watching her.... No! She sank her teeth into her  lip again and concentrated on the road ahead. It was a chance encounter,  nothing more. To turn and look back would give Mr Durden completely the  wrong idea.

But her spine tingled all the way to the gate of Wheelston Hall and she longed to know if he had watched her drive away.

* * *

Ross stared at the distant entrance long after the little gig had  disappeared. He heard Jed come up beside him and give a cough.

‘Who were that lass, Cap'n? I've not seen her hereabouts.'

Ross kept his eyes on the gates.

‘That,' he said, a smile tugging at his mouth, ‘was the celebrated actress Mrs Charity Weston.'

‘Actress, is she?' Jed hawked and spat on the ground. ‘And were she really explorin', think 'ee?'

Ross turned and walked back towards the woodpile.

‘She said it was so.'

‘And you invited 'er indoors.' Ross looked up to find Jed regarding him  with a rheumy eye. ‘Never known you to do that afore, Cap'n. Never  known you to show any kindness to a woman, not since-'

‘Enough, Jed.' He beat his arms across his chest, suddenly aware of the  cold. ‘If you've nothing to do, you can carry that basket of logs  indoors and bring me an empty one.'

‘Oh, I've plenty to do, master, don't you fret.'

The old man shuffled away, muttering under his breath. Ross returned to  the woodpile and began to split more logs, soon getting into the rhythm  of placing a log on the chopping block and swinging the axe. He tried  not to think of the woman who had interrupted his work, but she kept  creeping into his mind. He found himself recalling the dainty way she  held her teacup, the soft, low resonance of her voice, the bolt of  attraction that had shot through him when she met his eyes. He had felt  himself drowning in those blue, blue eyes.... Ross tore his thoughts  away from her only to find himself thinking that the gleaming white-gold  centres of the freshly split ash boughs were the exact colour of her  hair.

‘Oh, for pity's sake, get over her!'

‘Did ye call, Cap'n?' Jed poked his head out of the stable again. ‘Did  ye want me to get Robin ready for ye tonight? There's a moon and a clear  sky, which'll suit ye well...'

‘No. That is-' Ross hesitated ‘-you may saddle Robin up for me this evening, Jed, but no blacking. I'm going to Allingford!'





      Chapter Three

By the time Charity arrived back in Allingford, her disordered emotions  had settled into a state of pleasurable exhilaration-very much as they  had done after she and some of the other players in Scarborough had made  an excursion out of the town and walked on the cliffs overlooking the  sea. It had been dangerous, especially for the ladies, because the  blustery wind had snatched at their skirts, threatening to drag them off  the cliff and dash them into the angry seas below, but the excitement  was to see the danger and know that it was just a step away. That same  thrill pulsed through her now. It puzzled her and she wondered just what  it was about Ross Durden that set her so on edge. He was not  conventionally handsome-and she had had experience enough of handsome  men in the theatre. He had said nothing that could be construed as  improper, yet his very proximity had set the alarm bells ringing in her  head.                       
       
           



       

She was still pondering this conundrum as she left the gig at the  stables, and was so lost in thought that she did not notice the  Beverleys' carriage standing outside the gun shop, nor hear Lady  Beverley calling to her until she was almost at the carriage door.  Charity begged pardon, but Lady Beverley waved away her excuses.