At the Highwayman's Pleasure(21)

‘Thank you, Jed.'

‘If there's nothin' else, Master, I'll be off to me bed. It's bin a long day.'

‘No, nothing else, Jed. Goodnight.'

Charity took little notice of the voices at the door as she pushed up  the sleeves, which extended a long way past her fingertips. She was  feeling a little less numb now, but she was aware that her feet were  aching with the cold and she realised that she was still wearing her wet  shoes and stockings. She sat down and slipped off her shoes, but her  aching fingers could not unfasten the knots of the garters that held up  her stockings. As Ross came over she quickly pulled the wrap over her  legs.

‘What is it?'

She bit her lip.

‘I c-cannot untie my...'

He dropped to his knees. ‘Let me.'

‘No!'

Her hands grasped at the wrap and held its folds tightly. He looked up, one brow rising slightly.

‘Isn't it a little late for such modesty?'

‘Where is your housekeeper? Perhaps she would...'

She faltered when his look told her he thought her a simpleton.

‘I have given Mrs Cummings a few weeks off to visit her family in the  south. Do you think I would be here now if she was in the house?' He  continued, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice, ‘If she had  been here she would not have allowed the fire to go out in the kitchen  and I would not have been obliged to prepare your meal for you, so we  might have avoided this whole sorry business! Now, madam. Let me help  you out of those wet stockings.'                       
       
           



       

She clutched the wrap about her tighter.

‘No. I shall try again. Please turn away.'

With a shrug he rose and moved away. Charity opened the wrap and tried  again to release the ribbons at her knees, but her fingers refused to  work properly and her clumsy attempts only made the knots tighter. She  gave a little mewl of frustration. Looking up, she found he was watching  her.

‘Would you like my help?'

‘Yes.' He did not move and after a moment she added, through gritted teeth, ‘If you please.'

He was not so ungentlemanly as to laugh, but there was a definite twinkle in his dark eyes when he knelt before her again.

She pushed aside the wrap to display one garter and after a quick  glance he drew out his pocket knife and quickly sliced through the  ribbon. The second garter suffered the same fate and she was able to  remove her stockings, trying to maintain a sangfroid that suggested she  was quite accustomed to undressing in front of strange men-or in front  of any man. He handed her a cloth and she began to dry her legs and  feet, rubbing hard to restore some warmth to the chilled limbs. The heat  from the fire on her bare skin was very comforting, but as she was not  alone she quickly covered her legs again with the colourful wrap.

‘Here.'

A steaming tankard appeared before her. She looked at it suspiciously.

‘What is it?'

‘Honey, lemon and ginger. Or you could have mine, which has rum in it.'

‘Thank you, no.' She wrapped her hands around the tankard and breathed  in the comforting, sharp-sweet scent rising from the cup.

Gradually the hot drink and the warmth of the fire took effect. Her  fingers and toes stopped aching and the chill tension in her back eased,  restoring her spirits. Whatever terrors might lie ahead, for the moment  she was warm and thankful to be indoors. She watched Ross Durden pull  up a chair and sit down on the other side of the hearth, stretching out  his long legs towards the fire. He stared silently into the flames, his  countenance grim and forbidding.

‘You should remove your boots,' she told him. ‘They are sodden and it  will do you no good at all to keep them on.' The severe look fled. He  raised his brows and she added tartly, ‘I am sure it is no odds to me if  your feet rot away, only it is like to make you irritable, which would  no doubt impinge upon my comfort!'

‘I am not so impolite as to remove my boots in front of a lady.'

‘Since you have forcibly abducted me and are holding me here against my  will, I am surprised you would let such a little impropriety weigh with  you.'

He laughed at that.

‘You are right, of course. So if you will excuse me, madam.' He pulled  off his boots and stood them to one side of the fire before stretching  his stockinged feet towards the blaze. ‘The difference between my  footwear and yours, Mrs Weston, is that the damp has only penetrated my  leather boots at the seams. Your flimsy shoes positively soaked up the  wet.'

‘They are dancing slippers, not designed for walking abroad in such weather as this.'

His face darkened again.

‘No, it was foolhardy of you to go out. Crassly stupid.'

‘If you had not imprisoned me here, I should not have been obliged to do so!'

‘If I had known you would act so imprudently, I would have put you in  the cellar, as I first intended,' he growled. ‘You might well have been  killed just climbing out of that window.'

‘Nonsense, I tested the ivy first to make sure it was secure enough.'

‘And what if your skirts had become entangled?'

‘But they didn't.'

‘And just how far did you expect to get in this weather? None but a fool would risk going out in this.'

She sat up very straight, angry colours flying in her cheeks.

‘None but a fool would remain here to be murdered.'

His brows snapped together.

‘What makes you think you are going to be murdered?'

‘How can you do anything else, now I know your secret?'

He looked at her blankly for a moment, then closed his eyes and put back his head, giving an exasperated sigh.

‘I thought that once you had guessed my identity you would know I meant you no harm.'

‘Ha! You expect me to believe you will let me go free?'

‘Yes, once you have fulfilled your purpose.'

Charity pulled the heavy wrap more closely about her before she asked the inevitable question.

‘And what might that be?'                       
       
           



       

‘To force your father to give me back what is mine.'





      Chapter Six

Of all that had happened to Charity this night, these last words struck  her as the most incredible. She stared at Ross, trying to discern some  sign in his countenance that he was funning, but he looked very serious  indeed.

She said cautiously, ‘You think I am Phineas Weston's daughter?'

‘I know it. I heard him say so.'

Charity bit her lip. It would do her no good to deny it, then.

‘And you think he would pay for my freedom?'

‘Of course.'

She drained the tankard, but even the warming properties of ginger  could not dispel the familiar chill deep inside when she thought of her  father.

‘You are air dreaming. Phineas Weston has no interest in me.'

‘We shall see.' He rose. ‘We shall talk again in the morning. Would you  like something to eat? I am afraid the hot food I prepared for you has  spoiled from being left on the fire for so long. I suggest a little of  the game pie.'

Charity shook her head, suddenly very tired.

‘Thank you, no. Sleep is all I require at the moment.'

‘You would be better to eat something.'

He went out and Charity leaned forward in her chair, her head dropping  onto her knees. Insufferable man, to insist she eat when all she wanted  to do was to sleep. It would serve him right if she pushed the chest of  drawers against the door again and went to bed, but she was so tired  that even the thought of it was too much and instead she remained  hunched in her chair, her eyes closed, until she heard him return.

There was the scrape of a chair being dragged across the floor. She  opened her eyes to find him sitting beside her, a platter on his knees  containing a large wedge of raised pie. He cut off a sliver and handed  it to her.

‘Eat this.'

It was a command. Charity wanted to resist and upbraid him for his  autocratic manner, but she was too tired to fight. Besides, she realised  that she was indeed hungry. They ate in silence, Ross sharing out the  pie. As soon as she had finished one piece he would hand her another,  until all that was left on the plate were a few crumbs. He carried the  platter to the chest of drawers and returned with two glasses of wine.

She took one and sipped it, watching him as he dropped back into his  chair. He caught her eye and his brows went up. She responded to the  question in his eyes.

‘I am curious about you, Mr Durden. You are an enigma.' The food had  put new heart into her and she was emboldened to ask, ‘Which is the real  Ross Durden, the sober gentleman or the reckless highway robber?'

‘Which do you think?'