She freshened her cup from the pot and dared not glance at Berta. The housekeeper stood by the doorway leading into the foyer and fingered a heavy figurine, narrowing her eyes in a most uncharacteristic fashion. The old woman seemed to come to a decision and marched forward boldly.
“Ay got tings to do,” she informed Shanna, bringing a note of despair to her mistress’s face and a shine of new hope in Gaylord’s eyes. “You need me, yust call.”
Before Shanna could protest, Berta gave a last doubtful glare at Sir Gaylord and left. The room was still for a while as Shanna stared after her, and she almost jumped when the knight cleared his throat and rose from his chair to stand before her again. He fixed her with a limpid stare and set out to pay serious court.
“My dear Shanna, there are so many things we must discuss. ‘Tis so rare I can find someone willing to understand the needs of the blooded elite. You are so beautiful and so wealth—uh, desirable. No one else can ease my plight. I am stricken to the quick.”
He came a pace nearer, and Shanna was caught in a dilemma. She was equally afraid that he would take her hand or that she would burst into laughter. Some of her struggle must have shown, for he continued apace.
“I pray, do not distress yourself, my dear. Be aware that nothing of what has happened has in any way affected my respect for you,” he assured her.
Shanna was nearly frantic. Reason deserted her, and she could summon no rationale for excusal. She felt trapped, but Gaylord read her unease as indecision and grew bolder. His knee had already started to flex as if he would kneel before her when his eyes strayed behind her and he suddenly stiffened.
“Good morning.” The voice rang cheerfully from the doorway. “And a fine beautiful day it is.”
With a gasp Shanna twisted around on the settee to stare in amazement at Ruark, the last person she had expected to rescue her.
“Mister Ruark! Are you sure you should be up and about?” She forced as much worry and concern into her tone as she could manage so that the burgeoning relief that flooded her might be disguised. “What of your leg? Is it so much improved?”
She knew far better than anyone that three days of rest and well-diluted poultices had done wonders. Only last night the surgeon had changed the dressing and declared the wound pink and healthy. She caught Gaylord’s sigh of disappointment as he resigned himself to the obvious fate of further waiting.
Ruark limped in on her father’s staff and lowered himself to the sofa beside Shanna. Beneath Gaylord’s glower, his smile was bright and debonair, though a hint of mischief gleamed deep in those amber eyes that so quickly mirrored his changes of mood. Shanna hastened from her seat to fetch a footstool for him and propped his leg comfortably. As she bent low to slip a pillow underneath his calf, she gave no mind to her décolletage or the manner in which it displayed her bosom to Ruark. However, Gaylord chafed as he saw Ruark’s gaze roam freely over that which his own gaze craved. He was caught unaware when Ruark’s eyes lifted, meeting his, and the bondsman’s white teeth flashed in a broad grin of undisguised pleasure.
Covertly admiring Ruark’s appearance, Shanna missed the exchange. He had donned a loose white shirt and tan knee breeches over white stockings and, amazingly, brown brass-buckled shoes. She cringed inwardly at the idea of the pain he must have borne to put the left one on. Over the shirt he wore the long leather jerkin he had affected as a pirate captain. Above it, his face appeared darker and leaner, his eyes livelier, his teeth whiter, his hair blacker. She had never seen him more handsome, nor could she hide the soft glow that warmed her eyes as she stared at him.
“Madam Beauchamp!”
Shanna started in surprise, realizing that Gaylord was demanding her attention. “I beg your pardon? I did not hear—”
“Obviously, madam, since I had to repeat the question twice. I asked if you might care for a stroll in the garden. ‘Tis become a bit stuffy in here of a sudden.”
“Oh, well, I’ll open the doors, then.” She rushed to push them wide, ignoring any reply to his inquiry, and stood for a moment enjoying the refreshing touch of the morning breeze.
“ ‘Tis cool,” she informed the room at large, but when she turned, her eyes went to Ruark. “Late September always brings the cooler winds and the evening showers. The clouds gather on the south side of the island all afternoon, and just before dark they slip across the ridge to give us a wetting. This is the time when the cane grows highest.”
The glass doors framed her with a master’s touch, and the lush greens of the lawns beyond accentuated her loveliness until it was almost painful for Ruark to look at her. She was a vision. Her gown of aqua was just enough different from her eyes to set them asparkle behind the sooty lashes, and Ruark was completely captivated.