A Warriner to Rescue Her Read online

  ‘And I remain silent when I should speak. Perhaps we balance each other out.’

  Her heart was beating too fast. Words like that gave her too much hope. ‘Perhaps...’ And for once, no words fell haphazardly out of her mouth. Instead a deep crimson blush began to crawl up her neck and her mind refused to work coherently. ‘I should go. My father might wake up.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Awkwardness returned between them then, cloaking them in silence. In unison they moved towards the vicarage. Like a gentleman, he walked with her to the back door and stood stiffly as she opened it. ‘Thank you, Captain Warriner.’ Even though it had been several minutes since his palm had unexpectedly cupped her cheek she still felt it there, almost as if he had branded her with his touch. Marked her as his. Her flesh hummed. ‘You have been very kind.’

  He nodded and stepped back, looking as uncomfortable as Cassie felt, before wordlessly turning to limp slowly back up the narrow path. She was about to close the door before he quietly called out.

  ‘I ride along the river every afternoon. I should enjoy some company, Miss Reeves, should you feel inclined to ride there one day.’

  Chapter Six

  Jamie had made Satan pace the same stretch of riverbank for the better part of an hour before he had forced himself to face facts. She wasn’t coming. Not that he had seriously expected she would. He had spouted the invitation to her retreating back because he could not bear the thought of that being their final goodbye and she had merely gazed back at him with wide eyes and a nervous smile before softly closing the door.

  Why had he been foolish enough to hope when there were so many reasons why she wouldn’t come? Firstly, she hadn’t said that she would. Surely that spoke volumes. Secondly, proper young ladies—vicars’ daughters—did not meet gentleman unaccompanied and out in the open countryside in case something untoward happened. Unless, of course, they wanted something untoward to happen. Yesterday’s clandestine meeting had only come about because he had instigated it and she was too polite to turn him away in light of her father’s disgraceful behaviour. Only an idiot would read more into her motives than that. And thirdly, why would a lovely specimen of womanhood like Miss Reeves waste time in the company of a crippled invalid in the normal order of things? If she was inclined towards a tryst, then the lucky fellow would be robust and in possession of two working limbs.

  As depressing as it was, you couldn’t argue with logic. Beneath him, Jamie could feel the frustration of his horse at the inactivity. Satan wanted to gallop while Jamie was content to wallow in a bit more self-pity—something which was hardly fair on the horse. Out of decency, he swung himself off the beast, unpacked his painting equipment from his bag and began to remove the halter and saddle. The big black stallion would appreciate an hour of freedom to fly across the land. It had been weeks since the petulant animal had escaped the stable and gone wandering. Satan was determinedly wild at heart, yet Jamie knew full well he always came back of his own accord when he had had enough. The horse bolted the moment the last strap was unbuckled, just in case his owner changed his mind, leaving Jamie alone with his miserable thoughts. He limped towards the bank, set up his little easel, then began the ungainly process of sitting on the ground.

  ‘Hello!’

  Any elation he felt at seeing her trotting across the field towards him was cancelled out by the utter humiliation of knowing she had seen him clumsily manoeuvre his broken body to do something which most people did without any prior thought or preparation. Clearly he was doomed to be infirm for ever in the pretty dark eyes of Miss Reeves. Even worse, without a horse he couldn’t go riding with her as he had suggested, where at least he would give off the illusion of sprightliness. On a horse, Jamie was his old self. Without one, he might as well be old.

  Out of politeness he gave her a cursory wave, wishing now she hadn’t come, and busied himself by organising his paints to give off the impression he was occupied. Behind him, he heard a swish of petticoats as she climbed off her own saddle, a saddle which any normal gentleman would have helped her out of. However, getting back up was now out of the question. There was a finite amount of humiliation he could stomach in any one day and he had already surpassed his limit.

  ‘Where is Satan?’

  ‘He wanted to run, so I let him have his legs while I waited for you.’ Good grief, now he had admitted he had been awaiting her arrival. Pathetic.

  ‘I can’t see him.’

  Jamie risked looking up at her and was pleased to note she was too busy scanning the horizon for his temperamental stallion to see his reaction. Lord, she was lovely! Her skin was slightly flushed from her ride, the apples of her cheeks a little pink, lips very pink. In profile, the thickness and length of her lashes was obvious. One slippery burnished curl had escaped her bonnet and shimmered in the sunlight against her neck. The plain, pale grey muslin dress was too drab for her colouring, but from his angle on the ground showed off her splendid figure to perfection; hugging her bosom tightly, then falling in soft folds which caressed her rounded hips. Above those hips he already knew she had a narrower waist. And below were lovely legs. The memory of those garters came flooding back and his cravat instantly became tight and uncomfortable around his neck.

  ‘He will come back when he is ready. I am afraid you and Orange Blossom will have to ride alone.’ Something which she would undoubtedly prefer.

  Jamie’s eyes followed her as she led her own pony down to the water’s edge to drink, then briskly marched back up the bank to where he sat. In one fluid movement, she plonked herself down next to him, legs outstretched, and wiggled her feet. ‘I am more than content to sit here and while away the time. That is if you can bear my company and my babbling while you paint.’

  Of course he could bear it. He just did not want to feel so blasted awkward in his own skin. ‘I fear you will be bored.’ But she was untying the ribbons of her bonnet.

  ‘How could anyone be bored with this stunning view?’

  Never were truer words spoken, except his view and hers were completely different. She gazed out to the horizon. Jamie gazed at her. As soon as she lifted the hat from her head, more glowing tendrils fell about her face which his fingers itched to touch and unfurl to fall around her shoulders like it had last night. He had dreamt of that hair when sleep had finally come. That hair. That nightgown. The freckles. Those bare toes poking out to tease him. Oblivious of her impact on him, he watched in fascination as she removed several pins, holding them between her lips, and deftly secured the errant locks back in their proper place, then sat back to rest on her hands before smiling at him.

  ‘I know I should keep my bonnet on because freckles are unbecoming. But they seem to spring up all over the place regardless of whether I wear it or not, so I have decided to embrace them. And I do adore being outside in the open.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  He was such a wordsmith! He had had little to charm a woman before his injury. All of the easy charm and talent with the ladies had gone to his youngest brother Jake. Jamie thought the words—he could just never say them.

  I adore your freckles, Miss Reeves. I should love to kiss every one of them.

  Tree trunks had more talent for flirting than he did. Dead tree trunks covered in fungus and filled with woodlice.

  She closed her eyes and tilted her face up to the sun. In doing so, she offered him an unobscured view of her neck and décolleté. There were a few random freckles trailing down her throat, dusting her collarbones and the hint of her breasts visible above the demure neckline of her dress. Jamie swallowed hard, trying not to think of potential freckles on the rest of her breasts and failing spectacularly.

  ‘You can paint while I prattle on, Captain Warriner. You do not even need to pretend to listen. I don’t mind. In fact, it would probably be more prudent to ignore me as I tend to talk nonsense most of the time. Most p
eople do.’

  Jamie tore his eyes away from her exposed flesh, picked up his brush to start and realised he had forgotten to fill his jar with water. Should he ask her to do it and thereby admit to his infirmity or go to fetch it himself and display it? The latter was too awful to contemplate. He wiggled the jar instead. ‘Would you mind?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ She grabbed the jar, stood up and hurried down the bank. ‘I suppose getting up and down is difficult with your leg?’

  And there it was. He was thinking carnal thoughts about her while she was busy pitying him.

  ‘I am not an invalid, Miss Reeves!’

  His voice came out harsh thanks to the anger and shame boiling in his gut. Anger that he was a blasted invalid and they both knew it, and shame that it was, quite rightly, the way she saw him. He watched her wince, but didn’t apologise for his outburst. Nor did he look up to take the proffered jar of water when she returned with it up the bank, forcing her to place it next to him on the ground. She sat down heavily while he focussed his efforts on trying to mix a wash and wishing he had not created such a tense atmosphere with his curmudgeonly reaction, when the poor girl had only just arrived and she was only trying to be nice.

  ‘I have a knack for saying the wrong thing, Captain Warriner. I am sorry. Yet again. All I seem to do is have to constantly apologise to you. I am certain you must be already regretting inviting me here.’

  Jamie risked a glance sideways and was dismayed to see her bereft, unsure expression. His fault. ‘It is I who should apologise for my outburst. You should not be sorry for mentioning the obvious and I need to learn to accept my condition.’ Just saying it made him furious. He doubted that would ever stop.

  ‘How did it happen?’

  His first reaction was to tell her to mind her own business. He did not talk about it. Ever. The awful memory of that night still haunted him. Except he still felt bad for snapping at her and wanted her to stay a while longer, even if she was only there out of pity or good manners. Unfortunately, the whole truth would likely send her running for the hills.

  ‘I managed to break out of that gaol I told you about last night.’

  After he had snapped Capitaine DuFour’s neck with his bare hands, stolen his keys and then his horse. He could still hear the definitive crack when the bones had broken. Was still horrified at the surge of elation he had felt when he had killed the man in cold blood.

  ‘The guards shot me as I rode away.’

  Three bullets had ripped through his leg, one shattering his thigh bone, a fourth went straight through his body above the same hip, leaving an impressively symmetrical pair of scars on both the front and back of his body. He’d almost bled to death before Satan delivered him to the British lines. Fortunately, he was still conscious and had vociferously forbidden them from amputating the mess. For the next month he had lain useless in the makeshift battlefield hospital, snatching sleep where he could with a pistol under his pillow to prevent them from removing the damn thing while he fought the infection and prayed the splints would achieve a miracle and make him whole again. He still slept with a pistol under his pillow. Just in case. But for altogether different reasons, although he was coming to suspect they were linked. Like DuFour and his father, those surgeons had preferred to sneak up on him while he slept—until he almost shot one of them and they left him well alone.

  ‘The surgeons did the best they could to patch me up, but the damage was extensive. There’s nothing to be done about it, I’m afraid.’

  She blinked and appeared horrified. ‘You poor thing.’ He saw the pity and hated it.

  ‘How is your story coming along?’

  ‘I brought it with me, if you would like to hear it.’

  Jamie nodded, eager to avoid any further discussion about his useless leg and useless life, and watched her scurry back to her pony and retrieve a small journal from her saddle bag. When she returned and sat back down next to him she was blushing. ‘Please bear in mind it is meant for children, so I have used some artistic licence with the actual events...and with the characters.’

  ‘I thought the characters were us.’ Although he supposed children would be as unimpressed with a limping, broken soldier as she was.

  ‘They are. After a fashion. But I have changed some things.’ She stared down at her hands for a moment before opening the book and he wanted to tell her that she did not need to feel bad for wanting a proper hero for her tale, but kept his own counsel. Saying that would merely alert her to the fact he knew she pitied him and Jamie was not certain he could hide his devastation at that. To cover it, he picked up his brush and palette and began to mix some paint and waited for her to begin, dreading it at the same time. He had rather liked being noble and brave when she had regaled the events to Letty—but now he was to be replaced with a better version of a dashing hero, Jamie was not so keen to hear about him.

  ‘“Dear Reader, My name is Orange Blossom and I am a pony. My owner is a silly young lady called Miss Dolt, who does silly things—so silly that I simply have to share them with you...”’

  ‘Wait—you cannot call yourself Miss Dolt. It’s insulting.’

  ‘But as I am the one doing the insulting and I am insulting myself, I fail to understand your objection.’ Cassie watched his annoyed expression with interest, smiling at him to convey the fact that she was perfectly comfortable with poking fun at herself. She was ridiculous after all.

  ‘Dolt suggests you are stupid.’

  ‘I did get stuck up a tree. What’s that if it is not stupid? Besides, it is a book intended for children so I want the character names to conjure an image of the protagonists in their minds. Something which sets the characters apart from one another. Miss Dolt is a friendly name and I want her to be comedic.’

  ‘I still do not like it. There are other friendly names which might conjure an image, too. Nobody wants to read about a stupid heroine. Comedic, yes. Definitely intrepid. Making your heroine appear like an idiot might upset the little girls.’

  He might have a point there, although she was surprised a surly soldier would concern himself one way or another about the feelings of little girls. ‘What do you suggest, Captain Warriner? Because I can hardly call her Miss Reeves. I would prefer to remain anonymous.’ Or risk being locked in her bedchamber for ever.

  He scrunched up his face as he pondered, staring at her intently with his head tilted slightly to one side. ‘What about Miss Freckles. You did say you wanted to embrace them and if freckles are considered so unfashionable, it might bolster the confidence of all of the little girls who also have them. She can be intrepid but silly sometimes.’

  ‘Miss Freckles does have a good ring to it. And it is such a pretty word even if the freckles themselves leave a great deal to be desired.’

  ‘I happen to like freckles.’

  For a moment Cassie was certain he had paid her another unexpected compliment, but instantly he busied himself with applying paint to his paper and she could tell he was more interested in his work. Feeling somewhat disappointed, she idly crossed out the word ‘dolt’ and replaced it with ‘freckles’ and added intrepid to the description before reading it out loud again. It worked. Aside from that, it also gave the characters more scope. Now that the heroine was intrepid, she and Orange Blossom could go on all manner of adventures which a completely silly girl would never be able to cope with.

  New name decided, Cassie continued to read to him. However, the Captain seemed so absorbed in his work she became certain he was not listening. Which was just as well, because she had reached the part where he saved her from the apple tree.

  ‘“Captain Galahad charged in on his magnificent jet-black stallion. He was a handsome pirate with sapphire eyes, a single gold earring and a stormy expression...”’

  ‘Captain Galahad?’ His brush stilled and he appeared surprised as he scrutinised h
er. Cassie tried to brazen it out despite the burning red circles on her cheeks.

  ‘Of course. He is a hero, after all, come to save the intrepid but silly Miss Freckles.’

  ‘Hmm...’

  He focussed back on his work with the exact stormy expression she had pictured when she had written him. Whether he was angry at being likened to a pirate or if he simply thought her as silly as she had written herself, Cassie couldn’t say and she was suddenly nervous about reading the next bit. Decisively, she closed her journal. ‘I suppose that’s quite enough nonsense for one day.’

  His brush paused again. ‘But I want to hear what happens next.’

  ‘You know what happens next. You climb up the tree to save me and I cause us both to fall out of it, flattening you in the process.’

  ‘But I should still like to hear how you have written it.’

  Cassie saw Orange Blossom gazing at her knowingly from the edge of the water. I bet you wish you weren’t quite so gushing about your pirate now, Cassie?

  Yet the Captain was still watching her intently, clearly waiting for the next instalment. In a smaller voice than she’d intended she read the damning passage again.

  ‘“Captain Galahad charged in on his magnificent jet-black stallion. He was a handsome pirate with sapphire eyes, a single gold earring and a stormy expression. ‘She was fetching me apples,’ I said, ‘and then she got herself stuck.’ He saw her dangling feet and knew what had to be done. ‘Try to remain still. I’m coming up!’ He dismounted briskly and started towards her. The Captain was the bravest of men, who had fought many battles and slayed many dragons...’”