He nodded, flicking raindrops from his hat in my direction. “I often stopped to see her when I was a child. She is blind, you say?”
“For the past ten years, her vision has faded until she can only discern a piercing of light through the shadows. I read to her whenever I am free. I do hope your ban of me will not include calling on the parishioners. My father spends a great deal of his day fulfilling the needs of your people.”
I wanted to further prod the viscount on whether he had met my father or not, but a sizzling bolt struck a nearby tree, far too close, and the resulting boom made the horse flick its ears backward.
Lord Hawthorn glanced over his shoulder then back at me. “Come, Miss Littleton. We cannot dicker over fields and land boundaries within this sodden field. I suspect neither of us will survive the exchange if we linger.”
“I’m but a few miles to home,” I said quickly, my pulse racing at the thought of riding with him.
He shook his head. “I cannot let you walk home in such inclement weather. Allow me to give you a ride.”
“A highly improper suggestion, sir. I know my way. I’ve traversed these hills alone for years.”
“Propriety be hanged in this moment since neither of us cares for it. Clearly your adventurous spirit doesn’t balk at the idea of wandering at night, but mine does.” He reached for the reins of his horse. “Who knows what would befall you? You are soaked through as if you swam in a lake. Meanwhile, several tenants of mine are stricken with fever. What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you walk in the elements when I have a perfectly good horse?”
More lightning flashed white against the blackening sky, highlighting the sharp planes of the man before me. Sobered by the mention of illness once again sweeping through the valley, I considered his admonishment while fidgeting with the satchel slungover my shoulder, which by now, must be quite sodden. I feared the condition of my precious book.
But to ride a horse... and withhim, no less.
“Please, Miss Littleton, a truce. At least allow me to escort you home,” he gentled his voice. “Shall I put you on Chaucer and lead you home?”
I eyed the large animal beside the viscount and stepped backward. It snickered and tossed its head as if to protest at such an indignity. I couldn’t deny that a walk would take far too long in this weather.
Lord Hawthorn eyed me as if to pierce my thoughts. “Chaucer is a gentle soul at heart. He won’t hurt you. Nor will I.”
“Chaucer, after the poet,” I murmured. “That is an adventurer’s name.”
“He loved chivalry, truth, and honor,”Lord Hawthorn replied, “freedom ...”
“And courtesy,”I added, recognizing the familiar words about the knight inThe Canterbury Tales.
The viscount nodded with another barest hint of a smile. I found I almost liked it, despite my better judgment. How would a smile in full bloom change his stern features?
A sigh escaped me. “For the sake of my book, which is in danger of becoming waterlogged, and the glaring fact that Mrs. Eacher will never forgive me if I do not finish the ending, I accept your offer.”
He swung up on the horse, more limber than the first day I had seen him. Then he reached out and pulled me up to sit in front of him in one easy swoop that managed to knock the air out of my lungs.
The arm that held me felt as strong as an iron gladius. I had never ridden so close to someone, not where I could feel each breath he inhaled and smell the sandalwood clinging to his damp skin. Again, the gossip I had overheard in the apothecary swirledwithin my mind. Lord Hawthorn’s father had been murdered and the surviving uncle deemed a rakehell.
Despite my boldness at accepting a ride, a tremor rippled through me. I did not know this man and I was certain to hear of my indiscretion as soon as I arrived. My only consolation was that, as usual, Father would not be home, and hopefully Mrs. Herriot remained occupied with her embroidery.
“Does this mean we are not at war, Miss Littleton?” The viscount’s warm breath brushed against the back of my neck as he guided Chaucer away from Medusa’s pool. My skin turned to gooseflesh in response.
“War? Whatever do you mean? Unless you wish to unfairly advance on Mr. Perry’s land, then yes, I shall raise the banner and do what I must to preserve the mosaics. They belong in a museum.”
A low chuckle rumbled behind me, but I dared not pivot to see his expression, for I would be far too close to those mahogany eyes likely glittering with amusement at my expense. Instead, I clenched my teeth, weary of being dismissed for my notions.
“You are singularly determined to uncover the past. Why?” he asked after a pause.
I swallowed hard as I tugged at my blue pelisse, yet any semblance of modesty was proving harder and harder to attain with the thin fabric clinging to my legs as if I were Aphrodite rising from the sea. Why had I agreed to this ride? Surely, I could have bought another copy of my book on the next visit to London.
I had planned to make my defense of the dig within the safety of a parlor over tea and shortbread, not riding horseback during a storm with the brooding lord pressed against my back and his left arm about my waist. How uncomfortable, especially now that the rain had lessened somewhat, dripping down my nose and that horrid feather that refused to stay in place.
Yet, his question dug into the quiet corners of my heart, unearthing a strange rush of emotions.
“I believe the past should be studied so we can avoid the same errors today,” I began. A rote, comfortable answer. Then, I added softly, “But the study of antiquities is more than a lesson. A story waits to be uncovered. I brush against lives spent in tragedy and loss and beauty and joy. Someone laid the mosaics of that pool with the greatest of care. A woman likely trailed her fingers in it on a hot summer day while dreaming of her future. Children laughed and played near it. When I discover something lost, no longer seen and without use, it brings a sense of...”Wonder. Wholeness. Purpose.“They are not forgotten. They are no longer unseen or uncared for,” I finished, albeit lamely.
Clutching the pommel, I halted lest I share more than I had intended. The man behind me made no reply, but he shifted ever so slightly, brushing unintentionally against me as we trotted toward the parsonage. My pulse stuttered in response.
