Page 11 of The Lady’s No Angel

Chapter 4

The Lure of Manly Wiles

The George, Cranbrook, Kent, 6th April 1816

Hart sat in the cosy private parlour enjoying a glass of ale. He hoped Miss Baxter would not take too long with her preparations for dinner, though she did not strike him as the sort of lady who fretted over a loose curl or speck of dust upon her pretty shoes. Just as well considering the state she’d been in when he’d come across her and her companions.

He grinned at the memory. What a hoyden she’d looked, ankle deep in mud with her skirts hitched up and showing a very shapely pair of calves too. But her eyes were what entranced him. Dark they were, almost black, and promising trouble with a capital T unless he missed his guess.

Everything about her intrigued him, which he could not ever remember thinking about a woman before. Hart had not been idle during his nine and twenty years on earth. His past was as littered with love affairs and amorous adventures as any handsome, rich nobleman could hope for. But that had just been for fun—mutual fun—and jolly it had been. Miss Baxter, however, was something different, something new. She wasn’t a lightskirt, for one thing, and gently bred ladies were to be treated with caution. One could not go about bedding them without expecting to provide a ring and stand before a minister in very short order thereafter.

Though his desire to be their guard dog, was entirely honest and honourable, he could not pretend that Miss Baxter hadn’t lit a spark of curiosity in his breast. He wanted to know what she was doing, why she was doing it, and… and a whole host of other things he could not yet even articulate to himself. All he knew was that she was an itch, and he wanted to scratch very badly.

Perhaps the guard dog had fleas, he thought with a grin.

The door swung open and the object of his curiosity entered with her maid.

Hart got to his feet, his approving gaze taking in the sight of her trim figure encased in a sensible yet beautifully made gown of deep forest green. Though far from low cut, it gave him a glimpse of her elegant shoulders and pearly white skin. Her thick black hair, tidy now, had been wrestled into submission by a skilled hand and soft curls framed her lovely face. Those dark eyes, which fascinated him so, gleamed as she met his gaze. His heart gave an erratic thud behind his ribs.

“Miss Baxter, I hardly recognised you without the mud.”

Her lips quirked as she looked him up and down, her gaze lingering on his thighs and the mud spatters that still marred his buckskins. The gesture made heat bloom in his belly and head immediately south.

“I would say the same,” she replied, one elegantly curved eyebrow quirking. “Except that I cannot.”

“Well, my boots are cleaner,” he said, presenting one large foot and a dull black boot for inspection. “Stuck them under the pump in the yard. But I’ve no change of clothes, so I’m afraid I must appear in all my dirt until the morrow. Hopefully, I’ll do better then.”

She laughed, a sound that made his lips curve upwards in response. A short cough from Miss Milly made him realise he was gazing at Miss Baxter like a halfwit. Clearing his throat, he hurried to pull out chairs and see to the ladies’ comfort.

Toby swaggered in a few moments later, looking pleased with himself.

“What’s got you looking like cock of the walk, you young scapegrace?” Hart asked the lad.

The boy sat himself down with a grin and held out a slightly grimy hand. Three large copper pennies filled his palm.

“I won at Pitch and Toss,” he said proudly.

“Would you look at the state of those hands!” Milly exclaimed, quite unimpressed by this triumph. “Lord, have mercy. Miss, I told you it weren’t right for us to be eating with you and Mr Cleaver.”

“Oh, stop fretting, Milly,” Miss Baxter said, looking perfectly at her ease. “Toby will wash his hands. Won’t you, Toby?”

Toby looked less sanguine at this suggestion, but Hart cleared his throat and gave the lad a stern look. With a deal of huffing and muttering, Toby got to his feet.

Milly followed, shaking her head. “I’d best check he actually gets his hands wet,” she said with a laugh, leaving Hart the happy prospect of a few moments alone with Miss Baxter.

He lifted the jug of ale on the table with a questioning expression, but she shook her head. Hart set the jug down and took a swallow from his glass. This brew was stronger and rougher than what he’d drunk earlier, but not bad for all that.

“Has Milly worked for you a long time?” he asked, assuming this was an innocuous enough question.

Still, Miss Baxter looked a little uneasy. “Yes. Since I turned thirteen.”

“You’re close, I think?”

She smiled at that, tugging off her gloves and setting them down on the table beside her. “I suppose so. She frets about me, though that’s a thankless task.”

“Are you a troublesome charge, then?” he asked, keeping his tone light and teasing, though he was fairly bursting to know the answer. He had the delightful suspicion that Miss Baxter was a handful of the most delectable variety.

She stared down at the scarred tabletop and bit her lip.