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She was alone in this house with a bachelor. She might as well put a sign over her head, tart, and be ruined in this time. She had to manage in this era for a few more months. She had to remember that women didn’t do this sort of thing, and if they did, and she was fairly certain a great number of women did, they would be far more discreet than she was momentarily behaving.
“Stop this,” she demanded breathlessly.
“Och, aye,” he answered softly, “I know the trusty Mrs. Lyons shall return momentarily, but Exerilla…”
Mrs. Lyons did indeed come in at that moment bustling with the news that the chickens had escaped the hen house. They made their way into the kitchen and cook was having serious palpitations as the houseboy was making a mess trying to round up the nefarious rowdy and heathenish fowl.
His lordship and Exerilla looked at one another and burst into laughter, and Exerilla silently blessed Mrs. Lyons. Thank goodness for escaped chickens for they had served to ease her conflict. She knew she no longer trusted herself with Hunter MacTorry.
~ Ten ~
HIS LORDSHIP’S HORSE being spirited, took exception to old Jack’s slow and easy gait and reached over to give him a quick nip.
Jack easily and with some deftness, born more of experience than agility, shied away. He was undisturbed by the much younger gelding, continued his easy plodding walk down the country road.
Exerilla smiled as she realized her old gelding obviously knew the ropes. She said with an arched brow, “Your high stepping blood doesn’t like my poor old Jack.”
“On the contrary,” his lordship said, his blue eyes twinkling at her. “Had Bold not liked your Jack, he would have drawn blood.” His lordship looked up at the darkling sky. “The weather does seem to be changing. Mrs. Lyons may be in the right of it. I suppose it is typical of the coast.”
Exerilla looked up and said, “Yes, same thing in…” she held her tongue. She was about to say Wrightsville Beach.
He shot a questioning look, “Was your home near the coast?”
She thought, yes, like right on the ocean, but said vaguely, “Uh-huh, but a very different coast than this.”
He didn’t answer that but said on a hurried note, “Come on lass, I don’t like the look of the sky and I know a shortcut that should serve.” He didn’t wait for her reply and obviously expected her to comply as he turned his horse into a nearby field and headed through its tall grass for the woods up ahead.
Exerilla bit her bottom lip. She didn’t know if she should go into the woods with this rogue. Heck, she wasn’t a woman of 1815. She could handle herself—couldn’t she? She looked at the sky, and confirmed, this was not just a ploy, it did look like it was about to open up on them.
He saw the hesitation and said, “Exerilla, trust me, I am not going to er…try and make wicked love to ye in the woods, tempting as that may be.” He chuckled and added, “Och, aye,” he cast a quick look over her, “far t
oo tempting, but somehow I shall restrain m’self.”
She eyed him tongue in cheek before she said, “Oh, really, are you not? Well, I must be losing my touch.”
He burst out laughing and cast an appreciative glance at her, “Ye are a very different sort of woman, little American, very different.” He sobered and said, “But I do want to get ye safely home before the sky opens up.”
“Yes, that would be terrific,” she said on a serious note, “I want the same for you, lead on.”
He eyed her oddly for a moment, and she knew it was because of the way she spoke. She had to learn the knack of speaking more like women of the times. She was forever slipping into her own way of speaking. Not only did she have to comply with old fashioned mores, but she had to figure out how not to be herself. A sad chore that she was sure was not going to happen, at least not with great effort and always being on her guard. How could she be on her guard for months?
The wind picked up and slapped at her face. She couldn’t help but note how cool it still was in England for the end of May. At home on the beach, she would have been enjoying lovely hot weather and salt air. She would have…but she wasn’t.
Home was months away and although June was around the corner, October certainly was not! She sighed and turned sideways to see his gaze on her, studying her.
To change the sudden rush of feeling he instilled in her, to change her mood, she asked, “Have you any family? Brothers or sisters?”
“I have a younger brother,” he grinned, “A hellion, but I haven’t seen much of him lately. He is on Wellington’s staff,” this last was said with a faraway look.
“Wellington!” she said with sudden realization. “Of course, Wellington…” She repeated as she recalled the year was 1815. She realized how strange she sounded and said, “We Americans tend to forget you are fighting a war with Napoleon.”
“Aye, devil take Boney!” he said and his voice trailed off.
“Are you close, you and your brother?”
“Aye, we are,” was all he said.
“Have you any news from him?”
