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By the time he’d washed and shaved and dressed, he felt slightly less like something the cat had dragged in. He was hungry and wanted coffee. More, he wanted to see the girl from last night and discover if he’d imagined her devastating impact on his senses.
Not that he could do much about wanting her.
He’d enjoyed his fair share of women, and his fair share of women had enjoyed him. But they’d all known the game. None had been well-born virgins. Or servants who relied on a good reputation to keep their livelihoods.
Worse, Margaret, for all her spirit, was poor and defenseless and friendless. Only a cad of the worst kind would contemplate her seduction.
He was contemplating, all right. But he had no intention of carrying through with his wicked thoughts.
Damn it.
Once the weather permitted, he’d ride on. He could come back after Christmas, after there was a chaperone or two in residence.
But, Lord above, how he relished the thought of having her to himself for the next few days.
Sighing and running his hand through his freshly combed hair, doubtless turning it into the usual bird’s nest, he went downstairs.
In the pale light of day, he’d expected the fairytale atmosphere to evaporate. But as he wandered the rooms, the house was eerily silent. He wasn’t a fanciful man, but it felt like Thorncroft’s ghosts held their breath and watched, waiting to see what happened next.
Joss struggled to break free of the entangling coils of fantasy. He’d worked on ancient buildings before. They always cast a spell, especially these lovely Jacobean houses, that spoke so eloquently of an earlier age. But even as the architect in him noted fine linen-fold paneling in the dining room, some pretty plasterwork in the drawing room, and the intricate carving on the main staircase, he felt like he stepped deeper and deeper into magic.
The house felt like an empty stage set. The leading lady was yet to appear.
In this enchanted realm, Christmas held no dominion. Joss found not a trace of greenery or decoration anywhere.
Down in the kitchens, a good fire blazed in the hearth, and he could smell baking bread. There was also, praise the angels, a pot of coffee. He paused to gulp some down, before he continued his search for Margaret.
As he drank, he glanced around, curious to discover clues about the woman who shared the house with him. He wasn’t particularly careful of his appearance or his manners, but when it came to his work, he was organized and fastidious. So he appreciated this room’s air of good management. And if that soup last night was any indication, she was a marvelous cook.
The black and white cat rose from the rug before the fire, stretched, and wandered over for some attention.
“Where’s your mistress, puss?” Joss asked, scratching her behind the ears.
The cat butted his ankle with her head, before meandering outside. Joss was familiar enough with the rules of fairytales to know he should follow. He paused to throw on his greatcoat, left to dry in front of the fire, thanks to Margaret.
The cat strutted across the yard he remembered crossing last night. Today’s gentle snow made it a much more appealing space than it had been in the howling blizzard.
When the cat disappeared into the stables, he followed. Even if he didn’t find Margaret there, he wanted to check on his horse. Emilia had been limping by the time they reached Thorncroft Hall, and he was worried about her.
As he entered the stable, Joss found his elusive fairy. She was walking away from him, carrying two full buckets. He gave into the ungentlemanly impulse to admire the fine view from the back.
She’d tucked her skirts up to reveal a pair of trim ankles in white stockings and wooden pattens. As she carried her load, her hips swayed from side to side with a rhythm that made his blood pound. The thick red hair was pinned up once more, but soft tendrils clung to her nape. For a sizzling instant, he stared at that pale skin at the back of her neck, and the urge to sink his teeth into her was so sharp, he could almost taste her.
He stepped forward. “Miss Carr?”
She stopped and turned, setting her buckets on the ground with a clink. They were full of water. “Mr. Hale, I thought you might sleep in. I’m just getting your horse some fresh water.”
Her nervous tone hinted that she’d hoped he would sleep in. She hadn’t sounded nervous last night. The implications of sharing the house with a man must be preying on her mind this morning.
“Let me.” He expected her to argue, but she stepped aside meekly enough and let him collect the buckets.
“Thank you.”
The day was cloudy, and through the high windows, stark gray light shone on her face. It revealed details he’d missed last night. A sprinkle of delightful freckles across her straight little nose. Gold-tipped lashes shadowing those remarkable eyes. She still looked like a visitor from another world.
“I hope you slept after you left me,” he said.
“Like a baby.”
