Page 10

Chapter Six

A nna breathed in the fresh scent of foliage and damp earth. She turned her face skyward. This was her favorite time of day, when the morning sun tangled with layers of clouds. Today’s, thick and smoke-colored, painted the sky fuchsia, orange, lilac and purple.

Her cheeks seemed to drink up moisture from the very air. She felt like a child excited by the first hint of spring. Only it was Caden exhilarating her senses. So much for her good intentions where he was concerned.

Less than an hour ago she’d stepped from the guest chamber, staunchly committed not to see him again, regardless of her employer’s thoughtful, if odd, encouragement to the contrary. Yet here she was, strolling beside him in companionable silence along the meandering, tree-canopied trail.

There was nowhere else she’d rather be, and no one else she’d rather be with.

It felt like coming home, except for the part where her heart raced every time he smiled. That felt like something else entirely .

“The polish on your boots rivals my own, Mrs. Jones. I shall have to mention as much to my valet.”

He’d noticed her boots. Annoyance far outweighed any pleasure at his compliment. Leave it Caden to belie her assumption no one noticed the help—much less their footwear.

“Thank you," she clipped out and shortened her stride to cover the tips of her boots with her skirts.

Caden grinned down at her. Even his eyes smiled as if he noted her discomfiture and reveled in it. “Last night you mentioned you come from Durham.”

“Did I say I haled from Durham? How silly. It must’ve been the headache talking.

That was the location of my last post.” She silently congratulated herself on the story she’d invented during her sleepless night.

She'd somehow known, given the chance, Caden would renew his interrogations.

“Lancashire is home. High in the Pennines. Boulsworth Hill, specifically.”

As far as she knew, nobody but cheese makers lived there.

Of equal importance, the terrain made traveling to the region difficult.

She couldn’t imagine the polished, social chameleon that was Caden Thurgood venturing to the sparsely populated upper moors of the Pennines for holiday.

She ducked her head, hiding a smug grin.

“I see.” Somehow with two little words he communicated both amusement and disbelief.

He’d always been too bright for his own good.

“Where did you grow up, Mr. Thurgood? London proper?”

In her experience, men loved talking about themselves. She’d employed the tactic to distract men from the pain of having a bone reset, a wound stitched, or worse still, from their worries over an ill loved-one. Her father’s trick. She'd never seen it fail.

“Partly, yes. Growing up, my family split time between London and Derby. The earl, always, and my father, oft times, resided in London when the House of Lords was in session.

"Summers and holidays were spent in Derby, but of course, my brother, Zeke and I both attended Eton, and then Cambridge, so…London. The latter part of college I leased an apartment. The habit stuck, and I keep one there to this day. But Derbyshire’s home.

At least”—He blew-out a stream of air—"It was. "

She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but before she could utter the first syllable, he redirected the conversation.

“Do you know the area? Derbyshire, I mean.”

So much for her never-fail theory.

“Derbyshire?” she aped. Images of rolling green hills, a lush riverside, dense clumps of fragrant forest, and a formidable castle on a hill rushed into her mind like a high speed train .

In a flash, the visions narrowed in scope, and she saw a cozy limestone cottage at dusk. Inside, she and her parents sat around the table, talking, laughing, eating stew flavored with the pungent herbs from her mother’s garden.

As if she were here, her mother’s stern warning came to her. Keep-up your guard around that Claybourne boy. With nobility the title always comes first, even before family.

“Yes. Do you know it?”

She cleared her throat and shook off her memories. “No. Is it nice? Oh dear.”

Seemingly from nowhere, three fat drops of rain splatted on her, leaving damp splotches on her skirts. Sudden sharp gusts of wind grabbed at the hair pinned at her nape, pulling tendrils loose to whip her cheeks.

Glancing up, she saw the magnificent hues of the early morning had given way to a bottomless gray. She’d been too caught up with the man at her side to notice.

“We probably ought to head back,” she said without enthusiasm instead of thanking her lucky stars for the perfect excuse to shake off the blood hound that was Caden Thurgood.

“Bah. Just a bit of wind.” Cupping her elbow, he urged her forward.

Her good sense and inner resolve melted at his touch. “You can tell the weather?” she asked in lieu of making any real protest.

“I can. However, in the event a heavy branch shakes loose, you should probably stay close.” He tucked her gloved hand snuggly into the crook of his arm.

Even through his clothing and her glove she felt his well-muscled arm flex beneath her fingers. Warmth radiated off of him, warding off the damp chill of the morning and making her want to purr like a kitten. She hadn’t noticed the cold seeping into her bones until his body heat dispelled it.

The wind shifted, and a lovely hint of his spiced cologne teased her nostrils. Lady Wentworth’s words from last night came to her, and, for the briefest moment, she had the indecent urge to curl into him.

A singularly bad idea. Still, she did not retract her hand.

“Where were we? Oh, yes. Derby. Pity you haven’t experienced the splendor, especially during summer months."

He stretched his free hand out before them as if painting a scene. "Picture rolling hills, dense forests that turn the air almost green when you stand within their thickets mid-day, and a winding river running through all of it.”

“It sounds lovely. ”

“I spent much of my youth there. It’s a wonderful place for rearing children. I came close to settling there on a more permanent basis myself, recently.”

To raise children? Fool that she was, she hadn’t considered he might have an intended. Her heart rose up to choke her.

“I see.” Don’t say it. Do not say it. “There’s to be a Mrs. Thurgood soon, I take it?”

“Thought I'd mentioned,” he replied, flippant as you please.

She glanced over her shoulder. She should have insisted they return to the manse when she had the chance.

“…about Zeke's recent marriage. He and the future Countess of Claybourne have taken up residence in Chissington Hall, the earl’s seat.

"As far as raising children, I referenced my own childhood, but, I will say, based upon their"—He scratched the side of his nose—"That is, I suspect there’ll be a little Ezekiel or Christine before long. As for me, I am blissfully unattached. In case that was what you wanted to know."

"Oh, I didn't…I wasn't asking if…"

"Of course not. Silly me." His smug grin belied his words.

She couldn't seem to work up any annoyance. He wasn’t on the verge of marrying. She could breath again.

“I am confused about one thing, Mr. Thurgood. It sounds as if you prefer Derbyshire. But you reside in London?”

He shrugged. “London's not precisely home.

I do let an apartment there, but it doesn't get much use after the Season.

In fact," he paused, his expression turning resigned as if admitting to something he’d rather not, which made no sense to her whatsoever.

"Let's just say for the last several years I’ve traveled extensively.”

“Oh? On business?”

“Business? No. ”

She waited expectantly. When he didn't elaborate, she pressed. “Any reason in particular?”

“So many parties, so little time,” he said breezily. But his eyes didn’t reflect the devil-may-care attitude his words portrayed.

“I see. How very…” she broke off, not certain how to finish her sentence. She didn’t know how she felt about Caden wandering the countryside, aimless, going from one party to the next. “Entertaining.”

Something like anger flashed in his eyes, then vanished as swiftly as it had come. “Are you sure you never met my brother? You sound exactly like him,” he muttered. “At any rate, I’d given some thought to settling in Derby recently and have since changed my mind, and that’s that.”

There was something here. Something eating at him which he clearly didn’t wish to discuss. She ought to let the matter drop. “May I ask why you opted against doing so?”

“Aren’t you the inquisitive one?”

“I hate to call you the pot…” She let her words dwindle, hoping he’d take the bait.

He huffed out a laugh. “Fair enough, Jones.”

His expression turned considering. “How to make a long, boring story succinct? There’s a limestone quarry on the estate, the uses of which I looked into during Zeke and Kitty's absence. I had a notion to head up some projects involving utilizing limestone to benefit the earl’s tenants and local villages, beyond buildings and roads.

Circumstances caused me to change my mind.

Suffice it to say, after this party, I’m considering an extended holiday abroad.

Mayhap I’ll simply ride the Summer party circuit. Who knows?”

“More parties, eh?” She sniffed. “I can tell you if I had a choice to live in a castle on a hill, I'd choose the castle every time."

He drew to a sudden halt then fixed her with a stare, an odd gleam in his eyes. “I didn’t say anything about Chissington Hall being a castle.”

Her mind went blank for a moment that stretched like an eternity. Then she formulated a realistic reply—she hoped. “No, but you did mention Derbyshire housed the earldom’s seat. I merely assumed.”

One corner of his mouth quirked upward. He patted her hand still tucked into his elbow. “Of course you did, Mrs. Jones.”