The Blacksmith's Son Page 3
“Th…thank you.” She swallowed hard, trying to calm her quivering nerves. “The dressing screen would be fine. No need to leave your own room on my account.”
“If you’d prefer complete privacy, I would certainly understand.” Edging closer to the bed, he said, “I’m afraid my manners are a bit tarnished after serving so many years in the Navy.”
Ally opened her mouth and closed it again, not trusting herself to give the appropriate response. Ask him to leave or allow him to stay? Stand behind the dressing screen or leave the room?
The captain said, “I was hoping I could convince you to stay a little while longer. Share a glass of wine, perhaps?”
Blood rushed up her neck and warmed her cheeks. “I’d love to, but…”
He reached his long fingers to the side of her face and leaned closer to her. “But what, Miss Ally?”
Gently, he traced a line from the edge of her jaw to the tip of her chin.
Her breath caught, and her skin pulsated with energy. She didn’t pull back, but rather wanted to lean into his touch. Everything in her world stopped as she allowed the feel of his hand to penetrate her skin.
The fire popped, and reality came clamoring back in cruel clarity. “I need to get dressed.”
He straightened and tucked his hand neatly by his side. “Yes, of course. I’ll give you some privacy while I see about some wine.”
“Thank you.”
Once the door shut behind him, Ally jumped out of bed. Her head swam and the room spun from her too-quick movement. She steadied herself against the headboard. When the floor stopped shifting under her feet, she wriggled into her damp clothes and paced to the window. Her thoughts were everywhere. She should leave before he returned. Look what already happened by sitting alone in a room with the captain. He was too easy to speak with, too mesmerizing, too handsome…too everything. When he touched her chin and gazed into her eyes, she almost let her guard down. She could never do that. She couldn’t be a woman; she must remain hidden from the world as a boy.
Her life depended on it.
She glanced outside, relieved the rain had subsided into a light drizzle. She couldn’t face the penetrating gaze of Quentin Drake another minute or risk the Earl of Linford finding her. Gathering her courage, she took a deep breath, peered out the door, and then scurried down the hall. Whatever the weather, it didn’t matter. She had to leave. She had no choice.
…
Quentin rapped lightly on the door, then opened it into an empty room. His heart sank. He placed the bottle and glasses on the end table and dropped on the bed. Unable to resist, he sniffed the pillow for any remaining scent left by her, then cursed himself for doing so.
She wasn’t coming back. He’d foolishly believed she wanted to stay with him a while longer. He could have sworn he’d seen desire in her eyes. Almost certain of it. He’d felt her pulse quicken against the pads of his fingers when he’d touched the underside of her jaw, but he must have been mistaken.
Ally wasn’t a harlot or anything like the women he’d met at ports of call during his voyages. The way she’d spoken to him, so educated and polite, proved she wasn’t from the lower classes. She’d likely fallen on hard times, and he felt compelled to help her.
She reminded him of Lenora.
But he didn’t deserve a woman like her. He’d killed men in battle. Made decisions that resulted in the deaths of his crew. Worse, he hadn’t protected his sister when she needed him most.
He was incapable of functioning appropriately in British society again—just look how poorly he’d handled the vulnerable woman in his room. He planned to bid his mother and brother goodbye, then leave for America, where he’d start a new life. The very fact that he would think, even for a moment, someone like Ally would be interested in him was proof of his mental dysfunction.
…
Screams erupted around him. He flung off the covers and reached for his gun, and froze. There was no war—no reason to fight—no reason to be afraid. The screams had only been in his mind. He gasped for air and heaved his legs over the side of the bed.
His shoulders relaxed. He’d slept more soundly than he had in a long time. He pushed the nightmares away and stood.
Over the back of the chair draped his shirt, the one she’d worn.
Ally.
The single thought of her lingered. Her scent. Her cinnamon-colored hair. Her freckles.
He sighed. He’d asked her to stay, and she’d left him. She’d made her choice.
The overwhelming question clouding his thoughts wasn’t necessarily where she went, but rather what she was hiding from. Her explanation that she worked as an assistant to the blacksmith didn’t ring true. People wouldn’t care about her gender if she worked well with horses. She could do the job as a woman, but the way she refused to hold his gaze when she answered gave her away. She wasn’t being completely truthful.
He should have questioned her further, but his manners and her status prevented him from pressing her for answers. He understood secrecy and not wanting to share information, but there was more to her dressing as a boy than she’d let on. She’d mentioned another place of employment. What could have driven her from it to seek a job with a blacksmith?
He dressed, pulled on his boots, and walked downstairs to the taproom. The inn’s front doors were propped open, and the salty sea air filtered in with the smells of roast mutton.
The innkeeper wiped his hands on his apron. “Good morning, milord. Would ye be liking some of me wife’s mincemeat pie to break yer fast?”
“Yes, thank you.” Quentin chose a table in the corner and slid into a chair. Shortly afterward, a serving wench brought him a steaming mug and a large helping of pie.
Raised voices echoed from the entryway. He turned to see the Earl of Linford enter the room. Quentin sipped his tea and gazed across the maze of tables. His blood boiled at the memory of the earl hitting Ally. It boiled even harder at the thought of his sister, Lenora, and how she once loved the man. She would insist he be civil to the earl. He thought otherwise. His fingers tightened around the mug in a feeble effort to anchor himself to his chair.
The earl ambled between the tables and stopped before him.
Quentin set down the mug, readying himself for another fight, and held Linford’s stare.
The innkeeper waddled up and stopped next to the earl. “I don’t want no trouble in here.”
“We may have had an altercation last night.” Linford gave him a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “But I’m sure we can act like civilized gentlemen this morning.” Linford’s gaze bore down on Quentin. “The boy was about to shoot my colt yesterday.”
Quentin stared, but said nothing. Memories of his sister dancing with the earl suddenly rose up and took hold in his mind.
“Strange how the animal still ended up dead after you intervened.”
Quentin banished the vision of his sister and kept his tone even. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Indeed?” Linford stepped closer to the edge of the table. “As I recall, you agreed with the lad and thought the colt needed to be shot.”
Why were they discussing a colt when his sister and her memory sat heavy between them, unspoken? “I did.”
“You wouldn’t have some idea who killed my colt would you? The boy perhaps?”
“The boy was knocked out—by your hand as I recall.” Quentin pushed the wooden chair back and stood, towering over the earl by a good two inches.
Closing his open waistcoat, Linford surveyed Quentin with a scrutinizing eye as though seeing him for the first time. “So it is Quentin Drake. I should have recognized you last night, but you’ve changed quite substantially since we last met, and besides, I was a bit far in my cups.”
Quentin blinked his swollen eye. “War changes people.”
“You could have said who you were. As I recall, you were always concerned with protecting…others. Now you’re protecting a boy.” He rubbed his chin. “Interesting.”
“Business.” Brushing lint off his sleeve, Linford asked, “How’s your brother?”
“Fine.”
“Weren’t you out serving in some branch of the military?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you back?”
“I’ve been injured—not that it’s any of your concern. Bad luck is all.”
“Well, we both seem to have had a string of bad luck. Mine’s just a bit more recent. First, my sister’s hired companion steals money from me. Now my prized colt has been shot.” He gazed upward. “What next? If you happen to see a woman with the most interesting shade of reddish-brown hair let me know.”
Fisting his hands at his sides, Quentin let the words about a lady’s companion take hold. The oddest niggling sensation formed at the base of his skull. “Reddish-brown hair you say, and she stole from you?”
“Yes. She stole money from me and ran away. I have the authorities on the lookout for her.” A spark of awareness lit Linford’s eyes. “Why? Do you know of such a woman?”
Quentin schooled his features to stay impassive. “No, I don’t.”
“Her name is Alexandra Lockwood, and if I find her…” Linford chuckled. “Well, let’s just say, the beating that boy got last night will be nothing in comparison to what awaits Miss Lockwood.”
A bead of cold sweat slithered down his back. “Are we quite finished here, Linford? I’d like to break my fast in peace, and conversing with you is causing me to lose my appetite.”
Linford made a grand gesture for Quentin to sit down. “Sit, by all means. I’ll locate the boy soon enough.”
“The boy most likely did not shoot your colt. I’m sure after the walloping he got from you, he’s far away from here.”
“I just want to ask him a few questions. Mayhap I’ll have my man inquire at the blacksmith’s.” Linford turned to depart the room. “Nice seeing you again, Drake.”
“Wish I could say the same.” Quentin pulled out his chair. His nerves sat on edge, and the mincemeat pie sank in his stomach like a stone.
Could Linford’s ex-lady’s companion be his Ally? Could thievery be the reason she was disguised as a boy? Years at sea with a crew taught him a great deal about reading people, and he didn’t trust the gleam in the earl’s eyes. Quentin had to believe catching a thief wasn’t the only thing Linford had in mind for the young woman with red-brown hair.
He had to find her to question her himself. He rose, hoping to reach the smithy before Linford.
Chapter Three
The smell of the salty air normally invigorated Ally, but not today. She was grateful Simon scheduled work away from Liverpool, as she had no idea how long the Earl of Linford would be there. If she’d only known the colt belonged to him…
She sat in the traveling forge beside her boss and gazed across the Irish Sea as they traveled north to Southport. She longed to return to Manchester to visit Rupert, her only living family member, not only because she missed him, but because she needed something to distract her thoughts from Captain Quentin Drake.
She had loved feeling like a woman for a few brief hours. The desire in his eyes reminded her she was feminine no matter the clothes she wore. A man, a handsome noble man, had gazed upon her body and known she wasn’t a boy. The experience gave her a small bit of joy she hadn’t felt in so long.
No matter how many times she turned different scenarios over in her mind, however, she couldn’t allow herself the possibility of seeing the captain again. The course for her life had been set once she’d witnessed the Earl of Linford kill another man.
She’d only wanted to go riding, but when she heard incensed voices, she was compelled to investigate. The scene could never be erased from her mind. Linford hunched over the body. The smell of blood. A wave of nausea hitting her gut. Then, when Linford’s attention turned to her, and his cold gaze locked with hers, she’d had no choice but to run and hide.
In only a few short days, she’d received word she was wanted for theft. The timing was too perfect. She’d stumbled upon his crime, now she was a wanted woman. There was no explanation other than he’d lied to keep her quiet. Besides, the authorities would never believe a thief who claimed to have witnessed an earl commit murder. She had fled to Liverpool that day, thinking it was far enough away from Manchester, but apparently not.
“Awfully quiet today,” Simon commented.
“Mmm…” she replied.
“Anything you want to talk about?”
“No.” She shoved a stray strand of hair into her cap, avoiding his eyes. “I’m just enjoying the blue sky after the rain. I’m glad for the wagon ride and the smell of the sea air. That, and I miss my brother.”
“You should bring Rupert to our home. He doesn’t need that fancy school.”
“Simon, it isn’t a fancy school, it’s a school specifically for the blind.” Ally sighed. She gazed beyond the hills to the sea, and smiled. “We will always disagree on this. He’s learning things I could never begin to teach him. He can craft rope doormats and worsted rugs, never mind how he’s learning to make shoes. He’s even set money aside to buy his own set of tools. He’ll open his own business one day.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He clicked the leather reins together. “What are your plans after he finishes school?”
“I’m not sure, mayhap help him run his store of handmade goods? I’m learning aspects of running a business from you.”
No reason for Rupert to know they were on the run, although he’d eventually figure out her lies. His enrollment in the school was a wonderful opportunity for him and provided a temporary haven of safety, while she stayed out of sight. She’d told him Simon desperately needed her help with the horses, and that she didn’t enjoy being a lady’s companion. Thankfully, Rupert had believed her.
She was tired of living a false life but saw no way around it. A dismissed ex-lady’s companion who stole from her employer and toted around her blind brother made an easy target for authorities.
“Almost there,” Simon said.
Ally eyed the village ahead. Simon was the only farrier within several miles willing to take on stallions with more wildness in them than sense, and the villagers were already lined up for his services. Beyond taking on the troubled horses, Simon had an easy-going manner about him that people were drawn to.
Once in the stable yard, Ally and Simon set to work. The rays of sunshine warming her face, she slipped into the easy routine of gentling the horses and soothing them with her words.
Before long, Ally had the sense of being watched. Had Linford followed her? Surely not. She glanced over her shoulder but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Some of the tension left her, and she scolded herself for acting so paranoid.
With only a brief break for lunch, they worked well into the afternoon and the temperature climbed. Sweat drizzled down her brow. How she longed to remove the bandages wrapped around her hair. She’d considered cutting it to earn extra shillings, but for whatever reason couldn’t make herself expunge that part of her femininity.
Simon mopped his brow. “With so many horses yet, we’d best stay the night here and finish in the morning. This heat is getting to me.”
Ally handed him a cup of water. “Won’t Maggie be worried?”
“No, I told her we may stay at the Larson’s tonight.”
Ally gazed at the sun on the horizon, relieved she’d have another day away from Liverpool. Hopefully, by the time they returned, the earl would be back at his estate in Manchester. “Sounds like a good idea. No sense in overworking yourself.”
After one more horse, they put away their tools and drove to the Larson’s.
Simon arranged for Ally to have a room to herself. The elderly couple who offered them housing insisted on feedin
g them a fine meal of pork and potatoes. Once finished, Ally excused herself from the table in hopes of having some time alone. Clara, a woman with a wide girth and bright smile, said, “Al, is it? Is that your name?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ally hung her head as a shy boy might when being spoken to directly.
“We’ve got a pond on our property. When my grandchildren visit, they swim there. I got soap and towels. You’re welcome to swim or bathe…whatever you’d like.”
Although delighted at the prospect of submerging in cool water after a long day in the sun, Ally didn’t want to appear too eager. It’s not as if a boy relished the idea of bath time. “Er, yes, I’m probably due for a bath. Is it…er, is it very private?”
“Oh, heavens, yes. We’re out in the country here. No one will bother you. Although it will be dark soon.” Clara gazed down at Ally as though inspecting every inch of dirt covering her face. “You aren’t afraid of the dark, are you?”
“No ma’am. It looks like a full moon is out anyway.”
“Heavens, you’re right. Looks like a nice evening for a swim then.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Let me get some soap and towels.”
…
Quentin kept his distance as Ally worked with the horses. Now that he knew exactly what lay beneath the baggy trousers and loose fitting shirt, he stood captivated by her, stunned he had ever thought her a boy.
Her gentle touch with the horses went beyond good horsemanship. The horses flicked their ears back and forth when she talked to them and swished their tails in appreciation of her calming manner. Hell, he wanted to be one of those horses.
What had started as a mission to protect Ally now felt like an obsession. Was she a thief? He had to get answers from her. Why was it so important to know the truth? Why not just walk away? Mayhap because of Linford’s connection to his sister. Quentin hadn’t protected her from Linford’s clutches. Now, he’d been given an opportunity to redeem himself.