‘But I can see your leg is still injured, Captain Warriner, and that is completely my fault.’
She thought his infirmity was a temporary affliction, and as tempting as it was to go along with the fantasy, his innate sense of futility kicked in. ‘This is Napoleon’s fault, Miss Reeves. Not yours.’
Now, please go away, woman!
‘Napoleon?’
‘Indirectly. It was his guns which fired the musket balls.’
‘Balls!’
Her voice came out a little high-pitched and he simply nodded. He had no intention of telling her how they had had to dig three of the blighters out of his thigh while he was still conscious and he’d very nearly lost the whole leg, as well as his life, to infection afterwards. She blinked rapidly and Jamie could see her imagination filling in the blanks, those long lashes fluttering like butterflies as she did so.
Very pretty.
Somehow that made it worse. Pretty and pity made him feel less of a man than he usually did. However, under the circumstances, it was probably best to divulge the horrible truth and suffer her pity rather than give Letty false hope that this delightful armful of woman might enter into a romance with a dangerous invalid. ‘They left me crippled, Miss Reeves.’ And cripples were not attractive. Especially not to freckle-faced fertility goddesses with positively sinful hair and saucy garters.
* * *
Cassie had no idea how to respond to such a statement. Part of her was sorry he had suffered, another part of her was hugely relieved not to have been the cause of his injury and a bigger part of her kept remembering how very big, solid and manly his body had been sprawled beneath hers. Just thinking about it made her feel all warm and those deliciously sinful sapphire eyes were not helping. Once again those exuberant passions she was trying her hardest to suppress jumped to the fore. Fortunately, the arrival of the tea tray meant she did not have to respond and had a perfectly reasonable excuse for removing her bonnet before she began to perspire from her wayward, wicked thoughts.
‘Do you take sugar, Miss Reeves?’
‘Just one, please, Mrs...er...my lady.’
The pretty blonde woman giggled. ‘To be honest, it confuses me, too. Perhaps we should simply dispense with the formalities. Why don’t you call me Letty?’
‘In that case, please feel free to call me Cassie.’ She risked peeking at Captain Galahad, but he made no move to invite her to call him anything familiar. In fact, he looked quite irritated at her continued presence. His gorgeous eyes were distinctly narrowed, which made her babble. ‘I am new to the area. My father has recently been appointed the vicar of this parish. We live at the vicarage.’ A completely ridiculous clarification only an idiot would make. It would probably be sensible to stop babbling nonsense and wait to be asked a question. Unfortunately, once her nerves got the better of her, Cassie’s mouth had a habit of running away with itself. ‘I couldn’t help noticing you are going to have a baby.’ Was it polite to mention such things?
Whether it was or it wasn’t, her hostess smiled and Cassie watched in wonder as the young woman’s hand automatically went to her protruding stomach lovingly. ‘Yes, indeed. But not until the autumn. I appear to have got very fat very quickly.’ She handed Cassie her tea. ‘Are you engaged to be married, Miss Reeves, or is there an ardent suitor on the cusp of proposing to you in the near future?’
A very sore point.
Cassie’s odd personality, off-putting exuberance, unfortunate freckles combined with her father’s ferocious temperament had all proved to be highly effective deterrents to the male sex. ‘No to both questions, I’m afraid.’
I am doomed to sit on the shelf and gather dust; I only hope it is sturdy enough and wide enough to bear my weight.
‘Well, I am sure it won’t be long before some lucky gentleman snaps you up—you are uncommonly pretty, Miss Reeves. Isn’t that right, Jamie?’
Captain Galahad grunted and appeared very bored. Clearly he disagreed. He was sipping his tea and practically glaring at her over the rim of the ridiculously delicate cup in his large, manly hand. Or perhaps he was glaring at his sister-in-law for asking him such an impertinent question? It was quite difficult to tell.
‘Did you enjoy being a soldier, Captain?’
A safer topic might make their exchange less awkward, although this also seemed to annoy him because he frowned.
‘It had its moments.’
‘You will have to forgive Jamie, Cassie. He is a man of very few words and even fewer smiles. However, beneath that surly, unfriendly exterior he is actually rather sweet. He also paints the most beautiful romantic pictures of the English countryside.’ This comment garnered another warning glare. ‘Do you have any hobbies, Cassie?’
‘I like to write stories. Children’s stories.’ It was the first time she had admitted that to anyone, but Letty did appear friendlier than the usual person she came into contact with.
‘Oh, how lovely! What are they about?’
‘As she is a vicar’s daughter, Letty, I dare say they are morality tales,’ the Captain said disparagingly, clearly disapproving of such things. Sensible men of action like him would disapprove of her whimsical nature and romantic fairy tales.
‘Not at all!’ There was no way of explaining without sounding odd, but as Captain Galahad was of that opinion already, Cassie confessed all. ‘At the moment they are about my pony—Orange Blossom. Or rather how Orange Blossom views our life together. In my stories, she talks. All of the animals talk.’
And she was babbling again.
‘I often weave the tales around my own personal experiences. For example, the story I am currently working on is called Orange Blossom and the Great Apple Debacle...’
Her voice trailed off when she saw Letty and Captain Warriner exchange a strange look.
‘I suppose it all sounds very silly to you, but I have read one or two of my efforts to the children in my father’s congregation; they seemed to enjoy them.’ Cassie had also sworn the children to secrecy. If her father got a whiff of her vain and pointless hobby, he would forbid her from writing—or worse.
‘They sound quite delightful. Maybe you should consider getting them published.’
Cassie already liked Letty Warriner a great deal. ‘I doubt my scribblings are good enough for that. But perhaps one day.’ After my father is dead and buried—because that was the only way he would allow such self-indulgent frivolity. Unless she ever did manage to escape his clutches just as her mother had done before her. The meagre savings she had secretly accumulated in the last twelve months would barely get her a seat on the post to Norwich and there were woefully no ardent suitors clambering at her door who might whisk her off from her dreadful life. Unless a miracle happened, she was stuck.
Miserably stuck.
Her father had no idea she wrote stories about talking animals. Or about anything at all for that matter and Cassie had no intention of alerting him to the fact. It had certainly never been broached in conversation, not that they ever had conversations. Such an atrocious sin would doubtless require a great deal of solitary repentance, so Cassie had kept it all hidden. Mind you, he also had no idea that she was plotting to run away either. The image of his stern face as he spun manically in his grave at her sinful, open defiance, despite everything he had done to curb her dangerous passions,