He repressed a shudder. As a kitchen wench, Maisie was a fine lass, but not one to whom he could bear to be shackled.
‘I’m not looking for a wife until I’m better set up. I’d best be off, sir, if I’m to get all of this done before dark and catch his lordship’s fox.’
Weatherby grunted. ‘Right-ho. Talking of getting established, I heard of a position for a head gamekeeper opening up in Norfolk. Small place, mostly water birds. Might be a good start. I’d miss you here, but you’ve a talent for the work.’
Hard work did pay off. For the first time in his life Robert felt truly appreciated. He couldn’t stop the grin spreading over his face. ‘Thank you, Mr Weatherby. I’d appreciate your recommendation.’
‘Ah. Time to thank me, if you get the job. We’ll see, lad. We’ll see.’ He stomped out of the door. For Robert, hard on his heels, the chill winter day suddenly seemed a great deal brighter.
Out in the courtyard, he toyed with the idea of stopping by the kitchen and asking Maisie to deliver the book he’d dug out of his meagre store to Miss Bracewell.
Charlie had purchased it for him when he’d expressed an interest in helping with the ducal estates. It hadn’t taken Father long to veto the idea. The estates were not his concern.
For some reason he’d kept the book.
Miss Bracewell would find it helpful in locating the animals she liked to draw—assuming she’d accept a gift from someone like him. The thought cut off his breath. Servants, particularly Maisie, loved gossip. He’d be giving them grist for their mills if he did something so stupid. He patted his pocket. He’d better keep it for when he could give it to her privately.
If the young lady stayed true to her habits, he’d see her somewhere on the Wynchwood estate in the next few days.
Later that evening, Robert strode back from the Bull and Mouth with a foul wind driving needle-sharp rain up under his hat into his face. Trickles of water ran down inside his collar. Not that he cared much. The glasses of heavy wet he’d sunk with a group of jolly companions prevented the cold from penetrating too deep. Hardworking men they were, who enjoyed a tall tale. And he’d told a few of his own to uproarious laughter. Especially those about some of his adventures with the ladies. Embellished a bit. And no names mentioned.
He’d enjoyed himself.
He frowned, not quite sure why he was heading home in the rain soaked through to the skin instead of being tucked up cosily in a warm bed with the saucy barmaid. Cheery though she was, he just hadn’t fancied her. Too many images of Miss Bracewell swimming around in his head. Lascivious images brought on by too much beer.
He lifted his head to get his bearings. Rain ran down his face, but he was so wet already it didn’t make a scrap of difference.
A little unsteadily, he plunged forwards. ‘Steady, Robin, or you’ll end on your backside.’ He got back into his stride, sure he was going in the right direction.
The evening had reminded him of the first time he and Charlie had ventured to the tavern near one of the ducal estates. They’d got rollicking, barely able to hold each other up on the way home, singing and laughing fit to burst.
In those days, he and Charlie had been inseparable. He missed that closeness. He missed his family. He even missed Father. They’d be at Meadowbrook now for the Christmas season.
Oh, no. No thinking about that, Robin. Not tonight.
Keep it sweet and light. That was the trick. What was the song they learned from the barmaid? How had it gone?
He stopped. Thinking. No. Couldn’t remember.
He started walking again, the mud sucking at his boots as he staggered forwards. A tree stepped out in front of him. He bowed. ‘Beg your pardon.’
Careful, Robert. You aren’t that bosky. Just a little warm.
He picked up his pace. Became aware of a tune hummed under his breath. That was it. He raised his voice.
Last night young Nancy laid sleeping,
And into her bedroom young Johnny went
a-creeping,
With his long fol-the-riddle-i-do right down to
his knee.
‘Bloody rude.’ He chuckled.
He knew one bedroom he’d like to creep into in the middle of the night with his fol-the-riddle-i-do, and it wasn’t the barmaid’s at the Bull.
And it wasn’t going to happen.
A shame, though. He didn’t know how he’d kept his hands off her up on the hill yesterday. A bit of a surprise, since he’d never been attracted to innocents. She was the kind of female men married, whereas he preferred high flyers or a merry widow. The lass was good at her drawings, though. Odd sort of occupation for a gently bred girl. It would all come to an end when she found herself married and raising a passel of children.
A husband with the right to caress her slender body, to palm her small breasts, to stroke those boyishly slim hips.
Desire jolted through him, hardening his body, quickening his blood.
What the hell was her family thinking, allowing her to roam the estate without an escort? A prime target for men like him. Or, worse yet, men without a shred of honour. They were out there. She would be an easy target.
What the hell. It wasn’t his business what the wench did. He had his work and his prospects to worry about and that was enough for any man. He picked up the next verse.
He said: Lonely Nancy, may I come to bed you, She smiled and replied, John you’ll undo me, With your long fol-the-riddle-i-do right down to your knee.
That wasn’t going to happen. He was likely going to be spending a great many nights alone. He shivered at a sudden chill running down his spine.
He stopped dead, his mouth open at the sight of a shadow huddled against his front door.
The shadow rose like a wraith. ‘Mr Deveril?’
‘Miss Bracewell?’ Well, how about that. He just had to think about her and she appeared—or was it a beer-induced vision?
He shook his head to clear his sight.
She lifted a hand. ‘I need your help.’
He knew the kind of help he wanted to provide and it involved helping her between his sheets. He wrestled his evil thought to the ground and his body under control. ‘At this time of night? Are you mad?’
Her eyes looked huge in the light of the lantern. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll go.’
‘Good Lord, how long have you been waiting?’
‘I d-didn’t expect you to be out.’
If he had one scrap of sense, a smidgeon of honour, he would turn her around and send her straight home. And let her freeze to the bone? A few minutes while she warmed up wouldn’t hurt. He might a libertine, but he wasn’t a debaucher of innocents, no matter how badly they behaved.
‘Come inside before you catch your death of cold.’ He grabbed her elbow. Beneath his fingers, he felt a shudder rack her fragile body. He cursed under his breath and urged her through the door. It took only moments to coax the banked fire into a crackling blaze with a fresh log. A sudden gust down the chimney blew smoke into his face. He coughed.
She laughed, a low smoky chuckle, and his body tightened at the seductive sound.
He shook his head. ‘Did no one ever tell you it’s not appropriate to visit a man in his house alone, late at night?’ He tossed another log on the fire and poked at the embers. ‘Why are you here?’
No answer. The door latch clicked. He leaped forwards and caught the door before