The Charmer (8 page)

"Oh?" he asked,
watching her intently. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing." She bit into
her bread to stop herself saying more.

He watched her a moment longer,
and she was almost undone by the look of concern in his eyes, but then he
blinked rapidly and shook his head, just a little, as if shaking off a thought.
The curious movement intrigued her. What had he been thinking?

But she knew the answer to that.
It was what all men thought about, particularly late at night, alone with a
woman. She'd best remember that.

She returned her bread to the
trencher and pushed it away, no longer hungry. "Good night, Mr. Holt,"
she said, her voice brittle.

"You're going?"

"I must." She had to
get away from him. In quiet moments like this, she could feel her wariness
dissolving, her defenses lowering. "Do you need the candle to light your
way back to the servants' wing?"

He stood too. "No, thank you."
He sounded distracted. "Is everything all right? You seem a little upset
all of a sudden."

"I'm tired. That's all."
She used her flame to light one of the candle stubs on the mantelpiece.
"Take it," she said, holding it out to him. "I insist."

"I can see. There's enough
moonlight coming through the windows."

"Take it." She shoved
it into his hands. "I don't want you tripping and hurting yourself."

"Too valuable, am I?"
Candlelight twinkled in his eyes and shadows played around his smiling mouth.
Good lord but he was the most handsome man she'd seen. Much, much too handsome
and too charming. There must be an entire county of heartbroken women left
behind in Sussex.

"Ha! You're a gardener with
no knowledge of fruit trees, Mr. Holt, I hardly call that valuable."

"Ouch."

She ignored him and nodded at the
food still on the table. "Please eat your fill. There's always plenty of
bread, cheese, and marmalade at Stoneleigh." The wheat for the bread came
from Sutton Hall lands and the cheese from Cowdrey Farm, all reminders that she
didn't need to be beholden to those men any more than she already was.

"I've finished anyway,"
he said. "Good night, mistress. You go to bed and I'll tidy up."

She paused at the door as a
thought occurred to her. A thought that troubled her more than his flirting
did. "Did you come straight from the servants' wing?"

"Of course. Why?"

"Nothing. It doesn't
matter."

He came up to her and took her
elbow for an instant before dropping his hand to his side. "Tell me, m'lady.
What's wrong?"

"I thought I heard a noise
upstairs near Father's study." She waved her hand in dismissal, but worry
gnawed at her. She couldn't tell if he was lying. Indeed, his type were experts
at lies, and she had no way of knowing when and if he spoke the truth.

"I'll check for you."

She was about to tell him no but
decided to let him accompany her. Perhaps it hadn't been him. Perhaps there was
someone else... Oh God. "Very well."

Together they returned the bread
and cheese to the pantry and, each carrying a candle, climbed the stairs to the
main private chambers. He kept very close, a solid presence at her side that
was both a comfort and distraction. Being near him made her heart race and her
skin hot as if she suffered from a fever. Indeed, thinking clearly had suddenly
become very difficult. She'd been close to him before, out in the garden, and
that was distracting enough, but in the dark and quiet house, it was heady and
thrilling. A small voice told her she shouldn’t be doing this with a strong man
she hardly knew, but she didn't think she could tell him to leave. Not a single
part of her wanted him to go, and all of her wanted him to stay. To move
closer, to hold her so she could press her lips to his throat, his shoulder,
his mouth.

She heaved in a ragged breath.
Her self-control hung by a thread.

"Where did you hear the
noise?" he asked.

She blew out the breath slowly,
calming her nerves a little. "Near Father's study." She pointed to a
door. "I thought I heard it open or close."

"Is it locked?"

"No."

"May I go in to check that
no one is hiding inside?"

She nodded. Her heart hammered as
she watched him look around the study, under the desk, inside the large trunks.
When he finished, she opened the door leading to her father's bedchamber. He
was asleep in bed, softly snoring. Safe. She closed the door and almost laughed
at her silliness. No one had been sneaking around Stoneleigh. Who would do that
and why? She and her father had very little to steal and no secrets. Even Mr.
Holt, the only stranger in their midst, must realize that.

She watched him closely for any
sign of guilt but saw none. Either he was a good liar, or he hadn't been there
at all earlier. Indeed, she'd begun to doubt her own hearing. A small
click
could be anything or nothing.

If he was lying and he
had
crept through the house, he would have discovered her father kept no money in
his study. What little they had she kept well hidden in the outbuildings.

"Thank you," she said
out on the landing. "Everything seemed in its right order."

"Good. I'm glad."

"Good night, Mr. Holt."

He suddenly caught her hand and
before she could withdraw it, he'd pressed it to his lips. Her sharp intake of
breath was as much from shock as desire. Both shot through her like a lightning
bolt, catching her unawares. She did not remove her hand.

His mouth lingered, warm and
soft, until all of a sudden he dropped her hand as if it had burned him.
"I, uh...hell." He raked his fingers through his dark hair, making it
stick out at distressed angles, and he looked to the beams overhead. "I'm
sorry. I...you..." He completed the sentence with a shake of his head.
"I'm sorry," he muttered again. "I'd better go."

She nodded, not trusting her
voice. Her entire body shook with barely contained emotion, but her mind shut
down, went numb. She backed away until she came up against her bedchamber door.
She fumbled for the handle and opened it. Without saying another word, she
stumbled inside and leaned against the closed door.

Thank God she'd got away before
she did something foolish. If she had not...

The thought dangled like a
tempting morsel within reach, so close yet too dangerous to even entertain it.

Later, when she was once more
tossing and turning in bed, she congratulated herself on not making yet another
mistake with yet another charming man.

***

Orlando slipped away down the
stairs, although his mind was still back up on the landing. He couldn't think
straight, and he got lost on his way to the servants' wing. Somehow he ended up
in the kitchen again.

He sat on a chair and lowered his
head into his hands. Christ. He wanted her. Wanted to kiss her and take her in
his arms. And bed her. He definitely wanted to do that. Not a good idea if she
turned out to be a murderer. When he first met her he'd thought he could bed a
woman for amusement then kill her if he had to. Now, he wasn't so sure. Susanna
had gotten under his skin. Beauty and vulnerability had a way of doing that. The
combination turned strong men into weak fools. Orlando thought he was strong
enough, that his training had shut down the part of him that cared. Clearly it needed
more work.

He breathed in deeply then,
feeling better, stood and padded to the pantry. Since he was alone once more,
he might as well continue his search. He didn't expect to find anything in the
kitchen area, but he didn't dare return to the private chambers tonight. If
Susanna felt as frustrated as he did, she would be awake for some time. He
couldn't risk her discovering him sneaking about. She was already suspicious
enough.

It had been a close call earlier.
He thought she'd been asleep when he entered her father's apartments. If she
had gone through to the adjoining bedchamber upon first hearing him, he would
have been discovered. As it was, all he'd done was frighten her, something he
regretted deeply.

Bah! He shook off the sentimental
notion. There was no room for sentimentality. There was no room for the
feelings that flared whenever he was near Lady Lynden. There was his job and
that was all. It was his life. It gave him a purpose, a sense that he was
achieving something by bringing justice into unjust world, but it was also a
means of staving off boredom. Drudgery turned him into a person he despised and
brought danger to the door of his loved ones.

Now there was only the Assassins Guild
and its other two remaining members, Hughe and Cole, his friends. His
brothers
,
closer to him than his actual one. The likes of Orlando could hope for nothing
more.

He held up the candle to throw as
much light as possible around the large but mostly empty pantry. There were a
few sacks of grain on the floor, several jars of differing sizes on the
dresser, bread, and a wheel of cheese inside separate boxes. There had to be
something to implicate or exonerate Susanna once and for all, and he was going
to find it.

At least he now knew where her chambers
were. He suspected what he needed to find would be located in there. All he had
to do was get inside without making her suspicious and—

A scream rent the night apart.

He ran.

CHAPTER 4

O
rlando burst through the door to
Susanna's bedchamber. There was enough moonlight coming through the window for
him to see her standing at the side of the bed. Alone, thank God.

"Out there!" she cried.
"Quick, he's escaping!" She pointed a brass candlestick at the open casement
window but did not move from the bedside.

He leaned on the sill and looked down.
A cloaked figure sprinted along the path away from the house toward a horse
tethered to a bush.
Bloody hell
. Orlando couldn't reach the intruder in
time before he mounted, and raising a hue and cry would be useless with old
Hendricks being the only able bodied man within earshot, and the able bodied
part was debatable anyway.

Orlando thumped the window frame
and the glass panes rattled. Like many things at Stoneleigh, it needed
repairing.

"He's gone," he said,
as the rider rode off. "He must have used the vines to climb up and
down." They were one floor up and ivy covered the wall and part of the
window itself. Using the vines as a ladder wasn't a method many would choose to
enter the upper floors, nor was it something easily done. The intruder was
agile and courageous. Or foolish and desperate. "Did you see him?"

When she didn't answer, he closed
the window and returned to her. She still held the candlestick in both hands
with the unlit wick pointed at the window. A weapon. He gently took her
shoulders. She trembled.

"Susanna? Are you hurt?"

She shook her head.

He pried the heavy candlestick
from her grip and placed it on the table beside the bed. She looked at him through
wide eyes brimming with fear. He stepped forward, just as she too moved closer,
and folded her in his arms. She didn't cry, but her body shuddered, and he held
her harder, tighter, careful not to crush her but enough to let her know she
was safe. Her cheek pressed against his chest and her head tucked under his
chin. He'd expected her to smell of the earth but instead she smelled of
something sweet. It must be the scent she'd added to her water but he couldn't
place the aroma. Whatever it was, it smelled intoxicating and it scrambled his
senses.

She drew in a long, ragged breath
that pillowed her breasts against him and made the waterfall of her hair ripple
over his bare forearms. He reached one hand up to massage the back of her neck,
marveling at the way the soft strands slid through his fingers. Like the finest
silk. Finer. He could tease it and hold her all night and not grow tired of the
feel of her. His groin ached and his skin grew hot, tight. He wanted her more
than he'd wanted any woman. To hear her soft moans in his ear, feel her flesh
against his—

"Unhand her!" growled
Hendricks from the doorway.

Susanna pulled away. Orlando
sighed and wished he had a few moments more of the sweet torture.

"It's all right,
Hendricks," she said. "Mr. Holt was...protecting me."

The shadowy form of the servant
entered the bedchamber. He wore nothing but a nightshirt and cap. The poor
fellow must be cold and indeed, the hand holding the dagger shook, but that
could have been from age or from the exertion of running up the stairs.

"Oh, my lady!" said
Bessie, crowding in behind Hendricks. "Oh my dear girl, what's happened?
Has he hurt you?"

"It wasn't me," Orlando
said, hands up in surrender. "There was an intruder."

"An intruder!" Bessie
pushed past Hendricks and enveloped Susanna in her arms, but Susanna was the
one who uttered soothing words of comfort to the maid.

"It's all right now. He's gone,"
she said, rubbing Bessie's back.

"You sure it wasn't this
fellow?" Hendricks jerked the knife at Orlando.

"I'm sure." Susanna
glanced at Orlando quickly then away. "I didn't see the intruder's face,
but he went out the window the instant before Mr. Holt came through the door
upon hearing my scream. It couldn't have been he."

"Upon hearing you scream,
eh?" Hendricks said, frowning. "He came all the way from the servants'
wing in an
instant
?"

"Not the servants' wing,
from the kitchen." Orlando gave Susanna a shrug. "I was still
hungry."