But she’d found Bernard, a young but large fellow with a thick mane of yellow hair slicked back away from his forehead, stomping in a regimental way before the stable master and his hands, who were lined up like ducklings or scolded school children, though none of them younger than fifty years of age.
Mr. Scott, Mrs. Scott’s brother and Hawkscraig Castle’s stable master, saw her coming and broke rank, rushed toward her. “Miss! Take this pup back to England. We’ll not have him here issuing order like he’s laird of the castle!”
“No one will havehereif you don’t improve your practices.”
“He suggests our ways are outdated,” Mr. Scott cried, jutting a thumb over his shoulder at the footman with larger aspirations.
“Because they are!” the footman yelled back. Twenty-four hours after they’d arrived, Bernard had forgotten he was a footman and begun his efforts to improve everything from the castle’s cleaning policies and schedules to stable organization. The new policies he tried to implement were direct copies of those used at the agency houses in Manchester.
“What does he know about the stables, miss?” Mr. Scott asked. “He’s a footman.”
An excellent question, but not one Amelia had time to answer. “Bernard,” she barked. “Mr. Scott is a wealth of equine information, and I trust him implicitly. I need you in the castle now.”
“He’s got bad knees!” Bernard moaned.
“What’s that gotta do with it, you tassel-shouldered?—”
“There are no tassels in my livery.” Bernard shoved a finger in Mr. Scott’s direction. “Lord Andrew is much too fashionable to?—”
“Lord Andrew ishere!” Amelia threw her arms in the air as if throwing up her last and final attempt to gain their full attention.
And it worked.
Bernard blinked. “Lord Andrew? Here? But why?”
“I’ve no clue.” She had some clue. “But his coach has a broken wheel down the road, and he walked the rest of the way in the rain. He needs dry things. Can he borrow some of yours?”
“Mine?” Bernard squeaked. “No! Lord Andrew cannot wear a footman’s clothing. I’ll retrieve his belongings right away.”
“It’s pouring, Bernard, and he needs clothes now.” She put steel in her voice.
Bernard nodded and abandoned his self-appointed mission of improvement. The stable hands breathed easier once he disappeared.
“Who’s Lord Andrew, then, lass?” Mr. Scott asked.
“My employer. When the rain stops, please see to the coach.”
Mr. Scott sauntered closer to her, picked something from his teeth with his fingernail, and narrowed his eyes. “You’ve no need of employment.”
“I do. Just not for the usual reasons.” Then she darted back into the rain and returned to the castle. The front door slammed closed behind her. The sound echoed in the hall. Echoed through her.
Now what? Now she was soaked, too, and her room was occupied and something inside her seemed about to break, but she held it in, glued the cracks together, and climbed the stairs. Bernard must have taken away the wet clothes. There remained only a slightly darker stain of wood before her bedchamber door. Had Bernard left new ones with Lord Andrew?
Standing in the middle of the dampened floorboards, she knocked.
“Come in.” His voice sounded deep and rich and once more in control. And in her bedchamber.
She shivered and entered. He stood before a blazing fire, dressed in only a pair of footman’s breeches and his shirtsleeves. The fire limned his body in molten gold, a brilliant silhouette outlining planes of moving shadow.
He’d kissed her.
He turned. “Mrs. Dart.” Halting steps toward her revealed the details of his face and stubbled jaw, hair slicked back and eyes—where were his glasses? Usually, the glass obscured his expression, turned his blue eyes unreadable. But now the blue wavered with emotion. His eyes were bright with concern. “You’re trembling. And soaked to the bone.” He stopped at her side, no more halting or hesitation, and drew her to the fire. “You’re no better off than I was when I arrived.”
Her teeth chattered. She hadn’t been so cold before, had she? Chills wracked her now, and she shivered so much her teeth chattered. Because he washere. And he’d kissed her.
“Sit.” He pushed her toward a chair then pulled her up again. “No. Hell. You’ll make a mess of the chair. Don’t sit. Disrobe first.” Before she could take her next breath, his fingers were on her back, and the tapes of her gown untied.
She clutched the garment to her body with a little cry of protest.
