struggling nou.”
“I shall cease struggling when you unhand me!” She kicked back against his calf and he grunted. His arms were rock. But instead of releasing her, with one big shake he turned her to face him.
“Nou will ye cease struggling?” He looked down at her with a face entirely devoid of menace. His features were strong and good, remarkably attractive really if one liked bulky men that tossed one around like a doll, which Diantha did not. At least not the bulky part. She definitely preferred lean muscle. And Wyn had not precisely tossed her around, rather seized her with purpose. She dearly hoped Mr. Eads’s purpose was not similar to Wyn’s when he’d held her this close.
She made herself stiff in his arms. “I will cease struggling if you will unhand me.”
One dark brow tilted up. “A will if ye’ll no run off again.”
“I would be a perfect imbecile not to run off, wouldn’t I?”
For another moment he studied her like he had at the mill. “A’ve come for ma horse.”
“I suppose you have, but I’ve no doubt you’ve also come for Mr. Yale. But, as before, I shall not allow you to harm him. You will have to tie me up, bind my mouth with a gag and throw me into the shed with the chickens and bolt the door first.” She bit her tongue belatedly. Silly to give him ideas. But her head was muddled. It did not feel good to be hugged to his chest, and she thought she might be ill. It was, she supposed, useful to learn that the embraces of all men were not equally thrilling. “Now unhand me, if you please.”
Astoundingly, he did. She took an unsteady step back and glanced at the house in the distance. His eyes narrowed. Then he moved away from her, climbed over the stile and started toward the house.
She scrambled up the stile. “What are you doing? Where are you going?” She ran to meet his long strides. “You promised!”
“A promised nothing except ta unhand ye.”
“It’s true. But, please, I pray you. I beg you.” She grabbed his arm and tugged with all her strength. “Please! You mustn’t harm him.”
He halted. She slammed into him. He set her away and his brow came down over fixed blue eyes.
“A wonder, miss, why ye would imagine A could harm a man who’s bested me once in yer sight, another out of it, and half a dozen times afore that?”
Her jaw loosened. “I suppose I did not perfectly understand that.”
“What’s amiss with him then?”
“Amiss?” Oh, God. Her foolish tongue. “I don’t understand you. There is nothing amiss with Mr. Yale. It is only that I did not wish you to surprise him.”
“A reckon he’s never been surprised a day in his life.” He crossed his massive arms. “A’m nae a dull-witted man, lass. A’ll have the truth from ye nou, or A’ll be taking more than ma horse with me today.” He scanned her from brow to toe. There was no mistaking the threat. “All the way ta the duke, if A must.”
“The duke?” Could he be speaking of Wyn’s duke?
“His Grace’ll no take kindly ta ye standing in his way.”
Fear clogged her throat; a scream would not come. But even if she were to scream, Wyn could not come and save her. She must save him.
“Mr. Eads,” she said, drawing in steadying breaths. “I will tell you what you wish to know.”
Satisfaction settled upon his square jaw. “Ye will, nou?”
“I will.” She hated to manipulate a man in this manner, but God could not give her a mind that tended toward reckless calculation then fault her for using it for the good of another. “But first I would like to hear about your sister.”
“Rook to Queen four. Check.”
Sunlight streamed across the library onto the chessboard and Owen’s face wreathed in cheroot smoke.
Wyn studied the board. The scent of the smoke relieved the thirst that still dragged at him, though it did nothing to ease the hunger. Each time Diantha entered a room, as she’d entered the kitchen that morning, he could not wrest his attention from her. She moved with unselfconscious grace, erect and tempting and apparently unaware that she dazzled him. Dazzled. She made him hungry as the devil.
He knew it was the lack his body suffered now that made him want her with such intensity. But he also knew that he’d never before been dazzled by a woman.
“You have forgotten my other knight, young friend.” He glanced at the cigar in the dish, the last remaining that he must nurse, as once he’d been able to nurse a glass of brandy. But he had lost that ability. He saw this clearly now. “I urge you to reconsider.”
Owen whistled through his teeth. “It’s a tricky game, sir.”
“You will master it. You possess the natural intelligence.” He slid the black knight across the board. “You also possess a tendency toward defiance of authority that can prove useful for a man.”
The boy shook his head and reached for his rook. “The old girl didn’t mind coming home. But it’s true, sir, I didn’t know someone would need to be milking her.”
“Do you imagine cows drop their milk like one drops a hat?”
“Not now, I don’t. Should’ve learned to milk, I guess.” He studied the board. “Uncle always says a man can’t earn his keep with his head.”
“Mm. I have heard that before.” So many times as a boy he’d lost count. “Your uncle is wrong.”
“Sir?”
Wyn nodded.
The boy bent again to the game. His hand descended upon the white bishop.
Wyn cleared his throat. “My knight?”
“My knight!” Diantha swept into the library in a cascade of sunshine. “Mr. Yale, you milked the cow.”
Owen jumped up and pulled off his cap. “G’day, miss.”
“Hello, Owen. And Ramses.” She bent and stroked the dog’s head, her fingers tender in the beast’s matted fur. “Owen, since the sun is finally shining, will you bathe poor Ramses?”
“Yes, miss. Right away.” His cheeks sported fiery red spots. “Come on, boy.” He hurried out of the library, Ramses alongside.
She set her lapis gaze upon Wyn. “How did you do it? How did you milk that cow?” Ribbons glimmered in her hair, her dimples glowed with life, and he could only stare. She was simply dazzling.
“In the usual manner,” he managed.
The pink on her cheeks deepened and he remembered when he’d last used those words with her, when he had taught her how to breathe.
But she recovered swiftly. “There is no usual manner in which a gentleman milks a cow. Mrs. Polley told me just now that it was you and not Owen. I could not believe it. But now here you are saying it is to be believed.” Her smile could not be bridled even by embarrassment.
He turned back to the chessboard. He had not stood when she entered, not because of weakness but because of a remarkable strength in one area of his body whenever she came near. “I am variously talented, it seems.”
“You truly are. I have never met a gentleman like you, Wyn.”
“Under the circumstances, Diantha, I am not quite certain how to take that. Although of course you have admitted that you are acquainted with very few gentlemen.”
“It’s true: my society has been limited.” She ran a finger down the glass panel of a bookcase. “Mrs. Polley dusted in here.” She opened the door and drew forth a volume. “She would be a remarkably fine housekeeper. Bess at Glenhaven Hall does not drop off to sleep unexpectedly, of course, but she’s not so clever in the kitchen. Or perhaps Mrs. Polley could open a bakery.” She slanted him a quick glance, her lips twisting. “And Owen could open a school for blushing ne’er-do-wells.”
Wyn allowed a grin. “He is very taken with you.”
“He is a thief.”
Not precisely. “He wishes to please you.”
“He will get us discovered.” She reshelved the book, drew out another, and pursed her lips to blow across its binding. Dust puffed into the air. “But so are we thieves lately, of course,” she said, her fingertip turning pages swiftly. “By the by, Mr. Eads has just been by to retrieve his horse.” She took the book in both hands before her like a shield. “We spoke then he left with his horse.”
