The cottages in the village of Cainewood were generally tiny and dark, single-room buildings with rough plastered walls and trodden earth floors. This cottage was impeccably clean and boasted large glass windows. The wooden walls and floors were polished to a gleam, and her feet rested on a lovely Oriental carpet. Besides the couch, there were two chairs and several small tables, two marquetry cabinets, and a desk in one corner.
She walked over to it and ran a hand along the smooth, rich wood. Everything on top was neatly arranged. Setting down her goblet, she slid open the top drawer to find a stack of paper and bottles of ink. Her hand went to the bottom drawer and tugged, but it was stuck closed or locked. She frowned at it, then turned to survey the rest of the large room.
A beautiful carved dining table and chairs sat on another patterned carpet, obviously imported from lands far away. A peek through an archway revealed a spotless, quite modern kitchen, the shelves heavily stocked with victuals. Another archway opened onto a corridor, which apparently led to several more rooms.
Some cottage, Kendra thought. All furnished, food and drink…Trick seemed quite at home. Maybe he lived here, after all. She’d never thought about where a highwayman might live, but she hadn’t expected it would be a hunting lodge, or a cottage, or whatever he wanted to call it. She’d assumed they slept in inns or the like.
When the door opened and Trick walked in and swept off his cloak, she rushed back to the desk and reclaimed her goblet.
“It’s not letting up,” he announced, stomping the rain off his boots.
She was relieved that he didn’t seem to care she’d been nosing around. “Is this…yours?” she blurted, making her way to sit on the couch. “I mean, do you live here?”
“Um…close enough.”
Kendra felt her face heat. She really shouldn’t be so curious. It was none of her business whom the cottage belonged to, and now she’d put Trick on the spot.
Of course he didn’t own it. Many highwaymen had a reputation for being gentlemanly, but that didn’t mean they were actual gentlemen. Men of property didn’t turn to the roads for sustenance.
Thankfully, he looked amused rather than annoyed or embarrassed. He swiped his wine off the mantel and sat beside her.
The room was quiet except for the soft pit-pat of rain. She sipped from her own goblet, peeking at him over the rim. He gazed at her through the ends of his damp golden hair, and she saw his eyes darken. But surely he had no reason to be angry.
No, it was something else.
Her heart sped up, and of its own accord her hand rose to sweep clear his forehead. Horrified at herself, she snatched it back just in time.
With a sudden grin, he gave a toss of his head that flung the hair from his eyes. “We were speaking of my name,” he reminded her—or himself.
She gulped more wine. “What did your parents name you, really?”
“Patrick Iain Caldwell.” He settled back slowly. “But my father was away when I was born—Father was always away—so my mother named me. Scots–Irish, she was. In any case, he was appalled when he finally ventured home to meet me. Said she’d tricked him good, giving his English son two barbarian names.”
Kendra grinned. “Trick…since she’d tricked him?”
“And short for Patrick, though he’d never admit it. They hated each other, they did. It was an arranged marriage.”
“That sounds rather old-fashioned. Why?”
“The deuce knows.” He drained his goblet and stared at it pensively, twirling it by its stubby stem. “Neither of them would talk of the other long enough for me to find out.”
“How sad,” she murmured, the sincere tone of her voice drawing his gaze.
FIVE
TRICK LOOKED up to see Lady Kendra shaking her pretty head. Her hair bounced, releasing a scent of sunshine and flowers that belied the dreary, rainy day. He felt the strangest urge to lean close and bury his nose in her deep red curls.
He knew he shouldn’t have asked her to the cottage. Her brothers would have his head if they knew she was here with him, unescorted. But it had been merely a gentlemanly impulse; it would have been unkind to abandon a lady in all this rain. So he’d taken pity on the Chase girl.
Still, the last thing he wanted was her pity.
“Not so sad,” he said, and moved his gaze from her face—only to have it land on her figure, evident beneath her riding habit’s collarless jacket. His eyes drifted down to her waist, and he remembered the feel of his hands spanning it. He shifted to look out the window. Raindrops trailed down in slow, crooked lines. “Arranged marriages are common enough.”
“For some, perhaps. The peerage is often required to wed for alliance.”
She thought he was a commoner. She really had no idea who he was. Trick smiled to himself, then sobered.
If she’d been told nothing of him despite yesterday’s encounter, her brothers were even more protective than he’d thought.
He rose to set his empty goblet on the mantel, then turned and leaned back against it, crossing his arms. “Your folks were different, then?”
“Oh, yes. They had a perfect, romantic marriage and loved each other very much. Too much, according to my brother Colin. He says they loved each other and the monarchy, and there was nothing left for us.”
“But you don’t agree.”
A statement, not a question. He watched her eyes as she considered it, noting the bright intelligence. “No,” she said at last. “I never knew them, really, as they died in the war when I was yet a babe. But I always felt they loved me.”
“You felt their love from beyond the grave, aye?” Once he would have laughed outright at
