“She can smell the cow shit you trod in… Sir,” Percy whispered hysterically. The Reverend felt himself begin to perspire. His curate was about to make a run for it. He could feel it in his bones. Deciding it was now or never, he hurriedly pulled his necktie over his face and burst out of their hiding place brandishing his sack. Grace just had time to turn towards them before he dropped the sack over her head shouting, “Help me you dolt.”
Percy paused, then suddenly rushed out yelling, “Your money or your life,” causing the Reverend to stare at him open mouthed, completely flummoxed for once.
“What on earth are you doing father?” Grace’s indignant words caused them both turn confounded to their captive whose head was still covered by the sack.
Chapter Ten
Nicholas opened the coach door and climbed out, wincing as he felt the pull of muscles on his injuries. After two months of being gone from Blackmore, he found himself looking treacherously forward to seeing his wife again.
His absence had been explained away as a necessity to see his estate in Scotland. Nicholas knew he wasn’t fooling anybody, but he’d needed to put some distance between himself and his all too intuitive wife.
Unfortunately, neither the distance, nor his determination to throw himself into his work had prevented his daytime thoughts roaming again and again to the sight of his wife in her undergarments. He told himself such carnal thoughts were perfectly understandable given that it had been years since he’d seen a woman in such disarray, but while that was true, he’d never in the past given any thought to a woman past the initial slaking of a need.
Malcolm had admonished him on several occasions for his hasty escape, in particular his failure to leave any kind of a note for his wife. The Scot had just had the time to write a brief note to Mrs. Tenner on his way out but was not able to shed any light on how long the Duke intended to stay away.
Nicholas felt guilty about leaving without speaking to Grace, but Malcolm had no idea how embarrassing it had been to know that Grace had witnessed him at his lowest point. For once he was grateful his valet was following behind on the morrow.
He would have to face Grace about it and Nicholas had no idea what to say. To make matters worse, he hadn't responded to either of her letters and had sent no word concerning his impending return, so his sudden arrival would take his wife completely unawares.
Still the hour was late, so with luck that conversation at least would wait until morning. Not wanting to rouse his elderly butler, Nicholas dismissed the coachman and made his way round to a side door he’d used often as a boy – usually when he and Peter wanted to come and go undetected. As he picked his way slowly past the greenhouse, his thoughts returned again to his wife as they so often did. Too often he knew.
He pictured her in her bedchamber and unwillingly felt a tightening in his breeches that had nothing to do with his injuries. What the bloody hell was he going to do? So far, he’d made a complete mull it. Perhaps he should have simply remained at his estates in Scotland, but the thought of never seeing Grace again caused a feeling of nausea deep in the pit of his stomach.
Abruptly the silence was broken by distant shouting. Frowning he pulled out his pistol which he carried as a necessary precaution for long journeys and picked up his pace. Entering the main house through the boot room, he crept silently through the kitchen and on into the formal dining room. He could hear voices coming from the main hall, but the shouting had ceased.
Pushing open the dining room door with his foot, he cautiously peered round the corner to the foot of the stairs where stood his wife, still dressed for dinner, her father, dressed in a ridiculous woollen jacket that was clearly three sizes too small and looked as though it had been last used in a stable, and a slim, weasel faced man who Nicholas had not come across before. All three were arguing.
“What the devil is going on here?” His icy voice cut across the trio’s quarrelling and the silence was sudden and absolute as he stepped out into the hall. He heard his wife’s brief indrawn breath at his sudden appearance, before she quickly masked her surprise. Calmly she stepped forward, her head held high. “Husband,” she greeted him coolly, “you did not send word of your arrival. I will wake Mrs Higgins and request some refreshment for you.”
He had a moment to observe how beautiful his wife looked and how unpretentiously she was dressed. She was certainly not wearing clothes befitting her station. Her hair was tied back in a simple ribbon and her dress had clearly seen better days. He frowned, caught completely off guard.
“I apologise madam.” He gave a short formal bow to accompany his frosty words. “I was not aware you had company.”
“They were just leaving,” Grace offered, giving her father a short sideways glare. “Your grace I don’t think you have yet met the curate for the Blackmore Estate. This is Mr Percy Noon.”
“At your service your grace.” The small man’s voice was barely audible as he offered a deep clumsy bow. He looked as though he was ready to bolt.
Nicholas bent his head slightly in response before turning back to his wife.
“Please don’t trouble yourself madam. My journey has been long and arduous, and I’m extremely tired. ‘Twas my intention to partake of a brandy
