Page 86 of A Rogues & Gentlemen Christmas

Chapter 5

“Wherein two lonely souls find each other.”

Once the most pressing jobs were done, Ned took himself off to Lewes and handed over what seemed a great deal of money as security on a common licence to the Archdeacon. He didn’t like leaving Grace or the farm for the best part of the day, but if they were to marry without the banns being read, there was no other option.

He’d left Rufus on guard and made Grace bolt the doors behind him. It was unlikely Rufus would let anyone within a mile of the house, but if someone was ruthless enough to kidnap a woman, a dog would not stand in his way. Ned had left Grace instructions to keep away from the windows, and to hide if anyone came prowling about, but he still spent the four hours it took him to get to Lewes, do his business and get back, looking over his shoulder and fretting himself to death.

Once he’d returned, the licence tucked securely in his pocket, he saw to the horses and hurried back to the house. Never in his life had he been more impatient to get out of the cold and return home. Though their relationship had been perfunctory, once Sarah had gone, the house had felt bigger and emptier than Ned could have imagined. They might not have been lovers, or even really friends, but they’d discussed the day’s work, the beasts, and what crops had done well and those they were disappointed in. Since she’d died, loneliness had eaten at him, gnawing at his bones and making him feel hollow and weary, making every job that needed doing seem a trial to be endured.

He’d been fortunate enough to have found other work for the men he employed for the weeks before Christmas. Work was scarce, especially since the last blast furnace had closed at Ashburnham. Many of the men in these parts had been in iron production until the Midlands and the North had discovered a cheaper method using coke. Too many men had lost their livelihoods, and he’d have not turned his own workmen away if they’d had no other means to support themselves. As it was, he’d take them back on after Christmas, when that hardest of festivals had passed. It was a time for gathering your family about you, and Ned knew what he risked by giving himself time to think, to dwell on the bleak landscape of his life.

This was when loneliness bit hardest, when a bottle of strong spirits could feel like an old friend, beckoning oblivion. Ned would not allow himself such weakness, so he’d found other work for his men and decided the winter jobs would be his alone. He set himself a bone breaking schedule and kept his hands and mind busy. Mending fences over acres and acres of land was hard work and would send him home weary, weary enough to sleep without thinking and regretting.

Now he was reborn. Since Grace had arrived, he flew about the farm, working like a man possessed, with a vigour he’d not felt in a decade, and all for her. Every second of the day he was desperate to return to her, to be in her company again.

Her beauty still astonished him. It was like having some fine piece of art that ought to be in a museum given into his care. Except she was no artwork. She wasn’t cold and untouchable. No. Grace was warm and soft and, when she smiled at him, he felt like a king. She blushed often and easily, and he constantly reminded himself she was an innocent. Being raised on a farm and surrounded by boys and girls of the same ilk, Ned found it hard to credit how sheltered she’d been. No, not sheltered, but caged, shut away from the world. She’d no friends to speak of and had known little of life outside of her home, certainly not of men… until the past months, at least. Rage simmered inside him for everything she’d suffered at the hands of her father and brother. The desire to make others suffer for her pain was so visceral he could taste it.

He’d coaxed a little more of her history from her today. Her father had been an unpleasant, unloving man who guarded his daughter jealously. He’d forbidden her to mix with others, forbidden her to make her come out, preferring to keep her possessively at home. He’d had a cruel tongue and would lock her in her room if she disobeyed him. Occasionally he’d slap or shake her, but that seemed to be the extent of the physical violence she’d endured. Oh, it was enough to make Ned wish the man wasn’t dead so he could kill him himself, but compared to her brother….

Her brother.

Mr Harold Honeyfield.

Bastard.

The man would never know how much it took to rouse Ned to anger, but soon enough Honeyfield would know just how bloody angry he was. Ned had a score to settle there, and he was itching to do it, as soon as Grace was his wife and safe from her brother. As if selling his only sister to a monster wasn’t wicked enough, tormenting her with vulgar descriptions of what the life he’d arranged for her would hold….

Ned tamped the fury down, pushed the tempting image of his hands wrapped about Harold’s throat from his mind and forced himself not to run back to the farm. A fast walk was acceptable. He might feel like a lad with his first girl waiting for him with the promise of a kiss, but he was damned if he’d look too much like one.

Rufus scrambled to his feet, wagging his tail as Ned reached the door.

“Good lad,” Ned said, giving the dog some fuss for having guarded Grace so faithfully.

He kicked the mud from his boots and unlaced them with impatient fingers before hurrying into the house. As he entered the kitchen he was spellbound in a moment, just as he’d known he would be. The sight of her forced the air from his lungs like a punch to the gut as he took in the scene before him.

Grace was bent over the cookery book, her white teeth worrying her full lower lip in a way that made him want to kiss the poor, tormented flesh better. Her hair had fallen loose, several blonde locks escaping her pins, and there was a smudge of flour on her cheek.

Tenderness welled inside him as he saw the concentration she devoted to her task, so absolute that she’d not heard him enter. He remembered her pride and delight at midday as she’d presented him with two freshly baked loaves of bread, and the way she’d flushed with pleasure as he’d praised her efforts. She was so determined to learn how to please him, how to care for him.

His mouth grew dry as he wondered if that determination might be present in other, more intimate areas of their life. Desire rose like a tide, and then he was that green boy after all. God, he was so desperate for her he’d likely spend in his britches if she so much as touched his hand.

He watched as she peered into the saucepan she’d retrieved from the stove and then took a spoon, dipping it into the contents. His brain ground to a halt and other parts of him surged to life as her lips parted and she blew gently on the spoon. She tasted whatever it was, her nose wrinkling a little as her delicate tongue darted out and licked her lips.

That was all it took. His mind was ringing a bell and calling for last orders as his brain shut down, shut up shop and turned control over to his cock which was paying complete attention.

No. No. Behave. Ye have not wed the lass yet, Edward, my lad. Ye will treat her with respect, like she deserves to be treated.

Ned sucked in a breath as Grace looked up. It left his lungs again all in a rush at the smile that dawned on her face at the sight of him.

“Mr Hardy!” she exclaimed with such obvious pleasure that it was all Ned could do not to cross the distance between them, haul her into his arms, and show her just how pleased he was to see her too.

“Ned,” he said, though it sounded more like a croak than his name. “Call me, Ned, eh?”

Her smile widened. “Ned,” she repeated, as though she was trying it on for size.

He couldn’t breathe.

“I’ve cooked dinner,” she said, gesturing to the pot and then frowning down into it. “I’m not sure it’s very good, mind,” she added, wrinkling her nose again, the expression so endearing Ned longed to kiss her nose and smooth the tiny furrows away.