Page 61 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

The man nodded, then slumped against Nash.

“No. Right, then. Stockley, take Ashford and ride back to the field. Unload the wagon and drive it back here.” He turned to the big man who towered over them. “Thorne, go to Wrotham Village and fetch Mr. Putnam, the apothecary. Take him to Wrotham Hall. We’ll meet you there. Take my horse; he’s faster.”

“Yes, my lord.” The big man swung up on the chestnut stallion and raced off. The other men had also gone, leaving her alone with Nash and the unconscious Courtland.

Awkward silence ensued. This was the first time she’d seen Nash since their encounter in his bedchamber weeks ago. She bent her head as her face heated at the memory, yet she yearned to throw herself into his arms and let him hold her, keep her fears at bay after this horrific experience. Fortunately, he still cradled Courtland’s body instead. Perhaps her manager needed the comfort more than she at the moment.

After a painfully long time, during which she tried to come up with something to say, she settled for, “Thank you, Nash. I cannot tell you how thankful I was to see you running out of the field toward me.” She gazed into his eyes, held by the deep blue pools that made her weak.

“I’m only glad I was there, Charlotte. Glad that Courtland here got you out of danger. Good man.” Nash pressed the cloth harder into the man’s shoulder. He stirred but did not wake.

“Yes, he is. Will he be all right, do you think?” She crinkled her brow, worry about her manager and his new wife surfacing.

“Hard to tell. The beating will mend. And it would be best if the ball passed all the way through his shoulder. We can pray it won’t fester.” Nash shifted the man to lean against his shoulder and Charlotte saw an expanse of chest left uncovered by the lack of cravat and an open shirt.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. That small patch of pale exposed skin set the blood in her veins on fire.

“What were you and Courtland doing out by yourselves today?” His stern voice dashed cold water on her budding ardor.

“I assume the same as you, Nash.” She tried to give the words a nonchalance. “We had gone out to the far acreage. Mr. Courtland’s been teaching me about the estate and the harvesting. We were heading back to the house when the gang stopped us.”

“I thought I told you before, Charlotte, not to venture out without an escort. That means more than one man.”

She sighed. She might have known he’d bring that up. “I had my manager with me. I thought that would be sufficient. Would you have thought the gang would attack us in the middle of the day?” And before he could answer she added, “There were perhaps six or seven of them. Do you honestly think two more grooms would have dissuaded them?”

He grimaced, as if caught with a bad taste in his mouth. Finally, grudgingly, he admitted, “If there were that many, and the grooms weren’t armed, then likely the gang would have struck in any case. They’d have believed taking four horses worth the risk.” He swore under his breath. “I beg your pardon, Charlotte,” he said, gazing at her with hungry eyes. “I simply want to keep you safe.”

“I know,” she said softly. “And I want to thank you for allowing me to come back here with you without an argument.” She still couldn’t believe she had gotten her way about that.

Nash gave her a wry smile. “You said you wanted to make your own decisions. As a fellow landowner, I have to respect that.” He grinned mischievously. “And because I was going to accompany you, I decided you’d be safer with me at any rate.”

The smile disappeared, leaving his face drawn. “I’ve been trying to apprehend this group of blackguards for months. It’s time I finished with them. I will not rest until they are caught and punished to the fullest extent of the law.” The lines in his face deepened as his eyes came to rest on the still form in his arms.

Charlotte sat silently on the ground beside them. How wonderful Nash was in his present mood, protective yet respectful of her position. A woman would be lucky to have such a man.

She shook off that seductive thought. The last thing she needed in her life was a husband. The respect she’d already begun to command from her workers would be undermined or completely absorbed by any man she married. Soon she hoped they would treat her as any other property owner. Such esteem brought with it a heady feeling. She prayed the workers’ regard would continue to grow. As Mr. Courtland’s injuries would impede his actual running of the estate, she steeled herself to assume the duties as best she could until he was sufficiently recovered. God grant it be soon.

“If you would like, Charlotte, my estate manager and I can help with your harvest as well as our own.” Nash broke in on her reverie, as though picking up her thoughts. “You can even ride out with me when I go to see to it.” His smile was genuine. “The more you learn this year, the easier it will be next. Believe me, I know.”

Stunned by his generous offer, Charlotte stared at him, unable to speak. Instead, he took her hand and kissed it. “It’s a gesture of friendship, my dear. One neighbor to another.” He squeezed her hand and let it go.

Charlotte’s heart beat like a drum. His touch still had the power to set her body on fire, even if only his lips on her hand. Her mind leaped to thoughts of his mouth kissing her elsewhere, melting her into a puddle of desire.

A shout from without the stand of trees pulled her back to the present. Nash struggled to his feet, supporting Courtland, then hefting him in his arms as the wagon pulled into view. Charlotte grabbed her horse’s reins and followed him. Once more the heightened awareness of Nash’s power over her called to her like a siren song, to make a different decision about her path to happiness.

Chapter 22

“My dear, I do not see why you didn’t simply die when the gang jumped out at your horse.” Georgina had said the same thing at least five times since Nash had accompanied Charlotte home and the story of the ambush had come out. Even now, with dinner almost over, her companion seemed particularly upset by the incident. “You are lucky to be alive, Charlotte.” Georgie shivered. “Had you not escaped there’s no telling what might have happened.”

“I fully credit Mr. Courtland and an excellent horse with my escape, Georgie. Had it not been for them, yes, I believe the outcome of that encounter would have been much different.” Charlotte sipped her wine and tried not to think about the leering look on the face of the man she’d kicked. Death might not have been the worst thing that would have happened to her. A little shiver shook her.

“And Nash proved a gallant rescuer as well. At least of Mr. Courtland.” Georgie gave her a sideways glance. “Did Nash scold you at all?”

Charlotte shook her head, still puzzled by that turn of events. “No. He actually admitted that the attack in broad daylight was unforeseeable and that a larger escort likely would not have discouraged it. Perhaps he is no longer so concerned about me.”

Georgie snorted. “That was evident when he escorted you into the drawing room, shouting for Fisk to have the fires stoked, for the housekeeper to bring blankets, and then poured brandy down your throat to guard against the cold and shock.” She grinned at Charlotte. “Yes, he seemed quite unconcerned.”

“Humpf.” Charlotte finished the last bite of Cook’s excellent trifle and put down her fork. “He didn’t even put up a fuss when I insisted upon going back with him to help Mr. Courtland.”