Page 69 of Nothing But a Rakehell
He pulled his shirt from the branch where it had been snagged. “Then I will leave you to it.”
He stood, but paused before he slipped out. “Don’t forget—and don’t settle.” He moved, then stopped again. “Your trust truly does mean a great deal to me.”
And then he was gone. She flopped back—and discovered he’d forgotten his coat and waistcoat.
Don’t forget?She nearly laughed. Not likely.
And as for trust . . . well, she did indeed trust him. But he had done just what he’d set out to do. He’d handed her a weapon.
Now she had to convince herself not to use it against him.
Chapter 15
Keswick went on to the village. When he entered the Crown and Cock, a great many of the tavern’s patrons were gathered around a table, shouting, betting and heckling two local lads engaged in a game of dice. He veered away from the noise. He brushed off Betsy’s advance and took a padded window seat where he could stare out into the murky night.
He failed to notice Betsy’s affronted neglect. He never observed the swell of men who came in or felt the side-eyed glances they cast over him. He did register when Betsy finally relented and set a pint down in front of him. He drank it down and barely noticed the several times she replaced it, except to toss those back, too.
He continued to stare out the window when the taproom grew quiet and Mr. Thomkins began to scrub the tables and then the floor.
“Would ye care to take a room fer the night, milord?” the innkeeper asked at last.
“No, thank you,” he replied absently. He barely heard the question over the chaotic skirmish in his head.
“Would ye be heading back to Greystone Park, then?”
“No, thank you.”
He didn’t know how much later it was when he looked around, found the taproom empty, the fire banked and the chairs upside down atop the tables. Perhaps he dozed a little. He was awake when the first faint light of dawn showed in the sky and the first noises came from the kitchen.
He came back to himself sometime later when Tensford slid into the seat next to him.
“Having a bit of a brood, are we?” his friend asked.
He didn’t bother to answer.
“It’s been a while since you’ve been struck with one of these.”
He blinked. Frowned. “I had my life settled. Ordered.”
“Padded and numb, is more like it,” Tensford muttered. He stood. “Come on. You are unsettling Thomkins and his wife. I’ve got a place for you.”
“I don’t want to go back to the house.”
“No.” Tensford looked him over. “Not like this.” He sighed. “Come along.”
He stood up.
“Kes? Where are the rest of your clothes?”
Surprised, he looked down. He’d forgotten them, forgotten the state he was in. “I . . . I’ll fetch them later.”
Tensford had brought the dogcart, hitched to a grey pony. Keswick crawled in and settled into a corner. The box shaped seating was lined on all four sides with benches. He laid his head back and put his feet up on one bench and watched the light grow in the morning sky as they set off.
Tensford drove back to Greystone land. Keswick shut his eyes when they crossed the bridge, so that he would not look down the long field toward the cluster of shrubs near the river. When he opened them again, the sky had been replaced with the canopy of the ancient forest and they had pulled to a stop next to a tiny hut with an attached lean-to.
“It’s an old game-keeper’s lodge. We’re quite a ways from the house. You won’t be disturbed.” Tensford climbed down and untied a basket from the back of the cart. Going to the door, he held it open in invitation.
Keswick rolled over the side of the cart and went to peer in. Somehow, it appeared even smaller on the inside. There was a hearth, a low bed and a table pushed against the far wall, with two stools tucked underneath it.
