Page 52 of Stolen By the Rogue
The dog ambled over, and George bent and gave him a friendly pat. There were old, healed bite wounds on the animal’s face.
You’ve had a hard life, my boy.
“And who is this?” he asked.
“That is Snick. He’s Toby’s dog. They rescued him during a recent piece of work. Apparently, his former owner had a run in with a bullet and a Spanish duke,” replied Bob.
George didn’t respond to the remark. It was RR Coaching Company policy not to discuss projects once they were completed. From the contented way the dog roamed the yard, it was obvious the unfortunate Snick had finally had a piece of luck in becoming the mascot for the rogues of the road. “Do you know where everyone has gone?” enquired George.
Bob shrugged. “Lord Harry took young Toby home with him this morning. Sir Stephen and Mister Augustus Jones hitched the horses to the small travel coach and went off on another job. I am not sure when they will be back.”
George paused for a long second, adopting an air of indifference. It was time to remind Bob of the rules. “What else?”
The stable hand mimicked his expression. “Where they were going and what they were doing is, of course, none of my business. I am only a laborer, here to muck out the stables.”
George nodded his approval at the well-rehearsed line. If anyone ever came to the coaching yard asking questions, that was all they were ever going to get.
He righted himself and gave Bob a pat on the back. “Good man. Now give me a hand with the manure, and I will get out of your way.”
* * *
Taking the curtains down from the windows left Jane covered in filth, dust, and an eon’s worth of cobwebs. She was still checking for spiders as she carried them out of the house and into the garden. It felt as if a hundred of the little black creatures were crawling all over her skin.
After dumping the pile of drapes on the ground, she hurried over to where George was still unloading the cart full of straw and manure.
“Could you please have a look at the back of my gown and hair and make sure there are no spiders? You wouldn’t believe how disgusting it was in those rooms, especially behind the curtains,” she said.
He lay the shovel against the cart and sauntered over to her. “I thought you were tougher than that. Fancy letting a couple of spiders get you in a pickle.”
Jane whirled round. “There are spiders? Get them off me!”
“Calm down. There aren’t any on you.” George brushed his hand over the top of her head. Jane squealed once more. The evil chuckle which he gave her earned him a hard punch on the arm.
“Beast,” she said.
He leaned and kissed her on the forehead. “It is far too easy to get you all riled up. I thought I was hot tempered, but you, sweetheart, are always on the simmer.”
She offered him her mouth, and he captured her lips in a long, lingering kiss. They might have a long afternoon of work ahead of them, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t tease and jest with one another.
“As I recall, last night you were the one who said he liked me being all ablaze. Or is that only when I am naked and riding your cock,” she purred.
George groaned. “Don’t talk like that. Not unless you want me to throw you over my shoulder, march back into the house, and take you to bed right this very minute.”
She kissed him one last time before pulling away. “We have work to do. And besides, you don’t deserve any sexual favors after that little jest about spiders.” Jane laughed. She had never seen a man pout before.
He nibbled on her ear, then whispered, “How about I strip you naked later and use my lips and tongue to check in all your nooks and crannies—just to be sure that you are completely insect free?”
“That sounds delightful. But just for your edification, I will have you know that spiders are not insects.”
He harrumphed, clearly not the least bit interested in the subject of entomology. “Bugs and all manner of crawling things are much the same to me, eight-legged or not. But you— well you, I find to be a source of endless fascination.”
* * *
With a good area of the garden soil now disturbed, the pretense of planting new crops had been well established. Anyone who did happen to pass by in the lane would only see a man and woman preparing the ground for seedlings.
It was close to dusk when George headed over to the tree. With pickaxe in hand, he knelt and began to dig.
From her vantage point near the door, Jane kept an eye out for any passing busybodies, ready to engage them in idle conversation if needed.
