Chapter Nine

The next day

T heodosia blinked open her eyes. Her gaze flicked over the room, her mind hazy for a minute before recollection returned of the previous night's events.

Book. Wound. Fleeing once again.

Saville had driven Dream nearly to death as they waded across the country roads, changing directions and roads so many times in hopes the highwaymen wouldn't pick up their trail.

They finally came across a farm and met a startled-looking Mr. and Mrs. Bell and sought shelter on their farm. She could only imagine what they must have thought at the sight of two strangers knocking on their door in the early hours of the morning. They'd spotted the house in the pale light just beginning to give shape to the landscape around them, and they'd been so tired—and her backside had hurt from riding for hours, first on the highwayman's horse and then on Dream—that Theodosia had decided to take the chance and ask if the older couple would take them in—maybe even for a few nights—as they were cousins on the run from a group of highwaymen.

The couple readily agreed.

Her legs had given out at that point, so it was then one rider standing before their door with her gathered up in his arms.

How embarrassing!

Worse than hanging onto his back?

She couldn't rightly tell.

But they were helped, that was all that mattered. And this spacious room they were offered had two narrow beds. They could comfortably sleep here, and they did.

She turned her head.

Saville was still sleeping soundly. If she recalled correctly, he lay in the same position he had first fallen into on the bed. Her lips quirked. He still wore the purple dress.

Her eyes drifted to his legs where the skirts had hitched up, displaying two legs layered with soft, sandy hair. Theodosia blinked.

How revealing!

She lifted her gaze back to his face. All scowls and frowns were smoothed out to highlight his handsome features. He should scowl less. He'd be almost irresistible if he did. He would certainly have more ladies flocking around him.

She slowly sat up and looked to the window. Bright light. How much time had passed? It should be more than a few hours, yet the heaviness in her head made it feel like she'd only slept a few minutes.

"You awake?" Saville asked.

She turned toward the raspy sound. His eyes were still closed. "Yes. It should be around noon if I had to make a guess."

"And we aren't surrounded by brigands?"

She smiled. "I don't believe we are."

"Then I'll sleep a bit longer."

You do that, Earl.

She rose softly, quickly darting a look beneath the bed to reassure herself that the satchel with the betting book was still stuffed beneath, before padding over to the door.

"Where are you going?" his gruff voice came.

"To let our hosts know we are still alive, and to ask if they've heard any whispers about our pursuers." She paused. "Mrs. Bell said she would set out some clothes for us. I'll ask if we can draw bath."

Theodosia slipped from the room, and after one parting glance at Saville, who still hadn't moved an inch, she shut the door quietly. Her heart wrenched in her chest. He looked tired. And he must be in some pain, too.

Not even one sarcastic remark had left his lips.

Even though the knife had only left a shallow scratch, the way he had driven the horse could not have been comfortable for any of his injuries.

The man was generally a pain in the arse with his demands and his rejoinders, but she could not stand a Saville that said nothing. One that didn't even have a breath to retort. That pained her . She would ask Mrs. Bell if it would be a bother if she used her kitchen to make a beef stew. She would repay their kindness tenfold later.

Mrs. Bell smiled when Theodosia ventured into the kitchen. "Ah, dearie, did you have a good rest?"

Theodosia nodded. The woman's welcoming smile was a fresh sight for her poor, heavy eyes. "Would it be possible for me to make a pot of beef stew for Field?" Theodosia switched to his name rather than title, which sounded almost foreign on her lips. They had merely told the couple they were cousins and hadn't been clear about their true identities. Mr. and Mrs. Bell hadn't asked either. A relief, really. They could both use a pause from all the demands their names and position made of them these days.

"Oh, have no worries, my dear. I could whip up some stew in my sleep, and you still look like as though you might collapse at any moment."

Theodosia gave a sheepish smile. "We've had quite the adventure. But it shan't feel right if I do not at least help with something."

"Then you can help me cut the carrots."

"Of course." Theodosia moved to the cutting board and picked up a nearby knife while Mrs. Bell rummaged for the carrots.

"Speaking of little adventures," Mrs. Bell said. "Do you wish for us to send for your family?"

Lord no. "That won't be necessary. Our families are a bit... It's best if they don't know—we wouldn't want them to excite themselves unnecessarily. Field and I just need a moment of rest and wait for the dust to settle on these brigands after us. Speaking of which, have there been any whispers about highwaymen?" Theodosia asked as she accepted the vegetables.

Mrs. Bell shook her head. "None that we've heard, dearie."

"I see." Could no news be accepted as good news?

"That's a good thing, dear. It's good that you found us. Those ruffians won't come looking for you here."

Theodosia nodded as she cut the carrots into chunky slices. It hadn't been that long since she'd left London, yet it felt like ages ago. She sent word to her aunt she would be coming to visit in Brighton a day before she left. By now, her aunt would be worried that she hadn't arrived yet and perhaps even sent word back to her mother. If not today, then tomorrow. After which time her mother would set the hounds loose on her.

A bunch of browbeating brothers breathing down her neck.

Yes, it's best to stay here for a while.

Her brothers wouldn't find her here, either, and she didn't want to get caught. It would be even worse getting caught together with Saville given the rumors that were circulating.

Those rumors. . .

She'd almost forgotten about them. She supposed they would die down with time. Just like these carrots would disappear into a delicious stew and then their bellies.

"Theodosia in the kitchen," a gruff voice said from the door. "Now this is a sight I never thought I'd witness."

She glanced over her shoulder to find Saville leaning against the doorframe, watching her. A sight she might have found handsome even, had he not still been wearing a purple dress.

"You really need to change your clothes."

Mrs. Bell snickered. "I've never seen Mr. Bell so startled before in my life as when he first caught sight of you. I shall cherish that memory forever, I'm sure."

"Why are you up?" Theodosia asked. "Didn't you want to sleep some more?"

"Couldn't."

Mrs. Bell chuckled. "I put clothes out for you. You can give me yours to wash. Let's not give Mr. Bell another fright."

"Thank you, Mrs. Bell," Theodosia said. "I still have a set of clean clothes with me And clothes for him, as well, though they aren't clean."

Mrs. Bell waved a slight hand. "We can wash everything that needs washing, dearie."

"Well, I for one, can understand his sentiment, which is why I haven't glanced into a mirror yet."

His gaze shifted back to Theodosia before he dragged both hands through his hair. When he dropped them to his side, his ruffled tendrils were sticking up in all directions.

Theodosia laughed. "You look a bit wild. A damsel in wild distress."

He frowned, and it wasn't his normal scowl. It was perhaps a little bit less , the furrow not as deep as before.

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Bell said suddenly. "Your horse—Dream, was it? He has been fed and rubbed down. A perfectly happy beast. And a nice name, too. Very apt. He looks fierce, like you, but he has a calm temperament like you, as well."

Calm?

At this, Theodosia did laugh. Were they talking about the same man? How had Saville managed to gull the Bells?

"It must be the dress," Theodosia said. Barring the rip and the patch of blood. "Softens the features. Purple really is your color, it seems. If you find you are becoming attached to dresses, you must have more commissioned for you once you get back to London. I can recommend a wonderful modiste."

"Excuse me? Could you repeat that?"

Theodosia shook her head, instead remarking, "Dream is an interesting name for a horse, wouldn't you say?"

"What sort of name do you think I'd give a horse?"

"Demon? Savage ? Devil?"

His lips quirked, then a shrug. "I when I was a boy I dreamed of a black horse often. Then I found one that looked exactly like the horse in those dreams, so I called him Dream."

Theodosia blinked. Of all the reasons she might have guessed, that was not one she'd ever have thought of. Even the note of sentimentality that clung to his answer was unexpected. Unexpectedly lovely, too.

"Are you shocked?" he asked.

"Extremely."

Mrs. Bell laughed. "I am happy to see your spirits have not been crushed after what you two dears went through. It would be terrible if circumstances were ever to dim that affection."

Theodosia nearly choked. Affection? Was Mrs. Bell secretly foxed? She cast a suspicious look at Saville. Mrs. Bell didn't even seem to find it strange that he still wore the dress. In fact, both Mr. and Mrs. Bell had accepted their attire, her with her Turkish trousers and he in woman's clothing, with hardly a second glance.

"Just what did you do to get into Mrs. Bell's good graces?"

"Oh, no dear. When you knocked on our door asking for help, I could simply tell with one look you are most precious to your cousin. It's rare for cousins to care this deeply for each other—just ask me and mine. You should always cherish your relationship."

By Jove, just what sort of familial feeling did Mrs. Bell think she could glimpse between them? Theodosia would rather not ask for more details. "Well... we," she looked at Saville and gave an awkward laugh, "aren't that close."

"You can't fool me, my dear," Mrs. Bell said over her shoulder. "Just look at you wanting to make beef stew to give your family strength. So lovely."

What lovely? The man was hurt. That was all.

She met Saville's unrelenting stare.

"You asked Mrs. Bell to make me beef stew to give me strength?" he asked.

Theodosia snorted. "How else are we to get your weak body back in the saddle?"

He returned her snort, but it was almost teasing. "My weak body? I recall carrying you all the way to the doorstep when we arrived, and you are heavier than three sacks of potatoes."

Theodosia cast him a dry look. Three sacks? I shall get you back for that one, Field Savage . "You must cherish potatoes a great deal if you know their weight." She turned to Mrs. Bell. "Forget the beef, we can just make a plain potato stew."

"I take that back," he said instantly. "One sack."

She laughed. "You think that's better?"

He suddenly bent over to clutch his leg. "I think my leg is throbbing."

Rogue. All that was throbbing was his palate!

"Ah, you youngsters of today." The older woman tsked, then said dreamily. "If all family could be this way, it would be nice, don't you agree?"

Theodosia's appalled gaze met Saville's equally appalled eyes.

Theodosia was convinced. Mrs. Bell was secretly foxed. She had a stash of wine, or gin, or whatever in the kitchen somewhere and added it to her tea.

"That's right," Saville, the beast drawled with a smile Theodosia had never seen on his face. "We do love boldly, do we not?"

She wanted to throttle the man.

Hellion.

*

Saville chuckled as the minx stared at him as though she wanted to chop him to bits instead of the carrots.

That was better.

Familiar.

All this talk of affection gave him chills. Staying in such close proximity with her was dangerous. It was those eyes—it was nonsense that he'd ever said they were the devil's own, but they did pierce straight through his soul. Every single time. Very dangerous. And after she'd helped with the ruffian in stables... no one had ever helped him fight a battle before. No one had ever come to his rescue.

But she had.

Without any hesitation.

Field couldn't deny it was a sensation a man could become addicted to. Dangerous indeed.

The hot stares were much better than playful banter, though they did fall a bit short from her usual glares. But having shared in a battle together, it seemed they had become comrades of sorts. Even Field felt the usual annoyance born from their bickering hardly surfacing. His own seemed to have changed tone as well. It all made him rather... uneasy.

Uneasiness aside, how could his heart not palpitate at Mrs. Bell assessment?

It didn't matter that the context was familial. It called to a deep, almost forgotten part of him.

"Would it still be affection if I pretend he is a carrot and slice him up for the stew?" Theodosia asked with a raised brow.

Field mirrored her look. "Would that be all of me or just parts of me?"

She pointed the knife at him in mock threat. "Care to find out?"

Mrs. Bell laughed. "You are done with the carrots, dear. Why don't the two of you go wash up? There's water in a basin with cloth in the next room. Unfortunately, we haven't boiled any hot water yet, so that will have to do for now. There are also fresh sets clothes are on the table."

Theodosia set the knife down on the table. "Thank you, Mrs. Bell."

Field nodded. "Much obliged. And I'm happy to help where I can."

"Me as well." Theodosia looked over to him, her gaze dropping to where he got hurt. "You might have trouble removing the dress. Shall I help?"

A chill skittered down his spine. Theodosia helping him undress? There were several things wrong with that image, not the least of which being that he found it oddly fascinating. "No need, no need. You wash up first, I shall wait."

"No, go ahead." She smiled. "I'm sure you want nothing more than to get out of that dress."

Field didn't argue, and with a nod at the women, he turned on his heel. Exhaustion still tugged at him, but the moment she had left the room to find Mrs. Bell, he couldn't sleep. A restlessness had settled into his chest, prompting him to rise as well.

Now, she was quite right—he wanted to get out of this deuced dress. If he could simply rip it from his body, he would.

Footsteps sounded behind him.

He cut a fleeting glance over his shoulder. "Why are you following me?"

"Can't I?"

"I'm going to change clothes and wash." Field collected the items of clothing from the small drawing room.

"I know." She snatched up the washbasin and cloth. "You might need my help."

Field didn't bother to argue any more and returned to their chamber. "So rude." She placed the washbasin on the table and plopped down onto the bed, eyeing him with interest. But it was that smile that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

"What are you doing?" Field asked suspiciously.

"Acting the rogue."

"Rogue?" Had the Heavens fallen?

Her teeth flashed. "You seem to be the one in a dress, and I seem to be the one in trousers, so I thought I'd see how the title of rogue fits on me."

Field didn't want to entertain this conversation. All instinct told him he would lose. "Speaking of trousers, just how long are you going to wear those?"

Her brow furrowed slightly. "I don't take your meaning."

"Let me put it this way, then: How are you going to act the rogue?"

"I see." Instead of answering, she leaped from the bed and sauntered over to him. "I suppose, given the circumstance, and to spare water, I should wash up now as well. Do you mind if I join you?"

Field stilled. "Theodosia."

"Oh my, my name sounds positively evil on your lips. Shall I play the devil? Apparently I already have the eyes."

"Do not play with fire if you do not wish to be burned."

"What's so fiery about this?" Her smile turned playful. "Are you perhaps hot? You might cool down if you remove that dress."

"Are you not afraid that I might act the rogue right back?" Field crossed his arms over his chest. "I may even lose control."

"Perhaps I am in the mood to lose control as well."

Field arched a brow, assessing her, the trousers she wore. "I suppose it takes a brave man to admit that he's in the mood to lose control over a pretty woman ."

She chuckled. "A man, you say . . ."

He shrugged. "If the trousers fit."

"Shall I rip open your bodice, then?" she murmured with a twitch of her lips.

"Just how much time did you spend with those brothers of yours?" Saints, he was just a man, after all. One with a rather visual imagination. And God help him, what she was saying brought an onslaught of provoking imagery to his weak, male mind.

"Enough," she said simply.

Field thought back to his sister and Warrick. "Brothers seem to be the true corruption of ladies."

"It's rather na?ve to assume we ladies grow up all innocent and that our mothers have to explain how the world works."

"For some ladies that still holds true."

"Ladies without brothers, you mean."

"Ladies who—" Field decided to clamp his mouth shut before he stepped into a minefield of glares and tart comments.

" Who ?" she urged.

He averted his gaze. "Never mind."

A small chuckle. "It's a wise man who is quick with learning new skills."

"Dodging tricky conversations is a skill?" His gaze locked onto hers again. "I suppose in our case, it is. Now, if you are done with acting the rogue and loitering about..."

"Actually, I followed you to check on your wound."

His wound? He'd almost forgotten about it.

"We haven't cleaned it yet. We should do so before it becomes infected," she continued.

"I'm about to wash up. I'll clean it."

"You forget, I grew up with six brothers. If there are three things I know about men, it's that they detest doctors, play the infant when they're sick, and don't care a whit about scrapes and scratches. Lie down on the bed."

"Why should I lie down?" That sounded more dangerous than an infected wound. "Why can't I just sit?"

"Because then you'll be glowering at me from on top. I prefer to you glower from the bottom."

Bloody hell. "If you even know what the picture that provokes, you'd not say stuff like that."

She pressed him down on the bed when he stubbornly remained upright. "Behave."

Field lay down grudgingly, not sure whether he should be impressed or concerned that such a statement didn't even give her pause. "I can't believe you just said that to me."

"Believe it." She hiked up his skirts.

Field scowled. "You are doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

"What exactly am I doing on purpose?"

"There!" He lifted his head to scowl at her. "I detect suspicious humor in your voice."

She scoffed. "Quite sensitive, aren't we? I won't do anything roguish to you, so settle down."

Field bit down on his jaw as she removed the stocking she'd wrapped around his leg. Easier ordered than done. Because she was touching him again.

So damn gently.

Gooseflesh broke out of his skin as she removed the cloth, and Field shut his eyes, savoring the sensation way too much. When last had someone taken care of him so tenderly?

When he was a boy?

Before his father passed? After that, since there were no beatings, there was no more care. Then his mother remarried, and left Selena in London with him. No more care. Just sibling bickering.

He sighed.

"Does it hurt?" She dipped a cloth in the water and washed the wound. "Luckily it was not deep enough that you require stitches."

"No. It doesn't hurt."

Just . . . don't stop.

Never stop.