Chapter 2

C ould one not get away from people, even in a barn?

Surely, barns were meant for animals and the food meant to feed said animals. Perhaps one might expect a farm worker to come by and collect some hay for the livestock on the estate, but it should have been a place that Lord Gordon Ripton, Earl of Hythe, could have found a few moments respite. He had picked it specifically, hoping to avoid company just a little bit longer.

His coach had dropped him at the castle. He’d taken one look up at the massive, imposing front that was the Duke of Westleigh’s castle and felt not a shiver of apprehension, but a tremor of, well, exhaustion travel through him.

So many people had let him down. So many times.

He had not walked up the steps, as he should have, and crossed the threshold into the foyer to be welcomed. He did not know most of the family. He was not ready to shake hands and make small chatter over brewed tea leaves.

He only knew the Duke of Westleigh because the duke had agreed with him on many points about items brought to the floor in the House of Lords. They had a mutual desire to transform the world.

It was his own disgruntlement with the world that had caused the duke to invite him for Christmas. He should have said no, but even for an earl, it was incredibly difficult to say no to a duke. And not just any duke, but the Duke of Westleigh. Very few people dared to gainsay such a man, and most of those were people without wits.

He had too many wits, quite honestly.

Sometimes he wished he had fewer wits because if he had fewer, he might’ve been able to live a contented life of ignorant bliss. This was almost certainly not true, but it was a salve in the moment. He was acquainted with a great many poor people. He had spent significant amounts of time amongst them, and though it was a general attitude, he did not find it true that having a lack of education increased one’s happiness.

He did not necessarily think overly educated people were happy, but they were generally not as trapped in misery as the lower orders. It was, of course, the source of his dismay.

For more than a decade, he had fought to increase the well-being of the lower orders. It wasn’t a term he liked to use in regard to the people of the classes beneath his own, but there were few terms that one could use that would adequately describe the situation of people born into abject poverty and unable to leave it.

Things had truly gotten rather bad.

He’d had hope for a little while. The Americans had their revolution, giving opportunities to, one might dare say, regular people, even if the ones in control generally had a great deal of money and land. And then, of course, there had been those brief moments of hope when the people of France had risen up with the assistance of many educated people in the upper middle class and even the aristocracy.

They had overthrown a cruel source of government that had treated the general populace as if they had absolutely no feeling or need for anything beyond the merest crust of bread and a hovel. He rather thought people deserved a great deal more than a crust of bread and a hovel. He didn’t know entirely why, but something had happened to him as a small boy. Quite early on, he had felt that every person alive had been ordained by the glories of the universe and creation, and that they should be treated with the respect that the wonder of such a thing produces. But as far as he could see, most people had no respect for the wonder of the world. No. As a matter of fact, they were happy to trod upon it and treat it with total disdain. Years and years of trying to convince people to do otherwise had finally taken their toll.

The Duke of Westleigh? The almost frighteningly passionate gentleman was determined to pull him out of that toll. He knew the duke would fail. Everyone else had failed him.

In turn, he had failed everyone else. So, there was only one thing left to do. He needed to go and retire to his estate in the north and become one of those lords that people read about. Lords who had no company, no expectations.

Yes, all he hoped for now was a small life away from the world, where he could spend the rest of his years wondering how the hell it went so terribly, terribly wrong. He certainly had not expected to be confronted with an exceptionally strange young lady who did not seem intimidated by his falcon or himself, and who had wandered into a barn and climbed a ladder.

Then she’d carried on a mystifying conversation with him as if it was the most normal thing in the entire world.

He really wished he’d not had to prove to be the knight with her. But watching her fall and crack her head open would only tip him over an edge he feared he was destined to fall over, and he would not be able to live with his conscience at seeing a young lady be so completely wrecked.

He supposed he was not entirely lost after all, even if he had been certain that he was.

She was beautiful and elfin, as if she belonged to some other world far beyond mortal ken, and she looked at him as if he were a project . That realization sent all sorts of feelings shuddering up and down his spine.

He was no project, but she did study him with the same sort of eyes that she had used upon his falcon a moment before, assessing the creature.

And then… Bloody hell, there was the way that their bodies aligned, and would align only further if there were no clothes between them.

He ground his teeth. He could not allow his imagination to wander down the path of wondering if his sex would fit perfectly into hers.

He was a gentleman, damn it.

Still, she evoked a hunger in him that cried out to be slaked.

His warning that she should do nothing with him did not seem to be having an impact.

In fact, she arched a brow and, as if suddenly changing tactic, turned to look at his falcon.

“Is he like you? Does he not like people?” she asked suddenly.

He let out a slow hiss of a breath. The longing to take her in his arms, throw her into the hay, haul up her skirts, and show her just how well his body liked hers throbbed through him.

Throbbed.

Bloody hell.

Gordon decided to try a bit more scowling, though she had seemed to like that. “Could you not tell from everything I said earlier?” he drawled as if her wits had gone a wandering.

No doubt to join his own.

Her cheeks pinkened at his tone. Not with desire but with irritation.

Immediately, he winced inwardly because he had never been a cruel sort of person, but he was so entirely tired now that he did not have the energy to be friendly and to tolerate her questions, especially when his body was ordering him in the most primal of fashions to seize her mouth in a kiss.

Besides, she’d prove as silly as the rest of them. And he could not bear silly.

She laughed softly then. “My, we are irritable.”

The tumble of her laugh caused her breasts to move in the most tempting fashion. In fact, it felt like her whole body caressed his with that laugh.

He stepped back, more abruptly than he’d planned. Then slowly, painfully slowly, allowed his grip to ease from her arms and trail away. He could not risk feeling her breasts, her stomach, her hips pressed against his own form any longer. He wasn’t here for that.

So, he rolled his eyes. “I find civilization, in general, to be irritable.”

She folded her arms, causing the squared bodice to plump up her breasts. “Perhaps you should choose a stoic life then, and go off and live on your own. But until you have realized that the only way to deal with irritation is to submit yourself to it over and over again until it has no effect upon you, you shall be miserable.”

He gaped at her because, in all actuality, her instruction was indeed a familiar one. He had considered it. Not just heading to his estate but choosing to live in the woods, away from everyone.

“Are you familiar with the Greeks?” he asked, stunned.

Her eyes lit with amusement. “Oh, you have no idea. Do you not know anything about my father or mother?” Lady Perdita frowned for a moment. “Mama’s not really a devotee of the Greeks. Shakespeare is her great love. She’ll read a Greek tragedy if it’s necessary. Euripides, Sophocles, Aeschylus? I’ve been raised on them all, and that’s only to start with. I have read The Iliad and The Odyssey first line to last, both in Latin and Greek. It does things to you, those long treatises on the mistakes and silliness of man. I confess to prefer Shakespeare. At least, with him, we can laugh at our follies. The Greeks? I largely just wish to cry.”

His eyes bulged. He could feel them. She had read all of that, could remark upon the nature of man so well, and she was up here in the barn eyeing him and his falcon.

She turned towards his falcon and took a step.

“Don’t,” he called quickly. “He had a terrible run-in with a young boy who thought a slingshot and a rock was an excellent way to acquaint himself with the falcon.”

She turned back to him and winced, her eyes softening with genuine sorrow. “How very terrible. I’m so sorry for it. But it appears as if the bird has picked quite well.”

“Picked?” he echoed.

She nodded. “You’re friends with it. Aren’t you?”

“I suppose I am,” he agreed softly.

She drew in a long breath. “Your only friend, I think, given your prickly nature.”

He narrowed his gaze at her and her shocking accuracy. “One might argue that your brother is my friend.”

She shook her head. “I’ve never heard him mention a friend such as you, one who has a falcon, growls, and hangs about barns. And if he has never mentioned you to me, you can’t possibly be his friend. One of his missions, I think, instead.”

His back tensed. “You are looking at me like I am your mission,” he pointed out.

“Perhaps you are. Now,” she said brightly. “And if you are staying for Christmas, which I assume you are because you have been invited, and it is the time of the season, my mother shall adopt you quickly.”

He folded his arms across his own chest, mirroring her. “I don’t need to be adopted by your mother.”

“Everyone should be adopted by my mother,” she replied. “It’ll do you a world of good because, honestly, you look as if you have drunk bracken, and that can’t be good for anyone. It’ll age your face very quickly, and then it’ll look quite sour.”

“Perhaps that will keep everyone away,” he ground out.

She cocked her head to the side. “Humans are not meant to be alone, my lord.” Her dark hair spilled over her shoulder, emphasizing the elfin nature of her face. “I assume you are a my lord .”

“I am. I thought you were just suggesting the life of the stoics and going to live on an island.”

“Yes, but as I indicated, you can’t actually practice stoicism alone. You have to test yourself. If you don’t, it’s all just some absurd theory. Don’t you know you must hurl yourself into the fray?”

“I have hurled myself enough times, Lady Perdita,” he said, his voice far rougher than he’d intended. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, would you turn about and depart?”

She was silent for a long moment, as if she was trying to discern the best way to get past his guard. She never would. His guard had been up forever, and the ability to lower it? It was broken. No, that would indicate that there was one specific event that had raised it.

No, his guard would never move because he was simply too exhausted to move it again.

“You can’t linger here in the barn,” she pointed out. “If you are supposed to be at the castle, my mother will be expecting you, and it will agitate her that you have not arrived. You are to arrive today, aren’t you? All of the guests coming for Christmas are. If you do not arrive in time, you will not be able to perform for my mother.”

He gaped.

She began to smile slowly. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

“Tell me what?” Gordon gritted.

Her eyes danced merrily. “It is a Briarwood tradition. You will be requested to pick a poem, a song, or something from Shakespeare to please my mother.”

“I’d rather not.”

“It doesn’t really matter what you’d rather,” she said, her voice a soft hum of anticipation. “It’s tradition. ”

She said this as if no argument could alter the events racing toward him.

“And you care about traditions?” he mocked, struggling to believe it.

“A few of them,” she returned with a shrug. “Not the silly ones, of course, but this one? This one does everyone good.”

“Why?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

Her face lit then. “Because when my mother is happy, everyone is happy. And how could Shakespeare not make you happy?”

He stared at her. He had wandered into a barn that might’ve doubled for bedlam, but she was rather magnificent. There was no denying that.

He did not have time or energy for magnificence. He didn’t know what he had been thinking. He didn’t have time for any of this. He never should have allowed the duke to convince him to come.

Gordon drew himself up. “Thank you for this intriguing meeting, but perhaps it’s best if I have my coach called and depart.”

“Oh,” she tsked. “A coward, are you?”

He stood stock still, unmoving, unwilling to fight her on this. He was too damned tired. “Yes,” he said, “a coward. That’s correct.”

“Oh dear,” she gasped, her face creasing with dismay. “Forgive me. My tactic with you backfired immensely. I’m so very sorry. I never should have said such a thing. You are not a coward at all. You’re simply exhausted by the world, and I’ll tell you this, if you leave now, your exhaustion shall only grow. So stay.”

Her words hit him with far more effect than he’d thought still possible.

“Why?” he asked.

And then she did something positively terrifying. She took a step towards him, raised her hand to his face, cupped it with her palm, and said, “Because I’d like you to.”

It was the simplest, most honest statement that anyone had ever made to him.

“Why?” he asked again, his voice a bare whisper. To his shock, there was an emotion in it he had not expected.

How the devil had she done that? How the devil had she exposed his vulnerability like that?

He was not a vulnerable man. Not after all he had seen over the years.

“Because you are hurting,” she said gently. “And I care about creatures that are hurting, and I promise if you will but trust me, you’ll be very happy you stayed.”

Her touch. Her gentle touch—it burned and soothed at once. But he could not bear it, so he lifted his own hand and pulled her palm away. “I doubt that.”

“What harm is there in seeing?” she asked. “Surely, you can still do that.”

She did not say another word, but she pulled away and looked about quickly. “No. No rabbit here,” she sighed.

As he stood gaping at her, she took to the ladder, descended it swiftly and with ease, and headed for the barn doors.

“I can help you,” he called before he could stop himself. Once the words were uttered, he grimaced and drove a hand through his hair. He glanced at his falcon, who was staring at him as if he greatly doubted Gordon’s intelligence.

She hesitated, then she pivoted back towards him and looked up to the loft. “I thought you wanted to be alone.”

“I’ll help you find the blasted rabbit.”

A smile turned her lips and caused her whole face to shine with glee. “Wonderful!” she said. “I think that would be very helpful.”

He looked back to his falcon. “You stay here.”

The falcon let out a small cry, flapping his wings, but he seemed to understand, as he always did. Then Gordon began the descent.

Though he should, he would never forgive himself if he let the lady think that he was like those he despised. No, he could go and live alone soon, but he’d promised Westleigh he would visit. And he was not, nor would he ever be, in the habit of breaking promises.