‘You brought me here?’ And removed her clothing? Her cheeks burned at the thought.
‘It was shelter. It was dry and stocked with firewood and coal.’
Tess blinked and gazed about her. It was a small cabin with what looked like a scullery in one corner. It was furnished with a table and chairs, the chair he sat upon, and a bed pulled close to the fire.
She was warm, she realised.
The man shifted position and his face was lit by the firelight. His hair was as dark as a raven’s wing, with thick brows to match and the shadow of a beard. In contrast, his eyes were a piercing blue. She had never seen a man quite like him and he was dressed in only his shirt and breeches. Even his feet were bare.
A breath caught in her throat. ‘Who are you?’ The blanket slipped off her shoulder and she pulled it about her again.
He stood. He was taller than her half-brother and Edmund reached six feet. ‘I am Marc Glenville.’ He bowed. ‘At your service.’ His thick brows rose. ‘And you are?’
Tess swallowed. ‘I am Miss Tess Summerfield.’ She frowned. She ought to have introduced herself as Miss Summerfield. Lorene was Lady Tinmore now, so Tess had become the eldest unmarried sister.
She touched her hair. It was loose! What had happened to her hair?
‘I took out your hairpins.’ The man—Mr Glenville—sat again. ‘I did undress you, Miss Summerfield, but only because you were suffering from the cold. I give you my word as a gentleman, it was necessary. A person can die from the cold.’
He was a gentleman. His accent, his bearing, were that of a gentleman.
‘I do not remember any of it.’ She shook her head.
‘A function of the cold. An indication that there was some urgency in getting you warm.’ His voice was deep and smooth and soothing.
She ought to be more frightened, to be in a strange place, with a strange man. Naked. But it had been far more frightening to be wandering for hours in the chilling rain.
‘I must thank you, sir,’ she murmured. ‘It seems I owe you my life.’
He glanced away as if fending off her words. ‘It was luck. I found this cabin by luck. A groundskeeper’s cabin, I suspect, used only when he works this part of the property.’
She looked around the cabin once more.
He stood again. ‘Are you hungry? I have a kettle ready to make tea.’
She nodded. ‘Tea would be lovely.’
He hung the kettle above the fire and reached over to pick up what looked like a saddlebag near his chair.
‘Your horse!’ She remembered a horse.
He smiled again. ‘Apollo.’
Was the animal out in the rain? ‘You must bring him in here.’
He made a calming gesture with his hand. ‘Do not fear. Apollo is warm and dry in a stable, with plenty of water and hay. I’ve checked on him. He was quite content. I will check on him again in a few minutes.’ He carried the saddle-bags over to the table, searched inside them and pulled out a tin and an oilskin package.
When he walked to the scullery and his back was turned, Tess rose from the bed and, careful to keep the blankets around her, went to check her clothing. Her dress was still very wet, but her shift was almost dry.
‘Mr Glenville?’ She pulled her shift from the line.
He turned. ‘Yes?’
She clutched her shift to her chest. ‘Will you please keep your back turned? I—I wish to don my shift.’
Without saying a word, he turned his back again and faced the window.
* * *
Marc watched her reflection in the window. Not very well done of him, but he was unable to resist. Her figure was every bit as tantalising from the back as from the front.
No harm in looking.
Except he could feel his body stir in response. He resumed his search for teacups and a teapot. He found the pot, but had to settle for two Toby jugs.
‘You can look now.’ Her voice turned low. Did she know how seductive it was?
‘Is your shift dry?’ he asked, trying to sound matter-of-fact rather than like a man battling his baser urges.
‘It is a little damp, but I feel better wearing it.’ She was still wrapped up in the blanket.
He lifted the jugs for her to see. ‘These will have to do for tea. Who the devil knows why they are here?’ He placed them on the table. ‘Do you mind waiting for tea? I should check on my horse.’
‘Apollo?’ She remembered the name. ‘Of course I do not mind. I should feel terrible if your horse suffered because of me.’
Was this sarcasm? He peered at her, but saw only concern on her face.
Consideration of his horse’s well-being was nearly as seductive as her naked reflection and her lowered voice.
He took his greatcoat off the rope and threw it over his shoulders. ‘I will only be a moment. I’ll tend to the tea when I return.’ He stepped outside.
The mud beneath his bare feet felt painfully cold, but that was preferable to wearing his sodden boots even if he were able to get his feet into them. The rain had slowed, but the sun was low in the sky. Even if the rain stopped, the roads would not improve before dark.
He and Miss Summerfield would spend the night together.
It would be a long, painful night. No matter what his body demanded, he would not take advantage of her. Besides, he well knew a man must keep his passions in check.
On the other hand, if she approached him...?
Apollo whinnied.
‘How are you faring, old fellow? Are you warm enough?’ He ran his hand down the length of the horse’s neck.
He and Apollo had been through adventures more dangerous than this one, but Marc was sorry to have subjected the stallion to one more hardship.
He found a blanket to put over Apollo. ‘This will keep you warm.’ He mucked out the stable and replenished the hay and water before returning to the cabin.
When he opened the door Miss Summerfield handed him a towel. ‘I found this. You can dry your feet.’
The cabin was brighter. ‘You lit lamps.’
‘Only two, so I could see to fix the tea.’ She walked to the table. ‘It has been steeping. It should be ready.’
She fixed the tea?
‘Come,
