a rope. ‘You’ve made yourself a garment.’
She turned and smiled, making her face even lovelier. ‘I devised a way that the blanket will not fall off me if I wish to use my arms. I suppose I should leave a coin to pay for cutting holes in the blanket for my head and for the belt.’
He hung up his greatcoat. ‘I would say you are resourceful.’
She smiled again. ‘Thank you.’
He sat at the table and she poured him a Toby jug of tea.
‘I could not find any sugar,’ she said.
‘No matter.’ His fingers grazed hers as he reached for the jug. He glanced at her hands and saw no evidence of hard work in them.
She sat and poured herself some tea. ‘I have never drunk tea from jugs like this. I have never drunk anything from Toby jugs. I have seen some like them in the village shop, though.’
He frowned. A well-bred young lady might not have used a Toby jug. Perhaps a woman in service would not have used a Toby jug either.
Who was this Miss Tess Summerfield?
He took a sip of tea and tapped his jug with his fingers. ‘You said something about Tinmore Hall when I picked you up. Are you employed there?’
‘Employed there?’ She looked puzzled. ‘No, I live there. Now, that is. We—my sisters and I—recently moved there.’ She paused as if trying to decide to say more. ‘My sister Lorene is the new Lady Tinmore.’
But this made no sense. ‘I thought the old lord was still alive. He had a grandson?’
She met his eye. ‘Lord Tinmore is still alive and he has no grandson. My sister married the old lord.’
His brows shot up. ‘The old lord? The man must be in his seventies.’
‘He is nearly eighty.’ She lifted her chin. ‘How do you know Lord Tinmore?’
He took a sip of tea. ‘I do not know him. I know of him. My father went to school with his son and I remember my father mentioning the son’s death. It was sudden, as I recall.’ He stared at her. ‘Your sister married a man in his seventies?’
‘Yes.’ Her gaze did not waver.
She was sister to Lord Tinmore’s wife? Well, she certainly was not a housemaid, then.
He’d wager the old earl did not marry below his station—most men of his social stature did not. Most gentlemen were wiser than that.
‘Who is Tess Summerfield that an earl would marry your sister?’ he asked.
She met his eye. ‘I am the second daughter of the late Sir Hollis Summerfield of Yardney.’
Sir Hollis?
Ah, yes. Sir Hollis. He’d heard of him. Or rather, he’d heard of his wife. It was said his wife had had so many lovers her daughters were sired by different men and none of them her husband.
Even so, they must have been reared as respectable young ladies and now were under the protection of the Earl of Tinmore.
He rubbed his forehead. ‘This changes matters. We must be very careful not to be discovered together.’
She sat up straighter. ‘I have no intention of being found with you! I assure you I hope to be gone as soon as the rain stops.’
He did not have the heart to tell her that it would likely be dark before then.
She took another sip of tea. ‘I am sorry, Mr Glenville. I did not mean to sound so ungrateful. You might have left me in the road.’
He opened his eyes and gazed at her. Her expression was soft and lovely.
‘You did not sound ungrateful, Miss Tess Summerfield.’ He savoured the sound of her name.
She blushed, as though she had read his thoughts. ‘I know what you did for me,’ she said quietly. ‘You rescued me. And I do realise that being alone with you in this cabin, especially in my state of undress, is a very compromising situation.’
She was direct; he appreciated that.
‘I have no wish to see you ruined,’ he explained. ‘That is all I meant.’
She faced him again. ‘All I need is to reach the road back to Tinmore Hall. I will tell no one where I’ve been or who I’ve been with. If you can help me get that far, you can trust that I will say nothing of this. Ever.’
‘I will see you to safety.’ He’d always intended to do so. ‘And I, also, will say nothing of this.’
She extended her hand across the table. ‘Let us shake on it.’
He placed his large, rough hand in her smaller, smooth one. ‘We have a bargain, Miss Summerfield.’
Up so close, Mr Glenville’s blue eyes shone with such intensity Tess could not look away. Nor could she move her hand from his strong grasp. Her face grew warm.
‘Are you hungry, Miss Summerfield?’ he asked, releasing her.
‘A little,’ she managed. She was famished.
He pulled the oilskin package towards him. ‘I have some bread and cheese here.’ He untied the string and unfolded the oilskin. Inside was a small loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese. He tore the bread in half and handed her a piece.
It was damp, but she did not care. She took an eager bite.
He broke off a piece of the cheese for her.
It was all she could do not to gobble it down.
‘Do not eat too fast,’ he warned, taking a bite of the cheese.
His manner had changed in a way she did not quite understand, but his gaze warmed her as effectively as the fire.
He’d shown her nothing but kindness. Indeed, he’d saved her life. How awful it would be to have someone discover them here. Some women might use such a situation to trap a man into marriage.
It would be dreadful to base a marriage on an accidental mishap. Even Lorene’s marriage made more sense than that.
She took sips of tea between bites and held the doughy taste of the flour and the sharp tang of the cheese in her mouth as long as she could. If she had been served wet bread and cheese at someone’s dinner table or at an inn, she would have been outraged.
‘How can I thank you, Mr Glenville?’ she murmured. ‘This is ambrosia.’
He glanced at her and his eyes still filled her with heat.
He quickly looked away. ‘Tell me why you were out walking in a rainstorm.’ It was said conversationally.
