‘Are you flirting with me, my lord?’
Duncan’s countenance took on a hunger she could not misinterpret.
‘After what has transpired between us, I am not flirting.’
Jenna dropped her gaze and increased the movement of her fan. ‘You are bold.’
‘I am entranced.’
She did not know what to say. She had agonised that he would ignore her completely. Now she worried that what he spoke would lead them into something they would both regret. But, regardless of what lay between them, she wanted to be with him…
Georgina Devon has a Bachelor of Arts degree in Social Sciences with a concentration in History. Her interest in England began when she lived in East Anglia as a child, and later as an adult. She met her husband in England, and her wedding ring set is from Bath. She has many romantic and happy memories of the land. Today she lives in Tucson, Arizona, with her husband, two dogs, an inherited cat and a cockatiel. Her daughter has left the nest and does website design, including Georgina’s. Contact her at http://www.georginadevon.com
Recent novels by the same author:
THE RAKE
THE REBEL
THE ROGUE’S SEDUCTION
THE LORD AND THE MYSTERY LADY
AN UNCONVENTIONAL WIDOW
THE RAKE’S REDEMPTION
HER REBEL LORD
Georgina Devon
MILLS & BOON
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Chapter One
1746 De Warre Castle, near Carlisle and the Scottish Border
Crash!
Jenna de Warre jumped back from the glass bottle that had just violently hit the floor of her stillroom. One second the pieces of glass were in focus and the next they blurred. She was so nearsighted.’ Twas that which had caused the accident in the first place. She had been reaching for a different bottle and her arm had brushed the one that fell. She took a deep breath and put the frustration from her.
She blinked rapidly and pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose. The glass shards came into focus. Irritated with her clumsiness, she bent and whisked the pieces into a dustpan and tossed them into the bin under the work bench.
She stood up and knuckled her lower back. The day had been long and promised to be longer still. Mistress James was due to deliver her fifth child at any time. And she had still to prepare the draught for the mother-to-be that would help ease the birthing pains.
She took a deep breath of the cold air. Winter was the worst time of year to work in her stillroom. Even with a roaring fire and her fingerless wool gloves, her hands were clumsy from cold. Normally she didn’t come here at night, but she had been fretful from idleness and this occupied her. She doubted the babe would come tonight.
The creak of door hinges startled her, although she felt no real fear. They were too far from town for anyone to be here who did not belong or know their way. Still, it was late for someone to be seeking her. Eyes wide, peering over the rim of her spectacles, she wondered who was using the only door that opened onto the outside at this time of night.
‘Jenna?’ a male voice whispered, a strong Scottish burr making her name nearly unrecognisable.
‘Gavin?’ Her cousin stepped into the room, and joy widened her full mouth into a grin. ‘Is that truly you?’ She set down the pestle and rushed around the table, arms wide to hug him.
‘Shh,’ he said, slipping inside with a furtive glance behind. ‘No one should know I’m here.’
Puzzled, she fell back. He shot the bolt in the door before moving to the entrance that led into the castle and locking that as well.
‘What is wrong?’ Apprehension crawled down her back. ‘You look awful.’
He smiled wryly. ‘Leave it to you to point out the obvious.’ The smile died, leaving his long, narrow face haggard and pale. ‘I’ve been better.’
He sank with heavy relief on to the only stool. His thick grey cape pooled on the floor, the hem wet and laced with mud. His scuffed and filthy riding boots left prints on the stone pavers. He looked like he was travelling fast and without comforts.
Her disquiet intensified. To keep herself from blurting out questions before he was ready, she poured out a generous portion of whisky, which she kept for medicinal purposes, and took it to him. He downed the liquor in one long swallow as she knelt before him.
‘Thank you. I needed that.’
She smiled up at him, took the empty glass and set it on the floor. She caught his heavily gloved hands in hers, but said nothing, waiting patiently for him to explain. She had learned as a child that Gavin could sometimes be led, but he could never be pushed.
He was tall and as lean as a sapling. Hair the colour of mahogany waved around high cheekbones, so much like her own but without the freckles that were the bane of her existence. There were days she refused to look in the mirror because she did not want to see the dirt-red spots. His nose was a long hook, while hers was just short of one.
Bright green eyes, dulled by exhaustion and a narrow-lipped mouth drained of colour told her he was on the last dregs of his energy. Her heart ached for him.
If only he hadn’t fought for Bonnie Prince Charlie.
His ruddy complexion returned slowly as the whisky burned its way through his body. ‘I need yer help, Jen.’
The haunted look in his eyes reminded her of the day he’d fled to her from the bloody field of Culloden. He had been lucky to escape. Many Scots who had fought for the Stuart Prince had not been so fortunate. Her stomach knotted.
‘You
