the last minute, her expression quite wretched and her words tumbling out in rapid, panicked succession once again.
‘I really am sorry about yesterday. Getting stuck up a tree is a ridiculous thing for a grown woman to do—but unfortunately I am prone to act without thinking and often do things which are ridiculous. And I am sorry for not listening to you when you tried to save me, but I was embarrassed because you had seen my unsightly legs. I do not have the words to express how mortified I am to have caused you to fall and then for crushing you. I can be clumsy as well as inordinately stupid and ridiculous. And I am well aware I am ridiculous and more than a little odd. I do try not to be, but as you can see, it happens regardless. I am also aware that at best you find me irritating. Everybody does—and quite quickly. I am a cup of tea with three sugars when one is quite enough. Too loud. Too talkative. I am trying to be less enthusiastic about everything in a quest not to irritate everyone I meet, so please don’t panic and think for a moment I would even consider riding in your grounds again. I realise Letty meant well in suggesting it and that you were only being polite in agreeing with her. Nor do I intend to vex you further by pursuing her idea of you illustrating my silly stories. I am well aware of the fact you would like to be well shot of me and the sad thing is I really cannot blame you. Most of the time I irritate myself. I shall leave you in peace henceforth, Captain Warriner.’
‘I see.’ Jamie was not entirely sure what he felt about all that. There were several things he wanted to say, and would have if his damn leg still worked, so he stood awkwardly next to her long-maned pony. ‘I suppose I should say good day to you then.’ Even though he didn’t want to.
She blinked rapidly.
‘Yes. Good day, Captain Warriner.’
She took the reins and then stared mournfully at the ground. ‘Would you be so good as to ask for a riding block, please?’
‘No need.’ Without thinking he placed his hands on her waist and lifted her smartly off the ground to deposit her on her side-saddle. Judging from her wide-eyed look of horror, he had overstepped the bounds of propriety, but couldn’t quite bring himself to care. She felt good in his hands. Soft. Curvy. Definitely curvy. ‘My apologies, Miss Reeves, I realise now that was unforgivably inappropriate.’
‘No...not really. I was taken by surprise that I could actually be lifted. It’s never happened before. And I suppose propriety hardly matters when you have already seen my awful legs.’
Some devil inside him began to place her foot in the stirrup because he needed to touch her again, his fingers lingering too long on the silk-clad ankle above her half-boot.
‘You have very nice legs.’
What in God’s name had possessed him to say that? It sounded like flirting.
‘And lovely eyes.’
Good grief! The words he was thinking had just spilled from his mouth when he absolutely never actually said what he was thinking to anyone. Her lush mouth fell slightly open and those mooncalf eyes widened. Now he was definitely flirting. Futilely flirting and had no idea what had got into him. To stop his suddenly talkative mouth from humiliating him again he chewed awkwardly on his bottom lip and stared down at his feet.
Please go now. I feel like a total idiot and wish I was dead.
‘Thank...you. For the boost...’ Miss Reeves blinked uncomfortably as her usually rapid flurry of words trailed off, her freckles disappearing in the rosy glow of her blush. How splendid. Now he had made her hideously uncomfortable with his clumsy, ill-advised, totally mortifying outbursts. ‘Good day, Captain Warriner.’ Then she smiled shyly and peaked at him through her ridiculously long eyelashes. ‘And thank you for the lovely compliments.’ She held his gaze for several moments before chivvying her pretty pony on. Jamie allowed himself to watch her delightful bottom sway down the driveway and decided he felt peculiar.
Unsettled.
Slightly ridiculous.
Almost cheerful.
The good mood persisted even while he loudly castigated his meddling sister-in-law.
Cassie spent the next morning accompanying her father as he visited some of his new parishioners. Those too old, too ill or too lazy to come to church were always graced with a fortnightly visit. Her father was nothing if not tenacious in his mission to bring the word of God into people’s lives, whether they wanted to hear it or not—but at least she was outside. Spending any prolonged periods of time with her father at home was always fractious. She had heard every lecture and every dire final warning for a person to save his soul before Judgement Day and, because she definitely wasn’t the world’s greatest vicar’s daughter, she had long ago stopped listening. Instead, she entertained herself by weaving stories in her head. Not the lofty novels of great writers, Cassie’s wayward brain did not work in that way, but wild fairy tales. Feats of derring-do, mythical lands, pirates, princesses, dragons and, lately, talking animals.
If her papa had asked her opinion, which of course he never did, she might have told him his over-zealous, accusatory stance did more to dissuade the reluctant to come to church than encourage them. He was too much fire and brimstone and not enough love or goodwill for his fellow man. The Reverend Reeves was so blinded by his own confrontational fervour he never saw how he raised the hackles of others. Time after time, he had gone too far, upset too many well-respected and reasonable people, resulting in them having to up sticks and move to yet another parish. Usually another parish so far away from his previous one, nobody had heard of him.
Hence they were here in Retford. A tiny rural congregation which was so very different from the city parishes her father preferred, because, as he was prone to point out at least once a day, where there is deprivation and temptation, sin festered. In the fortnight since they had arrived, Cassie already loved the bustling, little market town. Her father, on the other hand, was not so enamoured, but determined to hunt for enough sinners to justify his presence. The wide-eyed farmer and his cheerful wife were probably not the sort of people he was seeking. But it made no difference. Her father was in full flow. As he had only just mentioned Sodom and Gomorrah, it was fairly safe to assume they would be here for at least another half an hour.
Cassie dived into herself. A technique she had mastered around the age of ten and one which effectively blocked out all of the outside world so she could focus on her latest story and allow her characters to speak to her. She had started it last night, whilst listening to Papa rehearse Sunday’s sermon, and it was tentatively titled Orange Blossom and the Great Apple Debacle. Except, just as it had last night, the flow of the narrative kept being interrupted by thoughts of Captain Galahad, those aquamarine eyes and splendid shoulders.
Apparently, her affection-starved brain was determined to create a completely different sort of story involving him, his mouthwatering strong arms and a willing damsel in distress eager to fall into them so they could ride off into the sunset together. In her mind, the damsel was so thrilled to be going she did not even bother looking back at her hateful father as she headed triumphantly towards her new life. There was no point in pretending the damsel bore a passing resemblance to Miss Cassandra Reeves because she was Miss Cassandra Reeves. A bolder, braver version of herself, who batted her eyelashes coquettishly when the dashing Captain complimented her on her legs.
Really, Captain Galahad? Do you think so? Eyelash flutter. Well, while we are swapping compliments, I think you have a fine pair of shoulders. Perhaps the finest I have ever seen. I do like a man with broad, strong shoulders...
