Coles left the East End of London, he gave a stirring sermon from her local pulpit, inspiring her imagination when he spoke of Cornwall's fresh air, away from the filthy, Cholera-stricken streets of London. His words had given her hope and something to aim for. The Reverend took an interest in Kate's attempts to better herself and encouraged her to practice her letters by writing to him in his new parish. When she finally had the means to escape Bert Soames, the Reverend suggested she head this way herself and he kindly offered to help her settle there.
"You'd best apologize for threatening me with a whip, Duchess. I don't know many housekeepers allowed to get away with such insubordination to their master, and we ought to begin as we mean to carry on. I'll be in charge here. Needn't think to flutter your lashes and rule the roost."
"Yes, of course." She sighed, her mind preoccupied. "I suppose so."
"Be warned, I'm a hard task master."
"No doubt."
"And don't think I'll always have time to get you out of trouble whenever you get yourself into it. I haven't heard you thank me yet for saving your behind today."
Now she paid attention. He seemed to be walking slower, taking longer to get her to the riverbank. Looking into his eyes and finding a distinctly mischievous gleam there, she suspected the slow pace was deliberate. He had let her think the situation was urgent and now, suddenly, it was not.
"I'm not saved yet, sir," she said warily. "Once I'm on dry land again I'll thank you then."
He looked surprised and then laughed. "Steady on now! I'm the bashful, self-effacing sort and such an excess of gratitude might cause me to drop you."
Bashful? As a fox in a chicken coop, she suspected.
When he looked at her again, Kate felt the melting influence of his smile. Before her lips were inclined to soften and curl in the warm rays of his sunny regard, she turned her head away.
Apparently her angry frowns and sharp comments bounced off him like rubber balls. It was most disconcerting for a woman who had learned the efficacy of insults and scowls when dealing with over-eager gentlemen.
Finally he set her down on the wet grass and asked, "What's the heaviest thing in the cart, Duchess?"
"There's a chest with my... linens. That probably weighs the most."
He waded back to the cart, heaved the large chest onto one shoulder and brought it safely across the water to set it down beside her.
"Linens?" he grumbled. "Sure it's not a few dead bodies?"
"It's very superior bed linen. The best quality."
He sniffed. "I'll bet it is."
Not knowing quite what to make of that remark, Kate closed her lips in a firm line and watched him wade back to the cart yet again.
After several tense moments— and a great deal of grunting— the trapped wheel finally moved and the horses pulled the cart up through the rustling reeds and onto the grassy bank.
With a deep sigh she looked at the sorry collection of damp possessions they'd brought along to this place she'd optimistically thought of as Hope. A place which turned out to be the middle of nowhere, and inhabited by a giant, blue-eyed man called "Storm". A man with a smile that ran truant across his face like a naughty child with no fear of being caught.
The Devil too, so they said, was a charmer.
She sincerely hoped Reverend Coles knew what he was doing to leave her in this man's hands. His very large, grimy, work-roughened hands.
Chapter Three
"You're not what I expected," he muttered, scratching his chin.
"And vice versa," she replied, her gaze flicking disdainfully over his attire.
"Well, beggars can't be choosers, I suppose."
Her eyes flared and then narrowed quickly. "Quite."
She was a haughty piece of work, full of spit and fire, and— by the look of things—fallen on hard times and forced to earn a living.
When she'd finally allowed him to carry her from the cart, Storm guessed this must be a considerable concession she made, a privilege few would enjoy. He could only
"You'd best apologize for threatening me with a whip, Duchess. I don't know many housekeepers allowed to get away with such insubordination to their master, and we ought to begin as we mean to carry on. I'll be in charge here. Needn't think to flutter your lashes and rule the roost."
"Yes, of course." She sighed, her mind preoccupied. "I suppose so."
"Be warned, I'm a hard task master."
"No doubt."
"And don't think I'll always have time to get you out of trouble whenever you get yourself into it. I haven't heard you thank me yet for saving your behind today."
Now she paid attention. He seemed to be walking slower, taking longer to get her to the riverbank. Looking into his eyes and finding a distinctly mischievous gleam there, she suspected the slow pace was deliberate. He had let her think the situation was urgent and now, suddenly, it was not.
"I'm not saved yet, sir," she said warily. "Once I'm on dry land again I'll thank you then."
He looked surprised and then laughed. "Steady on now! I'm the bashful, self-effacing sort and such an excess of gratitude might cause me to drop you."
Bashful? As a fox in a chicken coop, she suspected.
When he looked at her again, Kate felt the melting influence of his smile. Before her lips were inclined to soften and curl in the warm rays of his sunny regard, she turned her head away.
Apparently her angry frowns and sharp comments bounced off him like rubber balls. It was most disconcerting for a woman who had learned the efficacy of insults and scowls when dealing with over-eager gentlemen.
Finally he set her down on the wet grass and asked, "What's the heaviest thing in the cart, Duchess?"
"There's a chest with my... linens. That probably weighs the most."
He waded back to the cart, heaved the large chest onto one shoulder and brought it safely across the water to set it down beside her.
"Linens?" he grumbled. "Sure it's not a few dead bodies?"
"It's very superior bed linen. The best quality."
He sniffed. "I'll bet it is."
Not knowing quite what to make of that remark, Kate closed her lips in a firm line and watched him wade back to the cart yet again.
After several tense moments— and a great deal of grunting— the trapped wheel finally moved and the horses pulled the cart up through the rustling reeds and onto the grassy bank.
With a deep sigh she looked at the sorry collection of damp possessions they'd brought along to this place she'd optimistically thought of as Hope. A place which turned out to be the middle of nowhere, and inhabited by a giant, blue-eyed man called "Storm". A man with a smile that ran truant across his face like a naughty child with no fear of being caught.
The Devil too, so they said, was a charmer.
She sincerely hoped Reverend Coles knew what he was doing to leave her in this man's hands. His very large, grimy, work-roughened hands.
Chapter Three
"You're not what I expected," he muttered, scratching his chin.
"And vice versa," she replied, her gaze flicking disdainfully over his attire.
"Well, beggars can't be choosers, I suppose."
Her eyes flared and then narrowed quickly. "Quite."
She was a haughty piece of work, full of spit and fire, and— by the look of things—fallen on hard times and forced to earn a living.
When she'd finally allowed him to carry her from the cart, Storm guessed this must be a considerable concession she made, a privilege few would enjoy. He could only
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