Greyson looked into the face of the lad beneath him, stunned.
He had awoken in a blurry dreamstate, the feel of a hand stroking his hair, lingering on the slope of his nose and the curve of cheekbones. It was as if an angel were touching him, her lingering caresses feather soft, as comforting as if he were before a crackling fire, warming his fingers and ridding his body of chills.
A slight sting had come when his angel had probed his sore jaw. An ache settled deep atop his head. Another faint bruising on his forehead. It was forgotten when his angel had rested her head atop his chest. The gesture so trusting, Greyson knew it could only be a dream.
He knew better than anyone that his protection meant little enough.
It didn't matter. As long as the angel kept comforting him, the strands of her hair tickling his neck, surrounding him in a curtain of silky strands, he could bask in the glow a little while longer. He imagined her as a gently curved woman, her hair a mass of chestnut curls. And she smelled delectable. A floral fragrance that settled like a familiar blanket about him.
Lilac. The word whispered like an epiphany through his mind, but for the life of him, he couldn't place why it was significant. He didn't much care to, truth be told, when his dreams were this sweet.
This tempting.
He inhaled deeply, cherishing each lungful. The scent permeated into every bone, every follicle of hair. He didn't want to release his hold on it, have that delicious feeling of calmness mixed with anticipation disappear into smoke. Too many things did, he thought. Surely, God couldn't be so cruel as to deny him this even while sleeping.
With any of his dreams, however, his mind didn't focus on one thing for long.
His muscles were leaden, lax. His mouth stuffed with cotton. His ears with dust.
The tiny throbs around his head.
And yet, his veins pounded in his temple, his heart beat abnormally fast. He feared it would frighten the angel who touched him with such softness. As if she heard his wayward thoughts, as if seeking to comfort his doubts, tiny nails dug into the muscle of his shoulder. Latching on. The body shifted, a whisper of sound that made his senses buzz all the harder.
He struggled to open his eyes, ready to banish the dream so he could see her. The angel whose breathing had risen steadily with her absentminded caresses.
The stuttering of his angel's breath sounded...so close.
Greyson's eyes popped open. Where the devil was he?
Outside of the floral scent, he could smell hay...and horses? His brows furrowed. He couldn't be at his estate already, could he? Had he passed out in his stables? He twitched his fingers. A prickle bit into his fingertips, needles with pinpointed teeth. Greyson knew that feeling well. Why was he laying down in straw?
But then he asked himself, who was lying atop him?
The memories developed slowly, gently lapping. He remembered the Inn. His broken axle. The taste of whiskey on his tongue.
A mysterious boy with violet-colored eyes.
The shouts for help...
His arm snagged around a slim waist as Greyson rolled. The body gasped with surprise, as Greyson settled atop his unknown adversary, securing the body beneath him. Greyson's hands snagged a smooth wrist, pulling the creature's arms above its head and holding it in place. Greyson spread the other's legs apart, settling between, laying his whole weight down. He would know what had happened. Who he faced.
He looked down to see the shocked gaze of the boy from the common room.
Embarrassment for his earlier thoughts, that an angel had been touching his person, Greyson found himself snapping at the creature. "Who the devil are you?"
Greyson was surprised that instead of fear on the boy's face - he had seemed awfully intent on ridding himself of Greyson's notice earlier - the face of the urchin colored, his lips pinching. The lad's eyes narrowed into splints. A sure challenge, if ever there was one.
"I'd be glad to enlighten you as soon as you unhand me, my lord."
He must be young indeed, Greyson thought, the soft, lyrical voice high-pitched...and deuced familiar, he thought. Once more, he was struck at the boy's eyes. They reminded him of Charlotte's. Which was unlikely. How much of a chance was it to witness two sets of unusual aqua-colored eyes in a day's time?
The boy was skinnier than the woman had been. His hair was a blunt cut at his chin. Had Charlotte's been lighter in color? Rounded cheeks, a dimple in his chin.
Had Charlotte had such a distinct feature? He couldn't remember what with the tart debacle, and then the fisticuffs with the despicable man on the balcony.
Greyson wasn't allowed further time to ponder the peculiarities. "Are you going to remove your person or shall I do it for you?"
The speech was damned near laughable, Greyson thought. The boy was slight, no doubt still on the cusp of manhood. He had the urge to grin, admiring the boy's spirit. The lad had addressed him as 'my lord' so he knew he was a member of the peerage. But did he know who he had knocked to the ground? Was he aware that perhaps he should be more strict with his sharp tongue?
Another aspect of the lad that reminded him of his Charlotte. Honey and vinegar, he thought.
The furrowing of his brows brought about a spike of pain.
"Bloody hell, lad," Greyson asked, one hand probing the gash upon his head, "what did you hit me with?"
Before long, Greyson thought wryly, he was going to look like the veriest ninny with his bumps and bruises. He had never, not once, been hit by anyone or anything in all his life. Now, in the span of the day and a night, he had been subjected to three!
The veriest ninny.
The boy smirked slightly, as if pleased of his accomplishments. "Twas only a metal shard I found." He said this as if Greyson had been downed by a feather rather than wearing a bruise and an oozing wound. The lad nodded towards the far right corner, and Greyson grimaced at the solid piece of metal shining on the ground. No wonder it had hurt like the devil.
His hand investigating his scalp, his lips tightened when he came upon another bump.
"From when you fell like a tree."
Greyson narrowed his eyes at the boy. "Do you find this amusing?"
The boy had the good grace to look chagrined, at least. "I am sorry, for what it's worth. But how was I to know you weren't the thieves coming back? I managed to bite the tall one, and he wasn't particularly thrilled."
If Greyson hadn't already been injured, he would have been knocked over with how those words rang with another's voice in his head - a female voice. But how was I to know...?
Hadn't Charlotte berated him for not announcing himself?
His eyebrows went up as what the boy said finally processed. "You bit him?"
The boy smiled widely, a smug, thin-lipped one that spoke of his pleasure. "He tried to steal my horse," the boy said simply, his nose crinkled. "Besides, he hurt Sir Rupert, pulling on his reins like that."
Greyson found himself grinning, glancing at the black thoroughbred horse that stood in the middle of the stables, watching them with mild interest. "Not very competent thieves, I daresay."
"Do you mind letting me up, my lord?"
"Do you know who I am?" Greyson asked, curious. "Who you hit?"
The boy rolled - rolled! - his eyes. "It's not hard to recognize a lord."
Greyson narrowed his eyes at that response. The palpable derision in the sound.
"Do you mind letting me up now?"
The lad shifted, bringing Greyson's attention to their position.
The breath beneath him picked up, short and unsteady. Greyson studied the lad's face. It had bloomed with color, a bead of sweat dotting his upper lip. He was flushed, and Greyson watched it spread ever lower, over his collarbone, disappearing into the vee of a shirt marred in dirt.
Greyson looked closely at those familiar eyes. It was as if...the lad were hiding something.
"M...my lord?"
The puffs of the lad's unsteady breath fell upon his chin. Greyson's eyes dropped to the lips only inches from his.
The body under him shoved, and Greyson found himself tumbling off, his knee cracking on the floor, one leg prone in the air. The lad scrambled up, moving to the far side of the stall.
"I appreciate the help, my lord, though it was most unnecessary. I had it quite handled, I assure you." The words came out quick, his lungs sawing in and out harshly as he eyed Greyson. His body was tensed, eyes wary, as if at any moment Greyson would spring forward. "I...I must be getting on."
Greyson let his breath out slowly, clenching his fists as he stood. Bloody hell, those words.
He froze, and it all came together for him. The voice, those eyes...
That scent...
Even now, that floral fragrance taunted him. How had she fooled him for this long?
By God.
Charlotte.
It was most unnecessary...I had it handled...
Most unnecessary.
Greyson swallowed hard. Could it be? He studied the face, equal parts familiar and strange. It couldn't be her, he thought incredulously. Why would she be here? Dressed as a commoner? Furthermore, what the devil would his caterpillar be doing alone, in a stable at night, dressed as...as...
Greyson glanced down at her loose chambray shirt with dirt stains, a rip in the shoulder, brown breeches. Dirty brown boots. A stable boy? A gentleman most ill-attired?
But somehow, Greyson knew it low in his gut and, he thought grimly, in the tightening of his breeches. He had found his mysterious lady, his Charlotte. What was the little termagant up to now?
If the lady had a disguise, moreover, she didn't want to be found. Why? Greyson wondered. What was she hiding from?
Greyson didn't understand what was going on, but he found himself determined to find out. How had he become a savior twice to the same lady in a matter of hours? Fate, perhaps? A cruel joke for his past failings, mayhap?
One would think if it were the latter, his comeuppance had been duly served. He had been punched by a lady of good breeding. If he had to guess, of course. The lady had been uncommonly persistent in refusing to give her name. Then, Greyson had been whacked with a metal object by the same woman. He had wrestled another to protect her, only to find out she had absconded over a balcony, to find her hours away, dressed as a common gentleman.
He thought about the night he had left the ballroom, the carriage rocking beneath his body as Thorne had ribbed him for his plight. Greyson had felt as if he was a pawn, a player in a game that no one knew the rules or had the regulations to. Perhaps it was fate giving him another chance. To prove his honor. His worth.
Greyson couldn't let the lady travel alone. As soon as he figured out what exactly she was running from, Greyson would out her disguise. Until then, Greyson thought with a smile, it wouldn't do to scare the lass. Allow her to gainsay his protection once more.
Determined, Greyson smiled at the "lad."
Wouldn't it be rather gentlemanly of him, indeed, to offer her protection? Keeping her close and under watch until he figured out which game she was embroiled in? After all, he thought, his grin widening, hadn't Charlotte scolded him for his lack of gentlemanly behavior? Why, she had practically forced him into such an agreement.
Charlotte's eyes had narrowed with Greyson's continued perusal. His silence seemed to worry her. He watched as she bit into her lower lip, turning their color from a petal pink to a blazing purple.
She began backing away, her eyes shifting to the darkened skies. Greyson heard the muffle of male voices. The staff coming back from their own meals to light the lamps and batten down the stables for the evening.
Most expedient of them, Greyson thought, smiling at Charlotte.
A horse whinnied, and he looked in that direction. His earlier assumption must be right, a female of good breeding. No other lady would own such a fine horse. Unless she had stolen it, of course. But he was guessing she hadn't. The mystery deepened, it seemed. A finely brought up lady with a thoroughbred Andalusian, if he had to guess, on the run. In breeches.
Knowing the Charlotte of last evening, Greyson found he wasn't surprised.
He walked slowly to her, and she stumbled backwards - away from the stall door. "I don't believe you will be going anywhere, lad."
Her jaw fell in shock. "I beg your pardon?" she sputtered.
"You have attacked a peer of the realm. You didn't believe all would be forgiven with a quick apology, did you?"
Charlotte's back snapped straight. "While I thank you for your service, and I am truly sorry you got in my way -" Greyson choked at that, but she continued speaking, her steps moving sideways as she tried to move around him. "I'll be on my way, and you'll never have to see me again."
"On the contrary," he said, blocking her passage with his body. She stopped abruptly, huffing at his action while stomping one boot. By God, but she's a spitfire, isn't she? "I find a have a use for you -"
This time it was Charlotte who objected to his speech, sucking in her breath. Her hand played with something in her pocket as she sputtered.
He took a step closer, his little caterpillar tucking back into her shell. Her throat bobbed. She stuttered a step backwards, those eyes of hers scorching each path she made over his body. He felt a small thrill. He hadn't mistaken her desire earlier. Charlotte probably wasn't even aware of it. He could have groaned at the excitement that pulsed through his limbs.
"-as a worker in my stables." Greyson finished, stopping mere inches from her.
"I - I beg your pardon?"
Voices picked up, closer. The scuff of boots and the tumble of laughter as stable hands filled into the space. Charlotte glanced left and right, before her eyes found the large gash on his forehead. It would only take Greyson recounting the story for her secrets to be uncovered, to find herself facing a constable or worse for her actions.
Greyson hated society, but it seemed being a member of the aristocracy had done him a favor for once.
If she wanted to play games, then by God, he was going to play them too.
*Author's Note: I apologize for those of you getting notified of a new post only for it to disappear. I'm working to get the issue fixed. Thanks all for reading! Your support is greatly appreciated! Feel free to post comments or questions. Or give your vote, if you feel so inclined. :) As always, Happy Reading!*