the thunderous noise, but Manfred, true to his warhorse breeding, stood rock still. Only his twitching ears acknowledged the explosion.
‘What do you think you are doing?’ Julia demanded.
The stranger whirled to face her and she drew in a sharp breath. Here was no fat wastrel, but the most handsome rogue she’d ever seen. The low sunlight cutting through the trees highlighted the deep-red tones in his dark hair and sharpened the bones of his cheeks. The shadow of a beard marked the square line of his jaw, emphasising his straight nose and strong chin. Her pulse raced with an emotion far different from fear. She could not name it, but it emanated from deep within her body.
‘I’m hunting,’ he answered plainly. Leaning his gun against a tree, he straightened into a stance reminiscent of the one her brother Paul assumed when a superior officer commanded him to relax.
‘You are poaching in my woods. Now remove yourself at once before I call the gamekeeper. He’s only a short distance away,’ Julia lied, hoping he believed it. The knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips told her otherwise.
‘I’d like to see your gamekeeper try to remove me.’
Julia scrutinised him, hard pressed to imagine any of the servants, except perhaps the blacksmith, taking on such a sturdy man. He was tall and slender but solid, his wide shoulders and strong chest radiating a strength his loose-fitting hunting clothes could not hide. Following the line of his long arms to his hands, she imagined them around her waist, lifting her down from Manfred and pressing her against his body. She bit her bottom lip in anticipation of him claiming her mouth, the warmth of it driving away the morning chill.
Swallowing hard, the danger of the situation rushed back to her at the sight of the hunting knife dangling from his belt and she mustered her anger to counter the scandalous thoughts. His gun might be empty, but there was no way to know his skill with the blade. ‘I demand you leave, at once.’
‘I must say, I’ve never been addressed in this fashion before.’ His blue eyes dipped down the length of her, then rose to her face. ‘Especially not by such an attractive young lady.’
Julia grasped her riding crop tighter, ready to whip him if he threatened her, but he still did not approach. ‘If I were trespassing on your land, I’d have the decency to be humble, but since you are trespassing on my land I may address you as I please.’
‘You would have to travel a great distance to trespass on my land.’ He laughed, much to Julia’s chagrin.
‘Then be off,’ she ordered, ‘for the sooner you leave, the sooner you may reach your land.’ With all the grace of an accomplished horsewoman, she pulled Manfred around and cantered away.
* * *
James watched the woman disappear through the trees. Her horse, if one could call such a beast a horse, kicking up the soft earth, leaving behind clouds of dust to dance in the dappled sunlight. Nothing came to mind except pure awe, like the first time he’d been at sea with no sight of land. Neither the dark maidens of the islands hardened by tavern life, nor the plantation owners’ daughters with their languid speech, ever struck him as this woman had. No, she seemed too much of the world, yet strangely innocent of it. What would he give to slip her from her horse, lay her on the damp leaves and make her more knowledgeable?
His body stiffened at the delightful fantasy before the shifting sun piercing the trees nearly blinded him. Judging by its height, he knew it was time to go. Grabbing the haversack from the ground with his left hand, he felt pain tear through his shoulder and the bag fell from his weakened hand, landing on the ground with a thud.
‘Hell.’ He snatched it up with his right hand and flung it over his shoulder. The gun’s recoil had irritated his wound more than he’d realised. Despite the stinging ache, he didn’t intend to give up hunting. He’d already lost too much to sacrifice more.
Picking up the gun, he hurried through the woods along a small footpath leading up to the top of the hill. Climbing out of the shallow valley, the pain and all the emotions it brought with it taunted his every step.
Damn it, damn it all, James thought bitterly, striding off down the opposite side of the hill and up the next steeper one, scattering a small group of sheep grazing in the wet grass.
Up ahead, Creedon Abbey rose before him, its grey stone, small windows and numerous turrets and chimneys betraying its roots in the Middle Ages. James’s old friend Captain George Russell had done well for himself, investing some of the fortune he’d gained in the Navy in this small estate. Only the broken and charred roof timbers and smoke-blackened stone ruined the idyllic scene. George had failed to extinguish an oil lamp one night two weeks ago and the resulting fire had gutted a large portion of the house. Scores of workmen now bustled about the front drive, unloading large blocks of stone from carts or carrying wood inside to begin the first day of repairs.
James shook his head at the damage, not sure whether to feel sorry for his friend or to laugh. Thirty years in the navy, fifteen as a captain and George had never once lost a ship. Within four years of resigning his commission, he’d nearly burned his house to the ground. For all George’s bragging about how much he’d learned from his niece about running an estate, he’d failed to master the simple skill of not setting it on fire.
James’s amusement faded as he walked. He’d seriously considered investing his money in an estate like this, but now he wasn’t so sure. Whatever he decided to do, he needed to do it soon. With his wound sufficiently recovered, it was time to settle on something meaningful to occupy his days, instead of frittering them away.
He moved faster up the footpath following the drive, eager for activity, anything to shift the restless agitation dogging him this morning.
‘What’s the hurry?’ a familiar voice called out from behind him. ‘Run across a ghost in the woods?’
James turned to see George leading Percy, his large, cream-coloured stallion, up the drive. In his friend’s wide, carefree smile, James caught traces of the bold captain he’d first met in the colonies ten years ago. At fifty, the lines of George’s face were deeper now, while the quiet life of a country gentleman had lightened his once sun darkened skin and thickened his waist.
‘I might have.’ James fell in step with his friend. ‘Describe your niece again.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m curious.’
George shrugged. ‘Just what you’d expect from a girl of one and twenty. Clever, well formed, somewhat eccentric. Takes after me in that regard. Why?’
‘I met her in the woods.’ James remembered the striking young lady with her auburn hair falling in delicate waves about her face, her creamy skin flushed with excitement and a few headier emotions.
‘Really?’ A noticeable gleam danced in George’s eyes. ‘And?’
‘Eccentric, well formed. Though from all your descriptions, I’d taken her for more of a dour governess and less of an Artemis.’
‘When I described her she was still a girl.’
‘She’s no girl now.’ James wondered if such a woman had ever truly been a girl or if she’d simply sprung from the foam of the sea.
‘I’m glad to see you find her so interesting. Staying at Knollwood will give you a chance to get better acquainted. Who knows what you might discover?’
James shifted the haversack on his back, resisting the urge to run his fingers over the jagged scar on his left shoulder. ‘Must we go to Knollwood?’
‘Yes, it’s all been arranged. Besides, by the end of the day it’ll be more like a shipyard here than a house and, with the weather turning, you don’t want the rain leaking on your head.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve lost track of the number of storms I’ve slept through at sea.’
‘And my guess is you won’t miss it. We wouldn’t have stayed here