Read Online No Longer a Gentleman by Mary Jo Putney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Jo Putney
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some apple brandy, made right here on our farm?”
Cassie was about to say the apple brandy sounded good when she noticed a drying rack angled on the other side of the fire. Her cloak was draped over one end, thin tendrils of steam wisping from the heavy fabric. Hanging on the other end were the garments taken from the guard at the castle. She remarked, “Wyndham is sleeping?”
Viole made a face. “Père Laurent and my family have gone to bed, but I cannot retire before your other man—I thought his name was Monsieur Sommers?—returns. He is bathing. In the farm pond.”
“What?” Appalled, Cassie stared at her hostess. “He’ll freeze to death! Surely the farm pond has iced over. How could you allow him to do such a mad thing?”
“Water flows in from a spring at one end so it doesn’t freeze.” Viole rolled her eyes. “I also told him he was mad, but he just asked most politely for soap and towels and a scrub brush. Uncle Laurent says he’s English. That explains much.” She gestured toward the fire, which was burning low. “I told him if he wasn’t back by the time that log burns down, I shall send my husband out after him.”
The log was almost gone. Cassie reached for her cloak. “Where is the pond?”
“Around the back of the house by the stables. It cannot be missed.” Viole set her mending aside and lifted a cloak from one of the pegs by the door. “Take mine. It’s dry.”
Cassie donned the cloak gratefully. “May I have a blanket and perhaps some brandy in case I must pull that idiot’s frozen body from the pond and revive him?”
Viole removed a small, squat jug from a cabinet, then a scratchy blanket from a different cabinet. The blanket was pleasantly warm from being kept near the fire. “If you need help removing the body, come inside and I shall wake Romain.”
Cassie took the brandy and headed toward the door. “Men! It’s amazing mankind has survived.”
“Mankind survives because womankind has more sense,” the other woman said.
“So very, very true.” Cassie pulled the hood over her head. “You can go to bed now. If Monsieur Sommers is alive and in reasonable health, I’ll wait with him until he’s ready to come back in. If he’s frozen dead in the water, I’ll leave him there till morning!”
Accompanied by Viole’s laughter, she headed out into the night. A foot or so of snow had fallen, making walking difficult, but the storm had mostly passed. The wind had dropped and the snow had become giant flakes, which meant the end was near.
Seething with exasperation, she followed the partially snow-filled tracks made by the foolish Lord Wyndham. The night was utterly still, and the world shimmered in a whiteness that caught all the available light and made the darkness glow.
The barn was a low stone building behind the house. Splashing sounds came from the right. Since any sensible animal would have taken shelter, it must be Grey.
One end of the pond was dark open water. As she drew closer, she saw her quarry. He was mostly immersed, only his head and shoulders out of the water as he busily scrubbed his hair.
Relief that he hadn’t frozen to death flared into irritation. She marched toward him as well as a woman could march through deep snow. “I didn’t go to the effort to rescue you just so you could kill yourself through stupidity, Lord Wyndham!”
“After ten years in a cell exposed to the open air, I don’t notice temperature much.” He ducked into the water to rinse off the soap, then emerged and pushed his wet hair back with both hands. Even in the night, it was noticeably lighter than before. “Such luxury to completely immerse myself in water! You cannot imagine.”
“I love a really luxurious bath,” she allowed. “But that doesn’t include freezing into a solid block of ice when I take one.”
“The water isn’t too uncomfortable. It’s the air that’s bitter cold.” His tone turned wry. “I’ll have to move fast when I get out
Cassie was about to say the apple brandy sounded good when she noticed a drying rack angled on the other side of the fire. Her cloak was draped over one end, thin tendrils of steam wisping from the heavy fabric. Hanging on the other end were the garments taken from the guard at the castle. She remarked, “Wyndham is sleeping?”
Viole made a face. “Père Laurent and my family have gone to bed, but I cannot retire before your other man—I thought his name was Monsieur Sommers?—returns. He is bathing. In the farm pond.”
“What?” Appalled, Cassie stared at her hostess. “He’ll freeze to death! Surely the farm pond has iced over. How could you allow him to do such a mad thing?”
“Water flows in from a spring at one end so it doesn’t freeze.” Viole rolled her eyes. “I also told him he was mad, but he just asked most politely for soap and towels and a scrub brush. Uncle Laurent says he’s English. That explains much.” She gestured toward the fire, which was burning low. “I told him if he wasn’t back by the time that log burns down, I shall send my husband out after him.”
The log was almost gone. Cassie reached for her cloak. “Where is the pond?”
“Around the back of the house by the stables. It cannot be missed.” Viole set her mending aside and lifted a cloak from one of the pegs by the door. “Take mine. It’s dry.”
Cassie donned the cloak gratefully. “May I have a blanket and perhaps some brandy in case I must pull that idiot’s frozen body from the pond and revive him?”
Viole removed a small, squat jug from a cabinet, then a scratchy blanket from a different cabinet. The blanket was pleasantly warm from being kept near the fire. “If you need help removing the body, come inside and I shall wake Romain.”
Cassie took the brandy and headed toward the door. “Men! It’s amazing mankind has survived.”
“Mankind survives because womankind has more sense,” the other woman said.
“So very, very true.” Cassie pulled the hood over her head. “You can go to bed now. If Monsieur Sommers is alive and in reasonable health, I’ll wait with him until he’s ready to come back in. If he’s frozen dead in the water, I’ll leave him there till morning!”
Accompanied by Viole’s laughter, she headed out into the night. A foot or so of snow had fallen, making walking difficult, but the storm had mostly passed. The wind had dropped and the snow had become giant flakes, which meant the end was near.
Seething with exasperation, she followed the partially snow-filled tracks made by the foolish Lord Wyndham. The night was utterly still, and the world shimmered in a whiteness that caught all the available light and made the darkness glow.
The barn was a low stone building behind the house. Splashing sounds came from the right. Since any sensible animal would have taken shelter, it must be Grey.
One end of the pond was dark open water. As she drew closer, she saw her quarry. He was mostly immersed, only his head and shoulders out of the water as he busily scrubbed his hair.
Relief that he hadn’t frozen to death flared into irritation. She marched toward him as well as a woman could march through deep snow. “I didn’t go to the effort to rescue you just so you could kill yourself through stupidity, Lord Wyndham!”
“After ten years in a cell exposed to the open air, I don’t notice temperature much.” He ducked into the water to rinse off the soap, then emerged and pushed his wet hair back with both hands. Even in the night, it was noticeably lighter than before. “Such luxury to completely immerse myself in water! You cannot imagine.”
“I love a really luxurious bath,” she allowed. “But that doesn’t include freezing into a solid block of ice when I take one.”
“The water isn’t too uncomfortable. It’s the air that’s bitter cold.” His tone turned wry. “I’ll have to move fast when I get out
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