Violet

When that happened, the coachman cursed and whipped up his horses, glancing anxiously around, his blunderbuss across his knees. On either side of the coach rode Gabriel and Julian, muskets across their saddlebows, pistols at their belts, hat brims down and collars turned up as they faced into the stinging, wind-hurled rain.

They rode in grim silence, ever watchful, but finally came off the moor after a tense five hours, having seen neither hide nor hair of a potential highwayman, or, indeed, of any fellow travelers on this raw day of early summer.

The horses trotted wearily down the steep hill into the center of Bodmin. Tamsyn leaped from the coach with a sigh of relief as they came to a halt in the i

The colonel dismounted and came over to her. His eyes were sharp as they rested on her face, noticing the pallor beneath the suntan and the shadows below the almond-shaped eyes.

“Tired?”

“Not really. I feel as if I'm going to puke. It's that coach-I can't abide traveling in that fashion.”

“It was necessary.”

She shrugged. “I didn't see any of your highway robbers, Colonel.”

“The precaution was necessary,” he responded indifferently. “Go into the i

“Yes, milord colonel.” She touched her forelock in mock salute.

“You must learn to curtsy, buttercup,” he responded with the nonchalance of before. “Tugging forelocks is appropriate only for grooms, ostlers, and farm laborers. Serving maids curtsy.”

“I am not a maid.”

“No,” he agreed. “Not in any sense of the word.”

He turned from her, ignoring the dangerous flash in her eyes.

Tamsyn chewed her lip in frustration, staring at his departing back, before she turned into the welcome warmth and lamplight of the i

The i

Then Lord St. Simon entered the i

Julian stripped off his gloves, responding to the landlord’s greeting with patient courtesy.

“Show us to a parlor, Sawyer,” he interrupted finally. “It's been the devil of a drive across the moor, and we're famished.”

“Yes, of course, my lord.” The landlord bustled ahead. “And I'll have a bottle of burgundy brought up straightway. I've a fine Aloxe Corton from the Gentlemen’s last run. Would the… the ladies…,” he said resolutely, “care for a dish of tea, perhaps?”

“I'll have a tankard of rum,” Gabriel declared before Julian could reply. “And the woman, too. I've a hole in my gullet the size of a ca

“Tea,” Tamsyn said. “And perhaps I'll take a glass of the colonel's wine, if he has no objection.” She offered the bewildered landlord a sweet smile as he opened the door onto a cheerful parlor overlooking the street. “It might settle my stomach, I feel as sick as a dog. That's a poxy road across your godforsaken moor.”

The landlord's jaw dropped to his knees, and his eyes slid, scandalized, toward Lord St. Simon, who said brusquely, “We're sharp set, Sawyer. Bring us a dish of pasties with the drink.”

“Yes, my lord. Right away, my lord.” The landlord bowed himself out of the parlor, his eyes round as buttons in the rosy folds of his face.

“Congratulations, Tamsyn. You've certainly managed to set Sawyer on his heels,” Julian said with a sardonic twist of his lips. “If you intended to make yourself conspicuous and give rise to a firestorm of gossip, you've succeeded beyond your wildest dreams.”

“I suppose English ladies don't say things like that,” Tamsyn admitted in clear chagrin.

“On the whole, they do not,” Julian agreed, tossing his gloves onto a wooden settle beside the fire and shrugging out of his cloak. “But, then, as my mother always said, you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.”

“Oh!” Tamsyn exclaimed, indignation chasing away her chagrin. “I am not a sow's ear.”

Gabriel was warming his backside before the fire, listening to this exchange with an expression of mild interest. He'd decided many days ago that he had no need to jump to the bairn's defense when it came to the colonel's frequently acid tongue. Besides, he could see the colonel's point of view. If one wasn't bound body and soul to the family of El Baron, one might legitimately object to being compelled to partake in this venture.

“You're a long way from being a silk purse,” Julian responded coolly.

“Well, that's your job, isn't it?” she fired back.

He responded with a careless nod. “It's my job to try. I've never guaranteed success, if you recall.”

The landlord came back at this juncture, saving Tamsyn from the need to reply. She retreated to the window seat and sat glaring through the befogged mullioned windowpane, watching the people in the narrow street below. They seemed unaffected by the rain, but then, she supposed one would learn to be so, since it appeared to be a constant fact of life.

While she watched, a horseman rode up before the i

The strange prickling sensation increased, and Tamsyn decided that she was cold. Instinctively she turned back to the cozy room, away from the wet, dark day outside, Mr. Sawyer drew the cork on the wine bottle while a maidservant hurried to set the round table before the fire. Gabriel buried his nose in his tankard of rum with a grunt of satisfaction. It wasn't as good as the grog he'd become accustomed to on the Isabelle, but it still did a man good as it warmed his belly. He glanced at Josefa, sitting on the settle, her hands clasped around her own tankard. She looked a little less unhappy now she was out of the rain, and her eyes rested with eager anticipation on the platter of golden Cornish pasties keeping warm on the hob before the fire.

It was a generally silent meal. Tamsyn's one attempt to initiate a conversation met with a monosyllabic response, and she lapsed into her own thoughts. Somehow she had to soften the colonel's anger. It seemed to have deepened since they'd landed on English soil, as if their arrival in his homeland had finally convinced him that he had no way out of a detestable situation. But surely it didn't have to be detestable? Surely she could find a way to make it palatable for him? Her eyes rested on his face across the table. Firelight flickered over the strong features but did nothing to soften the harsh line of his mouth, the grim set of his jaw. She thought of how he was when he laughed with genuine amusement instead of that sardonic crack that was all she heard these days. She remembered his surprising tenderness when he'd looked after her on the Isabelle. There had to be something there that she could work with.