Pumpkinnapper Page 5

  He stood and stretched, then muffled a yawn with his hand. “I’ll return before moonset tonight, about midnight.” While he donned his greatcoat and hat, she unbolted and opened the door. Grabbing his lantern, he stepped past her and scanned the area for movement. Midnight black still shrouded the woods, and the pumpkins, ghostly grey in the wan half-light, rested undisturbed in the morning quiet. No one would witness him leaving her house.

  She looked up at him, and for a few breathless heartbeats, he lost himself in the azure of her eyes. Should he kiss her? Would she welcome him? Or not? Uncertainty winning out, he caught her hand and brushed a quick kiss over her knuckles. He ran to the woods, but once he had reached their shelter, he turned back.

  She stood in the doorway. He didn’t know if she could see him, but she raised a hand in farewell, a sweet smile on her lips. Then, she shut the door and the bolt clicked into place.

  He grinned all the way back to his house.

  Hank bent over the billiards table, lining up his shot. A yawning Philip propped his cue on the floor and leaned on it. Hank glanced at the clock on the mantle above the dancing fire. Only midnight. Moonset was at three, so he couldn’t leave for at least another hour.

  For the past four nights, he and Emily had kept watch with no interruptions. In the evenings, he and Philip had dined at a fashionable hour, drunk port and played billiards. An hour before moonset, Hank had departed for Emily’s house and stayed until dawn lightened the sky.

  Each night, the moon set an hour later, and he prayed for rain so he could spend the entire night, but the sky, as if laughing at his frustration, remained clear.

  Philip yawned again. “You have stared at that clock almost without interruption for the past hour. Why not leave now?”

  “Too early yet. I’ll scare her if I arrive too soon.”

  With a grunt, Philip dropped his cue on the table, scattering the balls and ruining Hank’s shot. Then he stepped to the window, flung the velvet drapes wide and stared out, as if the night were the most interesting spectacle he had ever seen.

  “Egads!” He pressed his hand over his breast and staggered back from the window. “Do I perceive a cloud in yon pristine sky?”

  Hank arched an eyebrow. What was Philip up to? He dropped his own cue among the still-clattering balls and followed his friend to the window. “Clouds? I told Emily I would come earlier if the sky grew cloudy.” He peered outside. All he saw was clear air and the moon, its almost full orb casting bright silver light over the lawns that stretched to the woods. Disappointment crashed over him. “What clanker is this? The sky is clear.”

  “No, I perceive a cloud yonder.” Philip pointed.

  Hank screwed up his eyes. A slight flicker of vapor hovered near the moon. “But—”

  Philip elbowed him in the ribs. “How can you observe that massive cloud rushing across the sky and not fly to your lady fair?” His lips curved into a knowing grin as a misty wisp brushed the moon’s lower limb.

  Hank’s lips curved, too, as he caught Philip’s meaning. “Why yes, I apprehend what you discern,” he answered in tones as theatrical as his friend’s. “A vast tempest approaches, and I must hie forthwith to protect the lady from the depredations of the pumpkinnappers.”

  Philip’s eyebrows lifted. “‘Hie forthwith’?”

  Hank smoothed his face into a bland mask. “Why, yes, ‘hie forthwith’, ‘yea, verily’, and ‘struth’.”

  Philip guffawed. Hank pressed his lips together to contain his laugh, but it was no use. The laughter exploded from him and they both howled until their eyes teared.

  His final snicker ended on a hiccup, and Philip clapped Hank on the back. “I daresay the lady’s charms have gone to your head.” He looked down. “Or, perhaps to another, more appropriate place.”

  Hank flushed and Philip laughed again. “But go to your lady, my friend, no explanations needed. Dismiss the servants before you leave, and no one will be the wiser. Have I not provided your excuses for the past week?”

  Hank shook his hand. “You are the best of friends.”

  “Yes, yes.” Philip, his tone gruff with embarrassment, waved off Hank’s sentiment. “And with you gone, I can get some sleep.” He plucked his cue off the table and replaced it in its stand. “Just make certain you invite me to the wedding.”

  “We have never spoken of marriage.”

  Philip raised a disinterested shoulder, but his lips curved into another smirk. “As you say.” With yet another yawn, he headed for the door. “See you in the morning.” His words floated back from the hall.

  As fast as he could without appearing obvious, Hank dismissed the servants, then raced to his room and again dressed in his oldest clothes. Once more, he thanked heaven he had left his valet in town and had declined the services of a footman.

  With only a single candle’s flame to guide him, he made his noiseless way to the kitchen and out into the herb garden. He gathered his lantern from the tool shed and headed towards the woods and Emily.

  As he paused at the forest edge behind Turnip Cottage, Henry sailed out of sight around the far corner of the house. Hank heaved a sigh of relief. The goose’s dislike showed no sign of abating. Well, if he had Emily all to himself, would he care to compete with a rival? He shook his head. No, he wouldn’t. Mayhap Philip was right, and the goose was in love with Emily.

  He snorted. What a lowering thought, a bird as a rival. That Henry might be pining over Emily softened his antagonism towards the goose a little. But only a little.

  As expected, his quiet scratch at the back door brought no answer. He knocked again with more force. Still nothing. Could she be at the front of the house unable to hear? He peered around the corner. Good, still no Henry. He stole to the front door and rapped, even more loudly this time. “Em, I’m—”

  The door exploded open to bang against the house, and he stumbled back as he stared down the barrel of her pistol. He raised his hands and backed up another step. “Em, ‘tis I, Hank.”

  She sucked in a ragged breath and closed her eyes for a second. “Oh, Hank, you gave me such a fright.” She lowered the pistol and leaned against the doorframe, her other hand over her heart. “Here,” she gestured with the pistol. “Come inside before anyone sees you.”

  Agitated honking wrecked the night’s silence, and an enraged Henry, neck outstretched, wings held high, stormed around the corner of the cottage. Hank jumped inside, caught the door, and slammed it in Henry’s face. With only the greatest difficulty did he prevent himself from roaring in glee at the goose’s startled honk.

  Nevertheless, his lips curved as he addressed Emily. “I apologize for frightening you, but the sky is clouding up.”

  She glanced out the window at the pristine sky, then back at him and raised her eyebrows.

  “So I thought I should come over sooner.”

  She smiled, and his own smile widened, no doubt into the idiotic grin of a lovesick fool. She was happy to see him! Wrapped in joy, he stared at her for a few heartbeats before his gaze dropped to her clothes. His grin drained away and he swallowed. She wore her night rail, and the sheer material did little to hide her slim form.

  Eyes narrowed in puzzlement, she lowered her head as she followed the direction of his gaze. A red flush bloomed on her face. “Oh, wait a moment.” She ducked into the bedroom and shut the door with a snap.

  Oh, he was here!

  Emily hugged herself and twirled in a circle. How she had missed him! With moonset so late, she had spent the day in an agony of suspense. Time after time, she had glanced out the window, praying for rain, a cloud, anything that would bring him sooner. But the sky had remained disgustingly clear, and weary from spending most of the previous night awake, she had napped, confident she would rouse with enough time to dress before he arrived. His tap on the front door had terrified her, and with shaking hands she had grabbed her pistol and run out. But at the sight of him, her fear had evaporated, replaced by an overwhelming joy.

  She wante
d Hank’s undivided attention the entire night. Would any miscreant be fool enough to venture out with the almost full moon beaming down so brightly? The culprits had not appeared during the past week. Surely, no one would come at this late date.

  Since the would-be thieves’ last foray, she and Hank had talked and talked. They had laughed a great deal as they relived the absurdities of their youth and caught up on their adventures of the past ten years. And her young love she had thought forgotten had blossomed anew.

  She enjoyed their conversations, but with each passing night, the urge for more increased. Would tonight be the night? After thrashing her feelings around in her mind all day, she had come to her decision. If he didn’t make a move, she would.

  Scrambling to dress, she pushed her braid over her shoulder and slipped out of her night rail. She pulled on her shift, and then picked up her corset, giving the garment a long, assessing look. Should she wear it? She hesitated for a scant moment before she shook her head. Lacing it up would require too much time and if the night unfolded as she wished … With a knowing smile, she tossed the garment back onto the chair.

  Her excitement mounting, she gathered her old pink dress in both hands and dropped it over her head. As she smoothed the material down her sides, she inhaled a deep breath to calm her inner turmoil. She caught the latch and paused, her hand pressed to her fluttering stomach. She put a smile on her face then opened the bedroom door.

  To an empty hall. Where was Hank? She stepped outside the doorway and looked both ways. Booted feet scuffled on the kitchen flagstones and she ran down the hall to find Hank pouring water from the covered bucket into the large kettle on the hearth. At her entrance, he looked over his shoulder and smiled. “I think we both need some coffee.”

  As she fetched the coffee from the pantry, he topped off the kettle and returned the bucket to its corner by the sink. Again, he set up the chairs in their observation positions, his in the kitchen, and hers in the parlor. When he had finished that task, he lifted the coffeepot from her hands. “I’ll tend the coffee. Why don’t you check the pumpkins?”

  Although she would rather stay in the kitchen with him, she nodded and took up her position in the parlor. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him settle into his chair. Reluctantly, she turned her head to stare out the window.

  Bright moonlight etched each leaf and pumpkin in silver, lighting the landscape for miles around. No one would come this night. Joy bubbled up inside her. She would have Hank all to herself.

  When the coffeepot hissed, she left her seat to rummage in the kitchen cupboard for mugs. Hank removed the pot from the fire and poured out the steaming brew. With a little smile, he grabbed his mug and turned back to his window.

  She frowned. Was he ignoring her? Disappointment crashed through her as she wrapped her hands around the mug and retreated to her chair. Quiet again descended as they drank their coffee.

  More than once, she glanced at him. He stared out the window, moving only to lift the mug to his mouth for a sip and then lower it to his lap. Why didn’t he say something? Well, she had decided to make the first move if she must. She cleared her throat. “You recognized me in the village.”

  The mug stopped halfway to his mouth. With obvious deliberation, he placed the mug on the floor and swiveled sideways in his chair to face her. “Not at first. You have changed quite a bit from the skinny child I remember.” His mouth quirked into a wistful smile. “And all for the better, I might add. The only thing I could think about was charming the lovely lady before me. Until you slapped me with that handkerchief.”

  “I apologize for the way I behaved. I was furious because I thought you had tried to steal my pumpkins.”

  He raised his hand in dismissal. “Forget it. Most likely, I deserved it for all the times I teased you.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  His eyes widened in surprise, and she laughed. “You were quite merciless. Do you know, you were the one person who ever teased me, and also the one person who called me ‘Em’. To everybody else, I was ‘Emily’.”

  A shadow fell over his face. “I am sorry. I never knew the nickname bothered you.”

  “Oh, the name never bothered me. I felt … special. Only you and I shared it.” Her soft laugh floated between them. “At least you paid me attention when you called me ‘Em’. If not for that name, you would have completely ignored me.”

  He shifted, opened his mouth as if to speak, and closed it again. Then, as if a long-beleaguered dam had finally ruptured, his words flooded out. “I ignored you apurpose. I longed to court you, but you were too young. So I teased you. And I could not ask you to wait for me. I hoped—assumed—you would still be here when I completed university.” He raked a hand through his hair. “But lucky Metcalfe had snapped you up.” Bitterness filled his voice. “Losing you was my own fault. What a lackwit I was.” He turned back to the window with a regretful shrug. “So, I forgot you. Or I tried to.”

  All the repressed hope and longing of her youth welled up and lodged in her throat. “Hank, you should have asked me to wait.” Her voice broke. “I never forgot you, either. Oh, I loved my husband. He was a wonderful man, and I am grateful for his love. But heaven help me, sometimes, in all the long months when he was at sea, I wove dreams. And they were always about you.”

  He sucked in a breath. Oh no, was he shocked at her brazenness? Or simply baffled? Her pulse raced as he rose from his seat and very slowly walked over. Uncertain as a bird wanting the food in an outstretched hand, but fearful of possible harm, she looked up at him, praying he saw the love in her eyes.

  His next action caught her by surprise. He touched her braid, running his fingers lightly over the silky mass. Delicately, as if her hair were made of breakable glass, he lifted the braid to his mouth. He kissed her hair, and then wound the plait around his hand. He gave a gentle tug, and she rose. “Em, I’m pulling your plait again.”

  Her arms twined around his waist, and she gazed into his eyes, dark with desire and longing. The braid slipped from his fist as he caught her face between his palms. Uncertainty clouding his eyes, he studied her features for a long, heart-stopping moment. Then his mouth descended to hers…

  Honk!

  Both their heads jerked towards the sound. Outside, Henry, his wings wide as if he would fly in pursuit, chased a pair of figures down the row of pumpkins. Hank streaked for the front door, yanked it open, and stormed out into the yard.

  The chorus of honks shattered the quiet of the night, counter-pointed with the squawks of birds disturbed from their sleep. But the would-be thieves outran the short-legged Henry with ease and had gained too great a head start on Hank. They pelted down the road towards Lindsell, the dawn’s first light silhouetting them until they disappeared around the bend.

  Of all the wretched luck.

  Lungs heaving, Hank slowed to a halt. Devil take those pumpkinnappers. He had waited ten years for that kiss. Why, of all times, had they returned now?

  Henry had stopped ahead of him. Dropping the branch he had caught up as he ran, Hank walked a few steps forward until he stood beside the panting goose. Bird and man cast each other a wary glance, then both headed back to the cottage.

  At least he and Henry had worked together tonight. Maybe, at long last, they could reach an accord. “Well, old man, you did a good job tonight.” He lifted his hand to pat the bird on the head.

  Henry snapped at him.

  “Ow!” Hank sucked his nipped fingers. So much for fellowship. “We are friends, Henry. When will you believe me?”

  The goose turned up his bill and stomped away.

  Emily, her skirts held high in one hand, and the pistol in her other hand, met Hank halfway back to the house.

  “Oh, no, Henry bit you again. Henry, you bad bird!” she called over her shoulder to the retreating goose. Favoring Hank with a shy smile, she clasped his hand in both of hers and gently stroked his damaged fingers.

  Fire jolted up his arm and he forgot the bite’s st
ing.

  “I’ll bind it when we get home.”

  His heart leaped for joy. She wanted to care for him.

  They walked back along the road, her hand in his undamaged one. Hank’s impatience increased with each step. Only a little farther, and they could resume where they had left off. But as he swung the gate open, Henry stiffened, and then charged an oddly shaped shadow at the side of the house.

  “Damnation!” the shadow yelled and dashed towards the wood, Henry in honking pursuit.

  Hank released Emily’s hand and broke into a run. “Em, call Henry off. It’s Philip.”

  “Henry! Stop this instant!” Emily shouted.

  They rounded the corner to find a cursing Philip behind a tree, one arm wound around the trunk. His other arm was stuck out straight, Henry’s bill clamped around his wrist. Philip shook his pinioned arm, none too gently, while prying at the bird’s bill with his free hand. Henry didn’t budge an inch.

  Hank slowed to a stop and laughed.

  Philip looked up, his face a classic picture of annoyance. “Oh, you find my predicament funny, do you? I take it this—this—goose is the devil bird that attacked you?” He shook his arm harder. The vise of Henry’s bill didn’t open. “Now I understand why you have been unable to sit for the past week.” He gritted his teeth. “Now, call him off.”

  Hank crossed his arms over his chest and rested his chin in one palm. “I think I’ll laugh a bit first.”

  Philip snorted. “Ah, paying me back? Very well, laugh as long as you like.” He shook his arm with even more force. Still no effect on Henry. “While I am grateful this spawn of Satan has attacked a different portion of my anatomy from yours, remove him while I still have an arm.”

  Hank clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter, and then coughed. “Henry never listens to a word I say. You shall have to release yourself.”

  Philip glared.

  Hank shouted out one last laugh. “Very well. Em, please make Henry obey.”