“Aye, ’tis me all right, milord, and ’twere twenty-six years before. Ah, ’tis blood on yer face, milord, and ye came to a grief, eh, and struck yer head.” He efficiently took Alexandra’s place, assisting Douglas to a plain high-backed chair in front of the fireplace. “Just rest yer bones, milord. Milady,” he added, turning to Alexandra, who was dripping very close to a beautiful multicolored handwoven cotton rug. She quickly stood aside, exclaiming, “Oh, it’s lovely, Mr. O’Malley.”
“Aye, milady, me blessed mother made it with her own caring hands, she did, aye, ’twere a wonderful woman she were. Come here now, and warm yerself. ’Tis dry clothing ye be needing now. Nothing fancy, ye understand, but dry.”
“That will be wonderful, Mr. O’Malley. His Lordship and I thank you.”
She moved swiftly to Douglas, who was sitting in the chair, staring blankly into the fireplace. “Your head still pains you, doesn’t it?”
He looked up at her. “Build up the fire, please.”
She did as he bid, then wiped her hands on her sodden skirt. He eyed her then said, “Actually I was just trying to credit that I was with you in the middle of the night in my gamekeeper’s cottage. It isn’t what one would expect. It isn’t even on my list of worst nightmares.”
Her chin went up and the broom handle down her back stiffened. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t so stubborn. You wouldn’t even be here if you were better able to handle your horse.”
As a verbal blow it wasn’t bad. Douglas wanted to give as good as she’d just given, but he felt too rotten. He said only, “Make no more sport with me. Hush and move closer to the fire. No, don’t look at me as if I’m drawing my last breath. My head hurts just a bit. Ah, Tom, with dry clothes.”
Alexandra wouldn’t move until Douglas went first into the small bedchamber to change out of his wet clothes. When he emerged, she smiled. He looked wonderful to her in his homespun trousers and handmade white linen shirt. The trousers were very tight on him and she found that she couldn’t quite turn away as quickly as undoubtedly a lady should. The shirt laced up the front, but Douglas hadn’t bothered lacing the rolled cotton strings all the way to his throat. For several moments, she forgot that she was wet and frowzy and bedraggled.
“Your turn, Alexandra. You look quite pitiful. Tom has no gowns, needless to say. You will be my twin, of sorts.”
And thus it was that in ten minutes the lord and lady of Northcliffe Hall were seated on a roughhewn bench in a gamekeeper’s cottage sipping the most delicious tea either had ever drunk and wearing Tom O’Malley’s clothes.
Their own clothing was draped over every available surface to dry. The earl said after a moment, “We thank you, Tom, for your hospitality. If you have extra blankets, Her Ladyship and I will sleep here, on the hearth.”
Tom O’Malley stared and paled and gasped. “Nay and niver, milord! Niver! Ask not such a repugnant thing from O’Malley. Me sweet mother would come back from her celestial mansion in heaven and thrash me till me nose bled off me face.”
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The earl remonstrated. Alexandra watched and listened to both of them. It was amusing and she knew Douglas would lose. Tom was pleading now, saying over and over, “Nay, milord, please don’t make me, please. Me dear dead mother, aye, ’tis she looking upon us this minute and she’s yelling in me ear, milord.”
Douglas gave it up. His head was aching vilely and Alexandra looked ready to fall to the floor she was so exhausted. They adjourned to Tom O’Malley’s bedchamber.
“That shirt comes to your knees,” Douglas said to Alexandra across the narrow bed. “You might as well keep it on as a nightgown.”
“Of course I shall! Did you fear I would pull it off and stand here naked before you again? Or perhaps parade about to provoke some interest in you?”
Douglas shook his head even as he said, “I don’t think you’re up to much parading.” He shrugged, not looking at her. “Besides, you do things I don’t expect.”
“You needn’t worry, my lord, that I will do anything unexpected now. You will be rid of me as soon as I can manage it. I will never disgust you again in that manner.”
“I wasn’t disgusted.”
Alex snorted, a sound that was loud and quite odd in the small room. Douglas laughed.
“I had planned to wear Tom’s shirt until it rotted off me, if necessary.”
“I trust such a sacrifice won’t be necessary.”
“I hope so as well.” She nodded as she looked about the small room. It was cleaner than her bedchamber had been at Claybourn Hall, its furnishings sparse but well made and well tended. The cover on the bed was soft and pale blue and beautifully knitted.
She unfastened the belt at her waist, then began unrolling the homespun trousers. There were at least eight rolls, and despite everything, she was giggling by the time she was ready to pull them down. She realized then what she had done and where she was, and froze. “Tom is very tall but so skinny that they nearly fit me everywhere else.” She looked over at Douglas as she spoke. He had pulled the shirt over his head. His hands were on the waist buttons of the trousers. He looked at her when he heard the small gasp. He looked annoyed.
“For heaven’s sake,” he said, and pinched out the single candle. “I have no intention of shocking you the way you shocked me. Do women believe that men can’t be embarrassed when they play the seductress? No matter, I don’t want an answer from you. Unlike you, all my stripping will be done in the dark. Don’t squawk.”
When they were both lying on their backs, not two inches separating them, Alexandra said, “Tom didn’t seem at all surprised to see us.”
“Tom comes from a long line of phlegmatic O’Malleys. He’s a good man, though I don’t like taking his bed. He’s as tall as I am and the damned bed is too short. I shall have to see about a new one for him. It’s the least I can do.”
Douglas moved, cursed when his elbow bumped her head. “Damnation, woman, your hair is still wet. Do you want to die of a damned chill? Spread it on the pillow to dry.” He kept muttering about thoughtless, stupid women under his breath as Alex made a halo of her hair.