George’s deep belly laugh sent a few looks their way from passersby. “Shouldn’t take much effort on your part, eh Captain? Or are you fearful that a woman with high morals might prove your Waterloo?”
“Do shut up,” he growled. Though her rebuff and subsequent running still stung, Brand slowly nodded. “A week, then.” He wasn’t accustomed to having his overtures ignored by a female, and the fact she had both intrigued him and annoyed the hell out of him.
Why?
The three conspirators nodded.
“How will you know I haven’t lied about giving her a round of slap and tickle?”
“It might be rote to you, but no doubt Miss Hayhurst will look and act differently. “Virgins always do.” He winked, and Brand wanted to land the man a facer for no other reason than he could.
Was that true, though? Experienced or not, bold or shy, didn’t all women wished to be pursued and wooed? And wasn’t it a matter of how a man touched and talked to a woman that prompted her to act a certain way? With a narrowed eye, Brand regarded his friends. “I’m not convinced your statement is sound.”
George shrugged. “Fair enough. It’s your funeral, for if she confesses to her brother regarding whatever you’ll do, he’ll come after you with all the wrath of a summer storm.”
“Fine.” He shoved a hand through his hair. The fact the three would bear witness to his efforts made his skin crawl. The last thing he needed was an audience offering pointers. It would make his quarry that much more skittish. “I’d best start by returning this.” When he held up the bonnet, he tamped on a shudder. A week in which to seduce and bed a missionary’s sister. Was that even possible? It might take a month merely to persuade another kiss.
“Good luck, Captain.” John saluted him. “I have every faith in you.”
“I appreciate that.” He clapped his best friend on the shoulder. “Else I’ll be forced to take on a slew of odd jobs in order to pay you boys for the wager.” Five hundred pounds was an exorbitant amount, and even though his older brother Drew was an earl, he refused to borrow coin from him. Especially for something like this. Admitting to the wager in front of his family would prove the height of embarrassment. He touched the brim of his hat. “That being said, I don’t intend to lose.” It might take extra effort on his part, but he would have her in his bed in less than the specified week.
He eventually tracked the woman to ground by a small corral containing goats, of all things. She stood at the temporary fencing with her arms folded on the top wooden rail, her gaze focused on the cavorting animals within the pen, but he doubted she actually saw their antics. As Brand crept closer to her position, he discerned a thin sheen of perspiration on her upper lip and a trickle of the same at her temple.
Yes, the summer’s afternoon was hot, so why the devil was she dressed as if she’d suddenly take a chill?
With nothing for it except beginning a seduction that would lead to bedding her, Brand softly cleared his throat as he came abreast of her so that she was on his right side. At least then he could see her better. “Miss Hayhurst, you dropped this.” As she startled and half-turned to glance at him, he held the bonnet out in offering. The faintest hint of apple blossoms reached his nose. It suited her, light and teasing, yet apple trees were strong in storms.
Would she be the same in a fight against him?
“Oh!” Her eyes roved his face briefly before she dropped her gaze to the bonnet he held. “Thank you.” With a fair amount of hesitation, she took the hat and then haphazardly fit it onto her head.
More’s the pity, that, for it hid her hair as well as shielded her face in profile from him. For the first time in his life, Brand didn’t know what to say. He’d never apologized to a woman for stealing a kiss; neither had he been rejected for the same.
She rushed into the yawning gap of silence that had sprung between them. “How did you know my name?” Deftly, she manipulated the drab brown ribbons into a bow beneath her chin.
“Uh…” Finally, Brand shrugged. “Everyone in town knows who you are.”
“Why? I’ve done nothing to call attention to myself.” Confusion threaded through her dulcet tones.
That was painfully obvious. If she desired notice, she would have dressed better. “I expect that’s directly related to your brother.” It was the truth. “He’s rather… abrasive in his deliveries of sermons.”
Another truth. A month back the missionary had tried—and failed—to convert the fisherman and random sailors like from Brand’s set into finding religion and God. None of the men took kindly to the fire and brimstone preaching, nor to the assumption they’d all burn in hell if they weren’t saved. Since then, Mr. Hayhurst had become an object of ridicule and someone to be avoided if at all possible. Of course, the feeling must have been mutual, for the clergyman hadn’t returned to the wharf or dock areas.
“Oh, I quite agree on that point.” When Brand’s eyebrows raised in question, she turned toward him and peered up into his face, which gave him full view of hers. “William’s tactics are often too forceful and demanding. I’ve told him before that he needs to find common ground with those he wishes to minister to, but he firmly thinks his ways are best.”
How interesting, and how handy to know she wasn’t of the same ilk as her brother. “You don’t hold his same mandate?”
“While I believe it is beneficial for everyone to have some sort of a relationship with the Creator as well as attend services regularly, I think there are other, more delicate, ways to present the Gospel so the message is broadly received. Good works certainly help.” A certain merriment and intelligence twinkled in her lake blue eyes, and it tugged at his notice. “However, no message will be received unless the subject is ready to hear.”
Fascinating.Where he assumed she would be as dull as her clothing, her words presented a completely different picture and spoke to an intelligence that transcended church matters. He flashed what he hoped was a winning smile and moved a tad closer to her. “What of you, Miss Hayhurst? Are you one who considers herself married to the church or do you harbor secret dreams that have nothing to do with godly pursuits?”
A pink blush stained her cheeks. She dipped her head, and once more the ugly bonnet hid her face. “I rather think it doesn’t matter. My brother is doing his work, and my time is best spent helping in that regard or the other charities I assist in.” Her body stiffened, and once more she prepared for flight. “If you’ll excuse me?”
“What if I don’t?” he asked softly and dared to put a staying hand on her forearm. The muscles tightened beneath his touch.
“I beg your pardon?” Her chin went up and consequently her gaze met his again.
“What if I don’t excuse you?” Brand repeated the question but couched it in his most charming tone. “I’ve found myself rather enchanted by your company at the moment.”