The Countess' Lucky Charm Page 9

  Simone clung to Temple’s elbow. One question had been answered—it appeared as if they would have a place to call home.

  She kept her gaze focused on the horse’s rump. At least it was a familiar sight—there were horses in London too. The homesickness receded. And, she reminded herself, she remained here with Temple.

  “Here ye be.” Daniel showed them a tiny bark-roofed log cabin within the palisade. “I’ll leave you to freshen up then come find me in the warehouse.” He pointed to the largest building.

  “I thank you, Mr Harmon, I’m certain we’ll be comfortable here,” Temple said.

  Daniel waved then climbed on his horse and rode off.

  Temple stood back to let Simone enter first. She took a few steps inside then stopped, dismayed.

  So newly built, patches of grass dotted the dirt floor within and gaps of light shone between the poorly chinked log walls. The cabin contained not a stick of furniture and sported only one window. Rather, she supposed it to be a window for it was covered in parchment rather than glass.

  A stone fireplace dominated one wall but for the rest, the tiny cabin scarcely had room for them and their belongings, thrown haphazardly on the ground.

  “Where are we going to sit? And sleep?” She clapped her hands to her face, covering her mouth to hide the trembling lips. True, their accommodations on the journey here had not always been the best, in fact, a lot of nights had been spent curled up on the ground under a tipped over canoe. However, she had kept in mind their destination which had made the discomforts bearable.

  Ale house, bah. What a fanciful fool she had been. She should have realized Stuart Lake Outpost would be just as the other fur trading forts they had passed through, should have realized that Temple’s aspirations were so much different than hers.

  She gave way to the disappointment that had hovered over her shoulders since their arrival. She couldn’t deny she had expected much, much more. A few tears slipped out of her eyes and rolled cool and wet down her cheeks.

  “It will be fun, Simone, just give it a chance.” Temple made his voice hearty to bolster Simone’s obviously sagging spirits. Prudently, he kept his thoughts to himself.

  He, too, had expected a flourishing settlement. During the journey, he had attributed the warning comments about the outpost as tiresome meddling from those jealous of his plans and had disregarded them. Who had known finding one’s fortune in the wilderness would be such a crude endeavour? Nevertheless, he was here and determined to make it a go of it.

  However, there was the matter of Simone. Spending each and every day in her company, although delightful, was driving him to distraction. Ever since leaving Montreal, he had avoided being alone with her. Easy enough to do when surrounded at all times by voyageurs and traders with no privacy whatsoever but it hadn’t stopped his thoughts from turning to her. Often.

  The enticing thought of finally being alone with her during the night drifted through his mind.

  Her tears surprised him. She had been a stalwart companion during the long trek overland. At first, there had been raised eyebrows over her sex but she proved to be as tough and resilient as any of the men. Nothing fazed her, nothing upset her, not the long portages when they had helped carry the canoes and goods, not the lack of decent accommodation, nor consuming strange foods such as pemmican and bannock. Yes, as long as she was warm and dry, she was happy.

  Thankfully, she was not accustomed to luxury.

  That was it. That was how he could coax her around and restore her good humour. Surely the little cabin was much better than a pallet in the workhouse?

  “Simone,” he began.

  She turned reddened eyes and tear stained cheeks toward him. His heart twisted at the pathetic sight. With clenched fists, he held his arms firm at his side, resisting the urge to take her in his arms to comfort her.

  Memories of that long ago afternoon he had kissed her surged in his mind, making it doubly difficult to hold himself back. With all his will, he controlled himself. He couldn’t, however, control his traitorous desire. He turned away to hide the sudden bulge in his pants.

  “How long must we stay here, my lord?” She sniffled as she said it.

  He glanced back at her over his shoulder and shrugged. “As long as it takes.” Relieved, he felt his erection begin to dissipate. He turned back to her.

  “For what?” She wiped her nose on her elbow.

  “To find my fortune.”

  “You don’t need a fortune, you have one.” Her voice was accusing.

  “Well, actually, I do not. May I remind you I’m the younger son.” Bloody hell, why was she asking about this now? She’d never mentioned it before, therefore he had assumed it was of no consequence to her. Evidently, her distress was genuine and guilt stabbed him that he had put her in this situation. He must make it up to her somehow.

  “Couldn’t you have found your fortune back in England?”

  “No.” How could he tell her the truth? He had tried to make his own way but had only succeeded in digging himself in even deeper. That was why he had left England—not to seek his fortune, but to save his skin.

  She looked at him long and hard. He schooled his face to remain expressionless.

  “Well,” she said at last, pulling her shoulders back and stiffening her back. “If I help, we could go home sooner, couldn’t we? If I help, we would be two to share the load.”

  “And how do you think you can help?” Amused, he watched as she poked through the bags and bundles piled around them as if determined to do something that very instant. “What of your ale house?”

  “There is no call for an ale house here,” she said sternly, as if to convince herself as much as him. “I don’t know, there must be something I can do.” She straightened up, apparently discarding the notion of unpacking. “Where did Mr Harmon go? I’ll ask him.”

  She had recovered her good humour although he was sure she was saddened over the loss of her idea. He admired her resiliency. “Shall we check in with Mr Harmon? We can set up our bed rolls later.”

  “What a wonderful suggestion,” she said. “I would like to see more of the outpost.” He frowned at the bright tone in her voice but she returned his look without a hint of guile, even flashing him a little smile.

  They stepped outside and started across the yard through a fog of mosquitoes.

  “Wretched things,” Simone muttered, swatting at the insects. “I shall never get used to them.”

  “I know,” Temple groaned. “My arms are a mass of welts. Let’s walk faster, shall we?” He picked up the pace.

  “Very well.” Simone ignored his outstretched hand and picked up her skirts in one hand, leaving the other free to wave about her face. “Phew.”

  “Hello!” Temple shouted once they reached the warehouse.

  “In here, come in, come in.” A man’s voice drifted through the door.

  They stepped inside to find Daniel sitting behind a table, open ledger, quill and ink pot in front of him.

  “Oh, my.” Simone looked about her. Speechless, she let her gaze wander.

  A hodgepodge of goods surrounded them: stacks of furs of all sizes and shapes, blankets, rifles, powder, iron pots and even bolts of cloth. The faint odour of smoke mixed with the musky smell of the furs and the acrid bite of gun powder. Not unpleasant, but a raw, savage odour much like the land they were in. She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly to better catch Daniels’ words.

  “This is what drives the North West Company,” Daniel explained. “Furs.” He pointed to different piles as he as he spoke. “Wolf, mink, otter, fox, bear. But particularly beaver, and the more, the better. That’s why we’ve set up here. It’s a central location for a very large area.” He showed them a map pinned on the wall. “See? We are on the edge of Stuart Lake which connects to many other waterways.”

  Temple strolled over and peered at the map. With one grimy finger, he traced several of the rivers shown. “This is a commercial enterprise of good size
, is it not? That’s what I was told.”

  “Yes.” Daniel nodded. “We trade our goods for furs, pure and simple. You won’t be that busy. Our duties only take a few hours a day. For the rest, it is up to you to while away the time.” Daniel turned toward Simone. “Will you excuse us while I go over what’s expected of your husband?”

  “Yes, of course, Mr Harmon, but I would really like to help. Have you something for me to do?” Simone asked.

  “You would be too much of a distraction here or in the store. But if you are amenable, I’d like you to speak English with my wife. She speaks French and Cree but I have been teaching her English. I’ll take her with me when I return to my home in the United States and she’s going to need English.”

  “I may not be the best choice,” Simone began, looking Daniel Harmon full in the face. How could she possibly teach Mrs Harmon when she had only just learned proper English herself? The idea daunted her.

  “Nonsense,” Temple interrupted her. “You’ll do just fine. What better way to reinforce what you have learned from me than by teaching someone else?”

  “Lisette wants to practice her English,” Daniel said. “I’m not always the most patient with her.”

  Simone doubted her ability to be a teacher, especially if teaching required patience. Surely she could do something else. She opened her mouth to reply but Daniel spoke before she had a chance to say anything.

  “I will not take no for an answer.”

  Drat, it seemed he had read her mind. She frowned.

  Daniel leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms overhead. “Besides, I’ve already mentioned to her that you would be teaching her.” The chair legs landed back on the ground with a solid thump.

  “Oh, all right then,” Simone said, hoping her voice didn’t sound too cross. “When would you like us to start?”

  “She’s waiting for you. In the garden plot.”

  “It’ll give you something to do, Simone.” Temple’s voice was bland. “Mr Harmon and I have accounts to review.”

  “Of course,” Simone said with as much grace as she could muster. It appeared the role of teacher had been thrust upon her, wanted or not. “If you would excuse me.”

  The look she threw Temple as she left could have stopped a bear at thirty paces. He let loose the grin that he had stifled at her indignation and watched her march away, back rigid.

  He couldn’t wait to discover how she made out.

  Chapter Eleven

  Simone let her shoulders sag as soon as she was out of sight. Teach English? It hadn’t been quite what she had in mind when she had suggested to Temple that she could help. However, she welcomed the prospect of feminine chit chat. It reminded her of Mrs Featherstone and her time on board the Annabelle.

  She found the garden plot easily enough and from within the roughly fenced area drifted a woman’s voice and a toddler’s babble.

  “Hello?” She raised her voice.

  “Hello!” Lisette Harmon popped up from behind the uneven timbers. Her welcoming smile put Simone at ease immediately. About her own height, Lisette was sturdily built, with silken black hair plaited in two and smooth skin the colour of burnt sugar. A serviceable apron well spotted with dirt covered her gaily striped cotton dress. “Mrs Wellington? Daniel told me you and your husband had arrived.” The woman’s voice was low, guttural, her words spoken with a lyrical accent that Simone recognized as French with a hint of something else. That must be the Cree influence Daniel had mentioned.

  “Yes.” Out of habit, Simone curtsied. Temple had taught her—curtsey begat courtesy. “Mrs Harmon?”

  “Please, call me Lisette. And this is Polly.” She held up a dark haired little girl perhaps fourteen or sixteen months old.

  “Simone, then, please call me Simone.”

  “I am so happy you are here. It can be lonely as we are only ten here in the fort.”

  “You speak English. Your husband wanted me to teach you.”

  “I do not need teaching, I need practice.”

  “What have you planted?” Interested, Simone leaned over to look on the other side of the enclosure. She had never seen a garden before. To her, vegetables were found in market stalls.

  “Potatoes, turnips, carrots, onions. It is the second year we try.” Lisette’s velvet brown eyes gazed at her appraisingly. “But you do not want to hear about my garden. Look, the sun is high. Go to the water and wash.”

  Simone gaped at her. “How did you know?”

  “It is in your face. The miles must be washed away. Go.” Lisette pointed to the lake. “You will find a good place. It is safe, the men work and the Indians are away today. We will talk later when we cook the food.”

  Simone didn’t need to be told twice. With a hasty “thank you”, she twirled about and darted toward their little cabin. Ducking inside, she scrabbled through the packs until she found what she sought: a precious bar of rose scented soap. Temple had bought it for her in Montreal and sadly, she had not had the opportunity to use it. It was still in its wrapper, a square of coarse paper.

  She picked her way down the little bluff, stopping to pluck a pink wild flower to tuck in her bodice. Following the direction Lisette had pointed, she continued along until a curve in the beach hid her from the fort.

  The prospect of a bath was too tempting to allow for false modesty. A quick glance proved her to be alone and within seconds she had stripped off her clothing, leaving it in a little pile on the beach save her shift. That she could wash with her. If she wrung it out thoroughly, it would dry quickly in the hot summer sun.

  Her inhibitions were stripped away with her clothes. Lifting her face to the sun, she raised her arms and inhaled deeply, once, twice, as if the unsullied air could wash her inside as the water would wash her skin outside. Picking up her shift and the soap, she waded thigh deep into the water.

  “Oh, how lovely,” she sighed, tossing the shift aside to unwrap the soap. The paper stuck and she dunked it beneath the surface of the lake to loosen it, marvelling at the clear water that allowed her to see her hands perfectly. Her nails were chipped and dirty, the skin brown and weathered against the ivory of the soap bar. She caught sight of her face, mirrored on the water’s surface.

  “You’re as brown as the Indians,” she murmured to her rippled reflection.

  Oh my, her tan would fade, wouldn’t it? Ladies of quality had pale, pale skin. Perhaps plenty of lather would lighten her face.

  She dunked the soap and rubbed it briskly between her hands, working up a handful of froth that she applied to her face. Eyes squished, she dunked beneath the water to rinse then worked up another handful of bubbles for her hair. Again she dunked below the surface of the water, placing the soap on the sandy bottom to free both hands to massage her scalp. She stood and lifted her face again to the sun, pulling her hair over one shoulder to wring it out. How blissful to be clean.

  “Simone.”

  She froze at the husky growl that crawled through the air.

  Temple.

  Panic seared her. What was he doing here? She had thought him busy with Daniel. She sank down until her shoulders were covered then crossed her arms before turning around to look.

  “If you please, my lord, I would like to finish bathing. Alone.” She made her voice frosty. Her words died in her throat when she caught his eyes.

  They were ravenous eyes, avid, the eyes of a predator. And she was the prey.

  “Simone.” Temple whispered her name again. Glorious in her nakedness, he had seen her worship the sun with arms outstretched. The sight of her, wet skin satin shiny and nipples pebbled with cold, snared his gaze, captivated him. She had become one with the wilderness, a pagan nymph.

  He wanted her.

  Now.

  “I thought you were busy in the warehouse,” Simone said, dread limning her words. She cast a frantic glance toward her clothes before remembering she had brought her shift with her to be washed. Where was it? She tried to find it beneath the water, kickin
g out a foot first one way then the other.

  “We saw you walk toward the beach. Daniel thought I should watch over you. ” Temple left the shelter of the woods and started across the beach. His footsteps crunched on the gravel, an ominous sound that alarmed her even more than the look in his eyes.

  “Go away. Please.” Her whispered words mingled with the soughing breeze high in the trees.

  “No.” He ignored her plea, taking a step closer before slowly, deliberately, beginning to remove his clothes.

  “Please, my lord. Mr Wellington. Temple.” She made her voice stern. “Please leave me.” Again, she searched for her shift. It wouldn’t provide much protection against him but it was better than nothing.

  “I want you,” Temple said, stripping off his trousers. “I want you as I’ve never wanted another.” As he spoke the words, he realized it was the truth. Simone, the street urchin, the unknown one, had become an integral part of him. He wanted, nay, needed to make love to her, needed to surrender to the ache of stifled desire. He knew from prior experience that women derived as much pleasure from the sexual act as men and he would show her, now, in this very moment. There may indeed be consequences but he would deal with them in time.

  “No, please.” Simone started to shiver, whether from cold or his presence, she couldn’t say. She forgot about the shift, just stared at him, mesmerized by the expanse of rippling skin that grew with each piece of clothing removed.

  “Simone. My love.” Naked, Temple stood at the water’s edge, sensibilities swayed by the savage surroundings. His erect penis pounded with a life blood of its own, a life blood he could no longer ignore. He waded toward his quarry.

  Simone was not so easily intimidated. Fury leant an edge to her tongue.

  “I beg you, my lord, please reconsider,” she snapped, shifting away. “If you think calling me your love is going to win me, you can think again.”

  “Oh, Simone,” he sighed, shaking his head. “How can you think you can escape?” He was now waist deep, only a step or two away from her.