Burning Bright (Brambridge Novel 2) by Pearl Darling Page B

Harriet just skewered the new lord.”
    “Bet he ain’t too happy about that.”
    Reluctantly, Harriet turned and put out a hand for James’ swords. “Rehearsal over,” she said in a loud voice. “Time to go home.”
    “But we’ve got half an hour left,” Benjamin protested.
    James placed the swords into Harriet’s outstretched hand. “Better do as the lady says before you get stabbed yourself.”
    Harriet waited patiently but still James did not release the swords. Her ears burned as the room laughed at James’ comment. She steeled herself and looked up. James’ dark hair had fallen over one of his green eyes, and the dim light from the windows cast shadows from the sharp planes of his cheekbones. He looked like every hero she had read about. The hero she had imagined nightly in her dreams. Despite him not coming back for her, Harriet had thought of James every day for the last two years. Her breathing deepened as anticipation flooded through her.
    “Are you sure you don’t want to kick me in the shins?” James let go of the swords. She caught them with a fumble as they fell to the floor.
    Damn the man. Her heroes had not spoken like that. If at all.
    At least he had called her a lady and not a girl.
     

CHAPTER 6
     
    James left the schoolhouse and rode slowly towards the Fountain Inn, his hand lightly touching his stomach beneath the fine linen of his shirt. An unexpected wave of warm familiarity washed over him. He had known just a split second before Harriet had pinned him with the wooden sword that she was going to do something unexpected. It was the look that she got in her eye, an indescribable widening that warned of unspeakable consequences.
    He gazed out into the distance across fields of corn rippling in the breeze. A low wall separated them from fields of dull brown. Brambridge Manor fields. The golden corn belonged to Lord Anglethorpe. What in the blazes had he done in order to get his crops to grow? Nudging Scorpius into a trot, he headed back towards the Fountain Inn.
    Entering the tap room was not the same noisy affair as when James had left. The room was empty, apart from Bill, who sat quietly in the corner.
    “Hello, James. Or should I say Lord Stanton?” Bill straightened and kicked a stool out with his foot. “Come and sit down.”
    Taking off his coat, James loosened his cravat and, sitting on the stool, put an elbow on the table. “Thank you.”
    “Two years it has been, James, and nary a word. Where have you been?”
    “In the army, at Waterloo, at Salamanca, wherever there was fighting.”
    Bill arched an eyebrow. “I thought you were more interested in the stars than fighting.”
    “The small matter of a murdered riding officer changed that.”
    Bill grunted and sat. “Aye. I know. The Rocket dropped you in Calais, remember. You were a wreck. I thought you were going to remain at that tavern. You seemed to be prospering there.”
    “Somehow the authorities found out about me. Those first three months were… formative.” James winced. “I learnt a bit about fighting, hand to hand. And then someone called the Hawk contacted me through our old friend Renard. Said England needed me. Asked me to join the Tenth Hussars as a scout.”
    Bill nodded and sighed. “I know the Hawk. Can’t get away from him. Granwich too.”
    “Granwich? Who’s Granwich?”
    “You’ve not met Granwich?” Bill tapped his fingers on the table. “Have you ever met Harding… or even the Hawk?”
    James shook his head. “I’ve been too busy hiding in bushes and galloping around armies.” It hadn’t left a lot of time for socializing. He had just kept his head down and done what he had been told to do.
    “Interesting.”
    “Interesting?”
    “Interesting. I need a drink. Ned? Ned! A pint of your best please.”
    The short, portly figure of the landlord who had greeted James a few nights ago bustled over.
    “Well lads, this be a pretty scene. I think Lord Stanton has something on you now,