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LENGTH:Novella
SENSUALITY:Sensual/Spicy

Cover art (c) Alex DeShanks 2008
ISBN 1-58608-223-2
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Lord Laurence, Katherine Kilgarth’s childhood companion, has certainly grown up into a stuffy young man! Time was when he would’ve been as intrigued by the strange going’s on at Broughton Hall as she was, but she had no intention, whatever he said, of simply ignoring the intriguing mystery.

Rating: sensual/spicy.

STIRRING PASSIONS

By

Maggi Andersen

© copyright by Maggie Andersen, September 2008

Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, September 2008

ISBN 978-1-60394-223-2

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

Creeping along the passage, Kate carefully avoided the spots where squeaky floorboards would announce her progress. It was close to midnight and the moon shone down through the upper hall window, lighting her way to the stairs. She was seeking hot milk from the kitchen. The prized copy of Jane Austen’s novel, Emma, brought down from London by a friend of her father’s, had made her unaccountably restless. As she passed her parents bedroom door, she heard a soft groan. Kate’s cheeks grew hot. She knew what that sound meant. Her parents were making love, and she knew that tomorrow at breakfast, her parents would be very tender with each other and her mother’s eyes would be soft and bright.

* * * *

Kate shook out the muddy hem of her blue cambric gown, and tucked a stray lock of chestnut hair into place beneath her blond, straw bonnet. Approaching the door, she seized the heavy brass knocker with both hands, rapping twice. Barely a minute passed before the butler, Keaton, opened it, a warm smile softening his dignified expression.

"Why, Miss Kate, Lord Laurence is away from home. The whole family has up and gone to London. Lady Firth’s mother has passed away."

"Oh, Keaton, how sad! Poor Lady Evenstock suffered dreadfully."

"It was a blessed release, Miss Kate. They will be gone for another week. Would you care to come in for refreshments after your walk?"

Kate looked down at her muddy boots and shook her head. "No. Thank you, Keaton."

"May I offer you a lift home? The gig is being taken into town."

"That’s kind of you, Keaton, but it’s lovely to be out after all the rain and a mere stroll home, which shall do me no harm at all."

Keaton gazed upon the glowing, heart-shaped face turned up to him. He knew this lively and healthy young person would have no difficulty with the three-mile walk back to Roseheath. He watched as she tied the strings of her bonnet firmly under her chin. She waved as she took the path leading away across the fields.

Keaton had been employed at Firth Manor long before Kate came into the world and had watched her grow up. Kate and Laurence had been inseparable. Friends and neighbors all their lives, the two played together as children, rode together as young adults and squabbled and teased each other still. He remembered nurse patching Kate’s knee when she fell out of an apple tree in the orchard. And sent for the surgeon to set Laurence’s broken arm when he tried to jump his horse over a hedge with Kate riding behind in hot pursuit.

He had laughed quietly to himself as Kate taught the reluctant young man to dance that new dance called the waltz in the old nursery with the rug rolled up. He was sure he wasn’t the only one to suspect they would marry when the young master completed his studies up at Cambridge. In the servant’s quarters over a dinner unusually relaxed with the family away, Cook certainly agreed. Mrs. Corbett, the housekeeper, offered the opinion that she’d never detected even the tiniest bit of romance between them. Why they seemed more like brother and sister! This lead to a lively discussion. The groom, Blackthorn, an extravagant fellow, ventured a bet of a half penny with Cook that Lord Laurence would propose by year’s end. Maisie, the parlor maid, who seldom was allowed to have her say, stated boldly that she thought the Master would want his son to marry higher, for, although Miss Kate was quite well-born--her maternal grandfather a Baronet--her father was a commoner and an Irishman to boot! Keaton thought this a surprisingly sensible observation from someone as young and romantic as Maisie, but he found himself hoping a marriage would come about while he was still above ground, for the bright pair would transform Firth Manor into a place full of life again.

* * * *

Gray clouds hung low and the air was heavy with the expectation of more rain. Kate had walked almost two miles and, feeling hot and sticky, stopped to swat a persistent fly. Spying some fat, juicy blackberries growing along the river, she pulled off her hat and tucked up her dress, exposing her short boots and a shameless amount of calf and ankle before clambering down the steep bank. She was busily engaged in picking the ripest berries while avoiding the prickles, her lips and fingers stained purple, when a rider appeared above her. She looked up to find a dark-haired man atop a big, black stallion, its nostrils steaming. The man’s dark brows rose in inquiry and she thought she detected a certain censure in his gray eyes at her dishevelled appearance. His immaculate tan riding coat was superbly cut across his broad shoulders and his riding boots gleamed like mirrors. He made Kate, who generally cared little for her appearance, feel rather grubby.

"What are you doing on my land?" he demanded, his eyes raking her from head to foot.

"Y … your land?" Kate tugged her gown down over her legs, vexed at the blackberry stain on a flounce that her mother’s sharp gaze would find.

"Yes, my land," he repeated, as if to one who was addled. "I am Jason Broughton from the Hall."

"Well, there’s no reason to repeat it, and so loudly, Lord Broughton. I am not hard of hearing," she responded, climbing up the bank, then added, having reached solid ground, "I am not in my dotage you know."

A glimmer of amusement appeared in his eyes. "Indeed you are not. Are you a servant from one of the big houses?"

Kate pulled her bonnet straight. Jutting out her chin, she looked the rather fearsome Lord Broughton directly in the eye. "A neighbour of yours, Lord Broughton. I am Katherine Kilgarth of Roseheath." She turned and pointed. "Roseheath is but a mile away over that hill. You must know of it. I thought Broughton Hall was boarded up and no one lived there. Indeed, no-one has lived there for as long as I can remember."

The stallion danced about, eager to be gone. "That cannot be so very long a time, can it? You use this path as a short cut. Where does it take you?" There was a slightly teasing note in his voice that seemed at odds with the aloofness of his expression.

"I only cross these fields when I visit Firth Manor. Surely, it can hurt no one." Kate was growing tired of being made to feel like a poacher. "Please rest assured that I shall walk the long way round in future."

"So, my blackberries will now be safe from further assault?"

Kate looked up quickly from beneath her bonnet. Was there the suggestion of a smile hovering about his full-lipped mouth? She found herself wondering what a smile would do to that face.

He lifted his hat. "Good day to you, Miss Kilgarth. I daresay we shall see more of each other, village life being what it is."

Kate had no time to answer before he took off, the powerful horse galloping with ease up over the rise and disappearing amongst the beech trees in the Homewood of Broughton Hall. She turned away down the path, wishing she’d worn her new spotted muslin with the yellow sash.