This wasn’t pathetic or funny.
“When?” A walk would give her a chance to ask him about Mary.
“Right after breakfast?”
“Um…”
“I wish to show you something.”
Where Mary went missing? popped into her head. “What?”
“From what little I understand of women, I have learned that curiosity drives them. I believe my chances of getting a yes out of you increase if I tell you nothing at all, and let your mind wander.”
She snorted. That was the silliest thing she’d ever heard. “It’s boring isn’t it? Or weird? Please tell me you don’t want to show me your cigar collection because I am not into stench.”
He became serious. “No, my gun collection. I keep it out in the fields for when I go on nice country strolls.”
Yikes. He was probably joking. Who kept guns in a field? No one. All her guns were either in the gun safe in her apartment, in her car, or at the precinct. “Oh, guns!”
His thick brows knit together.
“We can’t go for a walk, we’re going to the range after breakfast,” she said.
He nodded, expression still serious. “Yes, of course. I’d forgotten. Tomorrow morning then.”
Chapter Thirteen
Blue skies and warm sunshine greeted Shea, Cross, and Smith as they made their way down to the carriages. Miss Gray opted to stay indoors during the outing, feigning exhaustion. She’d even lifted a hand to her brow. It had been very dramatic. For a moment Shea was positive the woman would insist Daley, or one of the men, carry her to her bed chambers. Shea wished she had. It would’ve been funny.
As it was, the men were already outside. Mr. Asher stood inside a carriage rearranging blankets, while Daley watched and pointed. Mr. Hamilton was at a phaeton, a high carriage-like ride with only two seats, patting down the dark chocolate mare hooked to the front. Captain Bayliss was nowhere to be seen. And Shea was fine with that. After the other night, she’d prefer he stay away.
“I wonder where Captain Bayliss is.” Smith ran her gloved hands down the front of her dress as a breeze passed by. She took Shea’s arm and squeezed.
“I don’t think I like him,” Cross said. “He’s such a, a—”
“Scoundrel?” Shea filled in. Then again maybe he wasn’t really. Maybe scoundrel was just his character. In a screwy way, she could see how some women might find that appealing.
“Sounds about right,” Cross said.
“He’s been kind to me.” Smith lowered her head.
“Of course he has,” Cross said, “he’s into you.”
“He’s been nice to you too,” Smith said.
“Yes, I guess he has.” Cross fiddled with her bonnet. “Mr. Asher’s nice too.”
Smith drummed her fingers on Shea’s arm. “He is and so thoughtful. I like him quite a bit.”
Shea smiled. Asher was her favorite. She supposed that just as Hamilton could be a gem in real life, Asher could be a womanizer, but he had such a genial air about him that it was hard to picture him as anything other than sweet. She glanced over at the carriage as the kindly giant smoothed a blanket over the seats, careful to rub out any wrinkles. She sniggered. “I’d say he’s a good one.”
“You think so?” Smith bounced in place.
Shea nodded. “I like him and can’t imagine anyone not.”
Smith sighed. “Mr. Daley and Mr. Hamilton are both fine gentlemen too.”
Cross chuckled. “Hamilton’s a bit broody for my taste, but Daley sure is fun.”
Mr. Daley glanced over his shoulder like he was aware they were speaking about him. Hopping down from the step on the carriage, he strode toward them, the gravel crunching under his feet. “Lovely morning, isn’t it? Good day for shooting.”
“We were just talking about you.” Cross informed him.
A broad smile crossed his face. “Pray tell, what scandalous things were you saying?”
Cross batted her lashes at him. “A lady never reveals her secrets.”
Shea sighed. So, what? Was Cross going for Daley now?
Mr. Asher finished with the blankets, jumped down from the carriage and made his way over. Smith tightened her grip on Shea’s arm almost painfully. When Asher reached them, he removed his top hat and inclined his head. He made eye contact with all the ladies, but when he spoke it was for one lady only. “Miss Smith, would you allow me to escort you to the carriage?”
Miss Smith blushed, let go of Shea’s arm and took Mr. Asher’s.
“Well, I guess we know why Bayliss isn’t here,” Cross said as the two boarded the carriage.
Shea didn’t care. She’d wanted to ride with Cross. Keep her close, and whatever was on that flash drive, but now that Asher and Smith had taken two of the four seats in the carriage that wasn’t going to work. Her gaze wandered to Mr. Hamilton, who had just finished harnessing the brown mare to the Phaeton. His eyes fell on her and his lips quirked.
Well, crap.
“It appears we’re all still in for a lot of surprises,” Cross said in her raspy tone.
Shea slouched.
“I do hope some of those surprises include the secrets you’re keeping from me?” Mr. Daley brought the conversation back to its previous topic.
Cross swiveled her hips back and forth. How do I always get caught in the cross-fire between two flirts? It wasn’t the same kind of flirting as with Daley and Gray. Still, there was no intensity, no promise of more to come. No need for Shea to feel she should plug her ears, run, and hide. This flirting was pure, harmless fun.
“What about you, Mr. Daley. What secrets are you keeping?” Cross asked.
“I have no secrets.” Daley lifted his chin. “Which you can discover for yourself on the carriage ride.”
“No secrets?” Cross smacked his shoulder. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
Shea fought the urge to roll her eyes at the two blonds. She stepped forward, took Cross’s arm, and started walking. “Shall we join Miss Smith in the carriage?”
Miss Cross came to an abrupt halt that jerked her and Shea in its suddenness. She dropped Cross arm. Cross squealed, and Shea glanced back at her as Daley yanked Cross to his side. He stepped forward and took Shea’s shoulders. “Now, cousin, you wouldn’t deny me the company of Miss Cross when there is another gentleman desirous of yours.”
Shea’s gaze flew to Hamilton, his attention now fully on her.
Shea reached behind Daley and took Cross’s arm, once again pulling her toward the carriage. “He’ll be fine.”
“Whoa.” Cross grabbed her bonnet to keep it from falling off.
Daley took Cross’s other arm and spun her behind him.
Cross giggled. “It’s like ring around the rosie.”
They both released her.
“Why don’t you get in the carriage, Miss Cross, while my cousin and I work this out?” Daley said.
“All right, but if Shea wins, I must see you and Hamilton riding the phaeton together.” She skipped off, laughing heartily.
Shea felt her face redden. Okay, maybe it would be weird for two men to ride together like that. She didn’t know. Her regency knowledge had just about been exhausted and with no internet access, she stuttering right and left.
Just then Captain Bayliss rode around the corner on a black steed, kicking up dirt and pebbles. “The targets are ready; it’s time we’re off.”
“Oh goodie,” Cross called.
Smith clapped. “I’m so excited. I’ve never shot a gun before.”
Shea and Daley ignored them.
“Do you have a problem with Mr. Hamilton?” Daley asked in an amused, yet knowing way that made her uncomfortable. It was almost like he wanted her to say yes. This place didn’t make sense. She was supposed to pretend to be enjoying herself, but how could she? And weren’t the actors supposed to be helping them have fun?
She lifted her chin. “No. He’s great.” And she still needed to ask him about Mary.
While the
smile remained on Daley’s face, it left his eyes. He moved closer to her. “What is it you’re worried about?”
Shea’s gaze flicked to Miss Cross and back.
He turned as Mr. Asher gave her a hand into the carriage. “Ah, yes,” he said, and to Shea’s ears, it was almost cryptic. “You need not worry; she’s in good hands.” He winked and walked away.
Shea’s stomach flip-flopped. What did he mean by that and why had it felt like a threat?
“Miss Shea,” a low voice sounded behind her.
Startled, she turned on her heel. “Mr. Hamilton? Looks like I’m riding with you.”
Hamilton bowed his head. “I wasn’t sure you’d be comfortable in the phaeton, but Mrs. Rafferty insisted.”
“Oh,” she spluttered. Had she made him feel bad? “No, that’s fine. Really. A phaeton! Cool.”
He shook his head, and an indulgent smile crossed his lips.
She frowned. Right, if the man hadn’t liked her using “band-aid,” it wasn’t likely he’d be okay with “cool.” “I mean ‘lovely.’ Always wanted to ride in one.”
The carriage pulled away behind her, happy giggles trailing out after it. Shea spun on her heel with a nervous clenching in her gut. She had to stay close, but the carriage was going fast enough now that they’d be far away in no time. Without looking at Hamilton, she all but ran for the Phaeton.
“They’re leaving, we’d better hurry,” she said, but then skidded to a stop in front of the phaeton. Okay, that’s a lot higher than it looks. She considered hiking up her dress, but then banished the idea. Not regency approved. She glanced after the carriage which was now clear down the lane, passing the pond, and about to disappear into the trees.
“Are you all right, Miss Shea?” Hamilton asked.
She needed to calm down. “Of course, I just don’t want to miss any activities.”
He looked down the road after the carriage and then back at her. “Well, in that case we’d better hurry.” He offered her his hand and helped her step up in the carriage and then to her relief he immediately jumped in after and off they went. Mr. Hamilton moved the carriage slow at first as he navigated it to the road from where it was parked in front of the house. After a moment, the horse was pulling at a brisk pace, fast enough that Shea had to grab her bonnet to keep it from flying off, and to the side of the phaeton to keep from falling off it if they hit a pothole.
When the carriage was finally in sight again, her pulse slowed, and she allowed herself to glance at Mr. Hamilton. He was smiling.
“You like going fast?” she asked, then felt an urge to slap her hand over her mouth.
With shock written all over his face, he glanced at her. “Of course, but mostly, I just wanted to see you smile.”
How sweet. She cleared her throat. She had Hamilton alone and she wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. “It’s a shame about Mary, don’t you think?”
He sat a little taller, his hands tightening on the reins. “Who?”
Seriously? “The maid.”
“I don’t know the maids personally.”
Okay, if he was going to be difficult, then she’d have to be more direct. “But you know of her, right? I heard the two of you talking last night.”
“Last night? You mean when the toilet flooded?” He glanced over at her. “You were awake that late?”
She fidgeted in her seat. She hadn’t expected this. “Yes, my room was warm and I got up to open a window. I heard voices in the hall.”
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
Well, she wasn’t getting far, was she. “So, why’d she leave?”
“I imagine she’d dealt with one too many messes.” His tone suggested he was done. “Not far now. The range is just around that bend and copse of trees.”
All right, she’d give for now. But his response was just as writ as Mr. Rafferty’s had been. Apparently they did have a script some of the time.
Chapter Fourteen
The field where they stopped had three targets at the far side. Unlike everywhere else the grass here had been mowed, fresh cut blades still dusted the top. Behind the targets stood a copse of trees. And not just any trees, the trees Shea had seen the glint of light on her first day. The spot was just off to the right of the targets and down. From the phaeton, she could see the house and the window she’d been peering out. It made more or less pinpointing the location easy. Three days later there wasn’t likely to be much evidence, but an opportunity like this might not come again.
Mr. Daley helped Miss Cross and then Miss Smith out of the carriage. Captain Bayliss was off his horse before Mr. Asher was able to remove himself from the carriage, and was now escorting Smith to the servants. Mr. Asher’s face reddened.
Mr. Daley removed his hunting gloves and hat, throwing them onto the seat, then took Miss Cross’s arm.
Mr. Hamilton hopped out of the phaeton, and when Shea slid to the side to get out, he grabbed her around her waist and lowered her to the ground.
“Whoa,” came out of her mouth before she could stop it.
He grinned.
Across the field from the targets stood two servants, both in white wigs, each carrying two old fashioned rifles. The targets were at an easy distance of thirty feet, though they’d been brought in from about fifty feet.
Shea kept her gaze on Mr. Daley as they approached the others. Each man took a gun. When Bayliss loaded his gun, Shea sucked in a deep breath. An image of a pig’s head with a knife protruding from the top made her instantly regret coming here. Not that she’d had a say in the matter. Of course, nothing life threatening had happened to Miss Cross so far, but Shea couldn’t rule it out, especially if the person who had broken into her room had been searching for the flash drive. If that were the case, then that person probably knew about Peltier’s murder or had participated in it.
“Miss Shea, are you quite all right?” Mr. Hamilton said.
“Yes, of course. Why? Do I seem out of sorts?” She felt out of sorts, but she hoped she didn’t seem it.
“Well, you keep frowning, and you currently have a line between your brows.” He fisted his hand then straightened it out again.
She looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since she’d run into him in the hall on her first day here. He couldn’t be any older than thirty, and his salt and pepper hair was quite distinguished—like a young George Clooney. She couldn’t honestly say he was as good looking as Daley or Bayliss, but he was still handsome. In fact, she found him attractive in a way she hadn’t any man in a long time.
She clenched her jaw. This was exactly what she didn’t want to happen. Especially not now that he was suspect.
“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern,” she said.
While she looked ahead to where they were going, Hamilton kept his gaze on her.
“Have you ever fired a gun before?” Hamilton asked as he gently removed Shea’s hand from his arm and took a rifle from one of the servants. He hung it over the crook of his arm as he loaded two shells.
She did know how, not only from being a cop but because growing up she’d gone on yearly deer hunts with her dad and brothers. “No, perhaps you could show me.”
“I’d be happy too, Miss Shea.” His steely gaze pinned her down.
Seemingly pleased, he showed her how to fire the shotgun, taking two shots himself. Both landed only a few inches from the center of the target. He then reloaded and handed her the gun.
She braced the hilt against her shoulder, spread her feet, took a deep breath, aimed, and fired. The kick back of the gun rammed into her shoulder, but didn’t hurt as much as she suspected it would for such an old gun. Her first shot landed in the dead center of the target.
Miss Smith squealed in delight. “Miss Shea!”
Everyone stared at her. Crap. “Oh wow, that was fun. I didn’t know I could do that.”
“Go again,” Mr. Hamilton said. Everyone continued to watch as she set up her next shot. She aimed for the edge of the tar
get and fired. She barely hit it, just enough to make a chunk of straw fly out.
“Wow, sorry. I guess I could use a lot more practice.”
Hamilton shook his head and gave her a wry smile.
“Or a machine gun.” She laughed.
No one else did.
“What on earth is a machine gun?” Miss Smith giggled.
Shea frowned. Seriously? Yes, seriously. These people took this pretending business seriously, and she needed to as well. Instead of answering, she shrugged. Everyone went back to their targets after that.
Mr. Daley examined the target for a moment, then rolled back on his heels.
She turned to Hamilton. “Sorry.”
“I’m going to get more shells,” Mr. Hamilton left.
Whoops.
Shea lowered the rifle and stared at the target. She smiled. That had been a great shot considering the gun.
“You’re always tired, Miss Shea.” Mr. Daley stopped beside her.
She slouched. Well, yeah. She pretty much hadn’t slept since arriving here. Thanks for the reminder. “I’m fine.”
He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the side of his pointer finger. “Machine guns weren’t invented until the late eighteen-hundreds.”
“Is that right?” She fought the urge to point the rifle at him.
“Yes. Booby traps came earlier though.”
She turned to him and narrowed her eyes. “Really? How fascinating,” she laced her voice with snark.
“There was some recorded use of tripwire in the eighteen hundreds but the late eighteen hundreds,” he hummed. “Namely attached to guns that covered unwatched doorways.”
“Wow.”
“Indeed.” He nodded. “The Regency did have swords, bows and arrows, pistols and,” he pointed to the weapon in her hand and smiled, “and rifles of course.”
Mr. Hamilton came up behind her and took the rifle.
“Ah, Mr. Hamilton,” Mr. Daley stepped forward. “Will we be fishing at all while we’re here?”
Hamilton seemed a little taken aback, but so was Shea. It’s called a segue.
Regencyland- The Bristle Park Murders Page 9
