“Aye, Sir.” The boy of fourteen rushed away toward the manor’s servant entrance. Over the young groom’s shoulder, Aaron waved farewell with both hands, and despite the chaos, Aidan raised his hand to the child.
“Is the lady badly injured?” Deland asked.
Aidan’s fear for Mary caused him to speak more forcibly than usual. “When I return, I want to know what the bloody hell happened.” Waving off the groom’s explanation before the man began, he said, “I have no time for excuses. I must see to Miss Purefoy’s safety.”
*
Mercy had waited until she had heard his horse’s retreat before she touched her fingers to her lips. The warmth remained. Lord Lexford had kissed her. “Not an actual passionate kiss,” her mind warned her unwise heart. But His Lordship had meant to kiss her. It was not as if he had thought to skim a kiss upon her cheek, and she had turned her head at the last second. “No, his mouth pressed against yours,” she said in awe. “Deliberately and for several seconds.”
Her first kiss: It was a moment that would stay with her always. “I am glad it was he,” Mercy said aloud. Immediately, she wondered what it would be to know such a man intimately. When Geoffrey had meant to hand her off to Sir Lesley Trent, Mercy had attempted to reconcile herself to permitting the baronet his marital liberties, but she had quickly come to the conclusion she could not tolerate Sir Lesley’s touch. The baronet was old enough to be her father. “It would be too reprehensible,” she had declared when Grace had broached the subject several nights before her sister’s disappearance. It was then Mercy had resolved to flee if no other alternative became available.
Slowly pushing herself to her elbows, she took a long lazy look at her surroundings. Her head throbbed, and every muscle in her body ached, but she had survived what might have killed another. “Thank Goodness, I have fallen from a horse previously.”
She glanced at her legs to find her garments about her knees. Even without the gentleman present, Mercy blushed. Lord Lexford had looked upon her as such. The idea of such intimacies brought another rush of color to her cheeks and an unusual warming to her most secret place.
Mercy sat forward to spread her habit over her exposed legs. “My boot?” she said with a frown. She prayed she had not lost the footwear. Mercy had no other boots, and she would not wish to impose further on His Lordship’s kindness. “I had thought to stand,” she admitted as she brushed twigs and dirt from her clothing. “Poor Miss Chadwick,” Mercy groaned. “Serena’s work has gone for naught.”
*
Aidan should have changed horses, but he refused to waste precious time. He held no true idea of the extent of Mary Purefoy’s injuries, and he meant to ferry the woman to Lexington Arms where he might oversee the lady’s care. In the near month of their relationship, Aidan had known contentment for the first time in many years, and he was sore to part with her presence in his life. He had received an initial report from Pennington regarding the lack of information regarding Miss Purefoy’s claim of a familial connection; however, at this point, Aidan had ceased to care. Of course, he remained exceedingly curious, but he was satisfied to allow the possible deception to continue if it meant his heart no longer ached with loneliness. He had decided that even if the lady were not his sister, he would offer Miss Purefoy a place in his home. At least, the thought of such an offer had been his decision when he watched the lady playing with Aaron in the ballroom. He might have other thoughts when he discovered the whole truth. “Accept what is right in your life for now,” he told his all-too-practical mind.
Aidan broke through the wooded area, which separated the parkland from the fields. It did not surprise him to see Miss Purefoy staggering to her feet: the lady was a stubborn one. He slowed the gelding from its mad gallop and enjoyed the view. Miss Purefoy in a dark green riding habit stood framed against the greens and browns of the riverbed. With her loose red-gold locks, the lady resembled a wood sprite come to life. It was a magnificent portrait, one of which he would like to commission in the future.
He had come within the length of the open field when, to his dismay, a shot rang out, and the lady spun to the left before dropping to the ground. Aidan kicked the gelding’s flanks hard, and the horse responded accordingly. As he raced to where Mary crouched, his eyes searched the tree line on the other bank. The river was shallow at this point as it had been several weeks since a substantial rain had fallen, and it was easy to see beyond the path leading to the other side. He kept his concentration on the only area, which would afford the shooter coverage. Finally, he saw it: a flash of red.
Aidan slowed the horse to slide to the ground. Running crouched over, he was at Miss Purefoy’s side, placing himself between her and the shooter. “Are you badly injured?” he asked without looking at her. The single shot volley he carried would be of no use at this distance.
The lady’s sob ripped at Aidan’s heart. “It burns,” she rasped.
Again, without looking at her, Aidan fished his linen from his pocket. He shoved the cloth into her hand. “Here,” he said as gently as he could. They were in an exposed position. No cover was available, and Aidan felt very vulnerable. Who had shot at Mary? His mind repeated. It was intentional. Aidan held no doubts of the shot’s purpose. A hunter would not have mistaken the lady for a deer or other animal. Her hair would have told whoever fired the shot that his target was human in form. Then who? Had the lady’s enemies followed her to Cheshire? It was important for him to discover more of her story before it was too late to protect her. Whether a familial connection proved true or not, Aidan remained confident Miss Purefoy had fled her demons.
The sound of horse’s hoofs had Aidan spinning to the rear. He looked up to see Mr. Hill’s approach.
“What happened?” Hill said as he slowed the animal to a halt.
Aidan finally looked at Miss Purefoy. She was crumpled against him. His jaw was tight, and his tone laced with disbelief. “Someone shot at Mary.”
“Where?” Hill’s eyes scanned the tree line.
Aidan gathered the woman to him. “Other side of the river. A flash of red. Like a man’s waistcoat.”
“I have it,” Hill said as he removed a long rifle from a strap along his saddle. Lucifer had won the gun from an American in a card game in Belgium, and it was one of his friend’s most treasured possessions. “See Miss Purefoy to the house.”
Aidan nodded his agreement. He did not think Mr. Hill would discover anything, but it was best to investigate. Only the one shot meant the attack was likely one of intimidation. In his years with the Realm, he had learned intimidation meant the victim had something the perpetrator wanted. As he pulled Miss Purefoy closer, Aidan wondered what secret she held that would set someone against her. “Find me when you return to the manor.” He watched as Hill edged his horse down the slope, across the narrow stream, and up the incline on the other side before disappearing into the late afternoon shadows.
“Come, my Dear. You have had a difficult day.” He lifted Miss Purefoy into his arms for the second time in their short acquaintance and was again surprised by how light she was. “Allow me to place you on my horse, and then I will see to your injury.” He enjoyed how she clung to him–how she had given herself over to his care. It was important to him that others saw him as competent. He had ridden in Andrew’s shadow for too many years not to question his abilities.
Carrying her to his horse, Aidan lifted her to the saddle. She caught the horn for balance, and he noted her grimace, but Miss Purefoy did not so much as whimper. She was as brave as she was beautiful.
Carefully, Aidan swung up behind her and settled the lady against him. Like a soothing fire on a chilly night, Miss Purefoy’s warmth crept into his body. “Permit me to look at where the bullet struck you.”
Aidan wrapped his hands about her, and Miss Purefoy turned her cheek into his arm. “I fear I am a terrible coward,” she said weakly.
Aidan eased her fingers from where she still held his linen against her skin. Fortunate
ly, the bullet had not penetrated her skin. Her creamy white skin, his lust announced. “It does not appear to be serious,” he said encouragingly.
“Shall it leave a scar?” she asked against his bicep.
Aidan chuckled. “It will not blemish your beauty, my Dear.”
He gathered the reins into his right hand, but before Aidan could set the animal in motion, Miss Purefoy looked up into his countenance. Aidan’s breath caught in his throat. They were mere inches apart. Close enough to kiss her again. Kiss her properly. Innocently, she asked, “You think I am beautiful?”
Aidan’s smile turned up his lips’ corners. “You have no need to fish for compliments, my Dear.”
Miss Purefoy blushed, but her gaze held. “No one…” she paused. “No one has ever spoken such a compliment in my presence,” the lady confessed.
“Then the men of your village must be blind or exceptional idiots,” Aidan declared. “For you are one of the most beautiful women of my acquaintance.”
She frowned, and he wanted to smooth away the lines in her forehead. “One among how many?” she asked boldly.
Aidan laughed lightly. Before kicking the horse’s flanks, he kissed her forehead where the lines remained. He gathered her closer to him.
Miss Purefoy snuggled into his body, but she said, “You avoid my question, my Lord.”
Aidan smiled easily. Yes, she was a stubborn one; the lady would not permit him a distraction.
“I mean, being one in a hundred is not so prestigious as being one in a dozen,” she reasoned.
He nuzzled her shoulder and enjoyed the scent of lilacs. The flower’s fragrance had become his favorite over the past month. “Let me see,” he began in a playful tone. “Unfortunately, the most beautiful women of my acquaintance are married to my closest friends.”
“Is that fact why you find them so attractive, my Lord? Must a woman be unattainable before you take notice of her beauty?” she challenged.
Aidan’s muscles tightened about her. Miss Purefoy’s question was one he had never considered. Had he purposely placed barriers in his life to prevent his finding happiness? Did he take some sort of perverted pleasure in punishing himself?
*
Mercy inhaled deeply. She would fill her lungs with the scent of Lord Lexford. He had called her beautiful, and Mercy’s heart had melted immediately. Surely, Sir Lesley had declared her comely, but never beautiful. Only Lord Lexford had chosen that particular word to describe her. It was a giddy sensation.
Teasingly, she had asked, “Is that fact why you find them so attractive, my Lord? Must a woman be unattainable before you take notice of her beauty?” Mercy assumed His Lordship thought of her as “unattainable,” especially as his sister, but when he stiffened, she tightened her arms about him. “I apologize, my Lord. I meant no aspersion.”
Lord Lexford casually kissed the top of her head before saying softly, “None taken, my Dear.” He hesitated. “I have long thought myself immune to the manipulations of Society mamas. Perhaps I only permitted myself to see a woman’s finer qualities after someone else laid claim to the lady’s affections.”
“If it would not distress you, would you speak to me of your friends and their ladies? I know their names and titles, but I have never known London Society. I am in awe of it.”
His Lordship said readily, “Some day I would enjoy showing you about the Capital.”
Mercy sighed deeply. It was a delightful dream: She would walk arm-in-arm with Viscount Lexford along Bond Street, and heads would turn to see such a handsome couple.
He had slowed the horse to a walk and had adjusted his hold to bring her more securely into his embrace. Mercy completely enjoyed the feel of His Lordship’s body along hers. It was a thoroughly naughty thought, but Mercy could not remove the smile from her lips. From deep in his chest, Lord Lexford sighed in what she assumed was resignation. “At one time, I had thought to court Cashémere Aldridge for my own, but the lady preferred the Earl of Berwick.”
Mercy had seen Miss Cashémere once when they were both young girls in the schoolroom. Cashémere Aldridge had gorgeous black hair and emerald green eyes. Mercy considered her sister’s connection to the Aldridge family and forcibly swallowed the desire to comment on her knowledge of Miss Cashémere. “Although I am certain it was awkward at first, you demonstrated true friendship in stepping aside,” she reasoned.
“Berwick is the one with whom I have shared the most experiences, and I could never separate him from the woman he so plainly loves.” The viscount maneuvered the gelding across a footbridge. “I had thought I had wooed Miss Cashémere, but, in reality, I had known Miss Satiné. They are twins and are two of a kind.”
Mercy thought glumly, Another woman of dark hair.
“Miss Satiné has gone abroad with her guardian Baron Ashton. I doubt she will return to England any time soon. Their older sister has married the Duke of Thornhill. The Duchess resembles her sisters in color and height. The lady’s name is Velvet, and she is as fine to look upon as the fabric of her namesake.”
Mercy’s misery increased. She had seen renderings of the late Lady Lexford. Susan Kimbolt had been dark of hair and slender in her stature.
“The Marquis of Godown married his love the week before I returned to Lexington Arms. I cannot say I would have thought the new marquise would have made a fine showing, but Godown had the right of it. The marquis’s bride showed her fair countenance at their wedding.”
“And the lady’s looks?” Mercy asked softly.
“Hair of brown with golden tints.” He turned in at the gatehouse. “And then there is Viscountess Worthing. It was with the Worthings I shared my time before returning to Lexington Arms. It is the viscountess I admire above the others.”
“Is Lady Worthing of the same nature as the others?” Mercy asked morosely. How could Lord Lexford truly find her beautiful if every woman His Lordship admired was dark of head?
“Oh, no,” Lord Lexford said wistfully. “Lady Worthing is tall and lithe of figure. Well, not so lithe at the moment as the viscountess is enceinte. The former Lady Eleanor Fowler has reddish golden hair and pale blue eyes.”
Mercy raised her head to study his countenance. “And of all these women, it is Lady Worthing you hold in deepest affection?”
The viscount laughed ironically. “I have cursed myself on more than one occasion for not having traveled to London for last Season. Perhaps if I had, it would be I who would be welcoming a child in a few short days.”
Mercy felt the pang of regret. If only Lord Lexford looked upon her with the same admiration as he did Lady Eleanor Kerrington, perhaps Mercy could convince Lord Lexford her lie had been nothing but a ploy to save face, and the gentleman would forgive her. As it was, His Lordship had loved Susan Kimbolt and had deeply admired Lady Worthing. She had nothing to offer him. Both women had never kept secrets, which could ruin them. At least, Lady Worthing is fair of head, she acknowledged with a bit of jealousy.
*
“And you discovered nothing beyond this piece of shrapnel?” he asked Hill as they shared a brandy in Aidan’s private study.
“Boot prints where the dampness remains beneath the trees, but the path leads to the main road to the village. Any number of people could have crossed that particular stretch of land,” Hill shared.
“It was not an accident,” Aidan declared.
Hill nodded his head in agreement. “But why would someone make Miss Purefoy a target? And how would our shooter know the lady was alone?”
Aidan hissed, “Could it have been a warning shot? A means to say the woman had not escaped her enemies?” His gaze demanded Hill maintained eye contact. “Speak to me of the truth. Do you have knowledge of Miss Purefoy’s past, which you have not previously disclosed?”
His man shook his head in denial. “Nothing, my Lord.”
Aidan studied Hill carefully. He could not abandon the idea Hill hid an important fact, but pressing his friend would prove futile. When Hill chose to con
fide in him, Aidan would know the secret and not before. “We should place some of the men as guards about the estate.”
“I will see to it.” Hill paused. “How fares Miss Purefoy?”
“Mr. Jamison says the lady will heal quickly. Miss Purefoy claims only her pride to be bruised.”
“I am glad of it,” Hill said earnestly. “By the way, the mare has returned to the stall.” Hill’s expression became one of concern. “Deland is most distraught, my Lord. The groom cannot understand what occurred. Deland swears he added extra padding to fit the mare’s back, but when he removed Miss Purefoy’s saddle, the horse’s back sported saddle galls.”
Aidan asked, “Do you believe him or do you think Deland makes excuses for ill work?”
Hill sat forward to press his point. “Of all the grooms, I have found Deland the most diligent. He genuinely grieves for Miss Purefoy’s injury. If the lady had simply known difficulty with her horse, I might rest the blame on Deland’s oversight; however, when one combines the saddle being under padded with the attack upon the lady, I tend to believe the groom. Perhaps, the lady’s attacker called at the stables before making his presence known in the open.”
Silence filled the space between them for several seconds. “Your conclusion is a sound one.” Aidan’s heart slammed against his ribcage. Adamantly, he said, “I will not have Miss Purefoy know of your suspicions. Neither will I permit another to harm her.”
*
Aidan had appeared at Miss Purefoy’s chamber door early the next morning. He had missed her at breakfast and had wanted to assure himself of her progress.
“My Lord,” she said on a gasp when the maid admitted him into her quarters. “You honor me.”
She appeared a bit rumpled, and Aidan thought her deliciously attractive. “I required the assurance of your recovery, my Dear.” He remained close to the door. “I thought perhaps you might wish to spend time in the library. I know I am not the best of patients, and I assumed you of the same nature.”
Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy Page 16
