by Pamela Clare
Geoffrey struggled clumsily to rise, his face contorted with rage, his wig askew. “Stop him!”
Except to shake their heads or look away, no one moved. Without looking back, Cole took the stallion’s reins and started for the stables.
“Whatever you are, Geoffrey Crichton, you’re no gentleman!” Cassie fought the urge to slap him in the face. She turned to follow Cole, but found Master Crichton approaching, his mouth turned down in a grimace. She prepared herself for the upbraiding he was going to give her.
But Master Crichton thrust a bill of lading into Cassie’s hand and, without a word, turned and stalked back to his manor.
“Father, did you not see? That piece of filth assaulted me!”
Master Crichton did not even glance in his son’s direction.
* * *
Alec ignored the shocked stares and gasps that followed him. He barely noticed the men and women who stepped hastily aside to let him and Aldebaran pass. Anger boiled his blood, dulling the pain of the wounds on his back. Crichton was lucky to still be in one piece. Alec had come close to smashing his fist into the coward’s face. Only the sound of Cassie’s voice, frightened and alone in the crowd, had stopped him. He would not shame her or put her at risk.
He entered the stables, passing a group of gaunt children who gazed listlessly up at him through vacant eyes. Like all redemptioners on this estate, they looked ill-used and underfed. Even the dogs looked better tended.
He led Aldebaran to his stall and tied up the reins. Running his hands over the stallion’s flank, he was relieved not to find a laceration or welt. He’d never used a whip on the horse, and, as he’d suspected, surprise, not injury, had made Aldebaran falter.
“You beat him anyway, boy.” Alec scratched the stallion’s withers and patted the velvet of his nose. “I knew you would.”
He’d just removed the saddle when Cassie entered. She looked anxious, out of breath. For a moment she said nothing. “Thank you,” she said at last.
“For what?” He didn’t mean to sound angry.
“For winning.” Her lips turned up in an elfin smile that immediately cooled his temper.
Alec lifted the bridle off the stallion’s head and hung it on the stall door. “You’re welcome.”
“I came to tend those welts on your back.”
“I’m fine.”
“Nonsense!” She stepped between him and Aldebaran, brandishing a jar of salve, a determined light in her eyes. “Glare at me if you wish, but I’m not leaving until your wounds have been cared for.”
“Very well.” Alec strode to a nearby bench, pulled his shirt over his head, and was surprised at how much it hurt. He heard Cassie’s soft gasp, then felt her fingertips gently spread ointment over the broken skin. It stung.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” Alec felt her place one hand on his right shoulder to steady herself as she worked. His muscles contracted at her touch.
“Where are the other grooms?” she asked with a feigned air of nonchalance.
“Celebrating, I presume.” He heard the gay strains of fiddle music in the distance and knew there would be dancing and drinking long into the night.
“One thing is certain. You’re going to return to England with such an interesting assortment of scars, even the most highborn gentleman will find himself eager for a peek.” Then she gasped. “Oh, I . . . Forgive me!”
Alec chuckled, shaking his head. “Is it really that bad?”
“Well … ”
“Show me.”
He sensed her hesitation, then felt warm fingers glide along his skin.
“Most of them run diagonally here.” She traced his scars with her fingertips. “And here.”
Then her purpose seemed to change. He felt her fingers slowly move up to his shoulders, then to his neck and into his hair.
He couldn’t breathe. If she didn’t stop . . .
Abruptly he stood to face her, his gaze locking with hers. Her green eyes looked up at him with undisguised longing.
He traced a finger along the line of her lips. “Mistress. You’d best go.”
She grabbed the salve, turned, and fled.
* * *
An hour later Cassie sat at the dressing table and brushed the snarls from her hair, vowing that this attempt would be her last. She had tried to braid it three times, each time ending with a tangled mess. Why was she so distracted? It didn’t help to have Elly tapping her foot on the floor and sighing. Cassie had asked her to stop, and the girl had—only to begin anew a few moments later. It seemed Elly had grown bored with her new duties already. Cassie wasn’t surprised.
“Elly, please!” she said, more harshly than she’d intended.
Elly glared at her, but quit tapping her foot.
Giving up on the braid, Cassie took the length of her hair and piled it in a loose coil on her head, leaving one long ringlet dangling down each side of her face and a few at the nape of her neck. Eschewing the powder that would make her freckled face seem pale, she opened the small jar that held rouge and dabbed a bit on her cheeks.
Why had he sent her away? She watched in the looking glass as her finger traced her lips with rouge, recalling the sensation of his finger there. She supposed she should be grateful. But she wasn’t. She’d wanted him to kiss her. Truth be told, she’d wanted more than a kiss. If he got her with child, at least she’d have a part of him when he sailed away to England, for she was now sure he would be leaving. One day soon the letter would come. He would be Cole Braden no longer.
She fought to stifle a growing sense of melancholy. Taking her mother’s pearl necklace and earrings from the leather pouch, she fastened them in place. Downstairs, musicians tuned their instruments, and she and the other guests would soon be called to dinner. There was little time.
“If you like, you may join the other servants at the bonfire tonight.” She stood and smoothed her skirts.
Nettie had worked night and day to finish her gown in time, shaping it from silk and lace taken from one of her mother’s old gowns. Covered with tiny embroidered rosebuds of pink and green on a background of ivory, it was perhaps the loveliest gown she had ever worn.
“Thank you.” Elly looked at the floor.
“I’ll be sure to bring you something from the table.” Cassie took her silk gloves from the dressing table, opened the door to the hallway, and stepped out.
Slaves bustled up and down the furnished corridor, fetching this and that for their masters and mistresses. Cassie went downstairs toward the billiard room, where most of the younger men could be found this time of day. She intended to have a few words with Geoffrey, whether Cole wanted her help or not. What Geoffrey had done today was despicable.
She followed the sound of male voices and found the door to the billiard room open a crack. She hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to knock or simply enter. Young women did not normally venture into areas reserved for male entertainment.
“The bastard had it coming, I tell you!”
Cassie recognized Geoffrey’s voice and froze.
“But Geoffrey, you agreed to a fair race. You humiliated not only your father, but also Master Blakewell. You cannot blame your father for being angry.” That was Landon.
“Then he cannot blame me for what I plan to do. That whoreson mistreated me in front of our guests. He will pay. Are you with me?”
Cassie felt her pulse quicken.
“Aye,” said a voice she did not recognize.
“If it’s a good plan,” said another. “I don’t want that crazy bastard Blakewell raising hell on my father’s doorstep when he gets back from England.”
“The convict is on our property. All I need is a few witnesses and the help of a willing female.”
“A trap?”
Several men laughed.
Cassie felt her stomach turn.
“You’d best concoct your scheme without me,” Landon said. “A convict he may be, and an upstart a
t that, but I’ve no quarrel with him. If I did, I’d take it up with Blakewell.”
With a start Cassie realized Landon was approaching the door.
Quickly she darted for the stairs, but she was too late. By the time she reached the first step, he had already entered the hallway. Pulse racing, she pretended to have just descended.
“Good evening, Landon.” She gave him her happiest smile, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush on her face or the trembling of her hands.
Obviously startled, he hastily shut the billiard room door behind him. “Miss Blakewell.”
“I believe I’m in need of some cool lemonade. This heat is all but unbearable.”
“Shall I fetch you a glass?”
“That would be most kind.”
Cole was in danger. Somehow she had to warn him.
Chapter Nineteen
Cassie choked down another bite of roast beef and followed it with a swallow of red wine. Would this dinner never end? They’d made it through the hors d’oeuvres—oysters laid out in their shells and some kind of fish soup—and were just beginning the first course. An array of fifteen different meat dishes, from calf’s head to suckling pig to large joints of venison and beef, were laid out on the table. Cassie had no appetite. Her stomach was too full of butterflies to tolerate food.
“They say he claims to have been spirited away,” whispered one of the older matrons—some relation of the Burwells—to the woman beside her.
“No!”
“Aye, and a gentleman at that.”
Cole had been the focus of the evening’s gossip, though no one had actually ventured to discuss him or the race openly for fear of further shaming the senior Master Crichton. Cassie now found herself in the uncomfortable position of eavesdropping, growing more alarmed by the minute. She had to get to the stables. But how? She had tried to slip away before dinner, but Landon had pestered her for her opinion on the surest way to win Elizabeth Wormley’s heart. He’d still been pressing her for advice when dinner was served.
She’d thought of confronting Geoffrey and telling him what she’d overheard, but that might hasten his plans and ruin her chances of sending Cole to safety. She’d thought of revealing Geoffrey’s plans to his father. But Geoffrey would surely deny it, and his word was worth much more than hers.
“He certainly has the bearing and manner of a gentleman.”
“His comportment this afternoon was unquestionably superior to that of a certain young man.”
“And he’s as handsome as the devil himself.”
Cassie looked up from her plate, her gaze locking for one moment with Geoffrey’s. He’d overheard the remark, too. Though he smiled at her—a stiff, forced kind of smile—Cassie read cold fury in his gray eyes. It was said a man and his sanity could quickly be parted over an injury to his pride—real or imagined. Geoffrey was easily the most prideful man she knew.
By the time dessert had been cleared away nearly two hours later, Cassie’s nerves were threadbare. Whatever Geoffrey was plotting, he’d have to act soon. It was already dark. Most of the men had withdrawn to the billiard room to smoke and drink brandy, and the women were repairing to their chambers, eager to primp before the dancing began. The orchestra, which had entertained quietly during dinner, was now in the midst of a lively contredanse.
Deliberately falling behind the other women, Cassie fled through the casement doors to the stairs and the garden below. The sound of violins followed her, their peaceful melody a sharp contrast to the staccato of her heart. With only the light of the quarter moon to guide her, she dashed past the rose garden toward the stables.
“I see I’ve found the fairest flower in the garden.”
She gasped and whirled about to find Cole emerging from behind a willow. Despite the gravity of the situation, she felt herself smile at the sight of him. How could she have ever thought this man a felon?
“Cole, you must leave now! Take Aldebaran and ride for home!”
“But I was enjoying the music.” A smile played across his lips.
That was in part true. Alec had heard nothing but folk tunes played on crude fiddles for five months and had not realized how much he’d missed chamber music until he’d heard it in the distance.
But he’d come toward the manor not for the love of music, but in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Cassie. And now here she was, as if summoned by his thoughts. Soft ringlets framed her face, making her cheekbones seem impossibly high. Her rouged lips were parted, as if in anticipation of a kiss, red and ripe as cherries. Her gown, of embroidered ivory silk and lace, though not of the latest style, emphasized her curves only too well and would have drawn many a jealous glare from women in London. The fitted bodice, though not cut daringly low, revealed the soft swell of her bosom, and its flared hips, supported from beneath by panniers, as was the fashion, emphasized her slender waist. A single teardrop pearl, suspended from a strand of smaller pearls at her throat, rested in the dark cleft between her breasts. But what struck him most was her eyes. Framed by the soft shadow of her lashes and animated by a compelling combination of anxiety and strength, they held him prisoner.
“Cole, you must listen to me! Geoffrey has plotted to entrap you. He hopes to see you hanged. You must leave for home now!”
“Not just yet.”
She started to protest, but he placed a finger over her lips.
“I refuse to hear another word until you grant me the favor of this dance.”
“But you must—”
“My lady.” He offered her his most gallant bow and took her hand.
Her eyes grew wide with alarm, and she tried to pull her hand away. But he did not release her. Hesitantly she curtsied.
It was a simple quadrille set to an old composition by Lully, and though Alec had danced these steps perhaps a thousand times, he’d never felt them come alive in quite the same way. Enchanted by Cassie’s movements, he let his eyes follow her as she circled gracefully to stand beside him, her fingers entwining with his as they took several side steps in unison and greeted a second, imaginary couple. The scent of lavender assailed him. The sight of moonlight and shadow playing on her skin made him yearn to touch her, to taste her. For one moment their gazes met, and he saw in the depths of her eyes a desire to match his own.
Suddenly his feet refused to move. He lifted her chin with a finger. “Why must I leave?”
She was trembling. “Geoffrey has plotted with some of the other young men to frame you—for ravishment, I think. I overheard them say they needed a woman’s help.”
“I’ll not run like a coward.”
“Please, Alec, ride at once! I could not bear to see you harmed!”
For a moment he did not fully comprehend what she’d said.
Then it came to him: She’d called him by his real name. She’d called him Alec.
“Very well,” he said after a moment, aware he must be smiling like an idiot. “For your sake, Mistress.”
“Follow the road south.” She pointed. “Stay to the right, and you’ll be home in about an hour.”
“I remember the way.”
“If riders approach, hide in the forest.”
“Quit fretting. Go back inside before someone notices your absence.”
“Then you’ll leave this place?”
“I promise. As soon I see you’ve gotten indoors safely, I’ll mount and ride out fast as the wind.” He took her hand and touched it to his lips. “Say it again.”
“Say what?”
“My name.”
For a moment she looked confused, then a smile tilted the corners of her mouth. “I called you Alec.”
“Aye. Do it again.”
“Good night, and godspeed, Alec.”
* * *
Elly paced nervously from one side of the library to the other, the eyes in the portraits that hung on the walls seeming to follow her as she walked. Her skin prickled. Candlelight flickered over the gilded bindings of books and off the backs of chairs, creating ee
rie shadows in the corners. He’d said he’d meet her here when the clock struck nine, but that was twenty minutes ago, or so she reckoned. What was keeping him?
She had no idea what Geoffrey might want to tell her. Her stomach twisted nervously every time she thought about it. She looked about the room for something to use as a looking glass, but found nothing. She’d done her best to look pretty, even taking a bit of Miss Cassie’s rouge. Miss Cassie would never notice. Still, there was nothing Elly could do about her gown, an old blue thing she’d been given when she’d arrived.
She glanced up at the portraits again. Could she be imagining their glares? Quickly she looked away, her heart pounding. No matter where she stood, the eyes stared at her, the faces distorted by candlelight into beastly shapes. She had to get out of here. She ran toward the door, only to see its handle begin to turn. She started to scream, but a man’s hand was clamped over her mouth.
It was Geoffrey at last.
“Why are you so frightened?” He was smiling.
“The eyes.” Weak with relief, she pointed toward the portraits. “I don’t like this room.”
“Neither do I. Let’s go somewhere else, shall we?” Geoffrey looked out into the hallway to be certain no one was watching, then took her by the hand and pulled her after him through the corridor and down the back staircase.
“Where?”
“Shhh! You’ll see, my love.”
At the bottom of the stairs he stopped and peeked around the corner to be certain the path was clear, then pulled her into a room directly across the hall. It was a bedchamber.
She should not be here with him. This was not proper. “Geoffrey, I don’t—“
“Elly, dear—Helena—please forgive me, but my room was the only place I could think of where we could have a few moments alone. I’ve brought us some of my father’s finest Madeira. Have you ever tasted a good Madeira?”
She shook her head. She wasn’t even sure what it was.
“Then, my love, you must taste. You needn’t worry. I would never do anything to tarnish your reputation. Surely you know that?”
