by Alyssa Drake
“I think it best I ride behind you.”
“Behind me?” Daphne squeaked, her head spinning toward Mr. Reid.
“Yes.” The hand gripping the reins tightened, and Mr. Reid vaulted onto the back of the horse, scooted forward, and pressed his chest against Daphne’s back. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he gathered the reins in his right hand and leaned forward, the vibration from his lips tickling her earlobe. “Hold on.”
The faint scent of hay and oak washed over her, sending a cascade of shivers racing down her back. Her heart beat an erratic rhythm of anxiousness and elation.
“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. His left arm retracted, securing her snugly against his torso. He nudged Shadow with his legs, clicking his tongue. Shadow took a tentative step forward.
Screaming, Daphne’s hands flew to her face, covering her eyes. After a moment, she peeled her fingers away. “We’re not moving.”
“We’re not.”
“Why?”
“He can sense your fear.” Mr. Reid’s hand twitched, his fingers splaying across Daphne’s stomach. She tensed. Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear again. “I can too.”
Whipping around, Daphne frowned at him. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No.” Mr. Reid mirrored her frown. “Why would you think that?”
“My previous tutors were less… kind.” Daphne twisted forward. Inhaling, she shifted her position and nodded, her eyes locked on the horse’s head. “Alright, I am ready.”
Nudging the horse again, Shadow walked slowly toward the courtyard, jarring Daphne with his swaying motion. Gritting her teeth, Daphne wrapped her hands through the horse’s mane and shifted again.
“How does one get used to this?”
“Roll your body with the motion.”
“Pardon?”
Mr. Reid tightened his hold on her waist, melding her with his body. “Feel the movement.”
Closing her eyes, Daphne concentrated on the rocking motion, rolling her hips with the horse. The fire radiating from Mr. Reid singed her back, coursing through her skin. She longed to lean back, lay her head on his chest, and press her lips to his. Not that she had ever kissed a man, but she was certain, with his sordid reputation, Mr. Reid knew how to kiss a woman senseless.
Aunt Abigail’s warning floated into her mind. With the threat of a wedding, she had no cause to worry about Mr. Reid behaving inappropriately. It was the one thing Aunt Abigail could have said to deter Mr. Reid’s interest. She grimaced.
“Would you like to go faster?” Mr. Reid murmured softly as the horse plodded across the courtyard.
Daphne’s eyes flew open. “Is that safe?”
“It depends upon whether you trust me.”
Daphne swallowed and nodded. “I trust you.”
“Excellent.” Without warning the horse bolted for the main gate. Daphne shrieked, her body sliding to the left. Mr. Reid yanked her upright, tightening his grip, and clicked his tongue. The horse responded, breaking into a gallop. Reaching the main road, they turned right, following the path.
“This must be what flying feels like,” said Daphne. Her hair had ripped free of its coif and was trailing behind her like a flag.
Mr. Reid laughed. “I have tried on many occasions to explain that exact same sentiment to Benjamin, but he still prefers his coach.”
“Where are we heading?”
“Toward the Shirely’s estate,” replied Mr. Reid.
Daphne frowned, glancing over her shoulder. “You do intend to turn around before we arrive?”
Mr. Reid didn’t respond. Slowing the horse, he yanked on the reins until Shadow stopped with an indignant snort. Mr. Reid’s eyes narrowed, studying something over her shoulder, recognition passing through his face, his face paling.
“We are turning back right now.”
“Why?” A line creasing itself on her forehead, she turned. Mr. Reid captured her chin, pulling it toward him, a strange darkness glowing in his eyes. He lifted her leg, twisting her body until she sat side-saddle, his arms snaking around her waist, drawing her into his chest.
“Close your eyes.”
“Mr. Reid—”
He placed his finger on her lips. “Miss Clemens, I beg you. Please do as I say. Close your eyes. I shall tell you when you can open them again.”
Daphne nodded, closing her eyes. “The only reason I am doing this is I promised to trust you.”
“And I am thankful for that promise,” replied Mr. Reid, removing his finger. The horse spun in a half-circle, then Mr. Reid dug his heels into Shadow’s flanks. The stallion whinnied his complaint before bursting into a gallop, racing down the road.
“May I open my eyes?” asked Daphne, her muffled voice rising from his shirt.
“You may,” came Mr. Reid’s tight response.
“What did you see?” She glanced up. Forming a hard line, his lips pressed together tightly. “Mr. Reid, if we are to be friends, you must trust me too, and since you owe me a secret, I wish you to tell me this one.”
Did she really want to know?
A myriad of thoughts passed over Mr. Reid’s face, his lips scrunched as he debated her argument. With a shake of his head, his light brown eyes darkened to burnt umber, dropping his gaze to her face. “The body of Mr. Horace Pierce.”
Daphne gasped, hysteria crawling through her limbs. “Are you certain it was he?”
“Quite.”
“How do you know he was dead?”
“Because he was hanging from a tree.”
Chapter Five
Thomas’ only thought was to return Miss Clemens to the safety of the Westwood Estate. The discovery of Mr. Pierce’s body on the main road between their estate and the Shirely’s unsettled him. Either Morris, his accomplice, or both were nearby. Could they be watching at this very moment? His hold on Miss Clemens tightened.
Mr. Davis would know Benjamin’s location, having delivered the missive directly from his master’s hand. However, in order to retrieve Benjamin, Thomas needed to leave the ladies alone on the estate with only Edward’s protection. Something he was certain Morris would use to his advantage.
Miss Clemens trembled in his arms, her body pressing into his chest. He should never have told her about Mr. Pierce, she would have learned the truth, eventually. However, it would have been handled by his mother or even Mrs. Hastings, who possessed the necessary social graces to deliver the distressing news in a less shocking manner.
“Mr. Reid?” Miss Clemens soft voice floated up. “I met someone on my walk this morning. I’m not sure if it has anything to do with Mr. Pierce, but I never met the man prior to today.”
“Did this occur before or after you fell in the river?” Thomas smiled, his eyes flicking down.
“During.” She grinned. “He fell in the river too.”
“How did you both manage that feat?”
“He tried to rescue me.”
Thomas laughed. “Who was this unfortunate gentleman?”
“Mr. Asher Reid.”
“I had heard he returned to Wiltshire.” Thomas clicked his tongue again, urging Shadow into a canter, his arm constricting around Miss Clemens. She curled into his chest, her face pressed against his shirt. A delightful shiver racing through his body, he glanced down, intending to touch his lips to her forehead.
Wedding. The word exploded his mind. Pausing, his mouth millimeters from Miss Clemens’ intoxicating skin, he shook his head and pulled away. The morning breeze danced between them, ruffling the collar of his shirt and cooling the flames raging through his body. Perhaps a friendship with the intriguing Miss Clemens was not his best idea. Her current proximity and the desire coursing through his veins could lead to something… something he was unsure he was ready to face.
He slowed the horse, relaxing his grip on Miss Clemens’ waist. “Asher is my cousin. His father was my Uncle Benedict, the man who taught me to ride horses. You have nothing to fear from Asher… except for two rambunctious little boys.�
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“Children?” Miss Clemens craned her neck, staring at Thomas.
“His wife passed away a few years ago from cholera, leaving him to care for two small boys. They are about the age of Mrs. Hasting’s eldest daughter. I had intended to invite him to dinner this evening after our lesson; however, that formality will need to be postponed.”
“I doubt he would enjoy reacquainting himself with me.” The corner of Miss Clemens’ mouth pulled into a grimace. “He was quite displeased with our river adventure.”
“As there are no bodies of water inside the grounds, I think you will both be safe.” Thomas laughed.
A black carriage pulled out in front of them, emerging from the main gate. Benjamin’s coach! It must be Mr. Davis. Urging the horse into a gallop, Thomas’ arm instinctively locked around Miss Clemens—for her protection—a small grin flittering across his face.
As he reached the front of the coach, he waved. Mr. Davis pulled on the reins, slowing the carriage. It stopped, rolling a meter before coming to a rest in the middle of the road. Mr. Davis turned, a peculiar smile on his mouth. “Mr. Reid, what can I do for you today?”
“I need to speak with Benjamin.”
“He is not here.” Mr. Davis gestured at the empty carriage.
Thomas ground his teeth. “This is regarding Mr. Morris.”
The amusement on Mr. Davis’ face melted instantaneously. “Has something happened?”
“We discovered Mr. Pierce’s body.”
“Where?”
“Half a kilometer down the road, hanging from a tree.”
“Has the constable been contacted?”
“Not yet. Edward is not even aware of the situation.”
“What situation?” asked a deep voice from Thomas’ left. His gaze dropped to the fence line. Aidan Flannery leaned against a post, an easy smile on his lips.
“Aidan!” Thomas slid from the horse, retaining his hold on the reins, and leaned across the wooden fence, clapping Aidan on the back. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
Aidan embraced Thomas in return. “I came to apologize for Alana’s behavior last evening, and I suspect this morning as well.”
“She is not your responsibility.” Thomas extracted himself from Aidan. “It has been many years. I think it’s best for all parties involved to move forward.”
“Can you do that?” murmured Aidan.
“Whatever you may have heard,”—Thomas’ eyes narrowed—“I am perfectly content in my life.”
“Of course.” Inclining his head, Aidan’s eyes flicked to the carriage. “Tell me, is there a reason you’re blocking the road?”
“I am trying to decide how to be in two places at the same time,” replied Thomas.
Aidan’s eyes swept over Miss Clemens, the horse, and the carriage. “I may not be your brother, but as long I don’t need to look exactly like you, I would be happy to assist. What is the trouble?”
“Mr. Davis and I need to travel to…” Thomas glanced up at Mr. Davis.
“An unknown location,” replied Mr. Davis.
Thomas rolled his eyes. “An unknown location to recover Benjamin.”
“Has Benjamin been lost?” Aidan snickered.
“He has run off with Miss Hastings.”
“Edward must be livid.”
“He is,” replied Mr. Davis, his eyes twinkling.
“Why do you intend to ruin your brother’s happiness?” Aidan leapt over the fence, landing lightly on his feet.
Thomas grimaced. “Morris has made his presence known.”
“How?”
“The body of Miss Randall’s guardian is hanging, a half-kilometer behind us.”
Aidan’s face wrinkled in confusion. “Who is Miss Randall?”
“She is a friend of Miss Hastings, who was with her last night at the masque when Morris attacked them. When we discovered he kidnapped her aunt and uncle, we brought her here for her protection.”
“Morris must know she is on the estate.” Aidan stroked his chin. “What can I do?”
“Take Miss Clemens back to the house and inform Edward of my departure as well as the location of Mr. Pierce. Also, if you would be willing to stay until I return with Benjamin, Edward would appreciate your assistance as much as I do.”
Aidan nodded. He walked to the side of the horse and bowed. “Miss Clemens, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Mr. Flannery.”
“Mr. Flannery,” she replied, her voice a mere whisper.
“Aidan.” Thomas placed his hand on Aidan’s shoulder. “Miss Clemens has never ridden a horse prior to this morning; go slow.”
“You are fortunate to have a tutor as gifted as Thomas.” Aidan smiled at Miss Clemens. Collecting the reins from Thomas, Aidan vaulted onto the back of the horse.
A jolt of jealousy flashed through Thomas when Aidan scooted forward, slipping his arms around Miss Clemens. “I will return as soon as I can.” Thomas wasn’t sure if he meant the words for Aidan or for Miss Clemens.
Leaping onto the driver’s bench, Thomas nodded to Mr. Davis. Snapping the reins, Mr. Davis encouraged the horses into a run. Westwood Estate disappeared within moments as did Miss Clemens, whose fearful brown eyes held a note of melancholy. Had he failed her again? Surely, she understood the gravity of the situation.
“Where is Benjamin?” asked Thomas as soon as they rounded the first corner.
“London,” replied Mr. Davis.
“Why London?”
“He had urgent business to attend.”
“And he was getting married…”
“Thus, the urgent business.”
“How long has Benjamin been planning matrimony?”
Mr. Davis smiled, touching his finger to the side of his nose. “I would never presume to interpret my Lord’s mind.”
“Sometimes, you can be more infuriating than Benjamin.”
“I shall take that as a compliment, Mr. Reid. It is my honor to serve a man such as your brother.”
“Did you not wish for a different life?”
“How so?” Mr. Davis turned to Thomas.
“Would you not prefer to have your own manservant?”
Mr. Davis laughed. “I am too old to change my ways. What would I do with my time? I know nothing beyond my station.”
“Are you happy in your station?”
Arching an eyebrow, Mr. Davis snapped a whip over the backs of the horses. “I am happy in my current station.”
“But not in every station?” asked Thomas. This had to be the longest conversation he’d ever had with Mr. Davis.
A strange light glowed in Mr. Davis’ eyes. “I do not speak ill of my previous employers.”
“Would you be willing to advise upon their character?” asked Thomas, forcing a casual tone into his question.
“Instead of leading me toward your question, why don’t you ask me what is truly plaguing your mind?”
“Do you think Mr. Shirely murdered his brother, Jeremiah?”
Mr. Davis choked. His watering eyes flicked to the road, correcting the horses’ path. After a moment, he glanced at Thomas. “While I appreciate your curiosity in history, I would like to know what you hope to glean from my answer.”
“Mr. Pierce’s body was found along the main road between Shirely’s estate and ours.”
“And you think Mr. Shirely would have a hand in that?”
Thomas shrugged. “If he murdered his brother at such a young age, his uncle would have less of an effect on his heart… or lack thereof.”
Mr. Davis’ lips pressed into a thin line. He studied the scenery for a full minute. Had Thomas somehow offended Mr. Davis? Benjamin would kill Thomas if he caused Mr. Davis’ departure.
“Mr. Shirely did not murder his brother.” Mr. Davis spoke with conviction, turning his glowing eyes toward Thomas. “I am certain you know I worked for the family during that unfortunate incident.”
Thomas inclined his head but said nothing. Mr. Davis, having worked for so
ciety for most of his life, understood the importance of even a servant’s reputation, especially in a society dominated by gossip.
“Mr. Shirely and his brother were as close as any two children I’ve ever seen,”—he gestured at Thomas—“that includes you and Lord Westwood. On that particular day, they were overly rambunctious and sent outside by their governess, who had been with the family since the birth of the eldest Mr. Shirely.”
Thomas nodded. After her dismissal, the governess left the area within a fortnight, unable to find work for any other family. The Shirely’s laid the blame of their son’s unfortunate demise on her.
“Prior to the arrival of the doctor, I was called to assist with Mr. Shirely while the household fussed over little Jeremiah.” Mr. Davis sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I spent a considerable amount of time with Mr. Shirely that afternoon, more than I had done before in my life.” Twisting on the bench, Mr. Davis locked eyes with Thomas. “Mr. Shirely is not responsible for the death of his brother. I swear it on my life.”
“Then we should assume neither the Shirely family nor our family was aware of the body.”
Mr. Davis’ mouth opened, but he swallowed the sound. Closing his mouth with a snap, Mr. Davis shook his head slowly. “You cannot assume that.”
“Why?”
“I told you Mr. Shirely was not responsible for the death of his brother, correct?”
“Yes.” Thomas nodded. What was Mr. Davis hinting at?
“However, I did not tell you who was.”
Thomas’ eyes bulged. “You know who killed Jeremiah Shirely!”
“No,” replied Mr. Davis, pity filled his eyes. “I know what a frightened eight-year-old boy told me.”
“You believe him.”
“An eight-year-old has no reason to lie, Mr. Reid.”
“He would if he murdered someone.”
Mr. Davis snorted. “Do you know many eight-year-olds, Mr. Reid?”
Thomas thought of Asher’s young boys. “Certainly. Asher’s twins.”
“And are they capable of keeping a secret?”
“No.” Thomas snorted and shook his head, thinking of the last time he saw them. Their little mischievous faces exploded with glee when they spied him walking down the road toward them. Placing his finger over his lips, he gestured for them to remain quiet as he crept toward the cottage. They managed to keep his surprise visit a secret for three minutes before they raced off to tell their father of Thomas’ arrival.
