A slammed door wasn’t much, but it was something. Anyone else may have viewed it as a simple sign of frustration, but Scarlett knew Owen. She knew him. He was not a man to easily lose his temper, nor let it show when he did. Which meant he was far angrier than he would have liked her to believe. She lifted her head to stare bleakly across the room. Could he still care for her after all of these years?
He no longer loved her. That she knew for certain and the weight of it sat like a stone inside of her stomach. But surely even the tiniest bit of anger was better than complete indifference, and Owen’s fury had been so great it shook the rafters.
“I am sorry.” In the empty room Scarlett finally allowed herself to say the words she was too proud to say to his face. And then, with no one to witness her despair, she wept them.
“Well?” Felix asked expectantly when Owen sat down across from him in the crowded tavern and nodded at the nearest serving wench to indicate he’d take a tankard of ale.
“She had something to do with it. I don’t know if she’s guilty of murder, but there’s something she isn’t telling me.” He pounded a fist against the table to vent his frustration, earning a wide-eyed glance from Felix.
The Captain was notorious for keeping his emotions disguised behind a countenance of stone. It wasn’t often he revealed what he was truly thinking, and Felix had never seen him so out of sorts over a woman. Which was why he’d been so surprised when Owen had insisted on following Lady Sherwood from London to Surrey even though there was no evidence linking her to her husband’s murder.
“Have a drink,” he suggested when the Captain’s tankard arrived, frothy white foam spilling down the sides. “It’s not half bad.”
Owen took a swig of the ale and managed – barely – not to spit it onto the floor. He should have remembered that by Felix’s standards pure gin was ‘not half bad’ either. Pushing the tankard aside he leaned back in his chair and stared pensively over Felix’s head at the far wall.
He shouldn’t have gone to the Sherwood Estate unannounced, but the driving need to see Scarlett again – if only for a few minutes – had outweighed common sense. She had looked so beautiful with her gray eyes snapping fire and her cheeks flushed with indignation. It had taken all the will power he possessed not to snatch her against his chest and kiss her senseless.
Bloody hell.
Disgusted with the traitorous direction of this thoughts Owen picked up the tankard of ale and forced himself to take another drink. Had the past seven years taught him nothing? Was he still the same love-struck fool who had given his heart away only to see it butchered before his eyes?
No, he thought vehemently. No he wasn’t.
That boy was dead. In his place stood a man whose heart had been forged of iron on the bloody battlefields of war. A man who knew better than to let himself be distracted by a pretty face. A man who would never forget or forgive no matter if seven years had passed or a hundred. For he may have changed, but Scarlett hadn’t. She was still the same conniving, manipulative bitch she’d always been. Except now she had gone from breaking a man’s heart to breaking his neck. And this time Owen was determined to not only prove she’d committed the crime, but hold her responsible for her actions.
“I want the Sherwood Estate searched top to bottom, just like the townhouse was.”
“But we didn’t find anything in the townhouse,” Felix pointed out.
Owen’s glare was so potent it sent a serving wench who had been approaching their table scurrying in the opposite direction. “Which is why I want the estate searched.”
“With Lady Sherwood still in it? Don’t ye think that will be a bit of a problem?”
“You’re the thief. Figure it out.”
Before Felix had joined Bow Street as a Runner he’d made his living pinching jewels and paintings off the rich and powerful. He had been good at it. So good that when he’d finally been caught Owen had offered him a job instead of shipping him off to Newgate. To say the other Runners had been doubtful of his decision would have been a grave understatement, but Felix had proved his loyalty time and again and now they accepted him as one of their own without question.
“I’m not saying I can’t do it,” Felix said, looking vaguely insulted. “I’m just saying it would be easier if Lady Sherwood wasn’t hanging over my shoulder the entire time. Unless ye want me to do it at night.” His eyebrows lifted as a sly grin stole across his countenance. “In that case I’ll leave right now.”
The idea of another man sneaking around Scarlett’s bedroom while she was asleep – even a man he trusted – caused Owen’s hands to curl into fists.
“No,” he growled. “You’re not a bloody thief anymore.”
Felix blinked. “But you just said–”
“I know what I said.” He gave a frustrated shake of his head and took another gulp of the foul tasting ale. This case was already twisting him up in knots and it had barely even begun. Maybe it was better if he stepped back and turned it all over to Grant. But that would mean missing the expression of Scarlett’s face when she was officially charged with murder, and that he wouldn’t give up for the world.
“I will see to it she’s gone for a few hours tomorrow afternoon. You can search the estate then. Look for anything that might incriminate her. A green velvet hair ribbon or an earring that matches the one the undertaker found on Sherwood’s body will suffice.”
“How are you going to get her out of the house?”
Picking up the tankard, he drank the remainder of the ale in one bitter swallow before slamming it down on the table. “Let me worry about that.”
Chapter Eleven
Every morning Scarlett rode the same path. She began in the rolling hills behind the estate, allowing her mare to plod and pick her way along before urging her into a canter as they descended into a flat valley that ran parallel to the road.
She started her ride early enough in the day that the road was almost always vacant, which was why she was surprised to hear the unmistakable clip-clop of approaching hooves. Slowing her mare to a bouncing trot she took the reins in one hand and shaded her eyes with the other as she twisted in her seat to catch a glimpse of the rider coming around the bend. If the cadence of their horse’s hooves was any indication they were approaching rather quickly. With a frown she pulled her mare down to a walk and pressed her left heel into her side, indicating they should move further into the valley. As well-trained as she was pretty, the mare obediently side-stepped, leaving plenty of room for the approaching horse to ride through without incident.
But instead of passing by they began to slow down, causing Scarlett to glance back over her shoulder yet again, her hand unconsciously tightening on her thin leather riding crop. It would be almost unheard for a highwayman to be on this particular road, especially at this particular hour, but the way her life had been going as of late she knew anything was possible.
“Be ready to run, Fancy.” When she tensed her mare tensed in response, thin nostrils flaring as her muscles bunched and coiled in wordless anticipation.
Then the approaching rider turned the corner… and Scarlett’s pent-up breath exploded in a gust of relief when she saw it was no nefarious highwayman coming up behind them, it was Owen. Thank goodness!
Wait.
Suspicion nipped at the heels of relief as she turned Fancy in a tight circle. What was Owen doing here, of all places? It was a good five mile ride from the nearest village which was where she could only assume he was staying. So what had possessed him to ride down a narrow country road in the early morning hours of dawn when the birds were hardly awake, let alone any people?
She clung to her mare’s tawny colored mane for balance as they leaped over a narrow ditch and climbed up onto the road, weaving between two large oak trees. Expertly pivoting Fancy with the slightest pressure from her heel, she waited until Owen and his large black gelding were within earshot before she called out, “Are you following me?”
“I could ask t
he same thing of you.” Reining in his mount, Owen approached at a leisurely walk. He was dressed for riding in gray breeches and a loose fitting white tunic that revealed a scandalous amount of his muscled chest. His skin was tanned a golden brown, indicating he often rode without a cravat or a waistcoat.
Scarlett’s tongue flicked across her bottom lip as her heavy lidded gaze, hidden beneath the brim of her hat, hungrily devoured every inch of him. Then she remembered what he’d accused her of the last time they’d met, and she forced any wayward thoughts of desire aside in favor of narrow-eyed skepticism.
“If your being on this road is a simple coincidence, feel free to ride through.” She gestured down the dirt lane with a broad sweep of her arm but Owen made no move to urge his gelding onwards. Instead he leaned back in his saddle, as comfortable as if he were reclining on a sofa, and regarded her with a lifted brow.
“Do you always ride by yourself?”
“When I can,” she replied warily. Why was he being so cordial? She shifted her weight, one gloved hand coming to rest on the horn of her sidesaddle. “What do you want, Captain Steel?”
“What every man wants.” His thin smile fell short of his eyes. “A bit of fresh air and sunshine.”
“Those two things are of abundance in the countryside,” she noted. “How peculiar that you should search for them on this particular road.”
“Quite.” A flicker of something familiar passed through his gaze as he looked at her, but it was there and gone again quicker than Scarlett could blink. For the briefest of moments it had almost looked like… longing. Her breath caught in her throat before she released it with an irritated shake of her head. She was looking for things she wanted to see.
“Good day to you, then,” she said with an elegant tilt of her head.
“Would you care to ride together? Unless of course you are so adverse to the company of an old friend that you would rather proceed alone,” he added when the corners of her mouth tightened into a frown.
Scarlett’s fingers tightened on Fancy’s reins as a blossom of hope tentatively unfurled inside of her chest. Maybe she hadn’t been imagining the longing in Owen’s eyes. “I was not aware you considered me an old friend.”
He urged his horse to take one step and then another and another until they were close enough for Scarlett to see the dark shadow of whiskers clinging to his jaw and the steady throb of his pulse beating beneath the scruff. He held her gaze without blinking, blue eyes sinking into an ocean of gray.
“Perhaps it is time I started.” He spoke in a husky voice that sent shivers of delight racing up Scarlett’s spine. She drew on the inside of her cheek, worrying the flesh between her teeth like a dog with a bone.
To go with him…
To not go with him…
Was it really even a question?
“I suppose I see no reason why we cannot ride together, at least for a little while.” She hesitated, lashes sweeping towards her cheeks as she lowered her gaze to her mare’s neck. In doing so she missed the dark gleam of contempt that flashed in Owen’s eyes. When she looked back up it was gone, leaving no signs of ever having been there at all. “I would – I would very much like to know how you became a Runner. If you care to tell me, that is.”
He smiled. “I can think of nothing I would like better.”
They rode side by side beneath the shadowy canopy of trees as Owen revealed – much to her dismay – how he had joined the King’s army and battled Napoleon on the bloody shores of France.
“You could have been killed!” Scarlett cried, her stomach twisting at the thought.
“Many men were.” His jaw hardened. “Far better ones than me. Would you have mourned me if I died, Lettie?”
She sucked in a sharp breath.
Lettie.
It was his secret name for her. One she’d never allowed anyone else to use. She thought he’d forgotten all about it… but apparently not. Was it a sign that his cold hate for her had begun to thaw? Or an accidental slip of the tongue? Either way, surely it meant something.
“Of course.” She stole a sideways glance at him. He sat so tall in the saddle, his long body moving with his horse’s in a casual grace that would have been the envy of many an equestrian. She did not recall him being such an accomplished rider and could only assume his talents had come from the battlefield.
Not many soldiers were able to gain an officer’s commission without purchasing one. That Owen had done so was not only indicative of his bravery and horsemanship, but a sign of his determination. The back of Scarlett’s neck heated as a wave of shame descended upon her. How could she have ever doubted him? He may not have had Rodger’s wealth or title, but he’d forged a life for himself nevertheless. And not just any life, but an honorable one that helped people. How many men did she know who could say the same? Certainly not her husband. Yet still she’d chosen him.
“Owen, there is something I should have told you long ago–”
“I do not wish to discuss the past,” he snapped with an unexpected ferocity that took her aback.
“I – I thought that was precisely what we had been doing.”
“My past, yes. But not our past.” His gaze met hers in a flash of unreadable blue before he looked down the road. “After Napoleon was captured and the war ended I returned home. But I felt… unsettled.”
You always did, she thought sadly. Owen, with his pure heart and big dreams and empty pockets, had always had one foot in his world and one foot in hers. How much easier his life would have been if only he’d been born a nobleman! Yet even with all the obstacles he had been forced to overcome, he’d still become a noble man.
Owen had done more with nothing than most did with everything. Had there really been a time when she thought he wasn’t good enough for her? How foolish and small-minded she’d been! He had every right to despise her. Every right to look down on her. Every right to hate her.
He’d given her his pure heart and instead of treasuring it, she’d tossed it aside as if it were an old pair of shoes that were no longer in fashion. If there was blame to be given for how things had ended between them she would gladly take all of it. But what she wanted him to know – what she needed him to know – was that she was no longer the same self-centered, vain girl she’d been. She was a woman now. A woman changed by her circumstances and her choices. A woman who knew what really mattered in life… and it wasn’t money or titles or prestige.
It was love.
Love bought what money couldn’t. Love gave without inheritance. Love did not care about appearance or popularity or reputation. Love was what mattered. At the end of a life, whether it be long or short, rich or poor, it was the only thing that did.
If Owen did not want to talk about the past then she would do everything in her power to make him look to the future. A future, God willing, that included both of them.
“You always wanted to help others.” Ducking to avoid a low-hanging branch, she sat back up in the saddle and absently brushed a leaf off the shoulder of her riding habit. “I am glad you were able to become a Runner. It suits you. Your parents must be very proud.”
A shadow rippled across Owen’s face. “I am sure they would have been,” he said gruffly, “had they not passed before I returned home.”
Scarlett flinched. “I am sorry, Owen. I know how close you were to them.” She’d only met his parents once. He’d invited her for supper while her own parents were in London and even though sparing the extra food must have been costly, Mr. and Mrs. Steel had welcomed her with open arms. “They were very kind people.”
“Yes,” Owen said without looking at her. “They were.”
The road narrowed as it twisted through the forest. For a while the only sounds came from the chirping of birds high in the trees and the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves on the hard dirt. Scarlett began to sneak glances at Owen as they plodded along. Just little peeks that afforded her the tiniest of glimpses at his hard thighs, trimmed waist, and wide chest. When
she eventually worked her way up to his face she found him looking at her with amusement.
“Like what you see?” he asked, one dark eyebrow arching.
Scarlett lifted her chin, unashamed to have been caught staring. “Yes I do.”
“As do I.” Owen’s eyes turned from blue to smoldering black as his gaze roamed down across her body, lingering on the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips. “You were always beautiful, but now…”
“But now?” she whispered when he paused. They’d both stopped their horses and stood side by side in the middle of the road, their legs nearly touching. Scarlett could all but feel the desire pulsing between them. Lust pooled in her belly like honey, slowly sliding down between her legs when he reached out and tucked a loose curl behind her ear, knuckles brushing against the side of her cheek.
“Now you are stunning.” His arm fell away as a sneer curled his lip. “But then the most vicious things always are.” With a sudden cluck of his tongue he sent his gelding surging forward into a canter, leaving Scarlett staring at a swirl of dust.
She managed to catch up with him a mile down the road. He had dismounted and led his horse to a stream to drink. Both man and equine were crouched down alongside the shaded bank, the horse with his head lowered as he thirstily gulped down the cool, refreshing water and Owen sitting on his heels with his back to the road.
“I am going home,” Scarlett called out, a frosty bite to her tone even as she secretly willed Owen to turn around. Of course he did nothing of the sort, stubborn man that he was. Gripping the horn of her saddle with one hand she turned Fancy in a circle with the other. “Did you hear me? I said I am–”
“I heard you.” Uncoiling his long, lanky body, Owen stood and scowled at her over his shoulder. “The entire bloody countryside heard you.”
How did he do it? She wondered silently. How did he look at her with such yearning one moment and such utter loathing the next? Were his feelings truly so conflicted? She knew he was still attracted to her. He may not have said as much in so many words, but she wasn’t blind. She’d seen the way his pulse had quickened when he’d touched her cheek.
A Dangerous Seduction Page 11
