by Lara Temple
Well, she was through with selfish people who did what they pleased and then thought they could manipulate their victims into forgiving them. She was not a child any longer and she would give no one such power over her ever again. Adam was not a man worth risking her heart over a second time, even in the extremely unlikely event someone like him, who had enjoyed the favours of beautiful women all around the globe, might be interested in a thoroughly provincial oddity who was only mildly pretty. She shoved the coin back into its little pouch. She would return it to Lord Delacort as soon as possible. In a couple of weeks he would be gone from Mowbray once again and everything would return to normal.
* * *
The following morning, Alyssa dressed for walking and set out towards Mare’s Rise. She had debated how to return the coin in the most discreet manner possible, which meant she couldn’t have Betsy deliver it or send it by post. She tried to imagine what the gossipy postmaster, Mr Curtis, would make of it if she asked to send a package to Lord Delacort. Finally she decided her best chance was to waylay Lord Delacort near Mare’s Rise. It was common knowledge he had taken to galloping his thoroughbred, Thunder, along the straight stretch past the rise every morning and this was likely to be her best chance to see him alone and be able to return the coin privately.
It did not take her long to reach Mare’s Rise and before she had even made it to the top she heard the pulse of hooves approaching. She stood on the crest of the small hillock and watched as Thunder lived up to his name, moving across the field towards the lane that ran through the woods so fast he hardly seemed to need the ground beneath him to stay in motion. Rider and horse were beautiful together, she thought. Then they disappeared into the trees. She started walking down the rise, watching the point where they should come into sight again, then stopped abruptly.
The squeal of the horse was so unexpected she wondered if it was perhaps a bird’s cry. Then she picked up her skirt and ran the rest of the way, forcing her way through the low, tight trees and brush that lined the path.
Thunder was standing over Adam and she could hardly see the man, only that he was stretched out on his side on the ground, unmoving. Thunder raised his head at her approach and nickered and Alyssa saw Adam was already raising himself on one elbow. But she didn’t stop running until she had reached them.
‘Are you all right?’ she gasped, clutching her side. ‘Don’t get up yet.’
Adam was still holding Thunder’s reins, but he let them go to brush at the dirt and leaves that clung to him and directed a puzzled look at his horse.
‘What happened?’ he asked.
Alyssa refrained from stating the obvious. ‘I didn’t see the fall. I just heard Thunder cry out and then nothing. He may have tripped in a rabbit hole. Were you off the path?’
Adam pulled himself to his feet with a groan and she resisted the urge to help him.
‘Right in the middle,’ he replied, brushing leaves and twigs from his coat. ‘I always stay in the middle between the trees if we’re coming in fast. There are definitely no rabbit holes or anything there.’
Alyssa frowned and moved towards Thunder. He stood calmly, his left foreleg resting on the tip of the hoof. She bent down to glance at his knee and cannon bone, but aside from scratches she could see no damage, so she turned in the direction they had come from and took a few steps down the lane. The ground was damp and she could clearly see where Thunder had stumbled. She went next towards the trees and knelt down again when she found what she was looking for. After a moment she pushed to her feet, ramming into Adam, who had come to stand behind her. He winced.
‘Careful. I’ve had all the damage I can bear for one day. Let me see.’
She tried to stop him, but then realised the absurdity of the gesture and stood back. He didn’t say a word as he took in the thin stretch of dun-coloured rope wrapped very low around the trunk of a poplar tree.
‘That’s one hell of a prank,’ he said slowly. ‘Did you see anyone around here?’
Alyssa shook her head and after a moment’s hesitation she kneeled down again. She extracted a pair of small scissors from her reticule and sawed off the string.
Adam watched.
‘A memento of my near demise?’
She glanced up at him.
‘Don’t be flippant. You might just as easily have broken your neck at that speed. You are lucky Thunder didn’t break his knees.’
‘Thunder!’ Adam exclaimed, as if waking up, and went back to crouch down by his horse, running his hand gently down the stallion’s legs. Thunder whinnied and nudged Adam with his muzzle.
‘It seems we are both luckier than we deserve, old boy,’ Adam said quietly. ‘Just scrapes and bruises, but we will have Jem put something on that, just in case.’
‘You should have someone put something on you, too,’ Alyssa said, holding out a handkerchief. ‘You’re bleeding.’
Adam glanced down at the small white square of linen she extended.
‘Does this white flag mean you’ve accepted my token of penance?’
She blinked. She had forgotten why she had come. She opened her reticule once again and extracted the silk pouch, holding it out as she had the handkerchief.
‘I can’t keep the coin. It’s too valuable. And besides, I shouldn’t have become so angry—’
‘You had every right,’ he interrupted her, but she raised her hand. She was very aware of the muddy rope she was still holding and she had the uncomfortable sensation of being watched.
‘I may have had the right, but it was still foolish. And a waste of energy. But there is no point in discussing this. You should get Thunder back home. And put something on those scratches.’
‘I’m not eight years old, you know.’
‘So you say. Please take the coin.’
‘It’s a gift. I don’t take back gifts.’
‘Oh, for once, would you not argue! And we shouldn’t be standing here like this. Not after what happened!’
His eyes narrowed.
‘You really are worried, aren’t you? It was just a stupid children’s prank. If they had known what they were doing, they would have secured it higher off the ground. They probably didn’t even realise anything serious might happen.’
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
‘Fine. If you won’t take it, I will send it by the post, which will be unnecessarily embarrassing and costly.’
He ignored her comment and glanced around the forest, frowning.
‘Come, walk with me back to the Hall and I will send you home in the gig. I need to see Thunder back to the stables and I don’t want you walking back alone.’
‘It’s not far…’ she began.
‘I know it isn’t, but if there are mischief-makers out there now, I don’t want you alone with them. Come, you can make sure I don’t keel over on the way, weak from blood loss.’
She smiled reluctantly.
‘So now it is serious.’
‘Of course it is serious. How am I supposed to attend the dance with my face looking as if I’ve been tied in a sack with a wild cat?’
She smiled up at him, thinking he looked unfairly handsome, scratches included. She shook her head and started up the lane to the Hall.
‘It will just lend colour to the stories already making their way around the neighbourhood. I had no idea you were responsible for fomenting rebellions in South America.’
‘I was?’
‘Apparently. There is another one I particularly like. That you cleverly escaped the hangman’s noose in Australia after abducting the governor’s wife and daughter.’
‘Both of them? How precocious of me. Especially since I have never been to Australia. By what stratagem did I effect this escape? It might be useful in case I need to do so in future.’
‘They
were sketchy on the details, unfortunately. And then there was the tale that you stole the Sultan of Oman’s prize mare.’
‘That has a grain of truth in it, I’m afraid. But it was the Sultan of Brunei and it isn’t precisely stealing when he himself wagered I couldn’t do it, is it?’
‘Not precisely,’ she admitted. ‘One out of three is not bad. I am sure more tales will surface. It is quite wonderful how you have unleashed the creative forces latent in Mowbray.’
‘I am always glad to be of service.’ He bowed slightly and winced. Her hand went out involuntarily, as if to support him, and he grinned down at her.
‘I repeat. I am not eight years old.’
‘I forget,’ she said tartly and kept walking.
‘No, you’re just used to managing everyone.’
His amused tone took the sting out of his words and she relaxed slightly. He might have changed a great deal in ten years, but his essence was still there. She had remembered him as serious and scholarly, but there’d always been this warm undercurrent of humour and even irreverence, which was probably why her siblings had liked him so much.
‘I’ve offended you again,’ he said suddenly, his voice more serious, and she came out of her reverie.
‘Sorry? I wasn’t listening…’
His frown faded.
‘Well, that puts me in my place.’
They came out of the woods heading towards the stables which stood at the back of Delacort Hall. She barely registered where they were going; her mind kept replaying that moment she had come over the rise and seen him lying there, unmoving. And the image of the rope twined about the tree. They had almost reached the stable when she realised she was still clasping the rope and the pouch with the coin. She thrust them at him.
‘Here, take these.’
He took them automatically, but before he could speak, head groom Jem came out of the stable and hurried towards them.
‘My lord! What happened?’
‘I am fine, Jem, and, more importantly, so is Thunder. We took a spill near Mare’s Rise and Miss Drake was kind enough to come to our aid. Could you have a gig brought round to take her back to Drake Cottage? And have Thunder’s foreleg seen to? I’ll come by the stables in a moment. Oh, and send someone to ask Mr Beauvoir to join us in the stables as well.’
Jem cast Adam a searching look, but merely nodded and took Thunder’s reins, leading him away. Adam pulled off his gloves, inspecting the damage to them ruefully.
‘Thunder’s foreleg and my favourite riding gloves. I’m beginning to be quite annoyed with whoever conceived of this prank. Come, we’ll wait over here by the garden gate. I think it best we stay outdoors.’
She sat down next to him on a bench by the ornate gate leading to the gardens. He cast the gloves, muddy rope and silken pouch on the bench with a carelessness that amazed her.
‘Concerned for my reputation, or yours?’ she asked, ignoring the urge to remonstrate against his casual treatment both of what had just happened and of the precious coin.
‘Mine, of course. There’s a limit to how much abuse it can take.’
‘You passed that limit eons ago, Lord Delacort.’
‘Well, there’s always hope I might come full circle. Who knows? I might even take to writing sermonising poetry like your esteemed sire. Put all my classical learning to good use.’
She shook her head, holding down hard on a smile, and stood up as a groom pulled out of the stable yard in a gig. Adam stopped her by moving between her and the stables, holding her arm lightly.
‘About what happened today…I want to keep that between us.’
She looked up at him, realising she had been mistaken. There was something in his eyes that was anything but casual—he might have treated it lightly, but she could see past that to the implacable determination that probably accounted for his survival so far.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.
The hard look in his eyes lightened.
‘Well, I won’t be galloping Thunder for a while.’
She frowned, not in the least reassured by him reverting to humour. She didn’t speak because she knew there was nothing she could say he would listen to. He watched her, his smile turning sardonic.
‘You are a suspicious little thing, aren’t you? But I am serious. I am asking you not to mention anything about this. All right?’ he repeated, still holding her arm. She could feel the rough callouses on his palm and realised what strength it must take to ride a horse like Thunder. His grasp was impersonal, but his fingers were warm on her skin, and despite the fine weather she wished she had worn a long-sleeved dress. She didn’t answer immediately and his grasp tightened slightly as he turned her to face him more fully.
‘All right?’ he asked once more, but his voice sounded distant. She nodded and he drew her towards the gig. She let him hand her up and settled herself beside the groom and didn’t look back as they drove away.
* * *
Adam watched the gig pull away, absently rubbing his hand. When the gig had disappeared behind the trees he glanced down at the peculiar collection on the bench and went to gather the items up. He put the small silken pouch into the pocket of his muddied buckskins, picked up the rope and headed towards the stables.
Nicholas was already there, crouching down next to Thunder as Jem applied a sticky salve to the horse’s scrapes. Nicholas pushed to his feet at Adam’s entrance, but Jem kept at his work. Adam noted, thankfully, that the groom had cleared the stables of its many inhabitants.
‘How is he, Jem?’
‘Lucky, My Lord,’ Jem replied. ‘He’ll mend quick. But I’m curious as to what did this.’ He indicated a long scrape along the front and side of Thunder’s leg and Adam held out the rope.
‘This. Tied low between the trees on the narrow stretch near Mare’s Rise,’ he replied calmly and Nicholas’s brows rose. Jem glanced up, but then went back to applying the salve.
‘I know I am not very popular in these parts, Jem, but do you think there is someone here at the Hall or on the estate who has such a grudge against me? I am asking you to be honest. I won’t hold it against you.’
Jem finished with the salve and rose stiffly to his feet, rubbing his hands thoughtfully on a rag.
‘I know you wouldn’t, My Lord. If you ask me, it is no one at the Hall or on your grounds. They live in hope you’ll stay here permanent like. There’s not a man or boy on the estate who wants to see Mr Somerton in your shoes.’
Adam smiled tightly.
‘Somehow I don’t consider that much of a compliment. But I take your point. Most likely not someone from Delacort. A child’s prank, perhaps? Though somehow this does not quite strike me as a very childish act.’
‘Any youth that malignant is likely to have done similar acts in the past,’ Nicholas added.
‘My thinking as well, Mr Beauvoir, and I haven’t heard of any such mischief in Mowbray. May I see the rope, My Lord?’ Jem asked.
Adam handed it to him. ‘It looks like simple enough rope, I can’t make much from it.’
Jem shook his head. ‘Nor can I. Could find such rope anywhere. I don’t like it, My Lord. Miss Drake isn’t one for gossip, but the stable hands saw the state of your clothes and there’s no hiding Thunder’s leg. There’s bound to be talk again.’
Adam frowned.
‘Again?’
Jem sighed and handed back the rope.
‘When Lord Ivor died so soon after Lord Timothy there was talk of a curse on the Delacorts. Nonsense, but you know countryfolk. There’s no avoiding it.’
Adam frowned.
‘I thought Ivor was thrown by his horse. And Timothy died of inflammation of the lungs.’
‘So did I, but there was some talk at the time. And now you were thrown from your horse as well
. These things do happen. I am just saying you be careful. If I might be so bold, I’ve been in service at Delacort for more than forty years and this is the first time I’d be sorry to see a change of hands. We know what’s said about you in Mowbray by those above us, but for all that work here at the Hall, what you’ve done since you came here has got people hopeful things will be different from here on out. So I’d as lief not see you carried back on a hurdle or worse, My Lord.’
Adam felt an uncharacteristic flush rise to his face. He almost told Jem not to count on him too much, but kept his peace.
‘Not my favourite image either, Jem. Let’s keep this between us for now. I need to think. And if you think of anything, let me know. Come on, Nick.’
Nicholas nodded and followed Adam out of the stables. Once out in the open and away from the building, Adam glanced at his friend.
‘You have been unusually quiet, Nick. Impressed by the Delacort Curse?’
His friend’s ready grin appeared.
‘Hardly. I’m no more inclined to the supernatural than you, Adam. I’m just trying to reconcile this…prank, as you call it, with your very foppish cousin.’
‘Not an easy thing to do. I was wondering the same. Somehow I find it hard to imagine Percy scrambling around the forest setting traps. And even though Ivor was unlucky enough to be killed when he was thrown, Percy was raised in the country and he should know the chance of that happening again is pretty slim. Most people don’t break their necks being thrown from a horse. At best he might have hoped I would break a limb or be knocked unconscious. Just petty revenge for cutting him off?’
