Secrets to Reveal

by Tilly Wallace

  “It is Captain Logan. He is showing a most unsettling interest in me.”

  Two greying eyebrows drew together over the bridge of his nose. “I see.”

  She wrung her hands as she struggled over the next part of her confession. “And I do not know how to interpret his intentions.”

  “Captain Logan is a fine officer, but I suspect you do not want to be regaled with tales of his military career.” Sir John laid down his glasses and placed his hands on the desk pad. One finger reached out and settled an edge that attempted to curl. “From your first day in this office, what have I told you?”

  That stopped her in her tracks. She remembered those early days of finding their way with one another. She laced her fingers together to still her hands. “Trust no one, verify everything.”

  He nodded. “You are an intelligent woman, Aster, and are capable of forming your own opinions about the worth of a person. Consider the various reasons for his actions like a puzzle. As you work through the possibilities you will eliminate them one by one, until you are left with the answer. Just do not let a softening in your heart dull the sharpness of your mind.”

  “Thank you, Sir John,” she said, and returned to her office to mull over his advice.

  His words helped, after a fashion. She would not let the stirring affection in her heart stop an objective review of events. She was no giggling girl to be easily swayed. No, she was a spinster who had never been courted before. Oh blast. It was entirely possible that her woeful lack of experience made her all the more susceptible to the advances of a French spy. A giggling girl would have the benefit of a large number of suitors and know which ones plied a false suit. Aster suspected her body was so starved of touch, and her heart so eager to be awoken, that she would take any scrap thrown her way.

  There was only one burning question to resolve: Did the captain genuinely want to spend time in her company, or was it all a ploy to lean over her shoulder and read the confidential papers on her desk?

  Sir John was right—this was a riddle, and that was something entirely within her ability to solve. She grabbed a clean sheet of paper, took up her quill, and began, in a logical way, writing down what she knew. From there she would hypothesize various responses and use her evidence to determine the most likely motivation for Captain Logan’s attention.

  10

  Aster

  * * *

  Sunday was a rare day off for Aster, so she retreated to the overgrown garden with a book. Although she took her new parasol to protect her complexion, at the same time she feared snagging the silk on an outstretched branch. Given the prodigious growth in the garden, which Aster assumed bore a resemblance to something more frequently found in the Amazon, there was plenty of shade to be had without having to risk the delicate umbrella. She still kept it close to hand, though, for the pleasure of touching the embroidery or tracing the design carved in the ivory handle. Dougal gnawed his bone under the shifting canopy of a chestnut tree.

  Mrs Roberts appeared on the back step, a hand to her eyes, before she braved the wilds of long-untamed plants. A deep frown marred her face as she called out, “Aster, you have a gentleman caller.”

  That explained the frown. Gentlemen were not allowed at the boarding house. Mrs Roberts didn’t want that sort of reputation attached to her establishment. Aster closed the book and wondered who it could be, even as she hoped she knew who it was. Her heart beat faster as she emerged from her forest bower. Would there be a gallant knight waiting for her? With the book tucked under one arm and her parasol clutched in the other, she followed the landlady back through the house.

  Captain Logan stood on the porch, his hands clasped behind his back. In the street sat the sleek curricle with the two chestnuts who had taken them to London. Today the captain wore a deep green coat, and she wondered just how many jackets the man possessed.

  The dimples appeared when he sighted her. “I thought you might enjoy a ride, ’tis such a lovely day.”

  The other day he and his men had insisted on walking her to the end of the street, despite her protestations that she could see herself home. Then he’d treated her to a fabulous meal at the tavern, and now here he was, back on her doorstep. This really wouldn’t do. He was giving her all sorts of wild and heavenly expectations. Not to mention he was skewing her calculations of his motives; she would need to draw up new columns and add more data on her sheet of paper.

  “Really, Captain Logan, there is no need for you to waste your valuable time with me.” Why was the stubborn Scotsman turning up all the time? It wasn’t as though he were courting her, was it? Ridiculous. He was the heir to an earldom. She conjured to mind her puzzle sheet and the column where she hypothesised about his motives. One was that he wanted a little diversion before he found a titled heiress. Perhaps he planned to take her to a secluded meadow and press her body to the warm earth amongst the cornflowers. Oh. Her hand went to her throat. She really needed to stop reading romance novels.

  A genuine smile lit his face and the dimples deepened. “I do wish you would call me Hamish, for I will not relinquish your name. And no time spent in your company is wasted. I happen to find you exceedingly agreeable.”

  “Captain Logan—” A bark caught her attention. Dougal had already made up his mind. Yet again the treacherous dog insisted on an outing with the soldier, and now sat in the seat of the curricle as though he belonged there. There was some sort of subliminal male conspiracy at work.

  The captain laughed, a deep throaty noise that sent shivers over her skin. He held out his hand. “Shall we?”

  She would have to, if she wanted to reclaim her dog. “I am so sorry about Dougal.”

  He took her book and tucked it away before he handed her up. Did his hand linger on her waist, or did she imagine it? “Don’t be. I happen to like him.”

  They set off down the road at a brisk trot, the horses’ hooves clip-clopping and Dougal’s ears bouncing up and down as he stuck his head over the side and his tongue lolled out of his mouth. Well, at least he was enjoying himself. Aster couldn’t shake her suspicions about the captain’s motives, and she mentally added notes to her pages as she tried to figure them out. She wished the breeze would pluck her worries from her mind and scatter them behind, so she could freely enjoy the day.

  They turned off the road and took a quiet lane, sheltered from the sun by spreading trees, their boughs almost touching above their heads. Not that Aster needed to worry anymore about bright sunlight with the parasol over her shoulder. Up ahead sat a lone horseman on a grey, holding the bridle of another, far smaller horse.

  Aster frowned as Hamish drew their horses to a halt. She recognised the waiting rider, Alick. He jumped out of the saddle as they approached.

  Hamish wore a large wolfish grin as he turned to her. “I thought we could go for a wee ride.”

  “I cannot ride, Captain. I regret I have been too busy to find the time to learn.” She dropped her gaze to Dougal sitting at her feet. Lord, it hurt to draw a breath, as though her corset strings were over-tight. Why did he insist on emphasising the differences in their stations and upbringing? She was no noble girl who’d had the luxury of learning the art of riding side-saddle.

  He took her hand and stroked the skin. “You are gently bred and work by necessity. Stop deriding your achievements. Many a woman could not support herself as you do.”

  Ah, did that make it worse, that he was somehow trying to compensate for the failings of her upbringing? No. She was overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. The pressure around her heart changed as the squeeze relented and allowed her organ to grow and fill with wonder.

  She needed to say something before she cried. Already the tears threatened, and she blinked them away. “I have Dougal to help; he’s quite a ratter. I’m sure we could live on those alone, if we had to.”

  He laughed and took the parasol from her hand. Shutting the canopy, he tucked it under the seat with her book and helped her from the carriage. The terrier leapt down and
greeted Alick by snuffling around the big man’s ankles.

  Alick ruffled Dougal’s ears. The dog was determined to make himself a nuisance with all of Captain Logan’s men. The steady grey stood exactly where he was halted, but the fierce soldier kept hold of the smaller dark bay.

  “I figured you might not know how to sit a mount, which is why I thought to arrange a quiet mare and a secluded spot. I shall give you a riding lesson away from prying eyes,” Hamish said.

  That brought a smile to her face. How would a cavalryman instruct her? “Can you ride side-saddle, Captain?”

  “It’s all part of a horse’s education. Most grooms learn to ride astride and aside. Who do you think trains a lady’s mount?” He winked.

  She laughed, but it made sense when she thought about it. “I had never considered that. Do you ride aside, Mr Ferguson?”

  The fierce man smiled, which pulled the scarred side of his face. “Aye, often when wearing a kilt, for it stops the chafing—but don’t go repeating that too loud.”

  She held out her hand to the little mare, who had a coat that brought to mind hot chocolate. The animal blew a warm breath against her palm.

  “Her name is Fancy, and she’s very placid and biddable,” Alick said, handing the reins to Hamish.

  “Fancy,” Aster whispered. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Meet us back here in two hours,” Hamish said to Alick. The other man nodded and climbed into the carriage. Then he turned the horses and vehicle around and trotted off down the lane. Aster was left with only two options: ride or walk.

  Hamish made the decision for her when he placed his hands on her waist. “Ready?”

  Not really, her brain protested. He was too close, and they were all alone. And he was awfully close. No, wait—she’d already thought that.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  He picked her up and deposited her on the side-saddle facing him. “Now place your right leg around the upright pommel.” He tapped the horn that stuck upright from the middle of the side-saddle.

  “You’ll not let go of her?” She had to ask. She seemed so high up, as though she was sitting in a carriage, but now the beast was under her, not out front. Through the bones of her seat and legs, she could feel each breath the mare drew. What if the animal tore off in a mad rampage? She would be dashed to her death on the hard ground. Killed by Fancy. You’d never find that in a novel.

  “I promise.” He intoned the words in a solemn voice, and the panic inside her abated a little.

  Aster scooted around on her perch and did as instructed. Then it took several minutes to sort out her skirts and ensure they sat evenly under her body.

  Hamish laid his hand on her right calf, over the fabric. “You press this leg against the mare’s shoulder, while at the same time pushing against the upright pommel. The dual action is called your purchase and is what will keep you in the saddle.”

  It seemed rather insubstantial to her. His warm hand on her leg was distracting her from his instructions, as well. If it weren’t for the few layers of material, his fingers would run up the back of her calf and he could tickle the underside of her knee. She could no longer keep thinking of him as Captain Logan. The strange moment of intimacy, with his hands on her body, demanded she refer to him as Hamish, even if she did so only in the depths of her mind.

  He took her left foot and his hand caressed her ankle through the soft leather before he slipped it into the stirrup. “Look straight ahead, and that will help keep your body square in the saddle. If you also think ‘right shoulder back’, that will press your calf into the mare and hold you stable.” Next he picked up a leather strap around the mare’s neck. “I want you to hold onto this. A horse’s mouth is very sensitive, and there’s no need to worry you about reins just yet. I suspect you already have quite enough on your mind.”

  She curled her fingers around the strip of leather. It would be completely useless if the horse decided to bolt across the countryside with her. The whole enterprise seemed fraught with danger, and imminent death loomed before her. By nightfall she might be another wight circling the Arsenal.

  “Breathe, Aster. Fancy will look after you, and you are perfectly safe.” One hand rested on her thigh and the other curled around her foot, as though he thought she would leap from the saddle.

  His tone soothed her; or was it the press of his hands? She drew a deep breath in through her nose, filled her lungs, then let it out in a long, slow exhale. She was still alive. Perhaps she could do this after all?

  He stepped away, and panic flared up her throat. “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere. I’m just going to get Fancy here to take a few steps, so you can feel her motion.” He moved to the mare’s head and held the bridle. Then he whispered something in Gaelic to the mare, and she took one tiny step forward.

  Aster lurched to the right and suppressed a squeal. She pressed her leg to the mare’s shoulder as instructed, staring straight ahead with her right shoulder back, and a strange thing happened. Or rather, didn’t happen—for she stayed put and didn’t keel off the side. Another step followed, and she found her seat went with the mare’s stride. Before she knew it, they had taken several steps over to where the gelding waited.

  “Are you all right?” Hamish asked.

  “Oh, yes,” she breathed. Actually it felt quite wonderful, and she smiled. She thought of the elegant ladies riding along Rotten Row. Perhaps one day she would be like them and display an effortless ease in the saddle. A cavalryman would expect his wife to ride well.

  “Good.” He kept hold of the mare’s reins and vaulted into his saddle. Then he drew Fancy closer to his side. “Remember, I have you. I’ll not let any harm befall you.” He put heel to his gelding and they strolled down the lane.

  Hamish was a thoughtful and kind teacher. After some time he encouraged Aster to try a trot, and she couldn’t help the laughter that welled in her chest and burst forth. It was simply so magnificent to ride the fine little horse. The weather was glorious, and she was enjoying herself. The mare, true to Alick’s word, was a darling and looked after her completely. The one time Aster lurched to the right and cried out, the mare immediately halted so she could regain her balance.

  Dougal was beside himself with joy, having a whole afternoon in the forest. He zig-zagged across their path. He would dive into the wood on one side and disappear except for a muffled bark. Then he would leap free, shake himself, and jump into the other side.

  She couldn’t believe it when they eventually returned to their starting point.

  “How was your first ride?” Hamish asked as he dismounted and moved to the left side of the mare.

  “I have never had such a wonderful experience before. Thank you.” She was humbled by his thoughtfulness in giving her the lesson. It was another memory she would store away to warm the winter months.

  He placed his hands around her waist and lifted her down. Aster’s body slid down his in a most delicious and unseemly way. Pressed between the warm mare and hot male she had no escape, nowhere to go; she could only feel. Her mind exploded as her nerve endings were set alight. She tilted her head, to find his hazel gaze fixed on her face. The amber swirls deep within his irises were as intoxicating to look at as whisky was to drink. His head dropped until their breath mingled. Then his lips grazed hers. She gasped at the contact and tried vainly to remember Sir John’s words about not letting her heart rule her head.

  He gentled his approach, and just as he had taught her to ride, he instructed her in their kiss. He brushed her lips with his in a gentle teasing motion, until she could take it no longer and mimicked his action. He lifted her hands over his shoulders, and she tilted her head. He pushed her backward, her light body crushed between the steady mare and his chest, but he never stopped kissing her.

  A sigh escaped from between her lips and she opened to him. He stroked along her lips and then toyed with her tongue. Her actions were hesitant, like the first few steps on Fancy. He advanced and re
treated, until she followed his lead. Her head spun as fire raced along her limbs.

  With a groan he broke off and rested his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry, Aster. I should never have done that.” He still didn’t let go of her, though.

  “I’m not sorry,” she whispered. “I rather enjoyed the experience.” Her lips tingled and some new part of her awoke, stretched, and asked for more.

  “You shouldn’t say that, my star, it will only encourage me.” His eyes swirled with dark chocolate and amber, a heady mix that rushed to her head and heated her blood.

  She glanced up at him from behind her glasses and a smile crept over her swollen lips. “Well, if you are all done, Hamish, then I suppose I must make do with just the one kiss.”

  “What did you say?” he rasped.

  “I suppose I must make do—”

  One hand moved to the nape of her neck and tangled in her gathered hair. “No, the other bit, where you said my name.”

  “Hamish.” His name rolled off her tongue and tasted delicious.

  With a growl he chased the syllables from the air, held her firm and plundered another kiss. She gasped and rose up, pulling his head toward her, and he obliged. Deepening the kiss, he demanded she give him more, and took everything she offered until she thought she would explode. Only then did he give her a chance to breath and pulled back a fraction.

  “Oh. My.” She laid one hand flat over her heart, as though willing the organ to stay in her chest. It pounded so hard she wondered that it hadn’t startled the horse. Further conversation was pointless; her mind was still luxuriating in the aftermath of the kiss. She was supposed to be remembering something about her heart ruling her head. No, wait. Was it the other way around? Her wits had scattered like so many autumn leaves in a brisk wind.