by Allison Lane
She recoiled, berating herself for her blindness. Constance had died two years earlier, without providing him an heir. Her own bereavement just as he was emerging from mourning must have given him ideas.
She muttered imprecations under her breath. If only she had realized his thinking sooner, she could have turned his eyes elsewhere. She had no intention of wedding again. Ever.
She opened her mouth, but he gave her no chance to protest.
“Now we can both leave the past behind, taking what should have been ours ten years ago. You will make me the happiest of men by accepting my hand in marriage.”
“I wish you had not brought this up, sir.” She kept her tone very formal. “I have too many responsibilities to consider marriage.”
“You take too much on yourself, Mary,” he protested, interrupting. “Northrup will assume all those responsibilities – which is only right and proper. If Frederick had not forced you into taking over such unladylike chores, you would never have attracted the attention of malicious tongues. But you can finally resume a lady’s proper pastimes and forget all those indignities.”
“I am sorry, sir, but I am quite content with my life and have no plans to remarry now or in the future. While I am honored by your consideration, I cannot accept your offer.”
“Fustian. If Northrup expects you to continue slaving for him, I will set the lad straight.”
“You are misinformed,” she said icily. “My activities are mine by choice. And pressing a failed suit because you dislike my answer belies your standing as a gentleman.”
His eyes narrowed, but even her insult did not distract him. They argued for another five minutes before he would accept her refusal – for the moment; his parting words implied that she remained mired in unnecessary grief but would soon come to her senses.
As she left him, two things were clear. Their friendship would not survive this confrontation. And she could never trust his judgment again. He saw only what he expected to see. Since he had formed a tendre, he assumed she reciprocated. Because he believed ladies should live lives of frivolous leisure, he supposed her to yearn for an end to her estate duties.
Which led to new questions about Frederick’s death. Within moments of finding the body, Isaac had concluded that the death had been an accident. Had he then overlooked evidence to the contrary?
Perhaps she was doing him an injustice, but she doubted it. So where did that leave her? The answer to that simple question should have disproved James’s suspicions. Now other questions reared their ugly little heads. Frederick had known that road better than the drive leading to Northfield. If his senses had been so disturbed that he could walk off a cliff, how had he stayed in the saddle long enough to cover the three miles from the Lusty Maiden to the quarry? And if Isaac’s impressions were worthless, could she believe anything he said about John’s murder?
By the time she returned to the company, Amelia was walking with Mr. Crenshaw, and Caro was talking animatedly to Sir Edwin.
“The ruins gvgd view,” she was saying as Mary approached.
Mary cringed, but Sir Edwin did not seem to mind. “The view must be lovely from the top,” he agreed soothingly, stroking the hand that lay on his arm. “And the lake also looks inviting. Which would you prefer first? A boat ride would be wondrously relaxing.”
His tone calmed her. Mary was amazed. He was the first one outside the family to truly accept Caro’s problem.
“The lake,” Caro decided, glancing at Mary for permission.
“Enjoy yourself,” Mary said.
They had hardly moved out of sight when James brought her a glass of lemonade. “Edwin will take good care of her.”
“I know.” She sipped her drink, wondering how he had sensed her uncertainties. “Have you seen Justin?”
“He headed for the ruins a quarter hour past, in company with two gentlemen wearing yellow pantaloons. They were discussing dungeons.”
“The Adams brothers.” She bit back a sigh. If Justin had teamed up with them, he was unlikely to return before refreshments were served. But the squire would not be in the dungeons, so she could speak with Justin later.
Or could she? She must never try to anticipate Isaac’s actions again.
What a mess. The last thing she needed was a suitor. Justin must discourage Isaac’s courtship. And he must also press for every detail about Frederick’s death. Even if Isaac’s conclusions were faulty, he might have noticed something useful.
She was beginning to think James was right. So she must find Justin as soon as possible. Urgency and a sense of impending doom were tickling the back of her neck.
“Don’t run off,” James begged, again reading her mind. “I must remain occupied so Sir Maxwell does not foist his daughter on me.”
Isaac was speaking with Sir Maxwell, she noted, so she could delay seeking Justin for the moment. “Very well. You may use me as your escape, though Lucy is not quite as bad as she seems. Company has a way of bringing out her worst behavior.”
“Is that what you told Northrup? He is of an age to settle down.”
She shuddered.
“So I thought,” he said, chuckling. “But you cannot protect him by casting me to the wolves.”
“I would never go that far.” But he was right. She had been excusing Lucy’s manners in hopes that someone would remove her from the area.
And him. That unwanted attraction tugged harder with each meeting. And he must know it, for he dressed to draw her eyes. Today’s cravat jewel was a deep-hued emerald that perfectly matched his forest green coat, and raised green glints in his dark eyes. Shivers rolled down her arms, making her glad she had chosen an unfashionable long-sleeved gown to hide her unladylike tan.
“Have you learned anything since we last talked?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject as they wandered away from the crowd.
“Very little. No one discusses John, even six months after his death. No rumors have ever hinted that Frederick might have been helped into the quarry. But if you are right, I cannot ask questions without risking a reprisal. Killers do not want people poking into their affairs.”
“I had not considered that.” He frowned. “Perhaps you should stay out of this.”
“No. But I will be careful. And I did learn one fact. Squire Church is unreliable.”
“Are you sure?”
“It is something I should have realized sooner. He ignores anything that does not fit his perceptions. And he is so convinced that his perceptions are right that he rarely questions them.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve known him since birth, and his wife was a good friend. In Frederick’s case, he confronted a drunken corpse at the bottom of the quarry – an obvious accident. I asked him if the road showed marks of rolling or sliding. He refused to answer."
James frowned. “You want to know if he was dragged to the edge.”
“Exactly. If he was, then you are right, and he was probably murdered. If not, we have no evidence one way or the other. Now Isaac may just be sparing my female sensibilities, but I fear he never looked.”
“He looked at everything in John’s case.”
“Perhaps. A simpleton could see that John was murdered. People do not stab themselves, particularly when their arms are bound. But he may have overlooked something. His initial assumption was that a highwayman did it. He did not start looking at other possibilities for several days.”
“Despite that every piece of evidence disproved that the culprit was a vagabond.” He snorted. “I had wondered why he spent so much time chasing phantoms, though he passed it off by claiming the man might have followed John from London.”
“Possible, but that seems unlikely now. I cannot accept your attack as another incident like Will.” The reminder drew her eyes to his temple, but he had shed his bandage and combed his hair over the cut.
“So we must start at the beginning. And that means going back at least a year. What do you know about your husband’s deat
h?”
“No more than I already told you. Frederick drank too much, then insisted on riding to Ridgeway. Isaac found the horse wandering alone and recognized it as Frederick’s – it had a white face that was hard to miss. The patrons at the Lusty Maiden confirmed that Frederick was heading for Ridgeway, so he took three grooms and followed, finding him in the bottom of the quarry.”
“Three grooms?”
“And a wagon. Frederick had grown rather stout. They took him back to the inn and cleaned him up, but I’ve no idea what injuries he suffered, for I never saw the body. Isaac refused to let me in – those female sensibilities again.” Why hadn’t she recognized that proprietary attitude then? But she had been in shock.
“The conjecture was that he either dismounted or fell from his horse?”
“Exactly. Since there was no sign that he had dismounted to cast up his accounts, Isaac decided he had passed out. He made no attempt to discover whether he had rolled into the quarry when he fell, or if he stumbled in when he later tried to reach Ridgeway on foot.”
“Surely he checked the road, though.”
“I doubt it, but you can ask. Justin will demand details of Frederick’s injuries – Isaac will not be able to duck that question. An army officer won’t be squeamish, and a brother has every right to know. Not that I expect the condition of the body to help much. That fall would have covered any trace of a blow.”
“Or explained it.” He bit his lip, lowering his voice so it wouldn’t carry. “I have been debating whether to tell Isaac about the attack on me. He might have some idea who was behind it, but talking about it would alert the culprit that I know what happened.”
“Unless it was unplanned, he must already know. A killer would have watched to make sure you landed in the quarry. He could hardly expect me to remain quiet about how I found you.”
“So I need to speak to Isaac. Perhaps I can draw parallels to Frederick’s accident and find out more about it. And if Northrup also asks, it might force Isaac to rethink his ideas.”
“You can try, but I doubt it.”
They dropped the subject, talking instead about the beauties of the day and speculating on the surprise Lady Granger had promised to produce after eating. The change in focus relaxed her – until she realized that James had placed a hand on her back to guide her up the hill. Unwanted warmth flooded her, trapping butterflies in her stomach.
He knew exactly what he was doing, she fumed, stepping aside so his hand dropped. She could see the laughter lurking behind those quizzical eyes. Men were all alike. They didn’t care who they hurt as long as they satisfied their urges.
She shivered.
If he persisted, she must decline to help him investigate. As long as their contact focused on business, she was safe. But allowing a resumption of their old friendship was dangerous. It should never have started the first time.
But perhaps she had been wrong. He made no move to touch her again. Instead he drew her laughter with an improbable story about a Neapolitan donkey and a mountain of switches.
* * * *
James dropped his hand, allowing Mary to slide another step away. She was an enigma he found more fascinating every day, especially now that he had laid his final suspicions to rest.
As he had lain awake last night, tormented by that mention of a beauty mark, he had suddenly seen it for himself – a reddish brown splash on her right hip, shaped vaguely like England.
He’d nearly kicked himself for mistrusting his instincts. Yes, John had seen it. So had he, Isaac, and a couple of tenant lads. They had been playing in the forest when Mary’s pony charged along the trail, tossing her into the ford and tearing her dress half off. She had been six.
He had ignored her half-nude body in his rush to save her from drowning. But John had never forgotten. Twelve years later he had used the memory to concoct a lie that hurt James, Mary, and probably her father.
Retribution for backing James’s suggestions for the estate?
He shook his head.
It didn’t matter now. Mary was innocent. So why did she cringe from his touch even as she welcomed his company?
He had rested his hand on her back because he enjoyed flustering her. His growing desire was strong enough that he needed this sign that she returned his interest. But his pleasure died the moment he met her eyes.
Yes, she was flustered. Her attraction showed in the heat that had softened their color. But she was also terrified.
Fool! He should have seen it before – would have if his thoughts had not been tied up in John’s lies. The slightest sign of affection, the briefest contact, sent her skittering away – physically if she could manage it, but always mentally. Frederick must have hurt her.
Every muscle tensed. Frustration fizzled along his nerves, combined with a protectiveness that surprised him. If anything, he wanted her more than ever. But he could not touch her again until she learned to trust him.
So he entertained her by describing the silliest sights he had seen on his travels. When she had relaxed once more, he recounted some of the world’s wonders – the Austrian Alps, the pyramids of Egypt, India’s pearl divers…
But keeping his hands to himself wasn’t easy. Her scent surrounded him. A gust of wind pressed her gown close, revealing every detail of those long, long legs. A tantalizing glimpse of shapely ankles pooled heat in his groin that made walking difficult.
He wanted to help her surmount her fears. He wanted to see those blue eyes glaze with passion, feel her skin against his own, hear her moans…
But thinking about it would drive him insane – and reveal his desires to the world if he did not get his body under control. At least her refusal to look at him kept her from noticing his problem.
“A race,” he said, pointing to three boats on the lake below as they emerged from the trees.
“It’s Amelia and Caroline.”
“And Miss Granger.”
Mary grinned at his lack of enthusiasm.
“Who is rowing her?”
She shaded her eyes. “Colonel Davis’s grandson, Vincent.”
“Why isn’t he on the Peninsula with his father?”
“The two older boys are, but Vincent is the family black sheep.”
He laughed. “What did he do?”
“Turned his back on generations of tradition by refusing to buy colors. Instead, he is studying for the church.”
“Black indeed,” he agreed on another laugh. Her eyes were glittering with pleasure in a way he had not seen in ten years.
“Absolutely. I doubt Colonel Davis has gotten over the shock yet, though Vincent made the decision five years ago. He’s spent long breaks with the colonel since his mother died.”
The race was nearing the halfway point, with all three boats rounding the island. Harry was in the lead, with Edwin and Vincent only one length behind. Feminine shouts of encouragement echoed across the lake.
The crowd swelled along the shore as the boats raced back. The gentlemen had removed their close-cut coats, which would have hampered their rowing. Muscles rippled across their shoulders as they dug the oars deep into the water. One of the girls on the bank swooned at the sight of so much undress.
Harry was losing ground.
“Not enough time in Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon,” murmured James.
Mary’s expression revealed her conviction that Harry spent all his days in boudoirs.
“He is not that bad,” he protested. “But he is more interested in marksmanship than boxing, so he gets little exercise in town.”
“How did you know what I thought?”
“Reading your mind, Mary. It isn’t the first time. Was I wrong?”
She shook her head, then blushed.
“Almost to the finish.” He ignored her discomfort. “Come on, Edwin. Two good pulls should do it.” Edwin and Vincent were still neck and neck, though Harry was now half a length back.
“He won!” Mary laughed as Edwin shot ahead.
; Actually, Vincent had swerved off course. At the last moment, Lucy had leaned over the side to better see the finish line, throwing the boat off balance and pulling one oar out of the lake. It sprayed her with water as the boat twisted, losing momentum and letting both opponents cross ahead of them.
Lucy’s shriek disturbed the dearly departed in the Ridgefield churchyard two miles away. “Clumsy oaf! You’ve ruined my gown!” She jumped to her feet, brushing frantically at the spots.
Vincent stammered an apology.
“Sit down, Lucy,” ordered Sir Maxwell, pushing through the crowd. “It’s only a little water. And it’s your own fault for upsetting the boat. Sit down before you fall in.”
“Water ruins silk!” wailed Lucy, ignoring him as she twisted to survey the damage. Tears coursed down her cheeks. “How could you be so horrid? I should never have gone rowing with you!”
“Why would anyone wear silk to a picnic?” asked Mary as they ran toward the lake. Everyone within hearing of that screech was doing the same thing. She stumbled, grabbing James’s arm to steady herself.
“Undoubtedly it’s a new gown,” said James absently, ignoring Lucy’s megrims. Mary’s grasp on his arm tingled clear to his toes. Yet he dared not respond lest drawing attention to her continued grip raise new fear in her eyes.
“Stupid.” Mary shook her head. “This is her most idiotic display yet. And her mother isn’t much better,” she added as Lady Granger’s screams joined Lucy’s.
“Somebody save my baby! She’ll drown!”
Lucy was counting water spots, dancing up and down as her hysteria mounted.
Vincent was trying to calm her, but she remained deaf to his instructions, rocking the boat so badly that he had no chance of reaching her. “Sit down,” he finally ordered in exasperation. They were only ten feet from shore, but he could not pull them closer without knocking Lucy into the water.
“Spiteful boy! You’ve ruined it,” sobbed Lucy. “On purpose. My newest gown. How could you?”
Everyone on the shore was shouting for her to sit down. Harry and Edwin helped their passengers out, then returned to the lake.
