by Allison Lane
Yet he hated these woods. Eyes alert, he scanned the trees, looking for any hint of movement. He had seen nothing the first time, though the culprit must have been fairly close. The difficulty of throwing that rock between the trees would have jumped drastically with even a small increase in distance.
Every rustle made him flinch. But only birds and squirrels roamed today. Their friendly chatter declared that he was alone.
Miss Hardaway was beginning to accept him. Everyone else in town had been polite, but wary – Barnes, Ruddy, Bridwell, the inn’s head groom, the chandler, the confectioner. They did not trust him. It might take years before they welcomed him.
He breathed a sigh of relief as he left the trees behind. But his imagination was far from dead. He could feel eyes boring into his back as he carefully skirted the quarry. Rounding the narrowest corner, he flinched, picturing the long fall he would have taken if Mary had not somehow halted his team. His eyes followed the ribbons and measured the width of the road. How had she done it?
He shivered.
His mind needed a rest. For the remainder of the trip, he considered ways to convince Mary to dance with him at Sir Richard’s party.
Pulling up before the Court, he handed the phaeton to a groom and headed for the library. But he had hardly settled into his chair when Forbes appeared in the doorway.
“What is it?”
“Matt asks that you come to the stable, my lord.”
James frowned, but Matt was his own groom, who had been with him for fifteen years, had accompanied him on his travels, and had no connection to Ridgeway.
He was halfway to the stable before he thought of the other possibility. He had only Forbes’s word that Matt had requested this meeting. Was Forbes conspiring with whomever had killed John? The butler had seemed less suspicious since receiving Turnby’s endorsement, but it might have been an act.
His eyes darted right and left. A hedge screened the stable yard from the formal gardens. Was someone lurking behind it? Where was the usual bustle? No grooms exercised horses. No stable boys carried used straw to the refuse pile. No coachmen polished the brass fittings on their conveyances.
Silence thrummed in his ears. Chills crawled up his spine.
Then Matt appeared in the doorway, and the scene returned to normal.
Laughter echoed from beyond the dog run. Peering around a corner, he spotted two stable boys fencing with staves, cheered on by half a dozen grooms. One of the boys tripped, sprawling face first into the mud. Renewed laughter rolled across the yard. The lad’s opponent helped him to his feet, then squared off for another round.
Matt touched his arm. “I thought you should see this,” he said softly, leading him around the other end of the building. He squatted, pointing to the phaeton.
Red mist welled up to blind him. Someone had cut halfway through the rear axle. Another attempt.
“’Twere fine when you left,” vowed Matt. “I checked her meself. Don’t trust the lads here none.”
“Why?”
“They none of ’em liked your brother, milord. There’s been too much mutterin’ ’bout identical twins to my way o’ thinking, despite me swearin’ you were far away all those years. Don’t know if it’s more’n mutterin’, but I ain’t takin’ no chances. I keeps a close eye on the horses and equipment.”
“I appreciate that. It happened in town, then. Had to. I left it in a corner of the inn’s stable yard, but I didn’t unhitch the horses because I wasn’t planning to stay long.”
The inn had been busy, so the ostler had kept his grooms jumping. They would have had no time to admire his rig – or to notice if someone else had been doing so.
Thank God he had driven slowly. Speeding over the quarry road would have made the phaeton bounce, cracking the axle and spilling him out. If it had happened on that narrow corner – which was quite possible, given the condition of that road – he would have gone over the side. People might have noticed the cut on the phaeton’s axle, but by then it would have been too late.
He fought down shudders at how close he had come to dying. Again. But the killer had underestimated the impact of his earlier attempt. Either the man did not expect him to be cautious near the quarry, or he did not know that Mary had recognized his intentions.
Mary.
He could not afford to make assumptions. Would the killer strike Mary to silence any chance she might know?
Later, he decided. It was more important to fit this attack with his other facts.
The culprit had known he was in town that day. Either he had been there on his own business and taken advantage of an unexpected opportunity, or he had followed him there. Which narrowed his list of primary suspects to those in town, those on the estate, or those he had passed on the road.
Had Walden stayed in the area, hiding out in the woods or in an abandoned cottage? There was such a cottage halfway to town. He would check it in the morning for signs of occupancy.
He had passed two tenants, the Adams brothers, and Sir Richard on his way to town, but someone else might have spotted him and hidden until he drove past.
Besides the town’s residents, any of whom could have seen him, Isaac had waved before disappearing into the doctor’s house – probably not a professional visit; the two had been friends since childhood. Sir Maxwell had come out of the tailor’s. Lady Carworth had been chatting with Mrs. Bridwell. And those were only the ones he had noticed. Market day brought dozens of people to town. Others could have seen him and stayed out of his sight.
He returned to the library and poured a glass of brandy. His head hurt.
This second attempt put paid to the notion that someone had wanted to discourage further investigation into John’s death. The killer was serious – which meant Mary was also in danger. She had asked as many questions as he had.
Whatever his feelings about the attacks on him, he would not tolerate injury to Mary.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mary sank onto the bench in the rose garden and wept. Damn James! Damn him, damn him, damn him! He had destroyed her peace.
Amelia had been bursting with happiness that morning as they planned the ball that would celebrate the betrothals. Mary had tried to be supportive, had tried to share her joy – and she had carried it off. But the effort had brought on the headache that was pounding her temples and pressing against the backs of her eyes until they threatened to pop onto the ground.
How could she place Amelia’s life in the hands of a libertine? Yet how could she stop it?
The deed was done. Justin had approved. Letters had already been dispatched to Harry’s family and the newspapers. Amelia could not back out now without ruining herself.
Mary dabbed at her eyes. Never had she felt more helpless. After eight years of running the estate, making all the decisions, approving every action, she had not even been consulted about so important a decision. Women rarely were, of course, but she was finding the transition to the traditional subordinate role more onerous than she had expected.
It should not have surprised her. Since her earliest childhood, she had assumed more responsibility than was considered seemly. First with her family, then with the Northrups. How quickly life could change. Two weeks had stripped her of everything. Even a role as lady of the manor was denied her here, for the widow of the previous lord had authority over nothing.
New tears flowed. Amelia’s life had changed even faster. How could she know Harry well enough to wed him, when she had met him only ten days ago? He could easily keep a genial facade in place that long. Frederick had done so for the entire month between their betrothal and their wedding. John had been adept at hiding his true nature until after he had achieved his goal. Even Edwin might be living a lie.
But she was powerless to break the betrothals, powerless to order investigations into their backgrounds, powerless to protect the girls from harm. The admission filled her with panic. Her life was out of her control, as were the lives of those she loved. And she was p
owerless to stop it.
Hoping to at least calm her panic, she had sought the peace of her rose garden where the scents of a thousand blooms would soothe away her pain.
But James had stripped her even of peace. The garden no longer offered surcease. He remained there – huge, virile, tempting her down a path that would destroy her.
Why had he accosted her here? Anyplace else would have been better – the house, the stables, out on the road. Instead, he had tainted her one refuge.
Her fists clenched, remembering his touch. Shivers rolled up her arms – but not from fear. Warmth pooled in her womb. Her breasts tightened, growing heavier, prodding her to awareness. His kiss still tingled on her lips.
She swore again, fleeing the garden that no longer offered sanctuary. He must be in league with Satan. How else could he affect her so strongly? He was bigger than Frederick – taller, broader, stronger. Capitulating to his demands would kill her.
Yet she wanted to. Insidious devil that he was, he had made her desire him. The intensity in those dark eyes stopped her breath whenever he pinned her with a glance, coiling heat inside that could burst into flames with the slightest hint of that crooked smile. Even his tension aroused her, for she knew he held himself in check with difficulty. Every gesture made it worse, for she could imagine those long fingers stroking her, those beautiful hands cradling her breasts, his lips—
Please, God, no, she pleaded, almost running as she approached the stables.
A laugh floated out to meet her. Lighthearted. Carefree. Trailing into giggles.
Mary rounded a corner and stopped. Sunlight drenched an emerald-green lawn and the stately oak that had stood there for more than a century. Blue sky blazed overhead, dotted with tiny puff clouds. Mary’s heart calmed as she gazed on the peaceful scene.
Caro’s yellow dress could not have had a more perfect backdrop as she sprawled on the grass amid half a dozen puppies. She giggled as a pink tongue washed her face and another tickled one ear. Two of them pounced on her legs. Another gnawed playfully at her fingers.
Edwin sat in the shade, absently petting the mother as yet another puppy chewed on his boot. His eyes watched Caro, his face revealing such love that Mary caught her breath.
The puppy abandoned his boot to chase its tail, yelping when he caught it. Caro grabbed the hapless fellow, tickling his tummy as Edwin laughed and another of the pups raced after a butterfly.
Mary backed away, loath to intrude. But the image had lightened her heart. Such innocent pleasure was outside her experience – as was Edwin’s approval of it. Not even her father would have tolerated chewed boots.
But Edwin did not seem to care, and he had reveled in Caro’s fun.
She released a sigh, admitting that Caro’s future was secure. And perhaps Amelia would be all right, too. Edwin and James both swore that Harry was honest and caring, though it was impossible to imagine him sitting on the ground with a litter of puppies.
She laughed, then laughed again when she realized that her headache was gone.
* * * *
James frowned as he rode toward Northfield. Harry and Edwin were already there, but he needed to see Mary. And it had to be alone.
The second murder attempt had shaken him badly. It had taken all of a largely sleepless night to bring his emotions under control – a vital step, for he could not afford to break down around Mary. He needed to hold her, to absorb her strength so he could banish his own fears. Only then could he protect her from harm. But she was not ready for that.
Besides, she had needed time before facing him again. Calling yesterday would have pressured her, strengthening her determination to resist him.
But they must talk.
He had stopped at two empty cottages that morning. Neither held any sign of recent occupancy. Both floors were covered in dust, undisturbed by any feet. If Walden remained in the area, he was hiding in a remote location. No one had seen him.
At least Mary was at home and agreed to speak with him. But one glance revealed that she had set even more distance between them than he had feared.
“I will apologize again for my behavior at our last meeting,” he said once greetings were out of the way and she had offered him a glass of wine. “Then we will put the incident behind us.”
“Very well, my lord,” she said coolly.
“It won’t happen again,” he promised. “Not because I didn’t enjoy it, and not because I don’t wish to repeat it, but because I respect you too much to cause you distress.”
Her eyes widened, though she said nothing.
“There is a problem, however,” he continued calmly. “I vowed not to touch you without permission, and I intend to honor that vow. But Sir Richard’s dancing party is tomorrow. Your rank is such that refusing to dance with you will cause speculation. So we can either share one set – country dances involve little contact – or I can decline to attend. Your choice.”
“But staying away will reflect poorly on you and insult Sir Richard.”
“I can live with that.”
She bit her lip. “I cannot. One set, my lord.”
“Thank you. It will be the highlight of the evening. Harry tells me that you remain concerned about his reputation,” he continued, giving her no time to react to his claim. He shifted his eyes to the portrait above the mantel to avoid her white face and clenched hands. She looked so fragile, he wanted to pull her into his arms and promise her safety.
Frederick’s father provided a suitable distraction. He had never realized how shifty the baron had looked, his beady narrow-set eyes far too like a fellow he had known in India. Ashwini had been his chief clerk for two years, but he had come to a bad end, helped to the afterlife by a group of street assassins. Somehow, they had known that Ashwini had stolen the packet of gems the office manager had left unattended for a moment.
“I cannot help it,” Mary said on a long sigh. “Everything happened so fast. How can any of us know whether he is sincere?”
“Sooner or later, you will have to let yourself trust, Mary.” He ignored her glare at the intimate address. Despite his own brief acquaintance, he had forged deep bonds with both of his companions since arriving at Ridgeway. “No one can deny that Harry has enjoyed life. But he is responsible and takes his vows seriously. He inherited a prosperous estate from his grandmother, and has an enviable knack for wise investing – fortunate in a younger son who must provide for his own future. And he loves Amelia deeply.”
“He says he does, but how can I believe him? Ten days ago he did not even know she existed.”
“Do you think a Season in London would have given them more time to become acquainted?”
She nodded. “Three or four months of attending a variety of activities would certainly reveal more of his character.”
“Mary, you don’t understand London.” This time he met her glare. “I lived there for two years before my father died, and I just spent two months attending Marriage Mart events, so do not imply you know more of London than I.”
Not until she acknowledged his expertise did he continue. “A gentleman cannot pay close court to a lady without offering for her, which makes it nearly impossible for two people to become acquainted before committing themselves. Think about it. Sharing a set at a ball will allow them to exchange perhaps a dozen brief comments – none of a profound nature. But sharing a second set raises expectations.”
“That is true of country sets, but what of the waltz?” she demanded skeptically.
“Yes, waltzing allows more conversation, but it was only approved at Almack’s this past Season and is still frowned upon for young girls. Waltzing twice with the same lady will definitely raise expectations. As will dancing with her several nights in a row. They might drive in the park, but even there, most conversation is with other people. Driving more than once raises expectations, as does including her in theater parties, paying morning calls, taking her to an art exhibit, or nearly anything else. He must pay equal attention to several la
dies if he is to avoid linking his name to one. Once those names are linked, he risks both of their reputations if he does not offer for her.”
“So how does he choose a wife?” Her forehead was deeply creased.
“After checking her family, her dowry, and her connections, he tries to divine her character from a few superficial meetings and judges her interest through an exchange of flirtatious glances. And he prays that he will discover her faults before he is too involved to cry off. But even a betrothal gives a couple little chance to become acquainted. Living in each other’s pocket is frowned upon, as is any contact that might call her virtue into question, so they will continue to be surrounded by other people until after the wedding.”
“That sounds awful.”
“But true. You must realize that aristocratic marriages are still arranged mostly for financial and dynastic reasons. I knew more about the last horse I bought at auction than about any young lady I met in London. Harry and Amelia have already spent more time together and discussed more serious topics than they could have managed in two or three Seasons, even had they been betrothed. They love each other, something few society couples ever experience. Most know little beyond the superficial until after marriage, so they are lucky if they develop a comfortable friendship.”
“I understand that, but love can also cloud perceptions. What happens when he decides that Amelia will discredit him in society? He has lived in London for years, but Amelia knows little of town and has never craved excitement. He is attracted now because she seems so different from his usual flirt, but I fear he will soon grow bored.”
“No one can predict the future,” he admitted. “But I honestly believe his heart is engaged. He was seriously looking for a wife last Season, having grown tired of languishing in town, but he wants a wife of substance. I have often heard him complain that the girls making their bows were shallow and selfish. Amelia is not.”
“True.” Mary’s voice had relaxed. “Perhaps this will prove good for her. I just hope that she is not overwhelmed by town. One cannot expect him to eschew London in the future.”
