by Hatch, Donna
The racers rounded the hill. Christian pulled ahead by half a length, but the other contender doggedly kept up. They took a final jump.
Something went wrong. James Ingel’s horse stumbled as he landed. Horse and rider fell forward and Ingel was thrown. His body hurtled forward and landed hard. With a cry of horror, Genevieve sat frozen. Rachel let out a sound of distress.
Ingel’s horse rolled, got up and staggered. The man lay still. Genevieve urged her horse forward to lend aid. Rachel raced next to her.
Still running the course, Christian streaked ahead, unaware of the disaster behind him. An instant before he reached the fluttering scarf, Christian glanced over his shoulder. He pulled hard on the reins and turned Erebos in a circle, then ran back to Ingel. Christian leaped off before Erebos had come to a complete halt.
“Ingel!” Christian shouted.
The man floundered about on the ground convulsively. Christian grabbed him by the lapels and struck him hard across the face. Genevieve let out a gasp and urged her horse faster. She raced ahead and leaped off her horse. As she ran toward them, James Ingel sucked in his breath with a loud gasp.
Christian put his hands on Ingel’s shoulders and shook him slightly. “James?”
Ingel struggled to breathe. “I’m all right.”
Genevieve skidded to a halt and watched the exchange. Rachel caught up to her, tears streaking her face. Genevieve found the presence of mind to wonder about Rachel’s emotional display for a man she claimed to dislike.
“Except now my face hurts,” Ingel added, attracting Genevieve’s focus. “Did you have to hit me so hard?” He rubbed it.
Christian got up and stood bending over with his hands braced on his legs. “You were turning blue.”
Ingel nodded. “The fall knocked the breath out of me.”
“Anything broken?”
“I think my jaw is.” He rubbed his face and offered a rueful, if wan smile. “I’m teasing you.”
“I know.” Christian bowed his head, visibly shaken. “Saints above, you scared me.”
Rachel muttered under her breath, “Men!” and turned away, wiping her cheeks.
Christian was unharmed. His opponent was unharmed now that Christian had shocked him into breathing again. Genevieve stood gasping for air and let the terror die down.
As a crowd gathered, Genevieve took a few steps to remove herself from the center of the crowd and looked for something to do, something to assuage her growing helpless anger over the risks the men had taken. Ingel’s horse danced about nearby, his reins dragging on the ground. His eyes were wide and wild and his flanks heaved. She approached him slowly, crooning to him. Putting a hand on his neck, she continued to murmur assurances before taking the reins and leading him back to his rider.
Christian gave Mr. Ingel a hand up, and they went to Genevieve holding the horse. Ingel nodded to Genevieve in gratitude and began examining his horse for possible injuries.
Crouched next to Ingel, Christian ran gentle, practiced hands over the animal’s legs. “He doesn’t appear to be hurt.”
Ingel nodded. “We were both lucky. It could have been worse.”
He was right. It could have been worse. The full reality came over her. It could have been Christian. He might have been badly injured. Or killed. Something dark and horrible and angry took root and sprang into full bloom. She turned on them.
“Stupid, stupid men. Why must you be so reckless? You risk getting yourself killed for what? A bit of sport! Have you no care for your lives? Have you no care for others in your life? Well?”
Her chest heaved as her breath came in angry gasps. They stared at her outburst. As she realized what she’d just done, her anger dissolved into shame. Her face flamed. She shouldn’t have made such an outburst. She had no right to scold either of them. She took a steadying breath. With trembling hands, she held out the reins to Mr. Ingel. The racer took the reins with open-mouthed astonishment. She glanced at Christian who was gaping. Promptly, she turned her back on him and went to her horse.
As she looked about for something to use as a step, Christian came and offered his hand to give her a leg up. He looked alternately bewildered and contrite. She silently accepted his aid. From atop her mount, she turned her head away from him, unable to look him in the eye. She’d just made a scene and attracted attention which was the last thing she should have done. Stupid!
Christian strode away, mounted, and cantered to the tree where he grabbed the scarf. As he returned, he waved it tauntingly in front of his opponent’s face, his tension relaxing into a grin. “I win.”
Mr. Ingel laughed and shook his head. “I want a rematch.”
“Poor loser.”
Ingel nodded to Rachel and Genevieve. “Ladies. It was a delight. I hope we meet under more victorious circumstances next time.”
Christian gave Ingel a look that seemed to convey an entire conversation. Ingel cleared his throat and tugged on his collar. Apparently satisfied with whatever message he’d been sending to Ingel, Christian paused to speak to a group of spectators closing in around him.
Genevieve focused on her riding gloves, making a point to avoid looking at Christian or Rachel. Tears stung her eyes and her hands shook. What would she have done if something terrible had happened to Christian? And why was she so foolish as to have made such a terrible scene?
When Christian returned, they turned their horses back around toward the road leading to the cottage. Rachel and Christian sent Genevieve puzzled looks, but she ignored them. As they rode home, no one spoke. The tension between them left nothing for speech. She’d had no right to be angry. She and Christian had no romantic understanding nor could they ever as long as she remained married. Even if she were free, her heart and soul were too battered and unworthy to offer to someone. But her heart didn’t seem to understand.
Riding next to Christian, Genevieve glanced at his profile. “I apologize for my outburst. I had no right to do such a thing. I fear I was a bit overset.”
He looked over at her, touching her with his blue gaze, and his mouth pulled up on one side. “I flatter myself into thinking you were worried about me.”
“I was,” she admitted.
As they neared a stone wall, a gunshot roared through the mountains. A piece of rock on the wall exploded next to them, sending a shower of debris. The horses shied and they had to keep a firm grip on them. Christian pulled a pair of pistols and held them, poised, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the area.
“Good heavens,” said Rachel. “Who could be hunting here? And why would they be so foolish as to fire while people are present?”
“Are you sure it was a hunter?” Genevieve asked.
“Who else would it be?” Rachel said.
“A poacher I suppose,” Christian said. “but they aren’t usually that careless.”
Who else, indeed. Her unease returned tenfold. First the man who looked like one of Wickburgh’s, then the rose, now a mysterious gunshot. It seemed too coincidental. She looked around but saw no one. No second shot sounded.
“Whoever it was is obviously gone now, the careless idiot,” Rachel said. “He might have shot one of us.”
Christian remained tense, still scanning the area. He said quietly, “That was close.”
Genevieve slid off her horse and went to inspect the rock in the wall. Among the debris she found a bullet. It had indeed come awfully close to hitting one of them. In fact, the bullet appeared to have shot right between her and Christian.
That was probably no coincidence. If one of Wickburgh’s men—or even Wickburgh himself—knew she was here and had taken a shot at them, Christian and Rachel were in danger.
She was no longer safe. Not here, not anywhere. And neither were the Amesburys if she remained with them.
After they arrived home, she forced herself to make polite conversation and try to behave as if nothing were amiss. But a great weight settled with increasing heaviness every moment. For the remainder of the day, she must b
ehave as if nothing were amiss. Tonight, she’d leave and draw Wickburgh away from those she loved.
CHAPTER 18
As the shadows began to stretch long, Genevieve glanced at Rachel who was exclaiming over some perfect specimen of something that looked exactly like three others she’d found that hour. Her heart was heavy. She must leave tonight. They’d think she abandoned them and would think poorly of her. But she’d be taking care of them by leading Wickburgh away. The idea of them all remaining outside with a gunman in the area left her jumpy, but if she revealed her fears, the Amesburys would try to intervene. She must do and say nothing to give away her plans, or Christian would try to protect her, thus placing himself in harm’s way. She smoothed the wrinkle out of her skirt, wishing she could smooth out the knots tangling in her stomach, and cast another anxious look around. At the top of the hill, no rocks or trees nearby were large enough to afford a hiding spot to a gunman. Still, she felt exposed and vulnerable away from the cottage. And worse, Rachel and Christian were exposed and vulnerable to Wickburgh’s cruelty.
As Rachel kept up a steady stream of chatter, not needing input from her, Genevieve searched the area again for signs of danger. For a blissful moment, she allowed her gaze to rest on Christian who sat behind an easel, painting the sweeping valley below them. Blue paint smudged his cheek, almost matching the brilliance of his eyes. He’d shed his frockcoat and donned a smock. It never failed to surprise her how he could be dressed to the nines so stylishly that Beau Brummell himself would have been sick with envy, and the next moment ruin the image while engrossed in painting.
With his attention so utterly focused upon his subject, she allowed herself the luxury of looking him over. It may be the last time she’d have the opportunity. The sunlight shimmered in his hair. His eyelashes shaded his eyes when he lowered them, but the brilliance of his blue eyes seemed to leap out the moment he raised them to the view. His long legs, muscular and hard from frequent riding, stretched out before him. A tiny scuff marred the toe of one of his Hessians, a flaw over which his valet would no doubt weep and immediately remedy. His oversized smock failed to hide the breadth of his shoulders or the muscles of his arms. She marveled that this powerful man possessed such a gentle spirit, and such a sensitive, artistic soul.
She glanced at Rachel and then back at Christian. Both threw themselves so wholly into their work. She wondered if all the Amesburys were so driven. So passionate. It left her breathless. And aching to throw herself into Christian’s arms and rekindle what they once had.
She loved him. It was pointless to deny it. She loved him. And she’d do anything to protect him, even if it meant leaving tonight and never seeing him again. The thought smote her as if the bullet had found its mark in her heart.
“Do you see this?” exclaimed Rachel. “Amazing specimen.”
Genevieve murmured a reply but knew Rachel required none. Rachel was an oddity, as well. The daughter of an earl, beautiful, intelligent, yet she sequestered herself away in the Scottish border engrossing herself in the study of plants. Rachel wore a serviceable black gown not unlike her own, in total disregard for her social position. Her hair was twisted carelessly into a knot at the nape of her neck, several strands of her sable brown hair falling out haphazardly, and a broad-brimmed hat that looked at least a decade out of date crammed upon her head.
Rachel scribbled madly upon her papers and then sat back with a satisfied grunt. She turned and grinned in an irrepressible way that reminded Genevieve of Christian.
“A most successful afternoon,” Rachel announced.
“I’m so glad to hear it.”
“I’m hungry. It must be time for supper.”
“Indeed.” In truth, her twisting stomach made the prospect of food unappealing, but she’d say anything to get the Amesburys inside and safe, anything to find an excuse to pretend to go to bed early and leave.
If the gunman hadn’t fired yet, he might not plan to do it so soon after the last attempt. Dragging out the suspense, letting her own terror build before the next blow was exactly what Wickburgh would do. Still, no need to remain in the open unnecessarily.
Rachel looked up at her, then smiled impishly as she glanced at Christian. “I wonder if he’ll notice if we leave him here.”
Despite her heavy heart at the prospect of leaving, Genevieve managed a smile. “Has he noticed in the past when you’ve left him?”
“Not usually. Unless he smells food.”
As they gathered up their supplies, Genevieve eyed Rachel. “May I ask you something of a rather personal nature?”
Rachel crossed her legs where she sat on the grass. “I consider you a friend. You may ask me anything you desire.” A knowing look gleamed in her eyes. “You want to know why I haven’t married.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“I get asked that often.”
“I can imagine. I mean, you’re bright, lovely, the daughter of an earl, and no doubt well dowered. Surely you’ve had offers.”
Rachel nodded. “I received seven marriage offers. I accepted two. One was considered by my father to be … unworthy. The other proved himself to be so and I found myself obliged to cry off.”
“Do you ever regret it?”
Rachel looked down at the papers in her lap. “I don’t know. Sometimes I’m so lonely I think I’ll shrivel up and blow away like dust. My parents were desperately in love. They were seldom apart. When Mama died, father lost his will to live. We took him to the seashore and Bath and did everything we could to revive him, but he slipped a little further away from us each day.”
Genevieve put an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not sure I want to risk dying of sorrow if my husband dies. And then I see my sister Margaret and how ghastly her marriage is. Being alone is better than being miserably married, I think.”
Genevieve understood that all too well.
Rachel fixed a piecing gaze upon her that Genevieve found trouble meeting. “Would you rather have been alone than married?”
Genevieve swallowed. “Than married to him? Yes, without a doubt. But there was another ....” She picked up the papers in Rachel’s lap and scattered around, and neatly stacked them.
“Christian told me you knew each other in Bath?”
“Yes. I … I admit I’d entertained hopes of marrying him.”
“But?”
“I found myself … obliged to marry another.”
She flushed. Rachel would probably think Genevieve had dallied and become with child. Let her. It was better than having to reveal the horror of belonging to Wickburgh.
Rachel nodded absently. “Then there’s Cole and Alicia. They are every bit as much in love as Mama and Father were. And Jared seems equally happy with his Elise. But they all chose well. That makes a difference.”
“If you were to meet someone now, someone wonderful, would you give up your freedom to tromp about the moor and make scientific notations in exchange for a husband and a family?”
Rachel leaned back on her hands. “I wouldn’t marry a man who would ask me to give it up. He’d appreciate my fine mind.” Her mouth twisted in self-deprecating humor. “And yes, if I met such a man, I would probably marry him, even at the risk of losing myself so deeply that if he died, I might, too. It’s probably better than living my whole life alone and childless.” She cast an almost guilty look at Genevieve. “Underneath my scientific mind, I have a bit of a romantic in me, too. Not to Christian’s extent, but it’s there.”
“He is very romantic. Everything he draws and paints is more beautiful than it is in truth. It’s how he sees the world.”
“He does. Among the cynics and the critics, his kind of optimism and idealism is refreshing, don’t you think?”
Genevieve smiled. “I suppose it is.”
“But he has a dark side, too.”
She waited.
“He’s desperately sad about our brother who died.”
“Jason?”
“Did he tell you?”
Genevieve shook her head. “Only that he had a brother Jason who died in the garden.”
“I’m surprised he told you that much. Maybe someday he’ll tell you the rest.”
Sighing, Genevieve looked out over the valley and the sharply angled mountains that pointed downward and trying to memorize the view so she could recall it after she left. “I doubt he’ll have the opportunity.”
“You’re very young,” Rachel said. “You should give your heart to heal, but don’t let it scar over. Heal whole, not broken. Heal well, instead of bitter. Keep your ability to love and receive love intact. You may yet meet someone who can be trusted to keep your heart safe.”
Genevieve examined the wisdom that had come out of Rachel. Her eyes were reluctantly drawn to Christian, but she immediately drew her gaze away.
Rachel said softly, “Watching you with him is like watching a moth flutter around fire. You’re irresistibly attracted, but neither of you dare draw too near for fear of being burned.”
Genevieve closed her eyes and winced at the pain that shot through her heart. “You’re far too perceptive.”
A hand covered hers. “I am. It’s one of my worst flaws.”
Genevieve gave her a rueful smile. “But you’re here nursing a broken heart, too, aren’t you?”
A fleeting look of pain crossed Rachel’s face. “A bit. It’s been healing to have something in which to immerse myself. But Christian is right; it’s time to leave. I look forward to doing some traveling. Then maybe I’ll return home and face off Cole’s widowed friends. Not accept any of them, mind you, just put them in their place.” She smiled ruefully.
Christian got up and stretched. He turned and flashed a sunny smile. “I need food.”
Genevieve went to him and peered over his shoulder at his paining. “It’s magnificent. One of your better paintings, I think.”
He tilted his head, examining his creation. “Truly?”
“Absolutely. You have a great talent.”
