Miss Carlyle's Curricle: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix)

by Karen Harbaugh

  “And from it,” she continued, “I can conclude that it was probably not Mr. Southworthy or his father who caused my uncle’s accident or . . . McKinney’s death.”

  “It may still be our vicar,” Gavin said, and his eyes watched her, as if watching for a way to catch her out on her reasoning. “He is still in line for the inheritance. Perhaps he killed McKinney because the groom knew how he had done it.”

  “No, I think it would most likely be Sir James,” she said. “I had thought he tried to disturb our wedding so that he could bring attention to himself—he has done something like that in the past, after all—but it is probably because he does not like the idea that a marriage would mean more trouble for him. I might be breeding, after all.”

  Gavin gave her a sharp look, and she grinned.

  “No, I have no idea if I am, for it has been too short a time. Even I know that.”

  A small smile turned up his lips for a moment, then he sobered. “But you could be, and that puts you in more danger than ever, Diana.” He gazed at her, his eyes frustrated. “It was for that reason I did not want to marry you. Unmarried, you would have been no impediment to his succession. You would have been safe.”

  A sharp shock of fear went through her—she had known it, of course, but to hear Gavin say it made it more real than she had wanted it to be. She swallowed, then lifted her chin. “There is nothing we can do about that now . . . except, I suppose, have Sir James arrested.”

  Gavin shook his head. “No, there is no evidence; just his presence at your uncle’s accident, and his presence at other races that went awry.”

  “But he must have won a great deal of money at each one,” Diana said. “That would be evidence, would it not?”

  He shook his head again. “No, for so did others. Anyone might have done it.”

  Diana thought over the matter, her hands growing tight on the reins. Her horse stopped and when she loosened the reins began to crop grass. “Well, then, we shall have to trap him,” she said slowly. “Yes, perhaps have another race, and see if he does anything.” She looked at Gavin. “I could do it. I could be in the race, and then you could—”

  “No!” The fury in his voice made his horse shy and it took a moment before he had it under control. “That is the most stupid idea I have ever heard. If I am not mistaken, your uncle tried the same thing, and I would not be surprised if McKinney was involved in the plan as well, which no doubt was precisely why he was killed. He must have found out who it was.”

  “Ah!” Diana said, and smiled smugly, for she had at last made her husband reveal his thoughts upon the matter.

  “Damn!” he said, as realization dawned on his face. He pressed his lips together in frustration. “You are an impossible woman, Diana!”

  She grinned. “No, no,” she said. “Formidable. You said so, yourself.” She quickly shook her reins and her horse came to attention. “And I think my idea is a very good one.” She dug her heels into her horse, and it sprang into a gallop.

  A curse sounded behind her, and she laughed, for this time she was not the one at the disadvantage. She rode her horse into the stables, and after she handed the horse to the stableboy, she ran into the house, surprising Mr. Goldworthy in conversation with her mother.

  She stopped, greeted them politely, and noted her mother’s flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. A glance at Mr. Goldworthy showed his usual cheerful countenance, but whenever he looked at her mother, his gaze softened. The thought occurred to Diana that perhaps her mother liked Mr. Goldworthy very much indeed; she felt odd about it, for she had never thought her mother might have an affection for a man after her father died . . . except for her Uncle Charles. Past images, words, thoughts clicked in Diana’s mind, and her eyes widened. Could it be that—

  “Diana!” Gavin’s voice—a roar, more than a shout. Mr. Goldworthy’s brows rose, and Mama’s face grew worried.

  “Excuse me, sir, and, Mama, but I think I must run,” Diana said, chuckling. She picked up her skirts and ran up the stairs to her room, closing the door and locking it.

  There! She leaned against the door, hearing his footsteps pound up the stairs, and grinned. She would not let him in—it served him right to be frustrated, for he had frustrated her ever since she had met him, making her work for every bit of information she could get out of him. Well, she could be as stubborn as he.

  The doorknob shook as he tried the door, and then the door itself shook when he pounded at it. “Damn it, Diana, you had better not start such a crazy scheme, or you shall be sorry for it, I promise you!”

  She merely laughed, which caused more curses. Ah, vengeance was sweet!

  Suddenly there was silence, and then the opening and closing of the door to Gavin’s bedroom—oh, no, the connecting door! She had never had one before, and had forgotten she had one now. Diana ran to it, and put her shoulder against it, but it was too late. The door was already open, and she was flung away from it from the force of Gavin’s push.

  He strode to her and caught her as she stumbled, his face stormy. “Forget it,” he said, his voice harsh. “Forget that plan, because you will not be involved in it. I did not marry you and save your reputation just to see you killed.”

  “If I plan carefully, I shall not be killed,” she said breathlessly. “It can work if we only do that.” She had suggested it flippantly at first, but she began to see it might work now that she thought more about it.

  He held her tightly to him, and seized her chin with his hand. He said nothing for a moment, his gaze drilling into her. “You will not. I will not allow it. I do not let go of anything I have in my possession, and you are mine now, Diana. Never forget it.” He pressed his mouth hard upon hers, and she clutched his coat, opening her lips. Her heart beat fiercely, savagely, and a breathless, uncontrollable laugh escaped her when his lips went to her throat beneath the hastily opened riding habit. His anger did not frighten her, and she understood that it never had. He had never frightened her, no matter what he did, but she had discovered a wild exhilaration lived in her, and rose to the surface whenever he was near.

  “I am only yours when I wish it, Gavin,” she said, her breath coming in gasps. “You may possess me by law, but nobody will tell me what to do. Nobody possesses me.”

  He gazed at her with angry, slitted eyes. “You forget. I have been nobody for a long time.”

  He kissed her again, and she wanted him, and his hands moved over her as quickly as did hers on him. Their clothes fell unheeded on the floor, making a bed for them. His entry was hot and hard, and she moaned and seized his face, kissing him wildly. His movements upon her were insistent, as if he wanted her to give in to him, to say she would not put herself in danger. But she only voiced the melting urgency that rose in her belly and the flash of almost unbearable heat, and said nothing in reply to his harsh groan of completion.

  There was stillness except for their breathing, and slowly Gavin rose to his elbows above her and stared at her. She smiled gently, and kissed him again, slowly, sensually. A long sigh came from him, wafting over her lips. Again she kissed him, in case he should want to speak, and he began to touch her again.

  He rolled to his side, and then lifted her in his arms, taking her to her bed. This time they loved slowly, his touch gentle and light, and he was long in finishing so that it became slow, pleasurable torture for her.

  Perhaps in some way he believed she had given in, Diana thought, as she snuggled into his chest and listened to his even breathing, slowing into sleep. But she would not, for despite his insistence that she not be involved in the racing plan, she could tell from one moment of hesitation on his face when they were out in the fields that he thought the plan itself might have some merit.

  Indeed, she would not be surprised if he tried it himself. It would be just the sort of thing he would do, she believed, for he had clearly been a man of risk and had endured hardship in his life. So she had managed to get out of Mr. Goldworthy, bit by bit, during their dinners and during e
vening gatherings in the drawing room.

  But Gavin was the earl, and he should not be the one to risk his life. If he died, and nothing could be proven, then the title and lands would go to Sir James, if she were not already with child. But if she died, it would spare Gavin’s life for that much longer, and give him time to find some evidence against Sir James. She moved herself closer to Gavin, as if the press of his flesh against her could make her feel more secure.

  She would not die, of course. She would plan it carefully—perhaps with the new groom, Nate Staples. When Gavin let it about that he would be racing against someone else, then Nate would tell her, and she would make sure it was she who would race, not Gavin. She sighed and closed her eyes. Her husband was very stubborn, but he would find she was more so than he.

  ***

  Gavin woke slowly, opened his eyes, and gazed about the unfamiliar room. A warm softness moved against him—Diana. This was Diana’s room. He smiled, remembering their wild loving, very glad he had married her. His mind turned to her words about racing, however, and he frowned. She would not race in that curricle, of course, but her plan did have merit. It was better than waiting for Sir James to make a move. The man still skulked about the village, and had a room at a nearby inn. It was a good thing the wedding had been small, with only Mrs. Carlyle and Ned Goldworthy in attendance. Everyone had made sure that news of Sir James’s interruption did not leave the church walls, so there was no further scandal than there already had been, with McKinney’s death and the hasty wedding.

  If he had a race—perhaps with Lord Jardien, who was known to be an excellent whip—then it would bring Sir James out to wager. He had heard that Sir James could never resist a wager.

  Yes, and having Lord Jardien as his opponent would be perfect. The man was the local magistrate, and Gavin had told him all his concerns, and Mr. Goldworthy had told him everything he had found out in London as well. They had only strong suspicions, but firm evidence would ensure that Sir James would be eliminated entirely.

  Yes, he should do this immediately—the sooner the better. Gavin moved slowly and reluctantly away from his sleeping wife. He would make sure not to tell her, and would let the stable servants know that whoever would let her know would lose his job. If she found out, it would be too late.

  He picked up his clothes that had fallen to the floor and grimaced. Not the way to treat clothes made by Weston himself. His valet would have a small fit, but there was no helping it. Gavin glanced at Diana, still sleeping soundly, and grinned. Really, there was no helping it at all.

  ***

  The race was easily arranged. Lord Jardien was dubious, but Mr. Goldworthy had thought it would work, especially since they were going to watch Sir James closely. The head groom, Joe Baggins, nodded thoughtfully over their plan, and added a few suggestions of his own. And they all agreed they would not tell Lady Brisbane. Lady Jardien would call upon her and engage her in conversation so that Diana would be occupied, and if she found out about the race, it would be too late for her to involve herself in it.

  And yet as Gavin watched his wife eat her supper that evening, he could not help feeling uneasy. She had said nothing more about the racing plan she had thought of, and when he reminded her that she would not pursue it, she had shrugged a shoulder, clearly irritated, and said, “Oh, that!” as if it had been a silly idea she wanted to forget.

  Her manner was no different than usual. She smiled at something Mr. Goldworthy said, and then listened intently to some words from her mother. She ate heartily of her meal, her appetite neither more nor less than it usually was. He tapped his fingers on the tabletop as he sipped his wine. Something about her bothered him, however.

  She looked up at him at that moment, and smiled at him—there! There was a bland look in her eyes as she smiled, as if she were concealing something. Was she? It could very well be that she was planning to have her own race . . . but no, she could not, for he would know of it. He had ordered the servants to tell him if she were planning any such thing, and they had reported nothing.

  Did she plan to interfere with him? He took another sip of wine. Even if she suspected he was racing, she could not know the date or the time of it, not yet, for it had not been announced, only that it would occur. Wagers were being made at little meetings among a few gentlemen at dinners or routs, quickly silenced as ladies passed by—wagered racing was not something talked of in front of the ladies.

  No, she could not know, at least not the specifics. He pushed his plate away, and gestured to a footman to take it. Yet, he would not put it past her to find out, one way or another. He wondered if having Lady Jardien call upon her would be enough. His gaze moved to Mrs. Carlyle, and he inserted an innocuous comment into the conversation, for she looked at him questioningly. Perhaps he would ask Mrs. Carlyle to help keep Diana occupied. If he told her it was for her daughter’s safety, she would certainly try.

  Truth to tell, it would be simpler to tie up Diana and be done with it, but he was sure she would find some way of escape. Further, Mrs. Carlyle would also find out about it, and though she was a delicate and gentle lady, he had little doubt she could be moved to ferocity when it came to her daughter’s welfare. He would prefer to spend his energies apprehending Sir James than to waste them on arguing. Better that he enlist Mrs. Carlyle’s aid than bring her displeasure upon him.

  The company at last rose from the table, and because their number was small, Mrs. Carlyle suggested they remove themselves to the drawing room after refreshing themselves. Gavin repressed a grin as Ned Goldworthy agreed with alacrity; his friend was very taken with Mrs. Carlyle, and after her mourning was over might just begin to court her. He suspected that she had been very much in love with the late Lord Brisbane if not actually his lover; her grief had been that of a wife, not a sister-in-law. Whatever the case, she had been very discreet; he doubted even Diana was aware of it.

  A good attribute, especially since he would have to depend on her discretion soon. He went up to his room, and could hear Diana move about in hers, and almost went to her to warn her not to interfere with him again. But it would not be wise; best to pretend the assumption she would be a meek wife even though he knew she would not be. She would think him satisfied with her demeanor, and so she would not be as much on her guard.

  Gavin grinned. No, she would never be a meek wife, and though it was troublesome, he preferred her as she was, wild and strong, and even, at certain times—his grin grew wider—savage. He would never be bored with her, and would never tire of looking at her and conversing with her. She had the veneer and discipline of a gentlewoman over the heart of a lioness, and he found the combination irresistible.

  He exited his room at the same time Diana did hers, and she put her hand upon his arm. She was silent beside him, and cast him a look, clearly speculative. He kept himself from smiling. Yes, she was planning something, most possibly concerning the race, and he would be certain to thwart her. It was for her own safety; he could not do otherwise.

  They parted once they entered the drawing room, and Gavin made sure he moved toward Mrs. Carlyle before Diana could. He saw his wife shrug slightly, then smile and begin to talk to Mr. Goldworthy.

  “Mrs. Carlyle,” he said, then hesitated, as if uncertain. She looked at him questioningly. “Madam, I was wondering if you could help me.”

  She smiled. “But of course, Gavin.”

  “I think—and I hope I do not offend—that we can say Diana is . . . headstrong?”

  Mrs. Carlyle laughed. “Yes, I think we can definitely say that. She has been so since an infant, and more so after we left London.” She shook her head. “After all the constraints under which we lived there, I could not find it in my heart to restrain her any more than necessary, and I am afraid she is sometimes not as ladylike as she could be.” A shadow flitted over her face, and she sighed.

  “She told me,” he said simply.

  She looked at him, her face paling. “I was not sure . . . I thought she might con
fide in you.”

  “You had a difficult time of it. It must have been terrifying for you.”

  Tears formed in the lady’s eyes, but she swallowed and lifted her chin, a gesture very like Diana’s. “She was very brave, though I know she was frightened. I was very ill—not an excuse, I know—”

  He took her hand and pressed it. “Madam, you did all you could, and kept her safe until your brother-in-law arrived.”

  She swallowed again. “Not safe enough.”

  “Enough,” he said. “She was, and is, without doubt the most flawlessly beautiful woman I have ever met.”

  Mrs. Carlyle gazed for a long moment at him, as if thinking over his words, then sighed. “Safe enough, then. I am glad.” She gazed at him and nodded wisely. “I knew you would understand. I told her you were the most listening sort of man I have ever met.”

  Surprise made him raise his brows. He had not thought of himself in those terms, but he supposed he was. He had to be in his line of work, to gather the information he needed to accomplish his goals.

  “Why, thank you, ma’am,” he said, and grinned. “I am very flattered.”

  “You are welcome,” Mrs. Carlyle said, smiling slightly. “I am glad Diana married you. She needs someone to listen to her.”

  He nodded, and reflected that perhaps this was true. In that way, Diana was like himself, reluctant to reveal herself, so as to keep herself invulnerable. But he said, “Alas, if only she would listen to me.”

  “How so?” she asked.

  He hesitated, gauging his words carefully. “I have, with Lord Jardien and Mr. Goldworthy, been investigating the unfortunate death upon this property.”

  Her eyes widened, and she shuddered. “So Mr. Goldworthy has told me.”

  Gavin mentally hoped that it was all his garrulous friend had told her. “But your daughter believes she can help in this matter. Perhaps she can,” he said, keeping his voice reasonable. “However, I would prefer she be safe and stay away from whatever activities in which we may involve ourselves.” He smiled at her. “I love her, you know. I would not want her to come to any harm.”