He felt both rested and vibrantly alive when he touched her, even with the bulky scarf between them. It reminded him of the night of the Christmas ball, and the kiss they’d shared.
He wanted to kiss her again.
Last night, when she’d asked him if he loved her, for one glorious moment, he had considered saying yes. It had been completely mad but completely wonderful.
But then reason had intruded. Of course he could not have come to love Miranda in only a few days. He had known her since they were children, and he was fond of her, that was the extent of it. His emotions—frustration, anger, bitterness, restlessness, sadness, and a hundred others he couldn’t define—felt like the tangled silks in his mother’s workbag. He had no room for romantic love.
“There,” he said finally, and sat back.
“Thank you, Gerard.”
He reminded himself of the reason he had attended the skating party, the reason he had positioned himself here at the most remote end of the lake.
As bait.
“Oh, goodness,” she said. Paul had gotten into a squabble with Sally down on the lake. “I beg your pardon, Gerard, but I must separate them. They already had a frightful row earlier this morning.” She hurried away, and he suddenly felt a little colder.
As the morning wore on, others from the party came to sit with him. At one point, Miss Church-Pratton chatted incessantly with him for half an hour. Miranda was speaking to Mrs. Peterson, the rector’s wife, but Gerard finally managed to catch her eye. She smiled at him, and within a few minutes, Lady Wynwood joined him again. This time, Miss Church-Pratton remained only a minute before leaving.
“You are fortunate,” Lady Wynwood said. “Sir Horace has become a rival for Miss Church-Pratton’s hand.”
“I am certain I can withstand the disappointment. Who is the gentleman?”
She nodded to an elderly man who had joined Mr. Sol Drydale near one of the fires next to the lake. “He is a relative of Mrs. Barnes, and indecently wealthy. However, I assure you that you are much more handsome.”
“The curse of a pretty face. Shall I have Mr. Drydale plant me a facer to break my nose?”
“I can do that for you.” She grinned at him. “I am out of sorts with Sol. He mentioned to me that Sir Horace is a fine judge of horseflesh, so when I was introduced to him, I asked him about his stable. Did you know that he has fifty-nine horses?”
“That is a great many.”
“Yes, especially when Sir Horace proceeded to recite the lineage of each and every one of them.”
He laughed.
Lady Wynwood turned toward the lake before them. “What a lovely view you have here. The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork, indeed.”
“I would not have expected the woman who speaks of muslin enhancements at a ball to be so well-versed in Scripture.”
“Fashion foibles and a vulgar sense of humor do not preclude a sense of the spiritual. I do not find muslin enhancements unholy.”
“Yes, ma’am, I see that.”
“Do you? We are none of us saints, Gerard.” Her light brown eyes had turned golden in the sunlight. She absently touched the narrow streak of silver at her temple, barely visible against the blond hair mostly hidden by her bonnet. It appeared she did not notice she was doing it. “We would do well to always remember that, lest we become self-righteous and hypocritical. But by the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, we are forgiven our sins, such as they are.”
He felt suddenly as though he were on holy ground. Her words touched something in his soul that he did not quite understand. “None of us like to dwell on our sins, I think.”
“Of course not, but I have come to appreciate a good confessional prayer. It is like giving my heart a good scrubbing. When I am here at Wintrell Hall, I pray in the chapel nearly every midday.”
“I did not know that. Did you always do so?”
Her gaze became distant and burdened. “No. Only in the past ten years or so.”
Down by the shore, Mrs. Hathaway waved frantically to them.
“Oh, there’s Augusta waving to us to return. Gerard, I nearly forgot to mention that your mother had a message for you. She and your father left earlier and I am to take you back to the house in my carriage. Shall I assist you?”
His knee would pain him when he stood, and he had no wish to be helped anywhere. “No, I shall follow in a moment.”
“Very well. Don’t dawdle.” But before she moved away, she said, “I am still speaking to your mother about Miranda. I believe she may be having a change of heart, although I am not yet certain.”
He bowed as she left. The children had been called in from the ice and the party were all heading back to the house. Automatically, as he used to do when they were children, he began to count the heads of the young ones. Twenty-seven. Hadn’t there been twenty-eight in total? How many children had arrived at the lake? Perhaps one of them had remained at the house, or returned earlier.
Gerard grasped his crutches and heaved himself up. Because he had been sitting for so long, his knee immediately responded with the pain of a thousand knife blades stabbing into it. He gritted his teeth and bowed his head, waiting for the wave to pass.
He caught Miranda’s eye and signalled to her. As she approached, he asked, “How many children came to the lake?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“A moment ago, I counted only twenty-seven.”
She immediately frowned and stared down at the children, her lips moving silently. “You are correct. It is easier to count from this vantage point.”
“Who is missing?”
“I do not see Paul, do you?”
He scanned the heads. Paul had been wearing a bright maroon cap. “No, I do not see him.”
“I think I know where he is. He and the others made a snow fort in the woods earlier this morning.” She gestured behind him, toward the tree line.
Alarm shot through him. “I will come with you.”
She glanced at him suspiciously, but only said, “Come along, then.” She tramped into the woods.
Although he had to hurry to catch up to her, he found it a relief that she did not try to argue with him or treat him differently because of his injury. But this was Miranda, and she never responded in the way one might expect.
Then, when they were deep enough into the woods to have lost sight of the lake, they were attacked.
The men came from a different direction than the one he had been anticipating. Miranda was only two feet in front of him when one of the same men from the garden suddenly rushed at her, throwing a sack over her head. She shrieked but her voice was muffled by fabric caught in her mouth. The man tossed her over his shoulder.
Gerard swung his crutch and caught the man in the leg. He stumbled and dropped Miranda, who landed hard on the ground.
At that moment, the second man ran toward him. Gerard caught the dull gleam of the knife blade just in time to jerk backward. He quickly shifted his grip on the other crutch so that the wood was braced against his forearm and blocked the man’s next swing with the knife.
Where was the other jaw of his trap—where was Michael?
But Gerard had no opportunity to look around as the knife stabbed toward him. He threaded the blade through the crutch and twisted. The knife flicked through the air, and the man looked at his empty hand in disbelief. Gerard slammed the other crutch into the man’s nose, and he howled and jumped backwards.
Gerard looked up in time to see Miranda shove her fingers into the first man’s eyes, and he cried out, releasing his grip on her. She shoved at the sack still over her head.
At that moment, a third man moved from behind a tree and grabbed Miranda’s attacker from behind. It was Michael.
“Miranda, run!” Gerard said.
She pulled the sack from her head and ran back towards the lake.
But Gerard’s attacker lunged to follow her. Gerard tripped him with his crutch, but the man’s leg pulled a
t it. Gerard staggered and pain stabbed through his knee. He fell to the ground with the other man, who kicked at him, but Gerard rolled out of the way.
Miranda’s attacker pulled out a knife and slashed at Michael, who released him and leaped back. Then the attacker ran back into the woods.
The man on the ground with Gerard also jumped to his feet and followed his compatriot.
Michael ran after them.
Gerard shoved himself to his feet. His knee throbbed once, so painfully that his vision clouded briefly, then receded to a spiking ache. He reached out and grabbed one of his crutches from the ground, then hurried after them.
It was easier for him to maneuver through the narrow deer trails with only one crutch, but he did not move quickly enough. He could see movement ahead of him through the trees, and he followed the shadow.
But when he rounded a tree, he lost sight of the shadow. He stopped, his eyes scanning the dimness. No movement. A bird called feebly, as if reluctant to break the silent vanguard of old oaks. A scurrying to his right, but it sounded like a mouse.
Then, ahead of him, a shadow detached itself from behind a tree and approached him.
Gerard exhaled. “Lost them?”
“Sorry, old chap.”
“You’re a poor bodyguard, Cousin. I wondered if you’d received my message.”
Gerard’s cousin, Lieutenant Michael Coulton-Jones, wore a thoroughly disreputable costume in motley shades of dirt, slime, and moss on his worn clothes. Mud almost hid the grin across his handsome face. “I hid in a tree where I could see all the paths someone was likely to take in order to sneak up behind you on that bench, just as you told me to do. It is hardly my fault that I was thwarted by a dozen children creating a fort under the tree where I was hiding.”
“Paul and his company, I suspect.”
“Yes, the one giving orders was named Paul. I couldn’t drop down and scare them half to death, and they were making such a rumpus that I suspect your attackers chose a more circuitous route on their way to relieve you of your life.”
“Trapped by a gaggle of children? Embarrassing, Michael.” Gerard sobered. “Did the children see the attackers? Did they harm them?”
“All the children left but Paul, who left a few minutes later. Then I heard a woman scream.”
“That must have been Miranda. Michael, they were after her, not me.”
“That sheds a different light upon it.”
Behind them, someone called Gerard’s name.
“I’ll find you later,” Michael said.
“I hope you find different clothing. You look like something the hunting dogs vomited up.”
Michael drew himself to his full height, which made his hideous clothes rain dirt upon the ground. “I’ll have you know that I was perfectly concealed in the tree while wearing these clothes.”
“I’m surprised the children didn’t smell your presence.”
The corner of Michael’s mouth curled up. Then in the blink of an eye he was gone, disappearing behind the tree.
In the next moment, Gerard heard a soft tread behind him. He turned to see Mr. Drydale running toward him, appearing from behind a clump of trees.
“Gerard, are you harmed? Miranda said two men attacked you both.”
“They ran. I was following, but I lost them.”
“Were you speaking to someone?” Mr. Drydale’s dark eyes regarded the tree, although his face was impassive.
“I spoke with a tenant who happened to be in the woods. Er … I promised him I would not mention to Sir Cecil about his presence in an area popular with poachers.”
Mr. Drydale’s eyebrows rose. “I see. Did he see them?”
“He saw movement, but thought it was a deer. I am afraid they are out of our reach by now, sir.”
Mr. Drydale accompanied Gerard to retrieve his other crutch and they returned to the lake together. Almost all the women and children had already gone back to the house with the servants and supplies, leaving only several of the menfolk, Lady Wynwood, Miranda, and Paul. Upon hearing about the attack and being assured that Gerard was unharmed, they all returned to the house in their carriages.
He rode with Mr. Drydale and Lady Wynwood, whose carriage was one of the last to reach the hall. Gerard’s father and mother met him at the door to the house. He forestalled them by telling them, “I am well.”
“Oh, Gerard, if only we had not left the lake so early,” his mother moaned.
“How’s the leg?” his father asked.
It had been feeling as though a hammer had been attempting to pound its way in, but he said, “No worse than before. I must change out of my wet things.”
After Maddox had helped him into a dressing gown and left him seated before the fire, he was surprised by a knock at the door. Cecil, Mr. Belmoore, and Gerard’s father were there.
His father and Mr. Belmoore seated themselves, but Cecil stood before the fireplace. His father’s unhappy expression made Gerard tense.
“My boy, what a terrible thing to have happened,” Mr. Belmoore said.
“I will find these men, I assure you,” Gerard said. He hadn’t the faintest idea what he would do, but surely sheer determination should count for something.
“We are concerned about you,” Mr. Belmoore said.
“I am perfectly—”
“We are concerned about what you may have done to cause someone to want to harm you,” Cecil said sharply.
“Cecil!” Mr. Belmoore said. “Good God, he’s just been attacked.”
“For the second time,” Cecil retorted. “Are those two men connected to that vagrant woman in the woods? Why are they after Gerard and Miranda? We are all thinking it, even if none of us speaks of it to the rest of the household.”
Gerard should have been expecting this. His mother had mentioned something like this only a few days before. But he felt like a statue in an ice-covered garden. He had difficulty breathing. “I have done nothing of which I am ashamed. Nothing which would shame you or the family.”
“I have no doubt of it.” However, his father would not meet his eyes.
No, he was not a statue. He was a block of ice that had been shattered into razor-sharp shards.
He would not stand for this. He had faults enough, but he had never been dishonourable. How could they suspect that he’d been involved in anything that would draw such danger and unsavoury characters to the Belmoore family home? The frustration made him shoot to his feet and limp to the fireplace. His knee was a ball of heat and pain, but his emotions were an ice storm.
“Gerard, you must sit,” his father said.
Gerard ignored him. He would not tell them that the men had been after Miranda, for what would Cecil do to her then? Instead, Gerard would find these men and make them tell him why they were doing this. He would prove himself and Miranda innocent.
But he also knew that his relationship with the Belmoores had changed. He stared into the fire and felt as though something inside of him had withered and died.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
December 29th
She was wearing his scarf.
Gerard made his way out through the portico on the south side of the house, placing the crutches carefully on the icy stones. It had snowed last night, a few inches, and the children were having a rousing snowball fight on the south lawn. Miranda sat on a bench at the edge of the flagstone terrace, and his red and black scarf around her neck was a splash of color on the white landscape beyond her.
She turned and saw him as he exited the house. Her face was pale, and for a moment she looked apprehensive. Then she gave a small smile that commanded the wind and waves of his anxiety to be still. The air sliced through his nose and lungs, but despite the cold, he reveled in the clean scent of freshly fallen snow, of firs and woodsmoke.
She rose and walked towards him. “You should be resting.”
“It is the case of the pot and kettle brangling with each other,” he said.
“I do not brangle.” Her
eyes crinkled. “And I was not injured.”
“You were attacked, the same as I.” His voice was too forceful, and he took a breath before continuing. “It frightened me.”
A whisper of emotion passed over her face. It reminded him of a child pressing her nose to the glass of a candy shop. Then it was gone, and she was the same calm, dependable Miranda.
“Come sit.” She pointed to the bench. “I have swept the snow from it.”
She walked beside him as he made his way to the edge of the flagstones. “Miranda,” he said in a low voice, “you should not be sitting alone. It is not safe—those men were focused upon you.”
She said nothing. She dipped her head so he could not see her face beyond the edge of her bonnet.
“Miranda, you cannot avoid this discussion.”
Still she said nothing.
He sighed. “I will bring up the other topic of conversation you wish to avoid if you do not speak.”
“Oh for goodness' sake.” She looked at him then, her cheeks pink.
It made him want to kiss her again.
However, he missed his chance, because she looked away again, hiding behind the edge of her bonnet. “Everyone is gossiping about the attack. I have been circumspect in what I have said about it, although I am not certain whether that is the wisest course.”
Gerard remembered the tense conversation with Cecil, Mr. Belmoore, and his father. “It is. No one knows that the men specifically wanted you except for myself and, er …”
“That man who helped me? Who was he?”
“It was my cousin, Michael. Did you never meet him?”
“Perhaps when we were children, but not in the past several years. You said that you had sent for someone to help us—it was Michael?”
“Yes. I had gone to the skating party in hopes that the men would attack me. Michael was lying in wait to ambush them.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “That was a good plan.”
“It was? It didn’t work.”
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