Surely Richard wouldn’t have taken Roxanne. Surely. He certainly hadn’t taken her the first time, because she and Richard had been together, not ready to eat their picnic luncheon but to make love beneath that lovely old willow tree, when Julian, Sophie, and Devlin had burst upon them.
But he could have hired some men to take her. She couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it. And she’d kept insisting that Julian was taken with Roxanne, not Sophie. Had Richard believed her? Had he acted?
How had it come about that the prince wanted Sophie? Leah suddenly saw her as a little girl, eager, delighting in everything. Bethanne, her mother, so in love with her own child, petting her, laughing with her in pure joy. But she wasn’t a little girl now. She was twenty years old. Old enough to marry, old enough to marry a man twelve years her senior, and she’d been selected by his own mother. Leah had heard Julian say Sophie was too young for him, more like a niece, and she’d believed him. That claim had fallen by the wayside, hadn’t it?
Leah couldn’t stand it. She had to discover if Richard was behind this madness. She quickly ran upstairs to her bedchamber, donned a riding habit and boots, and rushed to the stables. No one tried to stop her. No one even spoke to her, but she saw some of their looks, shot at her from nearly averted faces, dislike radiating from all of them.
They all hated her. They all believed she was guilty of allowing the kidnapping of her own sister.
She wanted to scream that she hadn’t even known about it until Sophie and Julian had told her.
The stable lad whose name she didn’t know blocked her way. “I must have a horse. Now. Saddle a mare for me.”
“No, missis, I daren’t. Only the prince can tell me to saddle a mare for ye.” The stable lad paused, and he looked beyond her left shoulder. “As ye know, milady, the prince is searching for Miss Roxanne. Yer sister.”
Leah was so scared, so furious, she shoved the lad aside, marched into the stables, found herself what looked like a sweet-tempered mare, led her out, managed to saddle her, something she hadn’t done for a good ten years, but she hadn’t forgotten how. She pulled over a mounting block. She was panting when she was finally on the mare’s back.
“Ye shouldn’t oughtta steal the mare,” the stable lad shouted at her, wringing his hands. She would have ridden him down if he hadn’t quickly moved out of the way.
She rode toward Hardcross Manor.
But how could Richard be at Hardcross Manor? He left for London only yesterday; he hasn’t even arrived in London yet.
The sky, black clouds hanging low, opened up, and rain poured down. She cursed, urged the mare to go faster.
But what if he never planned to go to London? He didn’t tell me what this important business was, now, did he? What if he was planning all along to take Roxanne? Again. But why?
The rain beat down, soaking through her skirts, her petticoats. She’d not even thought about a riding hat.
There were no trees, only open country. She clucked the mare faster, leaned down to press against the mare’s neck, and hung on.
She smelled horse sweat, and, oddly, it smelled good, and she saw herself as a young girl, riding across the countryside. She remembered once when Roxanne had ridden with her and had been thrown when a crow spooked her mare. And Leah had pulled her free of the briars, where she’d luckily landed, and taken her home, praying as hard as she could.
So very long ago.
Would Richard be at Hardcross Manor?
65
Roxanne looked over her shoulder to see all three men running after her. No use in trying to hide now.
She was exhausted, but so were they. She wasn’t a weak female. Unlike those bullyboys who’d probably spent all their time in a town, she’d spent her life walking all over the Belthorpe moors.
She had no intention of letting them catch her.
But they can shoot you.
She wouldn’t let them get close enough. She felt good, her heart pumping. Thankfully, the pain in her side was gone. Since they didn’t have their bloody horses, it was a footrace now, and she was going to win.
As she ran, she kept searching for another path upward. There had to be one. She saw absolutely no one, saw no sign of a house on the cliff. But then again, who would build near a cliff?
She held her skirts up higher and continued to run, her pace steady. She didn’t look back again. She heard an occasional shout, a gunshot, but nothing near her. What were they shooting at? Did the fools expect her to stop and raise her arms in surrender? Did they think her so stupid?
She was wearing boots, a good thing for welcoming a bunch of smugglers to the beach but not so good for running, since they were heavy and growing heavier by the minute.
She kept her pace steady, tried to keep her breathing steady.
She looked upward when she saw a sign of movement. There, on top of the cliff. What was up there? What had she seen?
It didn’t matter if she’d seen only the play of shadows against the sky, because right ahead, she saw a narrow path snaking back and forth up the cliff.
The path was steep and slippery from all the rain. She was heaving now. She couldn’t help it, she took a quick look back. The three men were only twenty yards behind her. Two of them were flagging, but one of the men, their leader, she thought, was running hard. Another minute and he would be close enough to shoot her.
She leaned nearly to the ground and moved as quickly as she could up the winding path.
She looked up at the sound of a shout.
It was the most precious voice she’d ever heard in her life. It was Devlin’s voice, and he was there, on top of the cliffs, waiting for her, and she pressed forward, trying desperately not to slip, climbing for all she was worth toward his voice.
She heard the man climbing up below her. Hadn’t he heard Devlin’s voice? Didn’t he know he was now the prey?
She threw back her head and yelled, “Devlin, you’re wearing your hat!” When she felt his strong hand pull her up, she laughed and threw herself against him. “Their leader, he’s behind me. It’s not Richard. His voice sounded familiar to me, but I can’t place it. He’s still coming. Give me a gun, Devlin, I want to shoot him.”
66
Hardcross Manor
Leah threw the mare’s reins at the gaping stable boy.
“Is Master Richard here?”
The boy quickly tugged on his forelock. “No, milady, ’e went to Lunnon, don’t ye recall? Ye was ’ere when ’e left.”
“Of course I remember, you idiot.” She didn’t wait for him to assist her down. She jumped, nearly fell, but straightened and ran toward the manor.
The front door opened before she made it to the top of the stone steps. It was Vicky.
“Leah! Goodness, whatever is the matter? What are you doing here? Oh, my, you’re wet to your skin. Come in, come in.”
Thank God for Vicky. She was leading her inside the manor, bemoaning how wet she was, and asking her over and over what had happened.
Leah grabbed her arm. “Vicky, none of that matters. Is Richard here? Has he returned?”
“Richard?” Vicky cocked her head to the side. “You know he went to London. He was going to perform some task for our father.”
Some task for Lord Purley? Richard had said it was business, and she’d assumed it was his own private affairs.
“Take me to your father; I must speak to him now.”
“He isn’t here, Leah. He went riding, even knowing it was going to rain. I don’t know when he’ll be back. I do hope he does not return ill. What has happened? What is wrong?”
Leah didn’t want to scare Vicky. She had to get hold of herself. She drew in one deep breath, then another and yet another. “All right, everything is all right. Yes, I’m very wet. May I borrow some dry clothes?”
Vicky took Leah to her bedchamber and clucked over her as Leah stripped off her clothes behind an ornate Japanese screen and put on dry ones. She accepted only two petticoats—who needed a
dozen petticoats?—and pulled the lovely gown over her head. Vicky hooked the buttons up her back.
“Here are slippers.” The slippers, naturally, matched the green of the gown, a lovely soft Pomona green. Then Vicky sat her in front of the dressing-table mirror and began toweling her hair dry. If Leah wasn’t mistaken, Vicky was humming, very intent on what she was doing.
Leah said, “Roxanne was kidnapped again. Last night. She was taking part in Julian’s final smuggling operation.”
Vicky stared at her. “Smuggling? Goodness, there hasn’t been any smuggling in Cornwall forever. Well, not much that I’ve ever heard about. The prince—he’s a smuggler? How very romantic that is. However do you know this?”
“No one told me. I overheard Julian and Devlin speaking of it. Romantic? Well, it didn’t turn out that way. Devlin was with Roxanne, and he was struck down. When he awoke, Roxanne was gone. Everyone is out looking for her. I had to know—” Her voice fell dead. She looked mutely in the mirror at Vicky, who was working loose a tangle in her damp hair.
“You have beautiful hair, Leah.”
“That’s not important now. Didn’t you hear what I said? Roxanne is missing. Someone took her.”
“It appears someone is always taking her. Are you certain she didn’t whisk herself away this time? Mayhap because she likes the attention?”
That is something I would say. “Vicky, that makes no sense. Roxanne is sensible.”
Vicky shrugged. “Who knows what another will do and why? Is Devlin all right?”
“Yes, yes, a minor head injury, no more than that.”
“That’s good. I shouldn’t want to hear his lordship had died. Such a treat he is to the senses, don’t you think? And to watch him laugh and play the vampire, I find it quite amusing. He is so tall and lean, and so very white, such a contrast to his dark eyes and hair. I have wondered what it would be like to kiss him.”
“Please, Vicky, do you know if Richard indeed went to London?”
“Richard? No, I don’t know for sure if he went to London, how could I? He is a man, he can do as he pleases, he can strew lies where he pleases. All I know is that he isn’t here, so that means he had to go somewhere, doesn’t it?”
“Where is your maid, Vicky?”
“Oh, Whipple is doubtless in the village, having tea with her sister.”
“But why would you send her away? It’s raining.”
Vicky paused with her brushing, met Leah’s wild eyes in the mirror. “I don’t know why you should care, Leah. Am I not doing a fine job assisting you?” Leah’s hair tangled in the brush, and she yelped.
“How clumsy of me. Do forgive me.” Vicky worked Leah’s hair free and continued to brush until it was nearly dry.
“Do you know, the gown fits you very well. We are nearly of a size, isn’t that fortunate, since you will be my new sister?”
Who cares?
“I had another sister, you know. Her name was Lily. She was very nearly my size as well. The gown you’re wearing belonged to Lily. It was one of her favorites. It has been hanging in my wardrobe for three years now. I haven’t worn it, but I thought it would be perfect for you. I’m glad, since it seems you will replace Lily.”
Leah met her eyes in the mirror. Something was wrong here, something she didn’t understand. She said, never looking away from Vicky’s face, “I do not wish to replace Lily. She was your real sister, as Roxanne is mine. Do you know where Roxanne is, Vicky?”
“I? However could I know where your sister is? Could she be hiding from the prince? Perhaps she no longer wishes to wed him? He has asked her, has he not?”
Leah shook her head. “We were all quite wrong about that. It isn’t Roxanne Julian prefers, it is Sophie.”
“Sophie? How can that be possible? I’ve seen him treat her as one would a precocious child but nothing else. Surely it is Roxanne.”
Leah shook her head. She watched Vicky reach into a small jewelry box and pull out a small golden heart on a delicate gold chain. “This also belonged to Lily. She wore it always.” Vicky flicked open the locket and showed it to Leah.
She saw a small painting of a young woman with black hair and eyes so dark they looked opaque. A small portrait of Julian was opposite hers, and she saw Lily’s eyes were even darker than his. They both looked very young and very proud. Why had she thought that?
Leah smelled Vicky’s light rose scent as she leaned close and pointed. “Isn’t she beautiful? More beautiful than you, but again, surely Richard would not agree. That sort of thing depends on who is doing the looking, doesn’t it? The prince loved Lily; he treated her like a princess—fitting, since he is, after all, the Prince of Ravenscar.”
“Her portrait—Lily doesn’t look particularly happy to me.”
“Do you know, I believe you are right. I do wonder what she is thinking. She posed for this miniature for two whole days. Father was rather upset that the young man demanded so much of her time. What do you believe she’s thinking, Leah?”
“I could have no idea, since I didn’t know your sister.”
“And now she is dead, so what would it matter what she was thinking so long ago? Did you know, Lily was wearing the pendant the day she died? When all the women were removing her clothes to wash her, I took it off her and put it in this beautiful jewelry box. The jewelry box was hers as well. She never took it with her to Ravenscar. I asked her why she hadn’t, but she only shook her head and wouldn’t answer. It is much nicer than mine, and I enjoy looking at it. I have never wanted to wear any of her jewelry. I do look at the locket occasionally, when I can’t remember what she looked like.”
“Why didn’t you give the locket to Julian?”
Vicky shrugged. “Julian—how odd that name sounds. He is the prince, everyone calls him that.” Leah watched Vicky carefully remove the small portraits from the locket, close it, then slip it back onto the chain and over Leah’s head before she could stop her.
She clutched the locket. It felt like a heavy stone in her hand. She hated it. “No, no, Vicky, I don’t wish to wear it.”
“Why not? It looks perfect with this gown, don’t you think? Both yours and Richard’s miniatures can be painted and put in the locket. Yes, that looks quite fine. You do not believe Richard will mind, do you?”
Leah dropped her hand from the locket. She shook her head, stared at herself in the mirror, then at Vicky, standing behind her. Their eyes met in the mirror. Vicky smiled, lifted a mass of her hair. “Very nearly dry now. I shall arrange your hair for you.”
Leah said, “I can twist it up, do not concern yourself.”
“Hold still, Leah. I occasionally arranged Lily’s hair. She said I had a special talent for it. No, don’t try to move away. You will see how very fine you will look.”
Leah sat frozen, not knowing what to do. Neither Lord Purley nor Richard was here. Vicky’s maid wasn’t here. She was alone—no, she was being absurd. This was Vicky, a bit on the odd side, but surely that had nothing to do with anything.
It stopped raining. A sliver of sun burst through the window into the bedchamber.
“Vicky, have you been to London? Did you have a Season?”
Vicky was humming again. She grew still, then said, “No, I have never been there. Lily teased Father, begged him to let her have a Season, and finally he agreed. She went to London to stay in a fine house my father rented for three months. He even brought our aunt Elaine down from Gatenby to be her chaperone.
“What happened is strange indeed. She hadn’t seen the prince in a very long time, since he was always out of the country, in Italy, I believe, working on building up his shipping empire. A prince should have an empire, don’t you think? When she went to her first ball, he was there. When they saw each other, Aunt Elaine told my father, they both began to laugh. To meet after so long, and in London, of all places. It was fate, they both believed.
“Two months later, she married the prince, and Lily moved in to Ravenscar. Her grace, if I recall aright, was
always very kind to Lily, just as I’m certain she’s also kind to you. Do you know what I mean?”
“No. What do you mean?”
“I know for a fact her grace didn’t want the prince to marry Lily. Why, I don’t know. Perhaps she’d heard something about her. I understand she really quite detests you.”
“Why would you say such a thing to me?”
“Oh, it is something I fancy I must have heard. I don’t remember. Am I wrong? Well, no matter. What I say doesn’t count for anything, now, does it?”
Leah heard herself say, “Surely Lily called him Julian, not the prince.”
“No, she always called him prince, all her life, like everyone else—my prince. I know he didn’t used to like being called prince, but he certainly liked the way Lily said it. I heard him tell Lily he loved to hear her whisper prince to him once, and then he was kissing her, pressing her up against the wall.
“Three years ago, I turned eighteen and I asked my father if I could go to London for a Season. Maybe, I told him, I could find a prince as well.
“But you see, Lily had died two months before the Season began, and Richard said we all had to mourn her for a year. I thought that rather foolish, since wearing black had nothing at all to do with the grief we all felt, but I was told there was no choice and I had to wear black gowns. I have always hated black; it makes me look rather sallow.”
“So did you go to London for your Season when you were nineteen?”
She saw Vicky was plaiting her hair. Leah had never worn braids, even as a little girl; she’d always loved to wear her beautiful hair loose and flying about her head when she ran. She started to say something when Vicky said, “No, I decided I wished to stay here in Cornwall. This is my home. I decided I didn’t want a prince any longer.”
Vicky kept plaiting. Leah stared at her in the mirror. “But why?”
Vicky shrugged. “Richard and Father believe the prince murdered Lily. I don’t know what happened, no one does, even though Richard swears the prince is guilty. When I found her, I remember I kissed her and she felt so very cold. It was quite horrible. Her eyes were staring up at me, but she wasn’t there any longer. I remember I rubbed and rubbed my mouth to wipe the cold away. It took a very long time.
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