Barefoot in the Dark

by Suzanne Enoch

  He wasn’t her damned parent, telling her what she could or couldn’t do. But keeping her safe, by which he meant both alive and out of prison, had just about a year ago become his first priority in everything. He ranked it right alongside keeping her with him. That was why he’d had Tom Donner make up a list of which countries didn’t extradite to the United States, and he’d memorized it. That wouldn’t help if Interpol caught up with her for a crime in Europe, but they spent most of their time in America, and so it was from there that any threat was most likely to come.

  “What’s up?” she asked, eyeing him.

  “I’m just wondering whether I should hire a film crew to document your first ride.” With another kiss he lowered his hands from her hips. “But first I need some breakfast. It takes a great deal of energy to be as heroically warm and sexy as I was last night.”

  “Mm hm. You did earn a pretty damn hearty meal. Let’s go, then. I want to know if Norway’s still in a huff.”

  “You’re not planning on making more trouble, are you?”

  “She started it. I prefer to make my own trouble.”

  “It could have been an honest mistake. You told me. My aunt told my uncle, and Norway, as you call her, told Reg.”

  “I checked with your aunt. Norway told her and your uncle we were all dressing up.”

  Richard pulled open the door and stood aside to let her precede him. “It still could have been an oversight.”

  “Fine. You be all naïve, and I’ll watch our backs,” she said over her shoulder, as she passed by him. “By the way, your aunt’s taken up painting, and she’s not half bad. She brought photos to show. You should ask her about them.”

  For a woman without a family, Samantha had a keen sense of where repairs between relations needed to be made. Even the ones he’d caused by his own stubbornness. True, a just-orphaned nineteen-year-old didn’t want to be told what to do by a probably well-meaning aunt and uncle, but he wasn’t nineteen any longer. “I will.”

  “Good. And I want a calm horse. A really calm one. Half dead, even.”

  The scent of warm bread and bacon met them halfway down the stairs. Inside the breakfast room a hot pot of coffee awaited him, while a glass of ice and a can of diet Coke had already been placed at the spot where Samantha generally sat. Perhaps things felt too perfect because they were just perfect enough.

  Or not. As he piled bacon and over-easy eggs on his plate, Reg and Miss Nyland made their appearance. He wasn’t about to greet them first, on the very good chance that neither of them would respond. Because whatever he’d told Samantha about innocent mistakes, he didn’t think last night had been one of them. Power, negotiation – they were like part of his own nervous system. Reg wanted something, and he had no intention of aiding his cousin in any way. He, therefore, had the position of power. He wasn’t about to give it up in exchange for an unanswered hello.

  “Good morning,” Samantha said, smiling as she and her plate took their seats. “Rick and I are going horseback riding this morning, if you want to join us.”

  Richard sent her a quick frown. Samantha inviting other people to witness her attempting something at which she had no skill didn’t make any sense. “Really?” he whispered, as he moved around behind her.

  “Oh, riding sounds delightful,” Eerika gushed. “I haven’t ridden in ages. Might we, Reginald?”

  “There’s nothing else to do here but play cards with my parents,” Reg answered stiffly. “We may as well.”

  The pair went over to the sideboard, and Samantha leaned over toward him at the head of the table. “Reggie can’t be pulling down walls if he’s with us,” she whispered back.

  It was for him, then. She was willing to risk being embarrassed in exchange for keeping his cousin from digging through the west wing for a few hours. The cynical half of him also had to note that going riding would keep Reg from finding any treasure before she could do so herself, but one thing at a time. “The heavy equipment is supposed to be here by noon,” he said aloud. “I’ve also sent for my architect and a structural engineer. It’s fairly obvious that I won’t be able to repair the west wing, so I’ll be replacing it.”

  That got Reg’s attention. “You’d just tear it all down, then? What if I were to send for a historian? Someone who might object to you ripping things apart without assessing what the country could be losing?”

  Richard finished chewing his mouthful. “Be my guest. Who knows? After I restore the place I may decide to hand it, and a large endowment, over to the National Trust after all. Or I may change my mind again. At any rate, I’m opening a museum that should bring a large amount of tourist money to Devon and won’t cost the county a penny. Don’t be an idiot and think you can convince them to sue me over some rotted wood and ruined carpet.”

  Something rammed into his shin beneath the table. Hard. His only suspect was in the middle of wolfing down an omelet, her gaze on her plate. If she expected him to cow or to sit quietly while his own cousin threatened him, she didn’t know him very well. But then, she did know him very well. He took a slow breath.

  He’d just shortened Reg’s timeline to find the treasure, and then he’d taken the bait when Reg had threatened him, giving his cousin the excuse to avoid going for a ride so that he could go digging instead. After Samantha had gone to the trouble of arranging for Reg to be away from the house in the first place.

  “But beneath all the stomping and blowing,” he went on, “we’re still family, Reg. We’ve drifted farther apart than we should have, and I’d like to amend that. If you’re still set on going on a treasure hunt, I’ll give you a day or two to dig through the rubble – as long as you stay safe while you’re doing it.”

  Reg remained on his feet, chest out and shoulders squared. Eerika, though, sank down gracefully onto a chair. “You know you’re always grumpy before you’ve had your breakfast, Reginald. Let’s eat, go riding, and then decide if you’re still indignant or not.”

  “Sure, if Ricky apologizes for calling me an idiot.”

  So now they were back in public school again. “Certainly, if you stop acting—”

  Crack. Samantha’s boot found his shin again.

  “—like I’m personally trying to ruin your life,” Richard amended, making a mental note to purchase shin guards before his next argument with Samantha. “Which I am not.”

  With a pause for dramatic effect Reg deflated enough to take a seat. “Not quite an apology, but I’ll take it. I suppose I have to, if I want to be invited to the wedding.”

  “I’d invite you anyway, Reggie,” Samantha finally put in. “You’re Rick’s family. No fisticuffs is good, though. I’ve never ridden before, and I really don’t want you guys bellowing at each other while I’m trying not to be killed.”

  Miss Nyland chuckled, clapping her hands together. “You’ve never ridden? Oh, if you’re going to be an English lord’s wife you must learn.”

  “Because we’re time traveling back to Jane Austen days?” Samantha suggested.

  “If only we could! But there are charity rides, the polo matches where Rick already shows so well, pony judging… So many things! I’m happy we can assist you!”

  “Oh, good,” Samantha said, gulping down her soda. “You can never have too much help.”

  A little too much help would serve her right for kicking him. “You’re a horsewoman then, Miss Nyland?” he asked.

  “I’ve won several ribbons, if I say so myself. And please do call me Eerika. You’ve given your leave for me to call you Rick, after all.”

  He didn’t remember doing any such thing, but it didn’t matter. “Eerika, then. I’m certain Samantha would appreciate any pointers you’re willing to offer.”

  The tall blonde picked at her plate of fruit. “With pleasure. Will you be riding in the proper style then, Sam?”

  “If you’re talking about riding sidesaddle, no way. I’m going to be holding on with everything I’ve got.”

  “We can’t have that. Not with y
ou being an American. Once you become a marchioness, you’ll have duties.”

  Samantha turned her head, pinning Richard with a look that might just keep him awake at night. “Duties?”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” he said, reaching over to take her hand. He was accustomed to battling on several fronts, and the two of them were already at odds over the highwaymen nonsense, but this… This one could do some damage if he couldn’t head it off. “It’s nothing you can’t handle.”

  “Says you.” She set aside her fork and stood. “I’ll be out at the stable trying some bribery.” On her way out she liberated a pair of apples, dumping them into her jacket pockets.

  He wanted to go after her. She had a history of fleeing when she felt trapped, and he wasn’t about to let her get a head start. On the other hand, she hadn’t made a run for it in weeks, even when he’d asked her to marry him. She loved him. He knew that. He was going to have to trust in it sooner or later.

  Deliberately he took another bite of his eggs. “I want your word, Reg, that you won’t go into the west wing alone, and that you’ll wear a hard hat. I’d ask that you not blame me when you don’t find anything, but that would make me delusional.”

  “Why don’t you tell me where the map is? Then you won’t have to worry about me blaming you for anything.”

  “I told you what happened to the map.” Finishing off his coffee, he climbed to his feet. “And for God’s sake keep in mind that I invited you here to meet my fiancé. Make an attempt to do that, will you? If it doesn’t interfere too much with the reason you actually came here, that is.”

  Even without Samantha there to kick him he knew he was pushing things again, so instead of elaborating on what he thought of his cousin’s new obsession he inclined his head and gestured them toward the hallway door.

  “Don’t I even get to finish eating?” Reg asked.

  “No. Samantha’s out there getting nervous because you two had to talk about duties and obligations, so we will go out now and reassure her. We will compliment her efforts, and we will be extremely supportive and informative. Is that clear?”

  “Of course we’ll be helpful,” Eerika said, pulling on a jacket. “I certainly never intended to be anything but helpful. Sam and I are practically sisters.”

  Reg drew even with him as they left the house for the front drive. “Miss Jellicoe doesn’t strike me as being particularly shy or fearful.”

  “She isn’t, generally. But she is private. She would have to engage with the aristocracy as much as I do, which is almost never.”

  “I’m not the one who mentioned charity rides and pony judging. That was Eerika. She’d give her left arm to have those obligations. Showing off in front of rich, snobby women gets her off.”

  “Then why is she with you?” Samantha had mentioned that Miss Nyland’s pursuit had evidently been very focused on Reg, as well, but he wasn’t about to have that discussion.

  “Ha ha. Very amusing. Just because you absent yourself from the obligations of your station doesn’t mean the rest of us do. Dad, Mum, and I always attend the Derby opening, Wimbledon, Parliament, and all the other things you so studiously avoid. Hell, I’m practically your official stand-in. Didn’t you know that?”

  “Honestly, it’s never really crossed my mind. But don’t expect me to believe for a second that you get nothing out of it.”

  “Oh, I get tail like you wouldn’t believe. There’s a whole cult of aristocracy groupies. After William and Kate’s wedding I didn’t even surface for a week.”

  Richard glanced ahead of them as Eerika slipped into the stable. “Is that where you caught Eerika’s attention? Before she pretended to buy a car from you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’ll call it even.”

  Perhaps he needed to pay more attention to his inherited obligations. He’d always put them second to his business ones, and since he’d met Samantha they’d fallen even further down the list. No, she wouldn’t wish to participate in some of it, but his thief had a soft spot for charities and causes. He could certainly afford them, and he could use some more good karma. Anything to insulate Samantha a little better from her past misdeeds.

  Inside the stable, closed off from the part they now used as a garage, waited half a dozen horses and a trio of grooms. He’d had them brought up from Rawley a few weeks ago, when he’d first decided Samantha needed to meet his family. Samantha leaned up against one of the stall doors while a foot or so in front of her a large chestnut mare sloppily chewed up an apple.

  “You’ve met Lily, I see,” he said, walking over to join her.

  “She wasn’t at Rawley Park. Where’s Molly?”

  “Molly’s still at Rawley. I thought you might like Lily. She’s nearly in a coma, she’s so calm.” He tilted his head. “You remembered Molly?”

  Samantha pointed at her head. “Really? Have you met me?”

  “Point taken.”

  “Briggs said you’ve acquired a new gelding. Major Pumpernickel or something.”

  “So you remember a horse you barely set eyes on, but you can’t remember my new bay after you were clearly just introduced?” Richard put a hand to his ear. “Say his name, Sam, if you expect his support and assistance.”

  “Fine.” She took a deep breath. “Major General Llewelyn Alberic Emilius Price-Davies. Named for the English recipient of the Victoria Cross who died in 1965 at the age of ninety-five.”

  “Going for extra credit points, are you?” He put an arm across her shoulders and pulled her against his side. “I know you don’t like displaying any sub-par skills in front of other people. I appreciate this, my lass.”

  She smiled. “My lass. I like that. Just remember that you owe me one.”

  “Thankfully you won’t let me forget.”

  He did appreciate it. Yes, he’d now more or less given his permission for both Reg and Samantha to go digging through the ruins, but neither of them would be doing it this morning. Neither of them would be finding the damned map there, either, and Sam had no access to details of anything. Reg already knew the tales, but if he hadn’t figured anything out by now, he never would.

  The part of him that liked taking risks, the part of him that dove straight into the deep end after Samantha, looked forward to watching her try and fail because he’d already taken steps to see that she would do so. He’d caught her once, but that had been in the process of working with her to solve a crime. This time they would seem to be at cross-purposes. Nemeses, as she’d said. And he really wanted to win, as much as he wanted to see how she would handle losing.

  “Briggs, let’s put Lily in the pen, shall we?” he said aloud. “She won’t take off on you, Samantha, but this way you won’t have to worry about it.”

  “I’ll see to it, my lord. Let’s get the rest of you mounted first, though.” The English groom sounded out of place here, but he knew what he was about. He nodded at Samantha. “Lily’s a sweetheart, but any animal’s easier to control while they’re moving than while they’re trying to stand still.”

  “Okay. I’m not about to argue.”

  They put Reg up on a black gelding named Pitch, while Eerika chose Lady, a gray mare trained for sidesaddle. He could see Samantha eyeing the rig as they all went outside and Reg lifted Norway onto the saddle. “Lily’s not trained for a lady’s saddle,” he murmured. “I reckoned you’d be more comfortable with cowboy-style riding.”

  “Damn straight,” she returned, climbing up the bottom of rail of the pen to watch Briggs saddle the chestnut mare.

  “I thought you wanted to learn how to ride properly,” Eerika said, walking by on Lady and circling back again, and not sounding the least bit supportive or helpful despite her promise to be both. “You’re already at a disadvantage because you’re, you know, American.”

  “Oh, get me the fuck up there,” Samantha muttered, and stepped up to hop gracefully over the railing.

  Richard wanted to hand her into the saddle himself, but Briggs had been
right about moving being easier than standing still. He swung up on Major, sending the bay over beside the gate. Was Samantha going to play the part of the neophyte equestrian, or would she be herself? It was difficult to tell the difference sometimes.

  With Briggs holding Lily’s bridle and issuing softly-spoken instructions, Samantha took hold of the saddle horn, put her left foot in the stirrup, and swung herself up into the saddle with all of her usual easy athleticism. The groom specialized in first-time riders, and after having him on the payroll for six months Richard was supremely gratified to see just how good he was at his job.

  She took hold of the reins as Ross guided Lily in a wide circle and gave instructions on steering and braking. Once she’d attempted the various controls Ross stepped back and sent her around again. The moment Samantha smiled, Richard leaned down and unfastened the gate, then pulled it wide.

  12

  Saturday, 12:07 p.m.

  After three hours of torture, and however independent and self-sufficient she considered herself, Samantha was extremely grateful to see Rick hop down from Major and then walk over to half-lift her out of her saddle. When her feet touched the ground, her legs wobbled. “This, I don’t like,” she grumbled, grabbing onto his shoulder. Three hours in the saddle, her brain making a geographical survey while her ass chafed – it had better have been worth it.

  “Give it a second. Did you like the rest of it?”

  Even without her map survey making the excursion necessary, the weather had been brisk, the trees except for the pines starting to turn red and yellow along the outermost limbs, and a trio of deer and a fox had trotted across their path. “Of course I did. It’s stunning here. The company ain’t bad, either.”

  Rick grinned. “Good. I like it here, too. More than I realized. Once the west wing and the power and internet are all useable, I think we should spend more time here.”