by Mary Campisi
Cyrus gripped his reins tighter and followed Emily’s lead, breaking into a full gallop, shortening the distance to the rider and the answers to the questions pounding in his brain. Within a matter of minutes, they pulled their mounts up, stopping several feet from the man Cyrus knew must be Andrew Kleeton. Billington had always been accurate with his descriptions and he’d not failed in this instance. Andrew Kleeton’s features were fine-boned and delicate, his hair blond, his eyes blue, his nose thin and straight. Nothing like Noah Sandleton. And unlike Noah, who could intimidate with a mere look, this man seemed incapable of frowning, much less coldblooded killing.
But looks could be most deceiving.
“Hello, Lady Emily. As always, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” The man’s voice slipped out like a caress. “Somewhat earlier than usual, but I was happy to accommodate your note and was pleased to receive it last evening.”
Emily cleared her throat and said, “Yes, well, thank you. I would like to introduce you to Mr. Cyrus Mandrey. Mr. Mandrey, this is Mr.Andrew Kleeton.”
Both men nodded.
“Mr. Mandrey is staying at Glenview Manor for a time,” Emily said.
“How nice,” Andrew murmured, his gaze scanning Cyrus’s shaggy head and thick glasses. “Are you a relative? A cousin perhaps?” The small smile playing about Kleeton’s well curved lips told Cyrus he thought him a buffoon, no matter who he was.
“Not exactly.” Emily shifted in her saddle and cast a sideways glance at Cyrus.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the trio, as the men waited for Emily to speak again. She fumbled with her reins and almost dropped them. Allegra sensed her mistress’ discomfort and lifted her head, snorting and pawing the ground. The stallions eyed one another, nickering and blowing until Cyrus placed a hand on Speed Demon’s mane and the horse stilled.
“Forgive me,” Kleeton said, his words directed at Emily. “It was not my intention to embarrass you, yet it seems I’ve done exactly that. I was merely being polite, nothing more.”
Emily was quick to ease the man’s concern. “You have nothing to apologize for. It’s just that the circumstances surrounding Mr. Mandrey’s presence are a little”—she paused—“embarrassing.”
“Then we needn’t discuss it,” Andrew said simply.
“I want to.” Emily pushed back a stray lock of hair as Cyrus watched the by-play with growing irritation. Kleeton had her eating right out of his hand. He knew what to say and how to say it to get exactly what he wanted and make it look as though he had no part in it.
“It really isn’t necessary,” Kleeton said.
Emily smiled. A sweet, innocent smile just for Kleeton. Smiles like that should be reserved for her husband.
“Mr. Mandrey has been hired as my protector.” She laughed. “The whole thing is quite ridiculous really. He’s supposed to guard me from my husband.”
That remark got a reaction from Kleeton. It was subtle, nothing more than a slight flinch of his left hand but Cyrus noticed it as well as the gray leather covering that hand.
Kleeton recovered quickly. “Guard you from your husband? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Nor do I. I tried to tell my brother it wasn’t necessary, but he refused to listen. He gave me two choices, one of which was Mr. Mandrey. Had I chosen the other, I would have been back in his home last evening.”
“Then I shall be indebted to Mr. Mandrey for keeping you here,” Kleeton said, giving a slight nod in Cyrus’s direction.
“I’ve only been at Glenview Manor a short time, but it feels like home already.” Her eyes sparkled as she scanned the fields and rolling hills peppered with elm trees and several hundred feet away, clumps of orange and yellow daylilies. “It’s breathtaking.”
“Yes, it is,” Kleeton agreed, but his eyes were on Emily. He thought she was exquisite. Cyrus balled his hands into fists, wishing he could sink one of them into Kleeton’s perfect nose. Then it wouldn’t be so perfect anymore. The man had nerve, trying to seduce his wife right in front of him. Of course, he didn’t know that Noah Sandleton was within ten feet of him, disguised under a brown wig and beard.
“Let’s race,” Emily said, a glimmer of excitement in her voice. “Mr. Mandrey is an accomplished horseman too.”
“Bravo,” Kleeton said, but his words sounded flat.
“Hah!” Emily yelled, digging her booted heels into Allegra’s sides. The mare bolted off down the hill at lightning speed. Kleeton’s horse fell in behind with Cyrus in a close third. The riders leaned low and flat over their mounts, bending to the wind. Kleeton overtook Emily when they came out of the second hill. Cyrus passed her a few minutes later. He set his sights on the back of Kleeton’s tan jacket and dug his heels into Speed Demon’s side, calling out praise as they soared through the field. Kleeton must have sensed his lead was in jeopardy, because he pulled out a riding crop and whacked his mount several times on the hindquarters. Despite the bite of the crop, the white stallion slowed, as though he’d been ridden all out too early in the game and had nothing left.
Cyrus took advantage of the animal’s distress, sailing past him, head low, knees in tight. He raced on for several hundred feet before glancing back to see how his competition fared. Kleeton had slowed his horse to a trot but Emily was still barreling forward in a valiant effort to finish the race. Pulling up on Speed Demon, Cyrus settled him into a light canter as he waited for Emily.
“My goodness,” she called out in a breathless voice, falling into pace with him, “you certainly are a superb horseman.”
“Speed Demon is a superb horse,” Cyrus said. “That makes all the difference in the world.” He glanced behind to see Kleeton gaining on them. Another thirty seconds and he would be bearing down upon them.
“You and Speed Demon are the perfect match. Why you practically flew over the field!” Emily said, her face alive with excitement.
“Perhaps you’re right, Lady Emily,” Cyrus agreed. “But isn’t that life? Finding the right match?”
“What do you mean?” She cast him a sideways glance, her golden brows pulled down in puzzlement.
“When a person finds his perfect match, he can do anything. A lame man with a lightning fast horse can fly.” He stopped his horse and faced her. She must have known he was referring to himself, because she grew very still. “And an unworthy man with an honest woman can turn into the most trustworthy husband in the world.”
He watched her face as his words sunk in. She looked stricken, her gray eyes wide, her face pale. “Not always, Mr. Mandrey. Not always.”
He opened his mouth to speak but Kleeton was upon them. “That was quite a show, Mandrey,” he said, assessing Cyrus with renewed interest.
Cyrus shrugged. “As I told Lady Emily, Speed Demon is an excellent horse.”
Kleeton nodded. “Avenger and I are not in the habit of losing.” He patted the big white stallion with a gloved hand. Cyrus’s attention focused on the gray leather molded to Kleeton’s hand. Beneath the leather hid the truth, a truth that could either expose Kleeton as a criminal or pardon him as an innocent.
One way or the other, Cyrus would find out.
****
“And that I believe is checkmate.” Cyrus moved his bishop to trap Emily’s king.
“You win,” Emily conceded on a sigh. “Again.”
Cyrus smiled at her. It was difficult to see the smile beneath all that hair, but she could hear it in his voice as it softened and lost some of its hoarseness. She rather liked it that way, though he didn’t do it often enough. In the three weeks since his arrival at the manor, she’d grown accustomed to spending hours at a time with him. They rode horses every morning at eight o’clock, a concession for Cyrus’s choice, which was six o’clock and hers, which was ten. Andrew Kleeton didn’t accompany them on their early morning jaunts, but was included in the afternoon ones. Evenings were quiet, simple affairs with dinner and card games or chess afterward.
Why did she feel so comfortable with t
his man, who just a few short weeks before, had been a complete stranger? Perhaps it was his unpretentious manner or his silent strength that enabled her to relax with him. He could sense her moods and anticipate her reaction, sometimes before she did.
“Would you care for coffee?” She remembered he preferred coffee to tea.
“No, thank you. I’m stuffed. I’ve never had such excellent lamb. And the cherry tarts were exquisite.”
Emily laughed. “I thought you liked the tarts. How many did you have? Four? Or Five?”
“Six,” Cyrus admitted. “Did you notice how pleased the cook was when I complimented her? She was ready to bring out ten more.”
“She’ll probably expect me to eat as many when you’re gone. I’ll be as big as a house if you don’t stop with your compliments.”
Their gazes locked, but Cyrus said nothing. Emily wished she could see his eyes beneath the wire spectacles he wore. Eyes were the conveyors of true emotion and her inability to see his put her at a true advantage.
“Perhaps you won’t be dining alone after I leave.”
“I suppose Ian and Augusta will visit from time to time. And I have a very dear friend who would love Glenview Manor. I could invite her for a long weekend if her father and brothers will consent. Of course, Andrew would be invited.”
Cyrus’s bushy brows creased into a straight line. “I wasn’t thinking of Kleeton.”
The sharpness in his tone surprised her. “You don’t like him, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
He usually maintained neutral ground, trying to understand both sides of a situation with their accompanying consequences but when the subject of Andrew Kleeton arose, Cyrus’s opinions were harsh. She hadn’t missed the subtle insults both men had been dropping at each other for the past two days. Andrew considered Cyrus a servant, who took far too many liberties in his limited position as temporary protector to Emily and saw no reason why the man should follow them about when they went riding. Andrew maintained that his skill with a pistol, a sword, and if need be, his fists, would protect Emily from the invisible threat of a husband.
As for Cyrus, she didn’t know what it was that made him dislike Andrew so, but she intended to find out. “Would you be so kind as to tell me exactly what you find so offensive about Mr. Kleeton?”
He took a sip of his sherry. “I dislike any man bent on seducing another man’s wife. Especially if it’s one I’m supposed to be protecting.”
“How can you say that? Mr. Kleeton is not trying to seduce me!”
“What do you call it?” he asked, folding his arms over his broad chest.
“I call it being a friend.”
“Then he’s trying to become an awfully familiar friend.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Is it?” He stood and braced his hands on either side of the mahogany table, leaning forward a bit to close the distance between them. “Are the two of you not on a first name basis?”
“Only recently, but that is of no consequence,” she answered, a bit intimidated by his closeness. His face, that which wasn’t covered by hair, was much younger than she would have guessed. She’d thought him well into his forties, but realized he was probably on the low end of thirty.
“It is of consequence,” he bit out, revealing a set of even, white teeth.
He had nice teeth too. And two well shaped lips. Sensual lips. On Cyrus Mandrey?
“Emily?”
“What?” What other secrets lay hidden beneath all that hair?
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”
“Hah!” She jumped from her chair and glared at him. “You just called me Emily. Not Lady Emily. If I call you Cyrus, does that mean you and I are involved in a clandestine relationship?”
He shook his bushy head. “Of course not.”
“Good.” She smiled. “Then you may call me Emily and I will call you Cyrus.”
“Don’t change the subject. Emily.” He leaned farther over the table, moving closer to her. “Does Andrew not find every possible opportunity to touch your person?”
“No!” she denied. He was so close she could smell his spicy cologne.
“Does he not act as your personal footman, assisting you as you mount, and dismount Allegra?”
“Yes, but—”
“Does he not clasp your arm as he walks you about, trying to locate the perfect spot in the field for you to sit?” Cyrus didn’t give her a chance to respond. “And when he locates that perfect spot, does he not place his hand at the small of your back, guiding you to your seat, lingering just a bit longer each time?” His voice rose with each accusation until it became nothing more than a menacing growl.
“It’s not like that,” she whispered, a tiny thread of fear wrapping around her with each angry word he spoke. This was a side of Cyrus Mandrey she hadn’t seen before. A violent, dangerous side.
“Look at me, Emily,” he commanded.
She looked down, studying his large hands, splayed across the table. Strong, tanned, capable hands. With calluses. He didn’t seem like a man who engaged in manual labor, but his hands belied that fact. Why hadn’t she noticed this before?
“Look at me.”
Emily squared her shoulders and raised her head to stare at his dark eyes through the lenses of his spectacles. The glass was so thick she couldn’t make out the actual color of his eyes. Dark brown? Black?
“He caresses you with his voice,” Cyrus continued. “In soft, low tones, so you have to lean close to hear him.”
“Andrew speaks in the pleasant, cultured tone of a true gentleman. Unlike others I know, who shall remain nameless.” She sounded cold and haughty, but Cyrus deserved it. He had no business making cruel insinuations about a man he barely knew.
“Kleeton is no gentleman, and you know nothing about him other than what he’s chosen to reveal. For all you know, your Mr. Kleeton could be a thief. Or a murderer.”
“That’s absurd.” Andrew Kleeton had been nothing but kind and considerate since the morning she’d met him. Like a brother. Like Christopher.
“What I find so absurd is how you can be so trusting of a complete stranger and so critical of your own husband,” he flung back.
Anger bubbled through her, filled her soul with a fire that burned in her next words. “My husband doesn’t deserve my trust.” She balled her hands into fists, so tight her nails dug into the flesh of her palm.
“How can you be so certain?” he asked. “Perhaps there are circumstances which sent him away.”
Something in his voice reminded her of the desolate winds of winter, whipping over the land, leaving it stripped and barren. She ignored the voice, ignored the feeling that Cyrus was the wind whipping over the land, alone, in pain and despair. She could think of nothing but closing the wound he was so determined to scratch open. If she allowed even the tiniest possibility that Noah had not wanted to leave her then the great wall of anger that protected her from loving him might come crashing down, piling onto the ground like so much rubble. It would crush her and all the defenses she’d spent weeks developing. She’d be left alone, naked, and vulnerable once again to the man who could strip away her pride with a single look.
As if suddenly realizing he’d gone far beyond the bounds of propriety, Cyrus stepped back from the table, cleared his throat, and spoke. “Please accept my apologies. My temper got the best of me and I spoke out of turn.”
He looked so perfect, so proper standing there, his words cool and void of emotion. Emily rather thought she liked the heated version of Cyrus Mandrey much better than the lukewarm one he presented to the world.
“He’s a friend, Cyrus,” she said, wanting to make him understand and hoping to divert his attention from further talk of Noah. “I care about him like a brother, nothing more.”
She thought those words would soothe him, but he was around the table, bearing down on her before she could say another word. “Andrew Kleeton is not your brother,” he said, his voice dar
ker than a moonless night. “And you are a married woman.”
How dare he accuse her of impropriety? “I’m well aware of my marital status,” she hissed. He stepped closer. His trousers brushed the hem of her gown. Emily inched backward.
“Then perhaps Mr. Kleeton needs reminding”—he leaned toward her—“so he will stop trying to get into your bed.”
Emily’s hand flew up to slap him, but Cyrus caught her by the wrist. They stared at one another as silence deepened the chasm between them like unbanked floodwaters.
Cyrus spoke first. “I won’t apologize for speaking the truth. The man wants you in his bed.”
He released her then and without another look, turned on his heel and left. Emily stared after him, her anger forgotten for the moment as she replayed the last several seconds over in her mind. She could have sworn Cyrus walked out the door with calm, purposeful strides and not a single shuffle.
Chapter 13
The house vibrated with tension. Everyone noticed it from the footman to the chamber maid. There were no raised voices. No slamming doors. No stomping feet. Not a single disagreeable word. Only silence. A silence so dark and deep it crushed any thoughts of smiles and laughter, smothered the very idea of lightheartedness. It began to eat away at the inhabitants of Glenview Manor, an insidious disease, gnawing at their souls, stealing their peace of mind. They avoided Cyrus and Emily as much as possible. Cyrus didn’t blame them, he didn’t much like his company these days either.
He should try to settle things with Emily so the household could get back to normal. But after three days, he was still furious with her. Last night as he lay in bed, staring into the darkness, he admitted his anger had little to do with the fact that Emily had tried to slap him. No, the red hot fire in his gut centered on her unwillingness to believe anything bad about Kleeton. Or anything good about her husband.
He paced back and forth in the library, stopping occasionally to glance out the double paned window. Emily knelt on the grass, her gloved hands covered with dirt as she separated a clump of herbs. She looked serene. Content. Cyrus cursed. How could she look so damned happy, when he was so damned miserable?