Marshal and the Heiress

by Potter, Patricia;

  The apology was nicely said. He nodded.

  “Day after tomorrow?”

  He nodded again.

  “I’ll make the arrangements,” she said. “Though I don’t know if Sarah Ann will leave that pony.”

  Ben hadn’t thought of that. He was still getting used to the needs and wants of a tiny person.

  “We can leave her here,” Barbara said. “She’ll be well cared for.”

  Ben studied the beautiful woman before him, considering her motives. Why would she suggest leaving Sarah Ann behind? Thoughtfulness? Or something else? Sarah Ann was the heiress, not him, and any intended harm would be directed toward her.

  “No,” he said firmly. “Sarah Ann goes with us.”

  Barbara shrugged, though he saw disappointment in her eyes.

  They separated inside the manor entrance.

  “I’ll see you at dinner,” she said.

  “My thanks for the apple and sugar,” he replied, trying to ease the sting of his earlier brusqueness.

  She hesitated, looking very, very pretty, and winked at Sarah Ann. “Have a good nap, Sarah Ann,” she said, then hurried down the hall.

  Lady Barbara Hamilton could be as charming as Lady Lisbeth could be challenging. Ben thought about the striking differences in the two women as he watched Sarah Ann play with a disgruntled Annabelle. After tucking her and the cat into bed, he stayed a few minutes, listening to her chatter about the pony until the long dark lashes closed over her eyes.

  Ben retreated into his own room to wash, and to think. He located one of his few remaining cigars and poured a small glass of the whisky. His bad leg ached, and he sat down, stretching it out into a more comfortable position.

  He sipped the whisky, remembering how he and Mary May used to linger over a drink in the saloon where she had worked. He missed her, missed her warm humor and complete lack of subtlety. And he regretted holding himself back from loving her. He’d kept his feelings turned off for so long, he hadn’t known how to deal with them when they started to emerge, simmering in some hidden part of him like lava about to erupt.

  Ben had made plenty of mistakes. He’d spent his young life trying to please his father. His efforts, though, had not won the love he’d craved from the one person in his life he’d admired. So he’d looked for love elsewhere and thought he’d found it in a beautiful young woman. That had been another mistake—another regret.

  War had drained him of boyhood illusions and had made him incapable of practicing law. He’d returned home to discover that he could no longer spend hours and days in a small office, representing clients who engaged in profiteering during the war. So he’d become a U.S. marshal, the opposite of what he’d been before the war. He’d taken a savage satisfaction in that, and in his solitude. He hadn’t needed anyone, didn’t want to need anyone ever again.

  He’d clung to that belief even when he’d met Mary May. He’d clung to it when he’d promised her he’d take care of Sarah Ann. He’d clung to it the first few weeks he had the child. But then something happened. Sarah Ann’s needs had become his. She’d squirmed into his heart and made him feel again. And he found he liked to have feelings. It scared the hell out of him, but he was ready to admit that he needed her as much as she needed him.

  Ben rose and stalked around the room, then stopped abruptly when he realized something was not as it should be. His gaze searching the room, he recalled how the room had looked that morning.

  It had been cleaned before he and Sarah left to see the pony; no one should have been inside since then. Yet he sensed intrusion. He checked the drawers of the bureau. His shirts were as he remembered. He opened the highest drawer, the one where he’d put his gun, a drawer too high for Sarah Ann to reach.

  The gun was still there, but the barrel was staring straight at him. He’d left the barrel pointed toward the back of the drawer.

  Someone had gone through his room.

  Ben checked the valise he’d stowed in a corner, carefully studying the linings. They were intact. The papers were safe: Mary May and Ian Hamilton’s marriage certificate, and copies of Sarah Ann’s birth certificate and adoption papers.

  Were they what someone had been looking for?

  He went into Sarah Ann’s room. She was still asleep. The room looked normal, just as they had left it earlier; but then Effie had put away her things, not him, and he had no way of telling whether they too had been searched.

  Ben hated the feeling of being spied upon. He hated the invasion of his privacy. He cursed under his breath. Dammit, he would find out who had searched his rooms, and why.

  Dinner was as awkward as it had been the night before.

  Lisbeth tried to lighten it, more for Sarah Ann’s sake than her own. But Ben Masters wasn’t helping. He was silent, his gaze studying the others at the table slowly and carefully, his eyes devoid of the warmth she’d glimpsed earlier in the day. He seemed too preoccupied to even pay the usual attention to Sarah Ann.

  Hugh was late, and he arrived smelling of a distillery. He glared at each one of them, saving his most vicious glance for Ben. Hugh, like Barbara, could be irresistibly charming, but Lisbeth saw fear choking that charm now. Fear that he was about to lose everything he’d been counting on.

  Sarah Ann most certainly felt the tension. She had eagerly talked about the pony for several minutes, then had fallen silent.

  “Did you enjoy riding Peppermint?” Lisbeth asked to dispel the gloom.

  “Oh, yes. He’s a splen’id pony. Papa said I could visit him tonight. He’s very lonesome.”

  “He won’t be lonesome long,” she said. “He’ll have lots of friends.”

  “Lady Barb’ra brought him an apple.”

  “That was nice of her.” Obviously, Barbara had no intention of giving up on the girl immediately, Lisbeth thought.

  She glanced down at Henry the Eighth, who lay beside her chair being unusually quiet. She wondered whether Annabelle had cowed him or whether he too was affected by the American’s dour attitude.

  As if in answer to her thought, Henry mumbled. Lisbeth had never known a dog to mumble before, but Henry was very good at it. This one sounded like a complaint.

  “Maybe he’s lonesome, too,” Sarah Ann offered.

  “More like ate too much,” Hugh muttered, “and is suffering from indigestion. Damn dog’s a glutton. Eats better than we do.”

  Lisbeth looked over at Hugh’s plate. It was brimming with lamb, potatoes, and steaming gravy. “At least he doesn’t come to the table stinking of drink,” she retorted icily.

  Hugh’s face went red, then he rose from the table, disregarding the chair that fell with a clatter. “Calholm should belong to me, by all rights, and you willna be telling me wha’ to do.” The Scot’s accent had deepened in his anger. Lisbeth saw Sarah Ann huddle closer to Ben and his arm go around her. His face went rigid, and a muscle flexed in his cheek, a look far more deadly, more dangerous than Hugh’s.

  Ben stood slowly, and so did Sarah Ann. “If our claim is substantiated,” he said slowly, “you will mind your tongue and your temper, or you can leave.”

  “And if it isn’t?” Hugh taunted. “I don’t think you have a valid claim. You probably forged everything.”

  “And did I bribe someone, too?” Ben replied in a low voice. “Or do you reserve that crime for yourself?”

  Hugh’s face went completely white, as did Barbara’s. “I’ll see you laughed out of court,” he said, turning from the table and striding out the door.

  A dreadful few seconds of silence followed. Lisbeth held her breath, waiting for Ben to make a move, to say something. Instead Henry barked and, in the next instant, Barbara spoke.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “He didn’t mean it.”

  “I don’t like him,” Sarah Ann sniffed.

  “Do you ever say things you don’t mean when you’re upset?” Barbara asked. “Maybe if you hadn’t gotten your pony today …?”

  Sarah Ann looked up, her insatiable cu
riosity aroused. “Didn’t he get a pony?”

  “Well, he didn’t get something else he wanted very badly.”

  “What?”

  Sarah Ann’s fear was fading now, Lisbeth noted. She was amazed both by the child’s resiliency and by Barbara’s almost tender attempts to justify Hugh’s behavior. Or was she simply trying to pursue Ben by showing interest in Sarah Ann?

  “Can we go see the pony again?” Sarah Ann asked, breaking the awkward stillness.

  “What about your dinner?” Ben asked, frowning.

  Sarah Ann pushed her plate away. “I’m not hungry.”

  Lisbeth wished she’d held her tongue when Hugh had insulted Henry. Her eyes met Barbara’s. Regret flickered in her sister-in-law’s gaze, too.

  “I’ll have some food sent up later,” Lisbeth said to Ben. “A meat pie, perhaps. How would you like that, Sarah Ann?”

  “That would be nice,” Sarah Ann said politely, but without enthusiasm.

  Lisbeth’s eyes met Ben’s gaze. “I apologize for that scene,” she said.

  “I’ve always heard about English manners,” he said, one corner of his lips curling.

  “We’re not English,” she replied. “And we Scots are well known for our argumentative ways.”

  Barbara winced. “Especially the Highland Scots. I prefer peace.”

  Lisbeth arched an eyebrow. “Then why do you keep Hugh around?”

  “He has as much right to be here as—” Barbara stopped suddenly.

  “As who?” Lisbeth said, unable to help herself. It was true, what they said about the Highlanders. She’d never been able to back away from a challenge, not since she’d been old enough to defend herself.

  Ben was watching both of them, watching and weighing. He seemed more guarded than ever.

  “Papa?” Sarah Ann’s question was more a wail.

  Ben pushed back his chair. “If you ladies will forgive me, I believe Sarah Ann and I have an engagement with a pony.”

  Lisbeth nodded. “I’ll go with you and see that everything is taken care of.”

  “That’s not necessary,” he said. “But I thank you for your concern.” His tone was sharp, almost angry.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll have a meat pie and some sweets sent up in an hour.” She hesitated a moment, then continued. “You might like to visit the library later. You mentioned wanting some children’s books.”

  “That’s very kind.”

  Did she actually hear a note of sarcasm in his words or had she only imagined it? She watched as the big man and small child left the room, hand in hand.

  Which one had searched his room?

  Hugh was Ben’s prime suspect, but they’d all had an opportunity, including Lisbeth.

  She was quite frank about wanting something from him. Her passion for the horses was obviously very strong; he’d discovered long ago that people could justify almost anything for a cause they believed in. While passion had never frightened him, it made him wary.

  He needed to talk to the solicitor. He needed to know who, other than Hugh, stood to lose by Sarah Ann’s claim to the inheritance, and exactly what would happen if her claim wasn’t upheld.

  At the stables, he and Sarah Ann found the door open and Callum Trapp scolding one of the stable lads. Trapp turned as they approached, touching his cap in a sign of respect Ben hadn’t expected. His tone civil, he said, “Yer horse came, Mr. Masters, and the lassie’s pony has made himself at home.”

  Peppermint had indeed done so and was happily munching on fresh oats. He acknowledged his visitors with a swish of the tail.

  “He seems a fine pony,” Callum said with as close to a smile as Ben thought possible on the weathered, stern face.

  “Oh, he is,” Sarah Ann agreed, immediately warming to the praise of her prized possession.

  “I hear you ’ave a fine cat, too, lassie,” he said.

  “I’ll bring Annabelle to meet you,” she promised.

  Callum hesitated. “Perhaps you best not, lassie. There are some barn cats here who may not bless an intruder.”

  “She chased Henry,” Sarah Ann said defensively.

  “Ah, that one’s a big coward,” he said affectionately. “I keep telling Lady Lisbeth that, but she doesna care.”

  “We will take your advice,” Ben said. He wanted no catastrophes.

  Sarah Ann didn’t agree. “But—”

  “We’ll discuss it later, Sarah Ann,” he said, ending further protests. He wondered if the buts and whys would ever end. He doubted it. “I think you should say hello to your Peppermint,” he said, “while I look in at my new horse.” He looked toward Callum for direction.

  “The last stall. He’s fit enough,” Callum said.

  It wasn’t exactly approval, but then Ben didn’t care if the trainer gave it or not. Bailey didn’t compare in bloodlines to the Calholm stable, but he looked fast and reliable—and he was his.

  “I’ll take him out in the morning.”

  “I’ll be working with Shadow tomorrow,” the trainer said, “and the grooms will be running other horses. Can you be saddling yer own horses?”

  “I would prefer it,” Ben answered.

  “Good. If you don’t be needing anything else, then …?”

  “I don’t need anything at all,” Ben said sharply. “Just stalls for the pony and my horse. I’ll take care of the grooming and feeding.”

  Callum’s eyes were cool. But then why shouldn’t they be? Ben was the outsider, come to take something that never should have been his. He really couldn’t even blame Hugh for his resentment, either. He probably would have fought too for something he truly believed should be his.

  Ben ran his hands down Bailey’s neck and murmured some words to him, allowing the horse to recognize and know him. The animal nickered with appreciation, and Ben left the stall, heading toward Peppermint and Sarah Ann.

  Sarah Ann was feeding oats to the pony from her hand. Her absolute fearlessness with animals sometimes worried him, though he admired it. He watched for several minutes before he heard a scream outside the stable. He turned toward the door just as Maisie, Barbara’s maid, came running in.

  “The cat … the dog … the cat … your lordship … please!” she stammered, bouncing from leg to leg in anxiety.

  “Annabelle,” screamed Sarah Ann. She dropped the oats and scampered out of the stall, starting toward the manor house.

  Ben scooped her up, then continued toward the manor. As he reached it, the door opened, and a stunned Barbara stood in the doorway. He stepped past her at the same time two animals streaked by him, followed by Lisbeth.

  A table crashed and a porcelain bowl smashed to the floor, and they were apparently not the first casualties. An umbrella stand had tipped, and umbrellas lay scattered over the entrance floor. Suddenly the animals reversed course, the cat now chasing the dog as they pounded into the dining room. Another loud crash soon followed. Servants joined in the chase like swarming gnats, and Hugh appeared on the landing above, looking dazed.

  Lisbeth shouted at Henry, but he was obviously having too good a time to pay attention. He chased Annabelle for several seconds, then Annabelle turned and chased him. It was next to impossible to tell who was chasing whom at any given moment.

  Ben put Sarah Ann down, and, at the next pass of the two outlaw animals, he leaned over. He’d had a lot of practice in catching Annabelle, but, at the last second, she swerved, and he missed her. Instead, he caught Lisbeth. They smashed together; only his hands kept her from falling. Her head was inches away, and her hair had fallen from the tidy French twist she wore at dinner. She felt … soft. Even her stays couldn’t disguise her softness.

  “I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly, and for a moment Ben was thoroughly distracted by those vibrant gold-flecked eyes, by the feel of her.

  But then the animals came dashing through again, brushing by his legs. He heard another crash and wondered if there would be anything left of the manor by the time they were through. Sl
owly, he released Lisbeth. She too looked dazed.

  All at once, Henry barked and the animals came streaming back into the hallway. Ben seized the moment—and the renegade cat. But Henry kept coming and hurtled into him. His bad leg collapsed under the impact and, the next instant, all three of them fell to the hallway floor. He was only partially aware of the wails and oaths surrounding him, mingled with Lisbeth’s delighted laughter.

  Ben maintained his hold on Annabelle as Henry set two feet on his chest and started licking the damned cat. Annabelle meowed coyly. Lisbeth’s laughter grew louder; so did Sarah Ann’s scolding of the cat. The servants huddled around, not quite ready to tackle Henry.

  Ben tried to sit and soon gave up. A chuckle started deep inside him as he pictured himself sprawled in the middle of the grand manor’s entrance, clutching a cat while a hundred-pound mongrel held him prisoner—with a bevy of servants looking on. Annabelle had most definitely taken a toll on his dignity.

  Lisbeth knelt and plucked Annabelle from his chest, and Henry followed the cat adoringly. Sarah Ann, looking worried, approached. “Annabelle is a bad kitty,” she said.

  A gross understatement. Ben wanted to get up, but he couldn’t. The chuckle moved up from his chest to his throat, and he couldn’t keep it in. He started laughing. He laughed as he had never laughed before and the servants looked at him as if he were mad. But Sarah Ann giggled, and then threw herself on top of him, giving him a big hug. “I love you,” she said.

  Those words wrapped around his heart. Sarah Ann might seek comfort from him and hug him, but she was stingy with her words, as if to give voice to her deepest feelings made her too vulnerable. Ben held her close, not caring that his dignity, such as it was, lay in tatters along with other objects in the house.

  “I think it’s time,” he finally said, “that your renegade cat goes to bed … and you, too.”

  “What’s ‘ren’gade’?”

  “Someone who doesn’t do what they’re told.”

  “Is Henry a ren’gade?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think I like ren’gades. Can I be a ren’gade?”

  “Not if you want to be splendid,” he teased.

  She considered that. “I think I would rather be splen’id.”