And opportunity? One person had had more opportunity than anyone: Andrew Cameron. In fact, he was the only person Ben knew who had been present on the Glasgow docks and in Edinburgh, who could have engineered and executed both attacks himself.
And Cameron was a friend of Lisbeth’s.
Though he hated the direction of his thoughts, Ben wondered if Lisbeth had sent Cameron to trail Sarah Ann from America. There had been time. Ben had lingered in Denver, waiting for the final adoption papers. And what was the nature of Cameron and Lisbeth’s relationship? Were they lovers or conspirators—or both? Cameron’s motives could be love or money. And Lisbeth had made it clear what she wanted: the horses and a Grand National championship for Shadow—and Calholm.
Exactly how badly did she want to win the championship? Badly enough to commit murder?
The carriage rolled up to the manor house as dusk was falling. The wind was gaining strength, and the dark clouds blowing in only added to Ben’s somber mood.
“I want to see Pep’mint,” Sarah Ann said, barely able to contain herself. At that moment, Annabelle yowled piercingly from within her basket.
Sarah Ann pulled the cat out, hugging her. “I love you, too,” she comforted, but the assurance apparently wasn’t enough. Annabelle streaked out of Sarah Ann’s arms, through the door that the coachman had just opened, and across the yard toward the house.
Barbara raised one eyebrow as if to say, “Not again.”
Ben sighed. He had heavier thoughts on his mind than a temperamental wayward cat. “Let’s go find Annabelle,” he told Sarah Ann as he set her down on the ground, “and then see Peppermint.”
Tears were welling in Sarah Ann’s eyes. “I hurt her feelings, saying I wanted to see Pep’mint.”
“I don’t think so,” Ben replied, getting down on one knee so he could look at her on her own level. “I think she was just tired of traveling and wanted to be home.”
“Really?” she said hopefully. “Do you really think so?”
“I do, indeed. She’s probably begging a bowl of milk right now, enraging the cook by walking over her table.”
Sarah Ann giggled, and her tears stopped. There had been several angry outbursts from the cook concerning Annabelle and Henry. Also threats to leave, but each time Lisbeth had cajoled Fiona Ferguson out of her bad humor.
“Maybe she went to see Henry?” Sarah Ann said.
Most likely to bedevil the poor dog. “Maybe,” he said.
“Maybe Lady Lisbeth can take me to see Pep’mint.”
He hesitated. He didn’t want to leave Sarah Ann alone with any member of this household, not even for a moment, but he didn’t think anything would happen here. The other two incidents occurred well away from Calholm and were made to look like accidents. Still, he had to be cautious.
After all, Jamie Hamilton had died at Calholm and Ben had no way of knowing if the riding accident that had killed him had actually been carefully engineered.
Still, how was he supposed to keep Sarah Ann in sight every moment? Could he really protect her here? And from whom? And how could he find out the answers to all his questions?
The irony of his situation did not escape Ben. During his last assignment—the one that probably would have ended his career as a lawman even if he hadn’t adopted Sarah Ann—he had forced an outlaw to infiltrate and befriend a band of outlaws with the express goal of betraying them. Ben hadn’t realized then how difficult it was to live among people you couldn’t trust, to pretend a friendship that didn’t exist.
He was now in the same situation into which he’d forced Diablo. He couldn’t voice his doubts, couldn’t ask questions, couldn’t mention his suspicion that the carriage mishap had been planned. If he did, he would lose an advantage, make the guilty person wary and more difficult to detect. No, he would do far better to set a trap with himself as the tethered goat.
“Ben … Mr. Masters.”
It was only then that Ben realized he’d left Barbara in the carriage. She was still awaiting his assistance.
“My apologies, Lady Barbara,” he murmured as he took her hand and helped her down. She tripped on the step and fell directly into his arms.
She was all womanly curves, and he felt every one of them. And he knew he was meant to feel every one of them.
Ben was trying to set her on her feet when he saw Lisbeth. She was galloping in on Shadow, her body wrapped in those boyish clothes and her hair flying behind her. Horse and rider arrived with a burst of exuberance, but that exuberance seemed to fade as Lisbeth pulled up in front of the carriage and looked at Barbara, who was still clinging to him.
“Barbara, Mr. Masters,” she said formally and with just the slightest note of disdain. “I didn’t expect you back so soon. I’ll inform cook.”
“Lady Lisbeth …”
She had already turned the horse toward the stables, but Sarah Ann’s plaintive cry stopped her. She turned back.
“May I go with you to see Pep’mint?”
“No,” Ben said.
“Yes, of course,” Lisbeth said at the same instant.
Their gazes met as Ben set Barbara away from him. Lisbeth’s eyes were angry.
Unaware of the human drama unfolding, Henry bounded onto the scene, galloping to Sarah Ann, lifting one paw in greeting and giving her face a swipe of his tongue.
“I want to see Pep’mint,” she begged.
“What about Annabelle?” Ben asked.
“You can find her. You’re bestest at finding her. No one can find her as good as you.”
Ben had no choice. There was no reasonable excuse he could give for not allowing Sarah Ann to go with Lisbeth.
“Just for a few minutes,” he finally said, then looked at Lisbeth. “Sarah Ann needs her dinner and some rest.”
Lisbeth nodded, her expression suddenly guarded. She leaned down and pulled Sarah Ann up in front of her in the saddle. Her strength didn’t surprise Ben; she had to be strong to control a stallion like Shadow. He watched as they rode to the stable and Lisbeth dismounted, then allowed Sarah Ann to slide into her arms. They disappeared into the stable.
Barbara was still only inches away from Ben. “Horses will always be her only love,” she said.
“What about Jamie?”
Barbara shrugged. “It was a marriage of convenience. At least for Jamie.”
“What do you mean?”
“His father wanted another heir. Her family wanted a title.”
“I thought—”
“That they were in love?” She smiled sadly. “There are few real love affairs among the peerage.”
“What about you and Hugh?” he probed.
Her face suddenly changed, became shuttered. “Hugh needs … someone.”
It was the last thing he’d expected to hear from her. There was almost something painful, even wistful, about the way she’d spoken.
She looked up at him. “You have a freedom in America we don’t have, we don’t dare have. We all live in the past, with legends and history and myths. Love is secondary to family and custom and duty. And none of us are trained to do anything but look good.” The last was said almost bitterly.
“Except for Lisbeth?”
“She’s worse than any of us,” Barbara said disdainfully. “She dreams impossible dreams and won’t accept that they are impossible. She believes she can bring back the past and make Calholm what it once was.”
“And you, Lady Barbara,” he probed, “what would you make of Calholm?”
“Profitable.” She hesitated. “We can double the income if we clear the training field and farmland and buy more sheep. We can’t do that because we have no cash. It’s all tied up in those bloody horses.”
Ben’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what Hugh would do? Clear the remaining tenants from the land and sell the horses?”
“That’s what any sensible person would do,” she said. “That’s what every landowner in Scotland is doing, has been doing for the past century. With England’s ta
xes, we have little choice. But Lisbeth will hear naught of it.”
“I heard Hugh gambled away everything he once had.”
“He did,” Barbara said, “but he had very little, and he was desperate to make it into more. He and his mother lived on the sufferance of others for years. He craves to belong somewhere. He thought Calholm to be it. His bad manners are only a mask for his disappointment.” Her voice had softened. “He can be … very pleasant.”
Ben knew about disappointments. He knew about despair. He also knew about escape. He had turned away from everyone after being injured in the war, during those months when he thought he would lose his leg and his fiancée had broken their engagement to marry a banker.
Any further questions he might have asked Barbara were suddenly curtailed. A scream came from the open kitchen window on the side of the manor. However, it seemed a scream of outrage rather than terror, and Ben suspected Annabelle had been located. The cat was uncanny in finding its way to the kitchen.
He looked toward the stable. He loathed to be even farther away from Sarah Ann, but murder sounded in the offing inside the manor, so he hurried up the front steps and rushed to the kitchen.
The cook was chasing Annabelle around the room with a broom. The instant he appeared, the cat hurled herself into his arms, flinging custard everywhere—on his new clothes, the kitchen floor, her fur. Custard lay across the floor and over a table where a bowl had been overturned. Paw prints readily identified the culprit.
“Tha’ cat goes, or I willna stay another day!” the cook said, her face trembling with indignation.
Annabelle swiped a rough tongue along Ben’s hand. He didn’t fool himself that it was a sign of affection. But the damn cat looked so pleased with herself as she curled up in his arms, a sound of satisfaction rumbling deep in her throat, that he had to brake a smile.
“Ah, Mrs. Ferguson, I am sorry,” he soothed. “Especially if that custard is as good as everything else you cook.”
Her face quivered again, but some of the anger faded from it. “Ye sure ye’d not be having some Irish blood in ye?”
He grinned at her. “Aye, I’m sure. And I promise I’ll keep Annabelle in our rooms. You know how Sarah Ann loves her.”
The face softened. “She’s a dear wee lassie, but”—her voice rose again—“I’ll no’ be ’aving that cat in my kitchen!”
Ben nodded solemnly.
She turned back to the stove. “Almost as bad as that ’Enry,” she mumbled. “A fine ’ouse is no place for such goings-on.”
Containing a smile, Ben backed out of the kitchen, keeping a firm hold on Annabelle. But Annabelle had apparently had her adventure—and evidently a fine, rich meal—and was content to be carried. On reaching the rooms, she streaked into Sarah Ann’s chamber, licked the last of the custard from her paws, and curled up contentedly on the bed.
Ben gave her one last warning look, then went to his connecting room. He relieved himself quickly of the frock coat, shrugging into his more comfortable sheepskin coat, and quickly made his way back down the stairs.
Lisbeth wished the raw hurt would fade. Why had Ben hesitated before allowing Sarah Ann to come with her to the stables? The cool appraisal in his eyes had struck her as hard as any axe.
She rubbed down Shadow, keeping an ear open as Sarah Ann chatted happily with Peppermint several stalls away.
A rare delight had surged through her when she’d seen the approaching carriage but had faded quickly as she saw the look on Ben Masters’s face. There had been no welcome, only hostility.
So Barbara had gotten to him during the trip.
No need to wonder exactly what means she’d employed. And now he was probably ready to sell all the horses, throw off the tenants, and buy sheep. As for his opinion of her … Lisbeth couldn’t bear even to imagine it.
But his opinion of her didn’t matter. She couldn’t give up. Too much was at stake. People’s homes, Jamie’s dream, and, yes, her dream. In her entire life, she’d never been allowed to dream, so she had never imagined wanting anything that she had only a prayer of having. Jamie may not have given her passion or romantic love, but he had given her hope—hope that something she worked for and believed in could come true.
She wasn’t giving it up. Not without a fight.
Lisbeth swallowed hard. She’d lived so long in a home without warmth or trust. Without love. And she supposed she could go on without those things for as long as she had to. If only Ben hadn’t come along …
In the short time he and Sarah Ann had been here, they’d given her fleeting glimpses of what she had been missing. It made doing without so much harder.
Lisbeth finished rubbing down Shadow, and gave him the carrot she brought from the house, then went over to Peppermint’s stall. He was nuzzling Sarah Ann as she chattered on.
“And we were almost trampled, but Papa saved us.”
“Trampled?” Lisbeth echoed.
Sarah Ann turned to her. “That’s what Papa said. He knocked me down? See.” She took off the glove from her left hand and held the hand up for inspection.
Lisbeth noted the large bandage, and the redness of the skin around the bandage.
“Was your papa hurt, too?” she asked.
“I don’t think so, but I don’t always know. I’m supposed to take care of him, too, you know,” she said quite seriously. “But he always says he’s fine,” she added with adult exasperation that Lisbeth found endearing.
“Grown-ups are like that,” Lisbeth replied just as seriously.
“But that’s silly. I like being taken care of.”
Lisbeth found it difficult to argue with that logic. “He probably didn’t want you to feel bad.”
“I feel worse when he doesn’t let me take care of him.” Sarah Ann’s eyes were sad and Lisbeth understood her frustration. She liked feeling needed, too. It had been a long time since she’d looked after someone in a personal, intimate way. Jamie had never been sick, and he had died instantly. He had disliked “fussing,” so all of Lisbeth’s maternal instincts had gone to the horses, and to Henry.
“Men never want to admit they need anyone,” she confided to Sarah Ann.
“Why?”
Lisbeth wished she knew. She had become independent, too, in self-defense. She hadn’t realized she needed anyone … until Ben Masters had held her in his arms.
“Because then they feel … vulnerable.”
“What’s vun’ble?”
Lisbeth had seen Ben try to answer Sarah Ann’s endless questions, and she had been amused. She wasn’t amused now. Perhaps because she too was vulnerable.
“What’s ‘vun’ble’?” Sarah Ann persisted.
Lisbeth tried to come up with a good explanation. “That’s when you feel you can be hurt easily.”
“No one can hurt Papa. He’s a lawman,” Sarah Ann said proudly. “Cully said so.”
“He’s a solicitor,” Lisbeth corrected gently.
“No,” Sarah Ann insisted. “He got bad men.”
Lisbeth began to say that that’s what solicitors and barristers did—they sent criminals to jail. But she had hardly said a couple of words when a low, thunderous voice interrupted.
“Having an interesting conversation?”
Lisbeth whirled at the chilling sound of Ben Masters’s voice and found him standing a mere hairsbreadth behind her.
Ben had to stifle the urge to grin. Lisbeth’s head was tilted almost straight back in order for her to look him in the eye. She appeared positively dumbfounded.
“Yes,” she said a little defiantly as her surprise faded.
“And how did ‘vun’ble’ come up?”
She hesitated, then suddenly smiled. “She told me you never let her help you and asked why. I told her being helped made men feel vulnerable.”
Her smile drove straight through his defenses to his heart. “It does, does it?” he finally managed to say after a moment.
“I have observed such.”
Her Scottis
h lilt seemed more pronounced than usual. It was … enchanting. Ben tried to make himself remember his suspicions but they were disappearing quickly in the face of the attraction that radiated so strongly between them.
“What have you observed, Lady Lisbeth?”
“That men would rather die than admit a weakness.”
“And women?”
“Are never as hardheaded,” she replied serenely.
Her gaze was fixed on his now, searching, probing. He wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t. He felt sucked in, like a man pulled into quicksand. Her eyes were so lively, so curious, so full of secrets. He wanted to know more of them, more of her. He wanted most to know how this lovely hoyden, who stirred him as no other woman ever had, could possibly be a murderess.
“Sarah Ann said you were nearly trampled in Edinburgh?”
The question was enough to jerk Ben out of his fascination with her eyes. Dangerous eyes. Were they also deceptive eyes?
Ben looked at Sarah Ann, who was standing next to Peppermint. “Why don’t you talk to your pony for a minute?” he suggested. At her eager nod, Ben pulled Lisbeth out of the stall and down to Shadow’s stall at the end of the stable.
“It was an accident,” he said, answering her question, keeping his suspicions to himself at the moment. “A runaway carriage, apparently.”
“Another accident?”
He remembered their first meeting. He shrugged. “I must be prone to them.”
She didn’t reply, but something new appeared in those lovely eyes. Fear? Disappointment over failed plans?
“I met a friend of yours in Edinburgh,” he said.
He’d surprised her, he could tell.
“Andrew Cameron. He was on the ship from Boston.”
“Lord Kinloch?” Lisbeth said with a smile. Ben felt a bite of jealousy. Her expression held no guile, no fear, no apprehension, only pleasure.
He wanted to say Cameron had been expelled from the ship after being accused of cheating at cards, but he held his tongue. He’d never been a talebearer, particularly when the tale concerned a man’s reputation.
Marshal and the Heiress Page 15