by Ruth Owen
The doctor’s voice rang through his thoughts. “Good heavens, it’s Lady Amy!”
“Nonsense. My sister isn’t fool enough to wander the deserted back roads near the mines.
She’s—” Edward’s words died as he saw Amy ride out of the woods into the meadow. In her new blue riding habit she looked as pretty as a bunch of violets. And jus as defenseless.
Blast the girl. Not eight months before, a gang of Cousin Jacks from the West Carrick mine had accosted a woman less than sixty yards from this very spot—and Amy knew it. Cursing under his breath he kicked his stallion into a fast trot and headed toward his sister. “What the devil do you think you’re doing? You know you shouldn’t be out here alone.”
Amy lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m not alone. Toby is with us.”
“Toby is only a boy. And who is us? I don’t see anyone el—”
As he spoke, a horse and rider cantered out of the woods behind his sister. At first he didn’t recognize the slim woman in the dark green habit, who sat her horse with the grace of a queen. Then he saw that the thick hair twisted into a coil beneath her hat was burnished copper. And when she turned her head to look in his direction, his gaze once again collided with that pair of remarkable emerald eyes.
“Good day, my lord,” she said quietly.
Edward stared back, all his carefully rehearsed speeches falling to ruin. He’d been prepared to challenge a cunning charlatan in a silly dress. Instead, he faced a soft-spoken, dignified woman who rode with an ease that would have set her apart even in the best circles. A thin thread of doubt wove itself through his mind. He was sure she was an impostor. Yet impostors didn’t ride horses like aristocrats. And they didn’t return his gaze with a wide-eyed candor that impressed him, and a wide-eyed innocence that unsettled him in a way he hadn’t been unsettled in years.
Amy’s voice ended his imaginings. “I don’t care a fig for your opinion, Dr. Williams. Clara is my friend, and her family needs my assistance. I intend to help them.”
“I never said you should not. But this is rough country, and you’re very young—”
“And foolish, I suppose. Well, I’m not so foolish as to let myself be patronized by a narrow-minded country doctor.”
“I’m not patronizing you. And I’m not narrow-minded. If you’d listen a minute instead of spouting off like some bluestocking—”
“You think I’m a bluestocking? Of all the horrid, reprehensible, ungentlemanly things to—”
“Peace!” Edward’s roar rang out across the meadow, silencing the argument. Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair. He could ask his sister why she was in this isolated part of the estate, but he knew her temper well enough to suspect she’d turn any explanation into another sparring match with the doctor. He could ask Toby, but the poor boy was literally quaking in his saddle. Reluctantly, he turned to the only person left who could give him a straight answer. “Miss Winthrope. What exactly is going on here?”
If she was surprised he’d asked her, she didn’t show it. In a few concise sentences she summed up the situation with a composure he couldn’t help but admire. At the end she met his gaze with a challenge every bit as bright as the one Amy had leveled at Dr. Williams. “Personally, I think your sister’s actions have shown her to be a kind and charitable lady, and I wholeheartedly support her.”
Edward glanced at Amy. She’d been five when their parents had died in a carriage accident, and in some ways she was more of a daughter to him than a sister. Now he saw that the spoiled, adorable little girl had become a generous-hearted woman. A unique pride filled his heart. He turned back to Miss Winthrope and acknowledged softly, “It appears we agree on at least one thing.”
Her jaw dropped open in surprise. Edward had the brief satisfaction of seeing the usually self-possessed woman suddenly lose her composure. Then she pursed her lips together and the corner of her mouth ticked up. It was an uncertain smile, far different from the lavish, practiced expressions of the more accomplished women he knew. Yet her untutored grin left them all in the dust. She may not have had his sister’s kind of beauty, but her lush, sensuous lips were designed to take a man to heaven in a heartbeat. And at the moment those lips were curving into a hesitant, wonderful smile.
But she isn’t wonderful, his common sense reminded him. She’s an impostor who is deceiving your family. Now she’s well on her way to deceiving you, just like—
Edward yanked on his reins. He wheeled his black hunter to face first the stable boy, and then his sister. “Toby, you go back to Ravenshold. Dr. Williams and I will escort the ladies to the village. But just this one time.” His brows drew together as he turned toward his sister. “I support your intention, Amy, but not your methods. You are not to attempt this again. Do you understand me?”
“But—”
“Do you understand?”
Amy’s mouth quivered, but she said nothing. Nodding, she turned her mount toward the village, her shoulders bent in defeat. Edward felt a prick of conscience, but he ignored it. Amy’s safety was his responsibility. He intended to protect her from all dangers, including villainous attackers—and villainous charlatans.
Clara’s family lived in a small but impeccably neat cottage, with crocheted doilies on the furniture and red and yellow flowers overflowing the window boxes. The cozy place was so like Sabrina’s childhood home that it brought a lump to her throat. Clara was a sweet, shy girl, and Rina couldn’t help but wonder how any man could be callous enough to desert her. She’d taken Amy’s aside, and asked whether there was any chance that her young man might offer for her. Amy had shaken her head sadly. “Clara has refused to reveal the man’s name, even to me. But there are things she has mentioned that make me believe he’s a man of position, and will have naught to do with her.”
Throughout the visit, Rina could see that there was real affection between Amy and her former maid. Rina admired Amy even more for the joy and acceptance she brought to the outcast girl’s life. Rina thought she saw a glimmer of that same admiration in Dr. William’s eyes, but if it was there, it didn’t last. By the time they started back to Ravenshold, Amy and Charles were already embroiled in another one of their frequent arguments. Sabrina rode few lengths behind, wanting to stay as far from the fray as possible.
“Those two argue like man and wife,” a deep voice beside her commented.
Sabrina stiffened. The earl had remained behind in the village to supervise some repairs. She hadn’t expected him to join them again so quickly. Now that he had, she found herself at loss for words. And breath. Attempting to regain her composure, she said the first thing that came into her head. “You have a poor opinion of marriage, my lord.”
Instantly she bit her tongue. Her comment had been horribly thoughtless considering what Amy had told her. But if Lord Trevelyan read any hidden meaning into her words, he didn’t show it. Instead, he pulled his black stallion alongside her own mount, and gave her an arch look. “You will find I have a poor opinion about many things, Miss Winthrope. I—ho, there. Easy, Brutus.”
Lord Trevelyan brought his high-spirited horse under control. Sabrina looked at him in surprise. “You named your horse after a Roman traitor?”
“Or a Roman patriot, if you consider Caesar a tyrant,” he answered as he leaned forward and gave the hunter’s neck a pat. “I see you have knowledge of the classics, Miss Winthrope. I would have thought you more versed in the Bible, considering that you were raised by a missionary.”
He was trying to trip her up. “We valued all manner of literature in my home. I assume it is the same at Ravenshold. Or are you the type of man who believes women should not be given the same opportunity for an education?”
The earl’s sharp glance showed that he was not easily baited either. “On the contrary, I prize education in both sexes. That is why I’ve arranged for my daughter to be tutored alongside my son. I do not intend for her to grow up shallow and bored. But we were talking of you, Miss Winthrope, and your surprisingly eclecti
c education. Take, for example, your equestrian talent. You are remarkably skilled at handling a horse.”
“Th…thank you,” she answered, surprised by the unexpected compliment.
“Quite remarkable,” he continued smoothly. “Especially when I recall how much you loathed horses when you were young.”
Drat. She should have known better than to trust his compliments. “I was foolish to dislike them, wasn’t I? Horses are a great deal more forthright than most people I know.”
Trevelyan’s mouth edged up. “Including me, I suppose?”
“I don’t know you well enough to say, my lord. But I have known a great many people in my life, and been through a great many hardships. It was bound to change me.”
His dark eyes met hers. Gray as storm clouds, they were still remote, still unforgiving, but for the first time she sensed a hint of compassion behind the harshness. Sighing, he turned his gaze to the wide sun-washed meadow in front of them. “I believe that is the first truthful thing you have said to me since we met.”
They rode on in silence. Rina did her best to keep her eyes forward, but her glance was inevitably drawn back to the earl. He wore a dark coat and plain buckskin breeches, but the simplicity of his clothes only added to the power of his presence. His hair was ragged and wild from the wind, and somehow, that wildness suited him. His rugged face was too severe to be called handsome, but there was a compelling strength about him that transcended mere looks.
The black hunter he rode—Brutus—was the most magnificent animal she had ever seen. Another man might have struggled to control the high-strung animal, but the earl mastered the stallion with a seemingly effortless flick of his wrists. She looked at his hands, at his long fingers curled with such easy power around the leather reins. Long ago her father had told her that the difference between a poor rider and a great one was “good hands.” Even on this short acquaintance she could see that Trevelyan had exceptionally “good hands,” and she wondered why this fact should suddenly make her feel so uncomfortable.
The earl’s baritone struck through her thoughts. “You have been truthful with me, so I will be truthful with you. You’ve done a remarkable job in convincing my family that you are my prodigal cousin returned from the dead. I’ll even own that one some level I admire your resourcefulness in pulling it off. But it cannot last. Sooner or later I will find you out—you must know that.”
Rina did know that. Her deception couldn’t last forever, but it didn’t have to. It just had to last until she and Quinn pinched the necklace. She squared her shoulders, and kept her voice light as she answered. “La, sir, is it so impossible for you to believe I am your cousin?”
Trevelyan’s jaw pulled taut. He glanced ahead to make certain that Amy was out of earshot. Then he sidled Brutus alongside Sabrina’s horse, so close that their knees almost touched. “What I believe is that Prudence Winthrope died in a fire along with her parents,” he said, dropping his voice to a rough whisper. “It was a tragic event, but it happened. And I cannot believe in her miraculous return, any more than I believe in happy endings, fairy tales, pixies, and other flummery. Such nonsense is for children and fools.”
“Is your sister a fool? Is your grandmother?”
“My sister and grandmother share a loving heart. They have not seen as much of life as I have. They have not—” He rubbed his brow, a stab of pain crossing his face. When he lifted his gaze, his eyes were hard and condemning. “My family means everything to me. I will not stand by and let you break their hearts. As I said, I’ll find you out sooner or later—but for their sakes I would rather make it sooner. I want you to leave before my family becomes more attached to you, and I am prepared to make it worth your while.”
“My while?”
Trevelyan’s lips curled up in a humorless smile. “I’m a wealthy man. I’m prepared to offer you five hundred pounds to leave Ravenshold—no police, and no questions asked.”
“Five hundred?” It was more money than Sabrina could earn in a lifetime. Several lifetimes.
“Yes, but only if you leave today. I can arrange a quiet exit. Once we arrive back at Ravenshold I’ll give you the money and you can be on your way—provided you agree to never see my sister or grandmother again.”
Sabrina considered the offer, determining the odds. The Dutchman’s Necklace would be worth far more, but there was no guarantee she would ever lay her hands on it. Besides, she would have to steal the necklace, while the earl’s offer was free and clear. Somehow she knew she could trust his word that he would not call in the authorities. He simply wanted her out of his family’s life. He wanted to prove that she wasn’t Prudence, that he was right when he said there were no miracles or fairy tales.
He wanted to prove that he was right not to believe in happy endings.
When Rina was little, her mother had read her a story of a beautiful princess who’d suffered terrible trials and tribulations before she found happiness. During the grim years in the widow’s household, Rina had clung to that story, holding to the belief that, no matter what suffering she went through, eventually she’d find happiness. Life hadn’t exactly turned out as she’d expected, but if she hadn’t held fast to the hope that she’d be free, she would have knuckled under to the evil woman years ago. She might have let Albert—
Albert. She closed her eyes, remembering his bleeding body lying across her bed. Whatever she believed or wanted to believe, she was still a murderer. She needed money to escape the country and the gallows, enough money to disappear for the rest of her life. Five hundred pounds wasn’t enough for her and Quinn to do that. It was the necklace or nothing.
Maybe she would break Lady Penelope’s and Amy’s hearts. They’d recover. If the authorities caught up with her, she wouldn’t. Regretful but resolved, she turned back to Lord Trevelyan. “I am sorry you do not believe I’m telling the truth, my lord, but I am Prudence Winthrope. You might as well accept it. I am not going away. Just because you were disappointed by one woman doesn’t mean—”
Too late she realized her mistake. Trevelyan reached out and grabbed her bridle, jerking her horse to a halt.
She tried to pull away. “I…I only meant—”
“I know what you meant,” he said, his eyes dark with fury. “You meant to offer consolation to a poor fool who couldn’t satisfy his wife. Well, I don’t need your pity. And even if I did, I certainly wouldn’t want it from a chit who’s too plain to have a man of her own—”
Sabrina pulled the reins free. She wheeled her horse and kicked, sending the mare into a full gallop. She thundered across the meadow, blinking back hot tears of anger and shame. She was plain. But the fact that he’d said it made her feel uglier than she’d ever felt in her life. The widow’s stinging words came back to her. Take a look in the glass, gel. It’s not as if anyone is going to offer for ya.
She kicked her horse again, as if more speed could her help her outrun the truth. But it couldn’t. She was plain. Ugly. Hideous. At least, he thought so. She scrubbed away bitter, blinding tears, and noticed in the process that she was fast approaching the forest. Her practical nature overcame her pain. She yanked back on the reins, intending to pull her mount to a halt before she got too close to the roots and overhanging branches.
Only then did she realize that her bridle ribbons had snapped.
Chapter Eight
Charles steadied his startled horse as Miss Winthrope galloped by him. Alarmed, he started after her, but a deep voice commanded him back.
“Let her go.” Lord Trevelyan rode up beside him, his expression as hard as the cliffs below Ravenshold. “Leave her. She can take care of herself.”
“She was crying, Edward,” Amy argued. “What did you say to her?”
“Nothing but the truth.” A hurtful truth. He’d called her plain because he wanted to wound her the same way she’d wounded him. And he’d succeeded. His remark had stripped away her confident facade, leaving her looking lost and defenseless, and desperately, achingly young. S
he was a cheat and a liar who was cruelly deceiving his family. But her pain had been real.
Charles interrupted his thoughts. “Why doesn’t she slow down? She’s getting close to the trees.”
Edward looked up. She was galloping toward the forest at an alarming rate. That is, it would have been alarming if Edward hadn’t known that she was such an accomplished horsewoman. She could stop her horse any time she pleased. More deception. He gave a short, caustic laugh. “Don’t waste your concern on Miss Winthrope. She’s…she is getting close to the trees. Why the devil doesn’t she pull back on the reins and—?”
He stopped as he realized she was pulling on the reins. Frantically. But the mare wasn’t slowing.
Amy’s cry split the air. “Her reins have snapped! Oh, Lord, if her horse doesn’t stop—”
Edward didn’t hear the rest of her sentence. Cursing, he kicked Brutus into action. The horse leapt into a full gallop, tearing across the field with such force that he threw up clumps of dirt and grass behind him. Edward bent low to his neck, ignoring the wind that ripped at his hair and clothes, fighting for even more speed out of his thundering stallion.