by Ruth Owen
Ahead, the runaway mare still raced for the woods. If she reached it, she’d hit the twisted forest path and dive under the branches. She’d likely be forced to stop a few hundred yards in, but that wouldn’t come soon enough for her rider. She would be swept off by the first low-hanging tree branch. Years ago on a hunt Edward had seen a man gored to death that way. He could still remember the smell of the blood…
Brutus’s powerful stride ate up the ground. They were gaining—but not fast enough. At this rate they’d reach the mare seconds late, seconds that could spell the difference between life and death. She was a cheat and a liar, but she didn’t deserve this fate. Edward thought about her eyes—her remarkable green eyes dull and lifeless forever. He leaned forward until he was inches away from the big hunter’s ear. “Come on, boy,” he whispered.
With Herculean effort the might horse lengthened his stride, fighting out a final burst of energy. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The extra speed brought the two horses side by side for an instant—just long enough for Edward to reach out and grab the woman’s waistband. He yanked her onto his saddle and turned Brutus aside, missing the tearing branches at the forest’s edge by a hairsbreadth. The next second the mare crashed head-long into the underbrush, racing under a thick tree limb that swept over her empty saddle by less than a foot.
Trevelyan’s heart pounded madly and he drew his breath in harsh, rattling gasps. Beneath him his exhausted stallion skirted the woods with heavy steps, his mouth coated with foam and his sides sleek with sweat. Edward stroked the horse’s damp withers, muttering a promise of a rubdown and an extra bag of oats.
The girl sat sideways across his lap, clinging to his neck, staring at the woods with fear and astonishment, as if she couldn’t quite believe she was safe. Despite her brave words, the woman didn’t believe in miracles any more than he did. This one had caught them both by surprise. Caught them both.
She lifted her chin, and met his gaze. Her expression was artlessly confused, her eyes full of questions and wonder. Fragile, he thought, his arms instinctively tightening around her. Her wind-torn clothes were twisted in disarray and her once elegant coiffure hung over one ear in a lopsided tangle. But she was alive, and Edward was surprised at how important that simple fact was to him.
“You…saved me,” she whispered brokenly.
It had been a long time since he’d been anyone’s hero. The heavy silk of her hair, the slight rise and fall of her breasts, the wary gratitude in her eyes—all combined into an unexpectedly heady mix. His arms tightened around her. Her skin smelled like summer. Her slim body fit against his as if she’d been made for him. Her hesitant smile stirred a sweet, wild ache in his center, and her bewitching gaze drew him like the moon draws the tide, making him believe there was still a place in the wreck of his life for impossibilities like hope, and innocence, and maybe even forgiveness—
“Miss Winthrope!”
Edward glanced up, and saw Dr. Williams galloping across the meadow, with Amy close behind.
“Miss Winthrope,” Charles cried again as he reached Brutus’s side. “Are you all right?”
She nodded shakily. “I am fine…thanks to Lord Trevelyan.”
“Yes, Edward, you were wonderfully brave,” Amy agreed. “I cannot wait to tell Grandmother how you rescued our cousin.”
Cousin. The truth shattered his fragile illusion. The woman in his arm wasn’t sweet or innocent—she was the most deceiving pretender ever to set foot in Ravenshold. She’d made fools out of his family, and he’d come bloody close to letting her make a fool out of him!
He gripped her wrists and lowered her from his saddle so roughly that her knees nearly buckled when she hit the ground. “You can ride home with my sister,” he said gruffly as he steered Brutus toward the woods. “I must see to the mare.”
Amy gasped at his rudeness. “Edward, surely the mare can wait—”
“She rides home with you or she bloody well walks!” Ignoring further protests Edward waded his horse into the thick ferns and underbrush, welcoming the green canopy of leaves and silence that closed around him. Hell! One look from those green eyes and his common sense had melted like wax. For an instant he’d actually believed the innocence in her smile, the sweetness of her slim, young body. She was good. Damn good. Even now, after he’d remembered what she was, he still found himself wanting to believe the lies.
He glanced behind him. Through the screen of branches he saw that Dr. Williams had dismounted and was valiantly offering his horse to Ms. Winthrope. It’s what Edward should have offered, what any gentleman should have offered to a lady. But Edward was no gentleman. And Miss Winthrope was certainly no lady. She was a liar and he’d find her out, just as he’d found out every other impostor who’d tried to claim Prudence Winthrope’s birthright. And when he did, he intended to see just how much she was willing to offer for her freedom.
Edward turned Brutus deeper into the forest shadows. He was no gentleman, but he was practical. He considered it a damn shame to let a woman with a courtesan’s body and a sinner’s lips rot away in prison. It was a devil’s bargain, but one he looked forward to striking.
He smiled grimly. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time.
“I cannot believe Edward could be so unfeeling,” Amy stated as she walked her horse along the cliff path. “To suggest that you walk home after what you endured!”
“For once I must agree with Lady Amy,” Dr. Williams added as he led Rina’s horse around a small rocky outcropping. “He should not have treated you like that. ‘Tis strange. He is a conscientious man—far more than I imagined. I saw it this morning when he was with the tinners. He was genuinely concerned for their well-being, particularly when it came to the new casing for the whim engine, and the lack of Davy lamps. He even accompanied them down in the mine to check out the conditions, a risk I have rarely seen an owner take for his men—”
Amy sniffed. “Dr. Williams, my cousin does not want to hear about a bunch of smelly old miners. Look how pale she has become.” She sidled her horse next to Rina’s and put a caring hand on her forearm. “Would you like to rest? We can stop if you’d like.”
Sabrina shook her head. She did not want to stop. A brisk wind blew off the sea, chilling skin that still felt unusually raw and sensitive. Like her emotions. All she really wanted was to be left alone, to sort through her thoughts. So much had happened this afternoon…
“Heavens, she’s growing as pale as a ghost. Charles, we must stop.”
“No, really, I am fine,” Rina argued, but even to her ears her voice sounded thin. Dr. Williams led the horse off the road, to a small alcove that was protected from the wind on one side by a rock outcropping and on the other by the forest. Ignoring her protests, he lifted Sabrina off her saddle and deposited her on the grassy knoll between the trees and the rock wall.
“You must rest, Miss Winthrope. Even if it’s only for a few minutes,” he pronounced in his sternest physician’s tone. “Lady Amy and I will wait on the other side of these rocks.” Then his brown eyes glinted with a hint of the humor he took such pains to hide. He leaned down and whispered, “Please, I’d appreciate it if at least one female here listened to me.”
Sabrina answered his smile. She watched her two companions walk off toward the bay, and heard the heated tones of another argument s they disappeared behind a stone outcropping. Sighing, she leaned back on the soft blanket of grass and wildflowers, letting the warm afternoon sun bake its healing magic into her sore muscles. They’d been right—she had needed rest. Her wild ride had rattled every bone in her body. But that wasn’t the worst of it. There was a pain deep inside her that was far worse than anything that had happened to her muscles, a pain that tangled her emotions as surely as the ride had tangled her hair.
Once second she’d been racing toward almost certain death. The next she’d been in his arms. He’d held her close, close enough to hear the ragged cadence of his breathing, close enough to drink in the rich smell of soap and
leather on his skin, close enough to feel the hard planes of his chest pressed so intimately to her own. His hold had been shockingly forward, but she hadn’t been able to pull away. She’d been caught fast by his gaze, by the feel of his muscular neck under her fingers, by the large hands that cradled her body with such unexpected tenderness.
A strange, sweet lethargy had stolen her strength. Everything inside her felt as if it was turning inside out. She clung to him, falling into his gaze, feeling the emptiness in his eyes echo in her heart. All her life she’d been sensible—believing in nothing, trusting no one. She’d learned the hard way to depend only on herself. But for an instant she’d let down her guard, believing in the honesty in his eyes, in the gentle strength of his rescuing arms, in the hunger in his soul. For an instant she let herself believe that she was wanted, needed, beautiful.
And the next instant he’d dumped her from his saddle like a sack of potatoes.
She turned her head into the fragrant grass, but all she smelled was the musk of his skin. She pressed her palms on the cool ground, but felt the hot strength of his arms and neck. Trevelyan’s image filler her senses. She realized what Quinn had meant about the earl being dangerous in ways she couldn’t imagine.
She shut her eyes, squeezing back tears she wouldn’t allow herself to shed. He was arrogant and cruel, just as Quinn said he was. He deserved to have the Dutchman’s Necklace whisked out from under his nose. She’d make a fool of him, just as he’d made a fool of her. And she was going to enjoy it—
“Bless me, if it ain’t a wood nymph.”
Rina’s eyes flew open. A few yards away stood a fine thoroughbred, ridden by a stylishly dressed gentleman. Apparently he’d come upon her by the forest path, but she’d been too absorbed in her thoughts to hear his approach. Wonderful, Rina. Keep letting your guard down and you’ll queer this masquerade in no time. She got to her feet, painfully aware of her disheveled appearance. “Forgive me,” she said as she tried to push her fallen hair back into place. “I did not hear your horse approach.”
“Didn’t want you to. What’s the sport in catching a charming wood nymph if your demmed cattle scares her off?”
He looked to be in his late twenties, and his plum brocade coat and cream breeches were the height of fashion. His chestnut locks were meticulously greased and curled, and his snow white cravat was tied in a ridiculously intricate style. He was a devilishly handsome man, and the superior tilt of his chin told Rina that he was well aware of the fact. A macaroni. She’d seen enough of them driving their fine carriages through the London streets to know the breed.
Rina lifted her chin in a tilt as proud as his. “Sorry to disappoint you, sir, but I am no wood nymph.”
The dandy put his hand over his heart, sighing dramatically. “Fair spirit, you wound me. You have torn my dreams asunder. However, there are advantages to finding an unattended maiden in the woods instead of a nymph.” He bent down, and ran his hand suggestively along her jaw. Something decidedly un-dandyish slithering in the depths of his eyes. “Perhaps in another time and place, we can review those advantages—”
“Heavens, stop bothering the poor lady with your flummery,” a woman’s voice interrupted.
Rina saw another thoroughbred coming out of the woods. Its rider was just as stylishly dressed as the dandy, in a sable habit that fitted her figure elegantly, and a wide hat that was trimmed with stunning white ostrich feathers. Her hair color and finely cut features were the echo of her companion’s, but that was where the resemblance ended. The lady’s chestnut hair fell in soft waves around her face. And her blue eyes held a warmth that was as different from the gentleman’s haughty expression as night from day.
The lady clicked a subtle command to her mount and walked it toward Rina. “You must not mind him, my dear. He is…but you are in distress! Brother, look at her clothes!”
“Paris!” Lady Amy appeared from the other side of the outcropping. She glanced behind her, as if to make sure that Dr. Williams was following. Then she dashed across the path until she reached the gentleman’s side, her face shining with delight. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re back. But what happened? You weren’t supposed to return from Bath for another week.”
“Cassie and I heard about your cousin turning up, so we cut our visit short. Besides,” he added as he leaned down from his saddle, and tucked his finger under Amy’s chin, “I couldn’t stay away from my poppet, could I?”
Nearby, Dr. Williams made a loud noise that almost sounded like a cough. Amy shot a withering glance in his direction, then she returned her gaze to Sabrina. “Prudence, may I present Mr. Paris Fitzroy and his sister, Lady Cassandra Rumley. Cassie and Paris, this is Miss Prudence Winthrope, my long-lost cousin.”
Rina remembered that Amy had spoken of them earlier. They were neighbors and longtime friends of the Trevelyans. Mr. Fitzroy was Amy’s unofficial intended. And Lady Rumley was the earl’s.
“Not a wood nymph? Alas, my heart is broken,” Paris cried, his innocuous demeanor showing no trace of the lewdness Rina had glimpsed earlier.
“Oh, Paris, don’t be a ninny.”
Lady Rumley glared daggers at her brother. Then she turned her gaze to Sabrina, and looked down at her with a warm, sympathetic expression. Words Amy had spoken earlier that day returned to Rina’s mind. For weeks after it happened he kept to his rooms…The only one who could come near him at all was Cassie.
The lady continued. “My brother is a bit of a cake, Miss Winthrope, but he means well. We are both very glad to meet you. But—and forgive my forwardness—but it looks as though you have already been through some adventures since your return.”
Amy launched into the tale of the runaway horse. Rina would have preferred a far less colorful description of this afternoon’s events, but when she tried to tone down Amy’s embellishment, the girl praised her for being both humble and brave. After that, Sabrina endured the rest of the story in silence. And as she listened, she tried not to remember how frightened she’d been when she couldn’t stop the mare…or how distracted she’d felt in Trevelyan’s arms.
“So we stopped for a few minutes, to allow my cousin to rest,” Amy finished. “Dr. Williams recommended it. You recall Dr. Williams, don’t you? My brother has employed him for the Wheal.”
Fitzroy brought out his lace handkerchief and gave his nose a disinterested wipe. “Ah yes. The apothecary.”
Sabrina could almost see Charles’s hackles rise. He squared his shoulders, and clasped his hands behind him in an earnest stance. “Actually, sir, I am a fully licensed physician. I took my training at Oxford, and am a fellow of the Royal College of—”
“Yes, yes,” Paris drawled. He dismissed the doctor with a flip of his handkerchief, which he stuffed neatly back into his coat. Then he dismounted from his horse and swept off his hat in an eloquent salute. “Dear damsel, my charger is at your disposal.”
Sabrina glanced at the doctor, but it was Lady Amy who spoke. “But Prudence was riding Dr. Williams’s horse.”
Paris shrugged. “Now she is riding mine. A superior woman deserves a superior mount. Besides, I’m sure the surgeon has duties he needs to perform.”
“Physician,” Charles corrected through clenched teeth.
With a stiff nod to the women the doctor mounted his horse and rode off toward the mine, barely acknowledging Rina’s word of thanks. She watched him go, feeling a kinship the others couldn’t suspect. She’d spent her whole life enduring the insults and cruelty of gentry who believe their money and breeding put them above all others. A grandfather who let her mother die because she fell in love with a base-born gambler. A stepbrother who was prepared to rape her without a twinge of conscience. An earl who held her in his arms s if she were the most precious thing on earth, then dumped her to the ground without a backward glance.
She rode back to Ravenshold with a smile on her face, laughing at Fitzroy’s jokes, acknowledging the caring concern in both Lady Amy and Lady Rumley. But she could never allow hersel
f to forget that she was Sabrina Murphy, gambler’s daughter. She was here to acquire the Dutchman—not family, not friends, not…anything else.
When they finally reached Ravenshold, Fitzroy helped her down from his horse. For a moment she was almost as close to him as she had been to Trevelyan, and again glimpsed the licentious gleam in the dandy’s eyes. But she experience none of the fire or confusion she’d felt in the earl’s arms.
It was Trevelyan alone who addled her wits, wits she desperately needed to keep about her if she was so succeed in her masquerade. And that made him more dangerous than ever.
Chapter Nine
During the next few weeks, Sabrina became more and more a part of the Trevelyan household. She acted as a companion to Lady Penelope, and a confidante to Lady Amy. The children, though still cautious, began to spend more time in her company, listening to the same stories Rina’s father had spun for her as a child. Dr. Williams stopped by frequently to observe Lady Penelope’s progress. Rina grew fonder of the serious young man every time she met him, though she could not seem to convince Amy that he had a single redeeming quality. Rina also learned the names and responsibilities of the servants, and was able to use the skills she’d acquired as the housekeeper in her stepmother’s boardinghouse to make the household run more efficiently. Ravenshold needed her care and organizational talents like a well-worn piece of furniture needed a new coat of polish. Both she and the house took on a new shine.