Harlequin Historical February 2013 - Bundle 2 of 2: The Texas Ranger's DaughterHaunted by the Earl's TouchThe Last De Burgh

by Jenna Kernan

  On an oath, he stepped back, breaking all contact, shock blazing in his eyes.

  The thrills faded to little more than echoes of the sensations they had been a moment ago. What on earth was she doing? More to the point, what was he doing? ‘How dare you, sir?’ she said, pulling her shawl tightly around her.

  At that he gave a short laugh. ‘How dare I what?’

  ‘Kiss me.’

  ‘You kissed me.’

  Had she? She didn’t think she had, but she wasn’t

  exactly sure what had happened. Unless... ‘Don’t think to force me into marrying you by ruining my reputation. You see, that kind of thing doesn’t matter to me.’

  His eyes widened. ‘So that is your plan, is it?’

  ‘Oh, you really are impossible.’

  For a long moment his gaze studied her face, searching for who knew what. ‘I will discover what it is my grandfather put you up to, you know. I will stop you any way I can. I have more resources at my disposal than you can possibly imagine.’

  She could imagine all right. She could imagine all sorts of things when it came to this man. Resources weren’t the only thing chasing through her mind. And those thoughts were the worst of all: the thoughts of his kisses and the heat of his body. ‘The best thing you could do is kill me off. Then all your troubles will be over.’

  The grey of his eyes turned wintry. His expression hardened. ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought of it.’

  Her breath left her in a rush. Her stomach dropped away and she felt cold all over. She ducked under his arm, pulled at the door handle and was out the door in a flash and running down the corridor.

  ‘Miss Wilding, wait,’ he called after her.

  She didn’t dare stop. Her heart was beating far too fast, the blood roaring in her head, for her to think clearly. But now he had shown his hand, she would be on her guard.

  * * *

  After a night filled with dreams Mary couldn’t quite recall—though she suspected from how hot she felt that they had something to do with the earl and his kiss—she awoke to find Betsy setting a tray of hot chocolate and freshly baked rolls beside the bed.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Nine o’clock, miss.’

  So late? How could she have slept so long and still feel desperately tired? Perhaps because she’d been in such a turmoil when she went to bed. Perhaps because she could not get those dark words out of her mind. Don’t think I haven’t thought of it.

  ‘The weather is set to be fair, miss.’ Betsy knelt to rake the coals in the fire. ‘Warm for this time of year.’

  Mary hopped out of bed and went to the window. ‘So it is. I think I will go for a walk.’ She dressed with her usual efficiency in her best gown.

  Betsy rose to her feet. ‘The ruins are very popular with visitors in the summer,’ she said, watching Mary reach behind her to button her gown with a frown of disapproval. ‘Very old they are. Some say the are haunted by the old friars who were killed by King Henry.’

  Mary tucked a plain linen scarf in the neck of her bodice and picked up her brush. ‘Superstitious nonsense.’ She brushed hard. ‘Have you ever seen a ghost?’ She glanced past her own reflection at the maid, who looked a little pale.

  ‘No, miss.’ She gave a little shiver. ‘And I’ve worked here for three years. But I don’t go out there at night.’

  Mary coiled her hair around her fingers and reached for her pins. ‘The ruins sound fascinating. I will be sure to take a look.’ She wished she had used her time in the library the previous day looking at a map of the area instead of reading romantic poetry.

  ‘Would miss like me to fix her hair?’ Betsy asked, looking a little askance at the plain knot Mary favoured. ‘I can do it up fancy like Mrs Hampton’s maid does, if you like. I have been practising on the other girls.’

  Mary heard a note of longing in the girl’s voice. ‘Why, Betsy, do you have ambitions to become a lady’s maid?’

  Betsy coloured, but her eyes shone. ‘Yes, miss. I would like that above all. My brother works down Beresford’s tin mine. If I had a better paying job, he could go to school.’

  Her mine. Or it would be if she married. ‘Is it a bad place to work?’

  Betsy looked embarrassed. ‘It’s hard work, but the manager, Mr Trelawny, is a fair man. Not like some.’

  ‘How old is your brother?’

  ‘Ten, miss. Works alongside my Da, he does. Proud as a peacock.’

  The thought of such a small boy working in the mine did not sit well in her stomach. But she knew families needed the income. As the mine owner, if she really was a mine owner, she could make some changes. To do that, she had to marry. And then the mine would belong to her husband and not to her. It was all such a muddle. Being a schoolteacher was one thing, but this...this was quite another. Besides, it was easy to see that if she married the earl, he would rule the roost. He was not the type of man to listen to a woman.

  What she needed was some sensible counsel to see her through this mess. While Sally Ladbrook might not be the warmest of people, she had a sensible head on her shoulders. ‘Perhaps you can help me with my hair another day. That will be all for now.’

  How strange it sounded, giving out orders to another person in such a manner, but Betsy seemed to take it as natural, bobbing her curtsy and leaving right away.

  Oh dear, Mary hoped the girl wouldn’t be too disappointed that Mary could not offer her a position, but she really couldn’t stay. Not when Lord Beresford considered her death a plausible option.

  Besides, she desperately needed to speak to Sally about the other matter the earl had raised. The money. There had to be a plausible explanation, other than misappropriation. The earl was wrong to suggest it.

  She sat down and drank the chocolate and ate as many of the rolls as she could manage. The last two she wrapped in a napkin and tucked in her reticule to eat on the journey.

  She counted out her small horde of coins and was relieved to discover she had enough to get her back to Wiltshire on a stagecoach. After packing her valise and bundling up in her winter cloak and bonnet, she headed for a side door she’d noticed in her wanderings. She just hoped she could find it again in the maze of passageways and stairs.

  After a couple of wrong turns, she did indeed find it again. A quick survey assured her no one was around to see her departure. She twisted the black-iron ring attached to the latch and tugged. The heavy door, caught by the wind, yanked the handle out of her hands and slammed against the passage wall with a resounding bang.

  Her heart raced in her chest. Had anyone heard? Would they come running? Rather than wait to see, she stepped outside and, after a moment’s struggle, closed the door behind her.

  She really hadn’t expected the wind to be so fierce. She pulled up her hood and tightened the strings, staring around her at crumbling walls and stone arches overgrown with weeds. The jagged walls looked grim and ghostly against the leaden sky, though no doubt it would look charmingly antiquated on a sunny day.

  Clutching her valise, she picked her way through the ruins, heading north, she hoped. A green sward opened up before her. Not the cliffs and the sea. In the distance, a rider on a magnificent black horse galloped across the park, a dog loping along behind.

  The earl. It could be no one else. Hatless, his open greatcoat flapping in the wind, he looked like the apocalyptic horseman of Death. She shivered.

  No, that was giving him far too much in the way of mystical power. He was simply a man who wanted his birthright. And she had somehow managed to get in the way. The thought didn’t make her feel any better.

  Realising she must have turned south, she swiftly marched in the other direction, around the outside of the ruins, up hill this time, which made more sense if she was headed for cliffs.

  The wind increased in strength
, buffeting her ears, whipping the ribbons of her bonnet in her face and billowing her cloak around her. She gasped as it tore the very breath from her throat. It would be a vigorous walk to St Ives and no mistake.

  She licked her lips and was surprised by the sharp tang of salt on her tongue. From the sea, she supposed. Interesting. She hadn’t thought of the salt being carried in the air. Head down, she forged on, looking for a path along the cliff top. The upward climb became steeper, so rocky underfoot she had to watch where she placed each step or risk a tumble. She paused to take stock of her progress.

  A few feet in front of her the ground disappeared and all she could see ahead of her was grey surging waves crested with spume. It was lucky she had stopped when she did.

  But where was the path mentioned by Gerald? She scanned the ground in both directions and was able to make out a very faint track meandering along the cliff top. It looked more like a track for sheep than for people.

  The wind seemed intent of holding her back, but she battled into it, following the track frighteningly close to the edge.

  The strings of her hood gave way against a battering gust and her bonnet blew off, bouncing against her back, pulling against her throat. Strands of hair tore free and whipped at her face, stinging her eyes. A roar like thunder rolled up from below.

  She leaned out to peer through the spray into the boiling churning water. Hell’s kitchen must surely look and sound like this. As each wave drew back with a grumbling growl, she glimpsed the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff and off to her left a rocky cove with a small sandy beach.

  Out in the distance, the sky and sea became one vast grey mist. The world had never felt this big in the little Wiltshire village of Sarum. She leaned into the wind and felt its pure natural strength holding her weight. She laughed. She couldn’t help it. She had never experienced such wildness.

  Something nudged into her back.

  She windmilled her arms to regain her balance. Her valise went flying over the cliff. And the ground fell from beneath her feet.

  She screamed.

  Chapter Four

  An iron band of an arm closed around her waist at the same moment her feet left the ground. She hung suspended above the raging sea for what felt like hours, but could only be seconds. That arm twisted her around and plonked her down. Not on the ground, but on a pair of hard muscled thighs gripping a saddle.

  Teeth chattering, heart racing, she gazed up into the earl’s hard face. With a click of his tongue he backed the horse away from the edge. Was he mad? They could all have gone over the cliff.

  Clear of the edge, he halted the horse’s backward progress and wheeled around so they were no longer facing the sea. Further along the cliff, a shepherd, crook in hand, was running towards them. The earl waved, an everything-is-fine acknowledgement, which it wasn’t, and the shepherd stopped running and waved back.

  ‘Put me down,’ she demanded.

  A grunt was all the answer he gave.

  She felt his thighs move beneath her as he clicked his tongue. The horse headed down hill. Back the way she had come. The urge to protest caused her hands to clench.

  ‘Are you mad?’ she yelled over the wind. ‘I almost went over the edge.’

  His cold gaze flicked over her face. He took a deep shuddering breath as if to control some strong emotion. Fear? More likely anger. His next words confirmed it. ‘It would have served you right, my girl. What the devil did you think you were doing?’

  She shoved the annoying lengths of hair out of her face. Dash it, she would not lie. ‘Walking to St Ives. Now I have lost my bag.’

  ‘You are lucky that was all you lost,’ he murmured like a threat in her ear.

  He meant she could have lost her life. She swallowed and glanced back towards the headland, where the shepherd, a hand shading his eyes, was still watching them. It would have been the answer to all the earl’s problems if she had gone over that cliff. She could have sworn something nudged her in the back. Had he changed his mind at the last moment?

  A cold hand clawed at her stomach. She glanced at his grim expression. He’d been angry about that will. She could well imagine him taking matters into his own hands. But murder? A shiver slid down her back.

  The further from the cliff they got, the less the sea and the wind roared in her ears. She lifted her chin and met his chilly gaze. ‘You have no right to keep me here.’

  ‘I have every right. I am your guardian.’

  ‘Only in your mind,’ she muttered.

  He stiffened. ‘You need a keeper if you think it is safe to walk along that cliff top.’

  Now he was pretending he minded if she fell. Why? So she wouldn’t guess his intentions? It certainly wasn’t because he cared about what happened to her. The cold in her stomach spread to her chest. She readied herself to jump down and run for her life.

  He hissed in a breath, as if in some sort of pain. ‘In heaven’s name, stop wriggling.’

  ‘Then put me down.’

  ‘I’ll put you down when I am good and ready.’

  The big horse pranced and kicked up his back legs. She instinctively grabbed for his lordship’s solid shoulders. He tensed and she heard him curse softly under his breath. He pulled the horse to a stop and, putting an arm around her waist, lowered her to the ground. He dismounted beside her.

  ‘No need to interrupt your ride,’ she said brightly. ‘I can find my own way.’

  He grasped her upper arm in an iron grip. Not hard enough to hurt, but there was no mistaking she could not break free. ‘How did you get out of the house without anyone seeing you?’

  She gasped. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I left orders that you were not to leave.’

  ‘Orders you have no right to give?’

  ‘Don’t test my patience, Miss Wilding. I will have no hesitation in dealing with you as you deserve.’

  She swallowed hard. ‘Killing me off, you mean?’ Oh, no. She couldn’t believe she had just blurted that out.

  He released her as if she was hot to the touch. His eyes flashed with an emotion she could not read—pain, perhaps? More likely disgust given the hard set to his jaw. ‘I assure you, when I want your death, it will not occur in front of witnesses.’

  So he had seen the shepherd and thought better of it. She tried not to shiver at the chill in his voice. ‘I will keep that in mind, my lord. Thank you for the forewarning.’

  He stared at her, his lips twitching, his eyes gleaming as if he found something she had said amusing. ‘You are welcome, Miss Wilding. Come along, I will escort you back to the house.’

  So now they were to pretend nothing had happened? That he hadn’t seriously thought about pushing her off a cliff? Perhaps she should pretend she was joking about thinking he wanted her dead. She quelled a shiver. She hated this feeling of fear. Anger at her weakness rose up in her throat, making it hard to breathe or think, when she should be finding a way to beat him at his own game. She gave him a look of disdain. ‘Did no one tell you it isn’t polite to creep up on a person?’

  ‘I was riding a very large stallion over rocky terrain. That hardly counts as creeping.’

  ‘I didn’t hear you over the noise of the sea. Surely you could tell?’

  He gave her a look designed to strike terror into the heart of the most intrepid individual. ‘I had other things on my mind.’

  Such as pushing her over the edge. She began striding down hill. Unlike most men of her acquaintance, he easily kept pace, the horse following docilely, while the dog bounded around them. Surprisingly, his steps matched hers perfectly. On the rare occasion when she’d walked alongside a gentleman—well, back from the village with the young man who delivered the mail—she’d had to shorten her stride considerably because the young man was a good head shorter than she. The e
arl, on the other hand, towered above her. A rather unnerving sensation.

  All her sensations with regard to this man were unnerving. The fluttery ones when he kissed her, the shivery ones when she felt fear and the one she was feeling now, a strange kind of appreciation for his handsome face and athletic build when she should be absolutely terrified. It seemed that whereas her mind was as sharp as a needle, her body was behaving like a fool.

  It was this silence between them making her react this way. It needed filling to distract her from these wayward thoughts and feelings.

  ‘The Abbey is an extraordinary house, isn’t it?’ She gestured towards the sprawling mish-mash of wings and turrets.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Highly impractical. Ridiculously expensive to run. It should be torn down.’

  Aghast, she stopped, staring up at his implacable face. ‘But think of all the history that would be lost.’

  ‘A history of murderous brigands.’

  ‘Rather fitting, don’t you think?’ The words were out before she could stop them.

  He gave her a look askance, as if he found her a puzzle he would like to solve. Well, she had solved his puzzle. She knew exactly what was on his mind. Her murder. A bone-deep shudder trembled in her bones.

  They reached the ruins near her tower. He stopped, his gaze fixed on the door through which she had left. ‘You came through there.’

  It wasn’t a question. She shrugged and kept walking.

  He caught her arm and halted her. ‘Give me your word you will not try to leave again without my permission.’

  ‘You have no authority over my actions. None at all.’

  He let go a sigh. ‘Very well, that door and all the others will from now on be locked and barred.’ One corner of his mouth curled up, and if his voice had not been so harsh, she might have thought it an attempt at a smile. ‘You might as well use it to go back inside.’

  She pulled her arm free. Anything not to have to spend any more time in his company. Her runaway heart was going to knock right through the wall of her chest. She headed for the door.

  ‘Miss Wilding,’ he said, softly.