Roane raised a golden brow, fairly mocking her for her reaction. As if he liked insects in his boots.
She huffed a breath. “I did not begin this journey as a lark. I am not a silly girl, making silly choices. I understand what is at stake. I understand the dangers ahead. And I am fully aware this”—she waved her hand—“situation could utterly destroy what little is left of my reputation, and my option to marry a wealthy man.
But there are very real consequences if I do not return home with the money. We still have upwards of sixty servants, if they haven’t all fled in my absence, and they have families to feed. Not to mention the hundreds of tenants at Slipstream Hall and Donnet Abbey who depend on the earldom.”
He unwound his long frame and stood. “And you shall provide for them, once I return to London with—”
“What if you can’t find the gold?” she pressed. “Two minds are better than one.”
“Oh, I’ll find it, even if I have to dig up half of England.”
“But that could take years. You never would have known the map was upside-down without me. What other clues might I decipher?”
“We can go over the map—”
“I cannot go back.” She closed her eyes, hating the sound of her desperation. Hating the choking feel of it even more. She couldn’t go back to London, to the sinking ship of her life. For months she’d felt like she was drowning, like she couldn’t breathe. Her powerlessness had been the worst part of it all. She could only watch as the debt collectors became more daring, the servants increasingly angry. She’d stopped going to social events altogether, as the gossips grew bold, and the men even bolder. On top of it all, Harry was following James’s footsteps to an early grave, and she had to find some way to save him, the last of her family. Repairing their finances was her only grand idea.
She couldn’t go back and sit at her window and hope Roane returned with the gold. Neither was she going to marry some man who had no care for her, yet possessed all the rights to her being. She’d rather face horses and caves and highwaymen than slowly drown while her life came apart at the seams. A tear rolled down her cheek and she quickly brushed it away.
“Tears won’t work on me, princess,” Roane said. But then he sighed. “Bloody hell, if you are going to be so stubborn about it, we should ride at once. We’ve a long day of grueling terrain ahead of us.”
She smiled, focusing on his capitulation, and not the idea of scary horses and grueling terrain. Ugh. “Let us ride, then.”
He eyed her. “Are you wearing anything under your skirts? We’ve only the one saddle for you. You’ll have to ride astride.”
She snorted. “That is not possible.”
“It is very possible. In fact, it is the only possibility. You’ll want to protect your legs, the saddle chafes something awful.”
It all sounded awful. Beyond awful.
“I’ll make do,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “What of my things in Cromford? Might we stop to retrieve them?”
“The time to go to Cromford is long past, sweetheart. We’re a good twenty miles north of there.”
“But, my gowns…”
He shrugged. “If you are lucky, the innkeeper will save them. More than likely, he’ll use them as payment for your rooms.”
“I cannot wear this horrendous gown for days.” She thrust her arms outward, her posture screaming Look at this dress. “It wasn’t even fashionable last year.”
Roane raised a mocking brow.
Helen dropped her hands and picked at the muddy skirts of her printed wrap dress. “My favorite carriage dress is at the inn. I had to wait a month for that specific shade of lavender.”
“I’d happily return you—”
“Now off with you,” she interrupted before he could reconsider his position. “So I may prepare for the day.”
“Of course.” With an exaggerated bow, Roane gathered his bedroll and saddlebags and left her alone in the cave. She lowered the front apron of her unfashionable dress and awkwardly pulled on her half corset. Her face burned as she tightened the laces, recalling how Roane had touched her everywhere. How he had bent her back over his arm and used his mouth…
Good lord, these thoughts were not helping. She had to face a horse and miles of torture in just a few moments.
As if dressing for battle, she fixed her gown, pulled on her cloak, ruined gloves and her poor, drooping bonnet. Lastly, she tied her reticule around her wrist.
A lady never left home without her reticule.
The small bag contained her mirror, comb, a few hairpins and a sewing kit. And, here in this strange land, it afforded Helen a certain confidence. In the past year, as her world had crumbled around her, fashion had become her one source of control. If her appearance was flawless, no one would see the suffering woman behind it. And, if no one saw her sorrow, it didn’t truly exist, not fully.
She tightened the strap of her reticule. If she could fix her hair or her hem, she could fix anything.
A rather ridiculous sentiment, she knew, but in this cave, she would take any comfort she could get.
Ten minutes later, Helen stared at her mount. Dread sank like a heavy stone in her belly and her legs shook beneath her. She wanted to turn back, to admit to Roane that she was a bumbling fool and beg him to take her to Cromford. But she would not. She could not. There was nothing for it but to plunge ahead.
Rubbing her damp palms together, she approached the mare. The horse watched with steely eyes and a cold sweat broke out over Helen’s skin. She was doomed, absolutely doomed, if just a horse looking at her made her want to run away.
She exhaled sharply, forcing her shoulders down. She had faced foul-mouthed, drunken louts and demanded they let her collect her brothers from their flea-ridden “establishments.” She could face a horse.
“Hello, Starlight.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t know your name, so I gave you one. With you being blonde and all.” Now for the hard part.
Helen held out her hand.
Starlight lifted her head and Helen snapped her hand back. Then she made herself hold out her palm again and slowed her breathing. It was imperative the horse not sense her trepidation and become alarmed. A fearful beast of seventeen hands and seventy-two stone was dangerous indeed. This time, Starlight stretched her long neck and sniffed. The horse’s nuzzle grazed Helen’s palm and she held back a scream.
Starlight pulled her head back and just looked at her.
Helen staggered back on limp legs and leaned against a tree.
That was enough, right? A good start?
She wanted to say yes. How she wanted to never approach another horse for the rest of her life.
But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly.
She was to ride out at any moment, and Roane could never know that his unwanted companion was deathly afraid of horses.
“Are you ready, then?” Roane led Zeus into the clearing. The two horses nickered at each other. “I’ll help you up.”
Helen swallowed. “Ready.”
Roane left Zeus a few paces away and approached her. She tried to look unconcerned, when truly her knees threatened to buckle. She locked them and forced a serene expression on her face.
“How shall we do this?” she asked. “I fear my skirts shall get in the way.”
“There’s nothing to it, just hop on up.” Roane looped his fingers together. “Step a foot here. I promise not to peek up your skirts.”
That was the least of her worries. Calling on every ounce of stubborn pride she had, Helen grabbed hold of the saddle and put her foot in Roane’s palms.
“Take heed you do not whack the horse with your pouch thing. I’m sure she would not appreciate it.” With that, Roane nearly launched her atop Starlight. With a dramatic billowing of skirts, Helen threw her leg over the horse’s back and landed in the saddle. Everything was a blur and a buzz inside her head.
The mare shifted two steps sideways,
and Helen was certain she would plummet to her death.
Slowly, the world returned to normal, and she could make sense of her place in it.
The horse was huge! Helen ground her teeth together so they wouldn’t chatter and for the thousandth time cursed her brothers for their foolishness. Never again, she promised herself. She was done. She was not going to step in and tame their chaos anymore.
And this time, she really, really meant it.
Barely moving at all, she arranged the strap of her reticule, then tucked her petticoats around her legs like makeshift breeches. The skirts of her dress were wide, and comfortably spanned the back of the horse. Still, her legs were exposed at the tops of her boots. It pained her, but vanity had no place when gold was to be had.
“Ready?” A line marked Roane’s brow. He looked doubtful.
“Ready.” She hoped she looked calmer than she felt. For, truly, she felt anything but calm.
He eyed the tasseled silk reticule dangling from her wrist. “I can pack that little sac for you in my saddlebag.”
“No, thank you. I will keep it on me.”
“It will be in the way of the horse.”
“A lady travels with a reticule.” She sounded admirably haughty. He would never know how scared she felt. How out of her element.
Oh, how he would scoff to know she clung to this bit of silk and beading for courage.
Roane hopped atop his mount and, with a few murmured words, led Zeus out of the trees. Starlight stepped forward and the whole world tilted on its axis.
Helen didn’t look back, just let the mare pick her way through the trees to the meadow beyond. The horse naturally slipped into a slow trot and Helen forced herself not to close her eyes in panic.
I shall survive, she told herself, as long as I just hold on and don’t fall off.
***
She was terrified of horses.
Roane watched Helen, stiff and awkward in the saddle, and tried not to wince. With her death grip on the reins, her skirts hiked up to her knees, and her ridiculous bag banging against the mare’s neck, she was a sight to behold. A sorry sight, slim calves and golden braid not withstanding.
He shook his head, sorry for the mare. Sorry for every horse lover that had ever lived. And sorry for himself—Lady Helen was going to cost him that prime parcel of pastureland if he didn’t get rid of her soon.
He would feel sorry for Helen as well, were she not so insistent on accompanying him into the Pennines. What sane woman demanded to ride by horseback for over a hundred miles when she was scared to death of the beasts?
A woman who had everything to loose, that’s who. A woman with strength of spirit, a steel will, and an appreciation of adventure.
He looked back at her, begrudgingly admiring her bravery. The ruined bonnet hid her face, but he imagined her expression was pinched and stubborn. He wanted to tease a smile out of her, perhaps another kiss.
Definitely another kiss.
Who was he kidding? He wanted more than a kiss. He wanted to find a soft patch of earth and watch her come undone beneath him. He wanted to bury himself deep within her and drive her wild.
Helen dropped the left rein and fussed with the beaded, tasseled thing on her right wrist. The mare slowed to a walk, then a standstill. Helen grabbed the left rein again, tugged here, tugged there, and led the mare sideways into a bush.
“Onward, onward,” she muttered, rocking her hips forward in a motion that did nothing for the mare, but everything for Roane’s imagination. Helen might be a headache, but she was a beautiful headache.
And he was twenty kinds a fool. There would be consequences if he didn’t get his head out of his pants and gain some ground today.
He rode back toward her. “Please, Lady Helen, let me put that thing…” He waved his hands at her wrist. What had she called it? “That ridicule in my saddlebag. It will be safer for you and the mount.”
“It is a reticule, not a ridicule. And no, thank you.” She yanked the ties around her wrist and smiled sweetly, though lines deepened at the corners of her eyes. “I am ready. You may continue.”
She was pale, too pale even for a London miss. “We should be in Bakewell in another hour.” He’d meant to comfort her—certainly she’d want to be done with the riding astride part of their adventure. But she set her chin and looked down her nose at him.
“We needn’t stop in town on my behalf.”
She was not going to make this easy on him. Very well, he would return the favor.
With a slight pressure of his knee, Roane turned Zeus north. The gelding followed effortlessly and Roane patted his neck—how he loved this horse. Three years apart had been three years too long. He was relieved to see Mazie had taken good care of the beast.
Not that he was surprised. Mazie had always been a loving and thoughtful sister, even when their father had endeavored to keep them apart. Roane might not approve of her choice in husbands—now there was an understatement—but he loved Mazie unconditionally. He couldn’t wait to be reunited with her and meet his little niece and nephew. Most likely, Mazie would scold him for not writing earlier of his return. Indeed, he was disappointed she was on the Continent, but a part of him appreciated the opportunity to settle his future before seeing her again. Especially before seeing the man whom he refused to call his brother-in-law. They were not brother’s, not in any way. Considering the manner of their parting, his pride demanded he return to their home with, not just a plan, but a sizeable plot of land and a small, legitimate fortune in hand.
Roane glanced at Helen behind him. Allowing a few paces between the animals, he clicked for her mount to follow. The mare tossed her head, obviously annoyed at her annoying rider, and settled into a smooth gait.
“Easy on the reins, Helen,” he admonished. “You don’t want to hurt her mouth.”
Helen was surprisingly quiet as they crossed a sheep meadow, green with spring grass, and approached the foothills. The Pennines looked quiet from this southerly view. Like rolling waves on the ocean, one had no notion of the storms to come. Of the ragged cliffs, steep edges, and dangerous moors that lay ahead.
But Roane knew. He knew these hilly paths like one might know a favorite story, or a familiar song.
He was finally home.
After all that waiting, all the dreaming and planning, he was here. And it felt…odd. He almost wished Helen would chatter, for there was something sharp and unwanted in his chest as he studied the landscape.
Spring flowers splattered the meadows with bold color, and the sky domed blue and clear overhead. Stone farmhouses squatted on the hills, and somewhere a dog barked. It filled his heart, the beauty and the familiarity, it filled him until his chest ached. But there was something else, too, an old sorrow he couldn’t shake. For, as much as he’d loved this land, he’d never truly belonged here. He’d never inhabited one of those cottages, never had a dog of his own. He’d always been passing through, as he was now, from one place to another.
He dropped his hand in his lap, belatedly noticing he’d been rubbing his chest, as if he could rub the ache away.
How did one come home when one never truly had a home to begin with?
The ache grew and twisted and squeezed his throat until all that was left was longing for his Aunt Pearl. She had tried to give him a home, and she was gone. Gone, gone, gone.
If he were counting his regrets, she would be top of the list.
But he was not counting his regrets. And, as Mazie had said in her letter, certainly his Aunt Pearl had gone to a comfortable seat in Heaven, sainted for trying to love the angry and wayward boy he’d been.
He leaned forward and patted Zeus, his loyal animal who had waited for him. Today, he would think of his future. He would find the gold. And he would purchase those ninety acres in the Lincolnshire Vales. He’d been coveting that parcel of land for years. Not only was it in close proximity to his sister Mazie, but it was also the perfect location to
establish his horse farm.
And it would be his. His own piece of Heaven. His own home.
Everything was set in motion.
No one, not himself, not his lady princess, and not the men pursuing him, was going to ruin this for him.
He turned in the saddle and watched Helen inch her way toward him on the even path. A long sigh escaped him. “Come along now, buttercup. We haven’t all day.”
She pretended not to hear him.
Chapter Seven
What should have taken ten minutes took nearly an hour as the exasperating Lady Helen picked her way up Lathkill Dale on a small bridle path. Roane waited impatiently on top of the ridge, the wind catching the loose edges of his clothing and tossing it up toward the open sky. Helen finally gained the rim, then promptly stopped to tie her bonnet tighter. Roane couldn’t wait any longer. He turned and followed the river east toward Bakewell and the coaching inn.
He stayed close to the limestone edge, where the cliff dropped dramatically to the river far below. The wind whipped around them, and the sun was hot overhead. It was not the most comfortable route he could have chosen, but he was not trying to make Helen comfortable.
He was trying to show her the Pennines were no place for a lady like her.
“Might we find another route?” Helen asked from behind him. She had to yell to be heard over the wind.
“No.”
“But there is another path just to the north.”
Roane glanced over his left shoulder, impressed that Helen knew which direction was north. Indeed, there was another path along the plateau farther away from the edge. “We are safe here.”
She grumbled something he could not hear. In return, he brought the horses to a faster walk. At least the mare had sense enough not to walk over the edge of the cliff even if Helen did not.
By the time he did turn north toward Bakewell, the wind was bothering even him. It crept into his ears and buzzed around in his head. He was glad to slip back into the trees and find a moment’s peace.
“You made me ride that treacherous path on purpose,” Helen snapped from behind him.
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