by Candace Camp
The earl sent his brother a fulminating glance, but finally he sighed and said, “Very well. We had planned to ride out in three groups. The gamesmen and gardeners will be on foot and will take the woods to the north. That is the area to which Fitz and Royce tracked the blood drops before they lost him. Fitz, Royce, and I will each take two grooms and one of you girls—Charlotte, I assume you do not plan to insert yourself into these proceedings, do you?”
“Not I,” Charlotte answered cheerfully. “Though it’s a good thing Vivian isn’t here, or I feel sure she would drag me along.”
Oliver closed his eyes, looking pained. “Thank heaven I escaped that, at least. I will take two of you—Cousin Lily and Cousin Camellia. Your expertise will make up for my inferior skills, I trust. Rose, go with Fitz, since he is the best shot and you appear to be the prime target. Mary, you will ride with Royce and his men.”
“But—” Mary began to protest, but she fell silent at Oliver’s flat look. She had won this round with the earl, she told herself; she would not argue at being placed with Royce. Besides, she and Royce had called a truce, had they not?
“Why is someone trying to kidnap Rose, anyway?” Charlotte asked. “I mean, he cannot possibly know her.” She looked toward Rose. “Of course, you are exceedingly pretty, my dear, but …” She turned to the earl. “Doesn’t it seem a bit extreme that he saw Rose and decided to abduct her? And that he is going to so much trouble?”
The earl nodded. “I’m inclined to think it’s an attempt to extort money from me. I’m not sure why he has focused on Rose—perhaps that is simply a matter of his liking her looks—but I think that when my new cousins arrived, he must have seen the opportunity to hold one of them for ransom.”
His words made sense, Mary thought—and that made it even less likely that Cosmo Glass was involved. She could not help but feel relieved.
The group rode out the next morning at so early a time that Mary suspected the earl hoped the girls would cry off. However, they had long been accustomed to rising early to get the food and cleaning started in the tavern, so they met the gentlemen at the stables in good time.
Royce and Mary rode south from Willowmere, accompanied by two grooms. Royce paused from time to time to pull a small collapsible telescope from his pocket and make a sweep of the area. They found no sign of anyone, confirming Mary’s suspicions that whoever had attacked the girls yesterday was probably far away by now. After a time, Royce pulled his horse to a halt. Mary glanced over at him. He was gazing at Beacon Hill, looming in the distance.
“It occurs to me,” he said, “that it would be dashed easy to keep a watch on the house and all the land around it from up there.”
“You think the attacker watched them ride out from there?” Mary looked speculatively at the hill.
“It seems reasonable to me. With an instrument such as this”—he waggled the small telescope—“he could keep a very good eye on everything going on.”
“Then let’s go up there.”
He hesitated, then said, “All right, but ride behind me. And if I tell you to get down or to do anything else, promise you will do it.”
Mary frowned, and he added, “Otherwise, I will return by myself tomorrow to investigate.”
Mary sighed. “Very well, I agree.”
She did as he asked, staying behind him as their horses picked their way up the trail to the top of the bluff. As they drew closer, she could see the tumbled stones of the ancient ruin. Royce had taken his reins in his left hand and pulled out his pistol, carrying it at the ready. Mary followed his example. It was almost eerily silent at the top of the hill. Mary turned to look out across the vista. Royce was right. She could see the house and gardens and the lands around them with clarity, even without the aid of an optical instrument. With one, she was sure she could have picked out individuals on the grounds.
Royce dismounted and gave her his hand to help her down. They walked to a low flat rock near the edge of the cliff. Looking down at the ground, Mary could see the imprint of a shoe here and there. But that did not mean their attacker had been here. Surely people came here from time to time to look at the view.
“Look at the scuff marks.” Royce pointed to the edge of the rock and the ground beside it. “Someone’s been here. Good place to lie down and brace your hands on the rock to steady your telescope.”
They continued to walk, moving back from the edge of the hill and weaving their way through the fallen stones and low walls.
“Sir Royce!” one of the grooms called excitedly.
Royce and Mary hurried in his direction. They found him standing in a sheltered corner of the ruin where two of the partial walls came together.
The earth in the area had clearly been disturbed. Holes had been driven into the ground in a distinct square pattern, and the dirt was scuffed and the grass flattened inside the square.
“A tent has been here. And a fire.” Mary pointed to the ring of stones, filled with blackened ashes.
Royce nodded, his mouth pulled into a taut, grim line. “No wonder we heard no gossip of a stranger in the village. He’s been camping out up here. Watching our every move.”
“And look!” Mary spotted an object lying in the shadow, up against one of the walls. She picked it up and turned to show it to Royce. It was the leather satchel that had held all their papers, now empty and discarded. “My case!”
Chapter 24
The house was abuzz with news of the discovery Mary and Royce had made atop Beacon Hill. Maids whispered about it in the hallways, and Miss Dalrymple described at length the palpitations it gave her. Even the invitation to Lady Sabrina’s ball could not overshadow the idea that someone had been spying on Willowmere. Lord Stewkesbury insisted that the girls not ride unless accompanied by himself, Royce, or Fitz as well as a groom, and he increased the number of men patrolling the perimeter of the grounds both night and day.
“I feel as if I am living in an armed camp,” Mary grumbled as she left the house a few days later to take a walk in the garden. Royce, hearing her intention, had insisted on accompanying her. “I can’t imagine why I need an escort as well.”
“Do you really want to entrust your life to a gardener patrolling the grounds?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Mary sighed. “Well, come along if you must.”
“How could I refuse such a gracious invitation?”
She could not help but smile. “I am sorry. I shall strive to be a more pleasant companion.”
“There is no need. I have become quite accustomed to you.”
That remark brought forth a full laugh from her.
He smiled. “There. That is better. It has been too long since I have heard you laugh.”
She glanced at him, surprised.
“Did you think I hadn’t noticed?” he asked softly. “Did you think I did not realize that I have been the cause of your unhappiness?”
“No, I will not lay that upon you,” she told him quickly.
“You do not need to. I know what I see. And why.” He took her hand, raising it and softly pressing his lips upon the back of it. “I would go back and undo what I have done if I could. I would not have you unhappy.”
Mary felt the color rise in her cheeks, and she glanced away, flustered—as much from the feel of his lips upon her skin as from his words.
“I did not act as a gentleman should. I allowed my desire to control me,” he went on.
“That is not why I am—why I have been—”
“Unhappy?”
“Yes. No.” She pulled her fingers from his grasp. “There is no need for you to blame yourself. I am a grown woman. I knew what I was doing. You did not seduce me.”
“Yet you regret it.”
“I don’t.” She looked at him, eyes wide. “I have not regretted it for a moment. How could I? It was—” She broke off, her color deepening, and quickened her pace.
He matched her easily, taking her hand in his once again as they walked.
“What?” he asked. “What was it?” His thumb began a lazy circling over the back of her hand, so light it was barely noticeable, yet it sent shivers running through her.
They were walking toward the arbor, and she could not help but think of the maze that lay beyond it—and what had happened in the maze. She remembered his kiss, his touch, the heady delight that had run through her. Her blood seemed to hum in her veins, stirred by her memories and the soft, insistent pleasure of his thumb stroking her hand.
“Royce, stop.” She tugged her hand from his again. “You know what it was like. Why must I say it?”
“Because.” He reached out, pulling her to a stop and turning her to face him. “It pleases me to hear you say it.”
He raised his hand and stroked his knuckles down her cheek, soft as the touch of a feather. Mary looked up into his eyes, unable to pull her gaze away. It was so easy to get lost in those green depths, to forget everything else in the memory of pleasure.
“It was shattering,” she admitted hoarsely.
His eyes warmed, the pupils widening. “Marigold … you entrance me. Such honesty. Such lack of guile.”
She started to turn away, but he grabbed her arms and held her in place. “No, don’t run away. It was shattering for me as well.”
Mary’s breath hitched in her throat. She was very aware of the heat of his hands on her arms, the sound of her own blood pounding in her ears. She wondered if he had sensed the quiver of desire that his words had sent shooting into her abdomen.
“I don’t want to lose that… . I don’t want to lose you.” He bent, brushing his lips against her temple. His lips went lower, grazing the hard line of her jaw, then moving on to her ear.
Mary’s insides were suddenly soft and warm, like wax melting over a flame. Her eyes drifted closed, and her hands went to his chest, bracing herself. She shivered as his lips slid along her throat. His hand drifted up her side and curved around her breast. Heat blossomed within her, and her nipples tightened.
His kiss deepened as he pulled her farther into the shade of the arbor, one hand curving down her back and pressing her hips against his. She could feel the hard line of him digging into her soft flesh, and the mere touch brought all the memories of their lovemaking flooding back to her. Mary moved involuntarily, and she was answered by a muffled groan from Royce. He kissed her hungrily, fervently, and his hand delved beneath the neckline of her dress, caressing her naked flesh.
She wanted to yield, to sink into his arms, to fall once more into that swirling maelstrom of emotions and sensation. She struggled to recall why she was resisting him when what he offered was so pleasurable. Would it be so wrong to give in to her desire? To feel the joy and fulfillment when he plunged deep inside her? To belong to him, and he to her, so deeply, so completely, that for the moment nothing else existed?
But she knew what would happen after that moment, the emptiness that would creep in as she realized that all emotion was only on her side. He would press her even more strongly to marry him, and she would have to hold out against him, knowing even as she did so that she wanted desperately to take what he offered. There would be arguments and unhappiness. It would be utterly foolish to open the door to those things.
With a wrenching effort of will, Mary pulled away. “Are you—are you seducing me?” she asked a trifle shakily.
“I am trying to court you.”
Mary turned a skeptical eye upon Royce, trying to ignore the pleasure thrumming through her body. “Do you honestly believe I will be fooled by this sudden attempt at courtship? That you can make me believe you really want to marry me?’
“But I do want to marry you!” He flung his hands out to the sides in frustration, his voice rising.
“Oh, you know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.” Royce moved closer, his voice low and intimate. “I want you in my bed. And you want me. You cannot deny it.”
“No,” she replied honestly. “I cannot. But there has to be more.”
“What do you want me to say?”
That you love me. She managed to hold back the words. They had to come from him or it meant nothing.
“I don’t want you to say anything.” She whirled and strode away.
“Bloody hell! Mary—” He hurried after her.
She stopped at the wall that separated the upper garden from the lower one and stared out over the landscape. She did not turn her head as Royce came up beside her. He positioned himself to face her profile, ignoring the view.
“Has it occurred to you that you might already be carrying my child?” he asked softly. “Would you want your child to be born out of wedlock?”
“No, of course not. If I—if that turned out to be the case, I would marry you.”
He moved closer to her, his eyes lighting, and Mary took a quick step backward, placing her hand firmly against his chest.
“No. I won’t let you seduce me in the hope I’ll get pregnant and marry you.”
“Mary … you wound me.”
Mary rolled her eyes, turning away from him back toward the garden. She stiffened. “Royce …” Her voice was unnaturally calm and low.
“What?” He frowned, his eyes searching her face.
“There is a man standing below the gardens. Just outside, beneath that first tree.”
He went as still as she. “To my left?”
“Yes.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “He is just standing there, watching us. He’s too far away for me to make out his features.”
Royce nodded. He took one of her hands. It was ice cold in his. He raised it to his lips. “Don’t worry. Start walking to that bench past the steps.”
When he released her hand, Mary turned and began walking as he had instructed. Behind her, she heard a scrape and a thud, and when she whirled around, she saw that Royce had vaulted over the wall and was already running down the path below.
She raced to the steps leading down to the path, then hiked her skirts to her knees and took off at a run after Royce. She could not see the man he chased, but she could hear the intruder’s progress as he tore through the garden and into the field beyond.
Royce pulled away from her, gaining on the trespasser, until finally he threw himself at the man, and they crashed to the ground in a heap. Mary slowed as she reached them, struggling to regain her breath as the two men rolled across the ground, grappling and punching. She looked around for a small rock or a branch with which to knock the intruder out, but then Royce flipped the other man onto his stomach, grabbing his arm and twisting it up behind his back.
The man let out a roar of pain and stopped struggling. “All right. All right,” a very American voice gasped out. “I yield.”
Royce eased up on his pressure, then stood, hauling the other man to his feet. He was a well-formed young man, a trifle lanky, and his open, pleasant face held a scattering of freckles across his cheeks. Gray eyes, crinkling at the corners, looked out candidly from beneath straight brows of the same dark blond as his close-cropped, curling hair.
Mary gasped in surprise. “Sam! It’s Sam Treadwell!”
“Hello, Mary,” the man responded with a sheepish grin.
“You know him!” Royce stared at her.
“Yes. He—he’s from our town.” Mary continued to gaze at the man in dismay. “I can’t believe that you—Sam, what were you thinking? Why did you shoot at my sisters? Why did you try to take Rose?”
Sam Treadwell’s jaw dropped, and he gaped at her with an expression of such astonishment that he scarcely needed to say, “Shoot at—take Rose! What are you talking about?” Worry quickly wiped out the astonishment as her words sank in. “Is Rose all right?”
“Are you telling us you didn’t fire a pistol at Mary’s sisters?” Royce growled.
“No! Why in the world would I do that?” Treadwell’s voice rose in agitation. “Mary, what is going on?”
“If you’ve done nothing wrong, why the devil did you run from me?”
Sam blinke
d. “I saw you charging at me. I thought you were going to attack me.”
“Bloody hell!” Royce dropped Treadwell’s arm in disgust and took a step back, though he kept a wary eye upon the young man.
“Mary, please tell me what you’re talking about,” Sam said. “Is Rose all right?”
“Yes, she’s fine. Someone shot at my sisters yesterday. When we saw you, we thought you were the man who did it.”
“But you know I would never hurt Rose!”
“I know. I mean, I thought you would not hurt her. What are you doing here?”
“I came to see Rose,” he said simply, as if that was obvious. “When I found you had left without a word, I followed you. I’ve had the devil of a time tracking you down.”
“Why were you lurking about in the gardens?” Royce asked suspiciously. “Why didn’t you come to the front door if you wanted to see Rose?”
“I’m sorry, sir.” The younger man again looked sheepish. “I know I should have, but I wasn’t sure how Rose felt about seeing me.” He looked toward Mary entreatingly. “I was afraid she was angry at me, the way she left. And, well, the house is so grand. I figured if I went round to the back and waited long enough, Rose would come out, and I could talk to her in private.”
Royce heaved a sigh. “I assume that this is one of Rose’s suitors?”
“Yes. Not one, I think, who would try to drug us all and carry Rose off.”
Again Sam Treadwell’s jaw fell open. “Someone did that?” His face firmed, and his hands balled up. “Who? Who’s trying to hurt Rose?” He swung toward Royce.
“We don’t know,” Mary answered.
Treadwell straightened, looking at Royce. “Are you this earl fellow?”
“No, thank God,” Royce replied feelingly. “However, I intend to introduce you to the Earl of Stewkesbury right now.”
The three of them trooped back to the house, Royce walking behind Mary and Treadwell to make sure that the young man did not take it into his head to bolt.
Mary glanced back at Royce. “I don’t think Sam will run away.”