by Julia Donner
Freddy, Viscount Grieves, leaned against the fireplace mantel and contemplated the shine on his boots while whistling under his breath. He wore his black, flyaway hair long, which now fell forward, veiling his striking features. A perturbed glance from his sapphire eyes could slice to the bone. Of all the men in the room, Freddy was the one to watch. No one with any sense got in a fistfight with Bainbridge. All Ravenswold had to do was to stand or straighten up to his full height and stare down his nose. But Freddy, better known as Arm-winger Bates before taking his title, was clever, volatile, and when necessary, lethal.
They all straightened to attention and turned to the door when a stunningly beautiful woman swept through and strode to the desk. The men relaxed when she sat.
“My lords, sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“The mare?” Rave asked his wife.
“She probably won’t foal until closer to morning.” Cassandra Ravenswold flipped a plait of coppery-gold hair over her shoulder. “Let us begin. Why have you called this meeting, Dominic?”
He wanted to sit, but couldn’t settle, and paced the carpet as he began. “I seek revenge for a dishonor done to my sister. After explaining my plan, please give me your opinions. I’m not asking for you to become directly involved. I need your perspectives. Anger might’ve influenced my decisions, my ability to think clearly. It is my hope that you can correct me.”
The countess asked, “But why meet here at the Stud? We could’ve just as well talked this over at the house.”
“The fewer involved, the better. Bainbridge, Freddy, please understand that I trust Letty and Evangeline completely, but as I said, the fewer involved in this the better. To be fair, they both know the content of the meeting. It was Letty who offered the solution I should like to present today.”
When Bainbridge tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in a questioning squint, Carnall said, “Your wife is the most clear-headed person I’ve ever met. I would never discard any sort of suggestion or advice from her.”
He resumed his pacing to collect his thoughts. “I do not undertake this plot lightly. My anger is directed at the man who assaulted my sister. He beat her nearly senseless when she resisted. If not for two lads with the courage to pull him off her, he would have succeeded in killing the innocent he violated.”
Carnall sensed the latent outrage in the silence, which helped to steady the inferno twisting his insides into knots. They would help him, if no other reason than that they were men of integrity, but also because of his friendship with Bainbridge. These new friends, who had so easily gathered him into their cadre for merely assisting one of their group, understood and would not judge him as reckless for needing this resolution. They shared his conviction that something must be done to rectify what had been done to his sister.
His throat closed off. He swallowed and blinked to bring roiling emotions back into line. “I’ve settled on a way to ruin this cur in every way possible, but it will take careful planning.”
Bainbridge tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. “Why not call him out? Or let me make it so he’ll never walk again.”
Carnall smiled at his friend, touched from knowing that Bainbridge would merrily break every bone the rapist had and kick him into the sea when he was done. Carnall was about to explain why not when Lady Ravenswold asked, “Wasn’t he arrested?”
Carnall shook his head. “He had the two lads charged with assault and imprisoned. After seeing to that added injustice, he returned to England. But arresting him wasn’t the best solution. Taking him to court or challenging him would only bring attention to my sister. I prefer the plan Letty suggested. Financial ruination.”
“Perhaps this is a stupid question, but how is your sister fairing?” Freddy asked.
“As well as she can. Hiding the damage done, of course.”
Rave stood, shrinking the room and its occupants with his height and bulk. “It might be easier to hand him over to me. I haven’t much patience with his sort. After I’ve done with him, I can apply to Lady Asterly. Elizabeth would know the exact arrangement for making the man disappear forever.”
Carnall shook his head. “I’m sure she would. However, we must be wise and careful. There are reputations at stake.”
Freddy asked, “Is that why you’ve taken to plotting instead of putting a period to the bastard?”
“Precisely that. The Asterlys shouldn’t be involved with this. Peregrine is destined for future greatness. I would prefer there is no hint of scandal in his past. What will be passed off as a bon mot today will not be viewed lightly and used crudely by future political opponents. One only has to read the viciousness of newspaper accounts in the Colonies and political mudslinging here.”
“Ah,” Freddy inserted with a smirk, “but we lesser beings are the inconsequential chaff meant for nefarious deeds.”
“You know me better than that, Grieves. We with no political aspirations can weather the storms of rabid gossip. The Asterlys are vulnerable.” Carnall paused. “Please, ma’am and sirs, do not embark on this plan if you are in any way discomforted. I would not ask for your help if it did not involve my sister’s honor.”
Bainbridge’s hackles went up. “We’re not afraid of scandal when it comes to honoring friendship!”
“Geoff, we are about to destroy a man and his family name. He also has a sister. So do you. We must also think of her. My sisters have told me that yours will be in town for the Little Season. This must be accomplished before that, and yet previous enough that none of the girls will be tainted by connection.”
Lady Ravenswold sat back in her chair. “If Wrexall is so vile a chap, what is going to stop him from using his sister’s dowry to cover his losses?”
“No, he cannot. I made quiet inquiries. The dowry is through an uncle and kept separate. Wrexall has a reputation for deep play. Everything he owns is now mortgaged, and before we go on, I must have your permission for this plan. It involves you and the reputation of Ravenswold Stud.”
Feline, golden eyes studied him. She stood, unabashed that she wore masculine dress, breeches, waistcoat and top boots and wore them well. He became momentarily distracted with the image of Ana’s lithe and supple body in form-hugging twill. Lady Ravenswold had a more curvaceous figure, which forced her to adopt a looser fit. Ana would look erotic in a tight costume.
Lady Ravenswold brought him back to the present. “I care nothing about gossip and this stud’s bloodlines speak for themselves. Wherein lies the danger?”
“Not to the horses, ma’am, but merely a temporary deception.”
“My horses are not aggrieved by deception. What is your device for retribution then?”
“I would ask you to choose the horse from your stable most likely to win the next stakes race. Then I will ask your husband to divulge to Wrexall, in strictest secrecy of course, that he overheard you saying that the horse had no chance of winning. Perhaps even back up his words with a wager. Everyone is aware of Rave’s hesitancy to bet.”
Rave softly laughed. “No need for shyness, Carnall. They call me parsimonious.”
When Carnall tipped his head in a bow of agreement, Ravenswold continued with a smirk. “I like your plan. The bastard will sink everything he’s got against our stable. Think on the odds, since Cass only races a horse she knows will win.”
Carnall grinned. “Precisely. I was thinking of Fleetwood’s Windmaster.”
Ravenswold turned to his wife. “What do you say, Cass? It’s your call.”
She pursed her lips, reminding Carnall of Ana, but the countess narrowed her eyes and smirked while she debated the idea. “Windmaster? The marquis knows his horseflesh. Windmaster has never raced and stands a hand off in size. A deceptive and clever choice.”
She shared a meaningful gaze with her husband then cast a scary look Carnall’s way. “Very well, my lord. Let’s eviscerate the man. My compliments to you. For my part, I consider it a bloody privilege to ruin a rapist.”
Chapter 10
The first thing Carnall did after returning from Berkshire was visit the academy. He drove his sisters to church, took them for a drive, then talked his way into a visit inside the school, which wasn’t difficult. Every other weekend the teachers hosted a late nuncheon. Since coming to title, Carnall never had to ingratiate himself or hint for an invitation to any function or assembly. As an eligible male and rich, invitations everywhere were constant and open-ended.
It was a disappointment that Ana was not among those gathered, and there was always the tedium of being considered as a marriage prospect by young ladies eager to leap into his marital bed. Even though many men preferred girls, he was not one of them and made a point of his age and preference by taking a seat with the teachers.
He’d met all of the aunts by this time and couldn’t help his partiality for Thisbe Throckmorton, partly because she had so handily and lovingly taken his sisters under her wing. He also fostered a determination to learn how to follow her convoluted train of thought, which manifested in rambling topics and charming smiles. For a reason he couldn’t fathom, he liked hearing her effusive compliments.
Blond and wistful, Desdemona looked a great deal like the older Thisbe but was not a conversationalist. She had a dreamy manner of sitting in company, a soft smile curving her lips, while pretending to pay attention. This didn’t bother Carnall. Aunt Thisbe talked enough for five people and usually did.
Neither Thisbe nor Desdemona had a family resemblance to Ana, but Aunt Honoria Throckmorton did. Where Ana was stern, Aunt Honoria was downright grim and bristled with distaste for everyone and everything that did not coincide or agree with her perspective. Ana and Aunt Honoria shared tall, lithe figures and a strictly composed manner. One of his goals for this day was his hope to repeat what happened when he pried open the shell Ana worked so diligently to keep shut.
Since Thisbe was chatting with a student, and Desdemona daydreamed, he asked Aunt Honoria, “Miss Throckmorton, is your niece accepting calls today?”
“No, sir. She has gone out. She won’t return until much later, depending on luck.”
“Luck?”
“She’s taken one of her late uncle’s guns and gone shooting.”
“Shooting, you say. Does she do this often?”
“Whenever she is assured that Squire Hensley won’t be waiting in the underbrush for compensation.”
Carnall felt his brow furrow. He set aside his teacup. “You speak plainly, Miss Throckmorton. Is there a possibility that Hensley would make himself a pest?”
Aunt Honoria huffed out a noise of disgust. “He came into this world as a pest, I’ve no doubt.”
“But this Hensley person would not inopportune—”
“My niece is armed, sir. She would show the man the error of his ways should he take it upon himself to discommode her. She’s fended him off well enough in the past.”
“Are you suggesting that his intentions are not honorable?”
“My lord, you are a male and have the understanding of masculine intentions. The squire refuses to accept that my niece is not interested in his suit. She has declined repeated applications for her hand. He cannot accept that her primary interest is in this institution and not providing him with a houseful of heirs until she is worn down to nothing. In lieu of her decline to marriage, he has sought to woo her with his parklands fairly bursting with game he is too myopic to shoot for himself. Ana likes to shoot, hence she does the culling.”
Eager to hear other details but unwilling to reveal his prurient interest, he asked with obvious disdain, “The man doesn’t employ an agent for that?”
“Certainly. Higgings by name, but the fellow is a hundred if he’s a day and paid little. Hensley is a cheeseparing bore but entirely too generous with his attentions. I believe my niece is of the opinion that the squire is more attracted to the idea of conjoining properties. He is prodigious persistent, and I fear Ana may one day agree to his advances merely to silence the man on the subject.”
A sordid, lethal urge uncoiled itself from deep inside. He’d never been jealous, but then he’d never had cause. The idea of some uncouth country lout touching Ana set his jaws to grinding.
He half-listened to Aunt Honoria continue with a diatribe that didn’t conceal her distaste of men. At one point she magnanimously excluded him from owning the faults of the offensive gender. He didn’t have time to wonder why he shouldn’t be lumped into the same category. His thoughts were taken up with Ana. Hunting her down in the woods fueled his lack of attention to the aunt. He had planned to wait for her return and decided that a discussion away from the house would work better for his purposes. The concern that Hensley might have the same idea had him excusing himself from the teachers and heading for his sisters, who were happily engaged with a gaggle of schoolgirls around the pianoforte. Mary Kathleen and Charlotte were listening with rapt attention to a student playing an etude with skill and emotion. When they moved to London, he would hire the finest music instructors. There hadn’t been funds to pay for lessons beyond what their mother could teach them, and his sisters had long yearned for advanced training. They scarcely noticed his leave-taking.
He strode to the stable in the hope of finding the stable boy who’d taken his horse. His grey hack stood tethered near a water trough, eyes half-closed in bliss as the boy repeatedly glided his palm from forelock to nose. The mare turned her head when she heard his approach.
The stable boy, Jack, gave directions, pointing at the woodland at the edge of the academy’s garden. “Usually heads that way, yer lordship. The squire has a covey on t’other side of the sheep pasture. Some of those pretty Oriental birds what like to hide in the groundcover.”
“Pheasant, yes, excellent eating. She left early then?” he asked, mounting.
“With the sun, as she likes. Doesn’t usually come back until late afternoon.”
He lifted a knee to tighten the girth he’d loosened when he’d arrived. “Does she stay on the road?”
“Oh, she doesn’t go by way of the road, yer lordship. She’s a great one for walking. Takes the lane that way, on t’other side of this field. Faster than driving roundabout to the squire’s land. It cuts through yon copse, over a stream, then comes the sheep pasture. At top of hill, you’ll see where the ground looks right for shooting birds.” Jack beamed when the mare grazed the boy’s cheek with a farewell nuzzle. “This beauty will have you there in a trice. What’s her name?”
“Sussex Ghost out of Sussex Rum. Thank you, Jack.”
He trotted through the copse, found a path around the field, and cantered across the sheep pasture. They sailed over a stile and up the gradual rise of a hill. On the crest of the rising ground, he saw Ana walking his direction, away from a broad swath of gorse. A man walked by her side, leading his plodding mount.
The horse didn’t react to the man’s broad gestures, movements that suggested an argument or an attempt to convince. At least the horse considered him harmless. Even from the distance of the hilltop, Carnall could sense Ana’s impatience. It didn’t have to do with the fact that she hadn’t bagged a bird. He knew her well enough to understand that her discontentment stemmed from whatever the man was saying.
Carnall sent Ghost down the hillside at a gallop. Ana and her companion halted at the sight of horse and rider barreling down the hill. He often used this mare for hunting. She was fearless, intimidated by nothing. Wide of chest and strong of bone, Ghost never backed down, even when stallions tried to shove her aside to take the lead. Ghost was the kind of horse that made people want to get out of the way when she came on at a run.
Carnall pushed aside the pettiness of his intent to intimidate Ana’s companion before meeting the man. In the seconds it took to lope down the hill, he’d envisioned running him down. With Ghost, it was entirely possible, but Ana stood nearby and his pride would never allow him to sink that low. That didn’t stop him from savoring the imaginary impact and flattening of an interloper.
Ana stood her ground,
her expression reflecting that she feared his haste meant that something terrible had happened at school and the reason for his hurry was to pass along bad news. He gave Hensley credit for stepping a bit forward but didn’t care for the proprietary way the man took Ana’s arm.
“Carnall,” she called out when he came to a halt, “is there anything wrong at the house?”
Ghost relayed her dislike of breaking off a stretch of the legs with a full bodied shake, rattling bridle and saddle. “Stand, girl,” he whispered and turned back to Ana. “All is well. Sorry to have caused concern. I wished to have a word without my sisters present.”
She frowned. He could see the thoughts churning in her head as she introduced the squire. Carnall stayed in the saddle and didn’t extend his hand. Hensley remained by Ana’s side and didn’t step forward to offer his.
Hensley was no ruddy-faced rube. Well set-up and showing his height by standing inches taller than Ana, the squire had a lean, handsome face and a clever gaze that held an antagonistic glint. He carried a gun, presumably the one Ana had brought with her.
After ignoring Ana’s introduction, Hensley opened with, “So you’ve taken the Grange. It’s all everyone in the district talks about, whether or not you’ll have an assembly for your sisters.”
“If they wish it, perhaps in a few months. They’re still settling into their present arrangement.”
“Yes, the academy,” Hensley murmured with a thin, superior sort of smile. “I expect you’re judging Worth’s as well as the neighborhood.”
Carnall elected to overlook Hensley’s subtext and the awkward undercurrent of male territorialism. He had no interest in making Ana uncomfortable with a public statement of his claim on her. He pushed aside the epiphany of the illumination that he considered her entirely his without her consent. Something would have to be done about that immediately.
“If you would excuse us, Hensley?”
The squire visibly bristled at the dismissal. Ana placed a placating gloved hand on his arm. “Jason, this is a school concern.” When Hensley balked, she added, “I would greatly appreciate your company at service on Sunday.”