by Cara Elliott
“I…” Caro wasn’t sure how to answer. But thankfully, Isobel didn’t seem to need any encouragement to go on.
“She knew all the little tricks of making a man feel special, and Alec believed that she loved him. They were married, and for a short while all was well. But they returned to Scotland during the summer, and, well, Elizabeth’s lover apparently made the trip north as well.” Isobel’s expression tightened in anger. “Her moods quickly turned surly, and she began to treat Alec abominably, taunting him with his youth and his lack of polish.”
“How awful,” whispered Caro.
“Oh, it gets worse.” Isobel swallowed hard. “Elizabeth soon began to disappear for several days at a time. When Alec confronted her, she tearfully claimed to truly love him and begged for a chance to cast off her lover and reform. Honorable man that he is, he couldn’t imagine that it was just another pack of lies.”
The rumbling clatter of a passing barouche gave Isobel a moment to compose herself. “The following night, Elizabeth absconded with the jewels Alec had given her, along with several very valuable family heirlooms that would have brought a pretty penny when sold on the Continent. But a bad storm blew in from the sea, and the rains made the coast road treacherous. She and her lover perished when their carriage careened off a cliff on their way to the ship that was going to carry them across to Antwerp.”
“I hardly know what to say,” whispered Caro. “No wonder he is reluctant to let anyone close again.”
“He keeps most people at arm’s length,” said Isobel. “You are the only one who provokes a spark of interest in him. I see how he watches you when he thinks none of us are looking.”
“I fear that is because he is wary that I may do something outrageous when he isn’t looking,” she replied wryly. “Your brother thinks me a hellion, and with good reason. When we first met at Lady Dunbar’s castle, we had a number of clashes.”
“I’m not sure that is a bad thing,” murmured Isobel. “For far too long he has lingered in darkness, avoiding any spark of light.”
“Trust me, sparks flew between us. I think several singed his bum. So as I said, he is wary of me.”
“If he appears wary, it is not because of your spirit.” Isobel hesitated. “But enough said. I have perhaps already trespassed on his privacy, but I thought it important that you know the truth, and am certain that I can trust you with his secret.”
Caro was about to answer when the sight of an approaching gentleman caused the words to die on her lips.
“Good day, ladies.” Thayer came to halt beside them and tipped his hat politely.
Damnation. Caro pasted on a smile, hoping she wasn’t white as a sheet. It felt as if every drop of blood had drained from her face.
“Good day,” she answered.
Isobel, she noted, barely managed a murmur of greeting.
“Are you two planning an excursion?” he asked, eyeing the picnic hamper. “I do hope you are not intending on trying to carry such a heavy load by yourselves.”
Loath to reveal any details about the planned outing, Caro answered with a coy laugh. “I am far sturdier than I might look, Mr. Thayer. My father was a noted explorer, and I accompanied him on several expeditions where we were required to lug our own supplies into the wilds.”
“Well, if I ever plan on journeying to darkest Africa, I hope you will agree to accompany me,” he said with a jesting smile.
Ha! And pigs might fly.
But aloud, she answered, “Actually, I have always wanted to experience the splendors of Cathay.”
“That seems suitably wild and exotic,” responded Thayer. “What about you, Miss Urquehart? Do you wish to join us?”
“I am not a world traveler like Miss Caro.”
The bantering exchange was cut short by the arrival of Andover in his curricle.
“Ah, I see you have a gentlemanly escort after all,” said Thayer, as Andover climbed down from his perch and stowed the picnic in the boot. “I would offer to come along and help, but it appears there isn’t room.”
“I fear not,” said Caro.
“Perhaps another time.” And yet, Thayer made no move to continue on. “Where are you planning to picnic?”
She thought quickly. “Oh, we are simply looking forward to viewing the countryside.” A vague wave indicated a direction opposite that of the Abbey ruins. “We thought we might drive by the old Roman fortress by the river, or perhaps the thermal springs.”
Andover looked up sharply, but remained silent.
“The thermal springs are said to be quite scenic,” observed Thayer.
“Well, we ought not keep His Lordship’s cattle waiting.” Caro edged toward the curricle.
This time Thayer took the hint. Inclining a small bow to the ladies, he took his leave and proceeded up the Pump House stairs to join the crowd in the Promenade.
“Have we a change of plans?” inquired Andover.
“No,” replied Caro. “I cannot say why…” Which was the truth. “But there is something about Mr. Thayer that is unsettling. I’d rather he wasn’t aware of our plans.”
“Ooooh, a nefarious plot and a wicked villain. How very exciting,” intoned Andover in a mock whisper. “You ladies are awfully good at imagining dark and dangerous adventures.” He winked. “Perhaps you should consider writing a novel.”
“Poetry is hard enough, Andy,” she shot back. “Now help Isobel up to the seat and let us be off.”
Chapter Seventeen
Reining his horse to a halt on the top of the wooded knoll, Alec stood up in the stirrups and surveyed the weathered bones of the sprawling old Abbey nestled in the meadows of the dell below. With the verdant ivy vines twined around the crumbled walls and arches of butter-colored limestone, it made a wildly romantic scene.
No doubt Caro’s sister Anna could set a thrilling scene among the nooks and shadows of the sprawling ruins—a chase perhaps, with her intrepid heroine Emmalina Smythe evading the pursuit of the evil villain…
Alec checked such thoughts with a wry grimace, reminding himself that the last thing he wanted was any thrills or excitement. He was here simply to find a hiding place for the stolen antiquity—an easy task by the look of things—and be off.
But then again, nothing ever seemed to go along easily when Caro was involved.
The breeze blew through his hair, and for an instant, a ruffled strand tickled against his cheek.
Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing.
He sat back in the saddle, and took a long moment to contemplate the clouds scudding across the sun, a peek-a-boo circle of shimmering light against the brilliant azure blue.
Everchanging shapes and hues—infinitely alive and unpredictable.
And that was, he conceded, what made the sky so infinitely interesting.
It could be inspiring, it could be frightening, it could be calming. But never, ever could it be boring.
A lone hawk floated into view, circling slowly on the currents of air. Reminded of his mission, Alec spurred his horse on and began the descent down the twisting path.
“Halloo!” From atop one of the low walls, Isobel greeted his approach with a vigorous wave. “What a nice surprise! I thought you were engaged for the afternoon.”
“I finished early, so I thought I would stop by on my way back to town,” he answered.
“There may be a few scraps of food to spare for you,” called Andover, from the swath of grass inside the tumbled stones. A blanket had been spread on the ground, and he was busy unpacking the hamper.
“Knowing Cook, I am sure she packed enough to feed an army,” said Alec as he dismounted and tethered his mount beside the curricle.
“At least a regiment,” replied Andover with a grin.
“It appears the troop of ravens will not go hungry,” he remarked, eyeing the numerous treats. He then looked around for Caro, a frisson of alarm stealing down his spine at the thought that she might have ventured off on her own with the stolen antiquity.
/> “Nor will we, I assure you,” came a voice from within one of the alcoves that still retained part of its roof. A moment later, Caro emerged from the arched opening, streaks of dirt smudging her cheeks.
“There are still the remains of a wooden storage cabinet in there.” She held up a small copper coin. “Look—I found this lodged behind one of the broken shelves.”
“Oh, how lovely!” exclaimed Isobel. “Finding a penny is supposed to bring good luck.”
Let us hope so, thought Alec.
He watched her climb over a tumble of fallen stones and winced as one of them suddenly shifted beneath her feet. “Careful,” he warned. “These ruins can be dangerous. You really ought not go into the covered spaces. The slightest jarring or jiggling could make the roofs collapse in an instant.”
“Right-ho,” agreed Andover. “You ladies really ought not wander off without one of us accompanying you.”
“The slate tiles could just as easily fall on your heads,” pointed out Isobel quickly.
“Yes, but we men have much thicker skulls.”
“True,” drawled Caro, drawing a giggle from Isobel.
“I’ll not argue that,” said Alec. “At least, not on an empty stomach. Shall we eat?”
Caro collected the empty plates, then passed around slices of the fresh-baked apple tart and wedges of the local cheddar cheese.
“Arrgh. I vow, I can’t eat another bite.” Closing his eyes, Andover lay back on a flat slab of stone and folded his hands atop his stomach. “I can’t move either. I think I shall just nap for a bit.”
Isobel gave a drowsy nod. “I’m going to rest as well.” She reached for her reticule. “I brought a new book.”
“What are you reading?” asked Andover, raising one eyelid.
“The latest Sir Sharpe Quill novel,” replied Isobel with a grin. “It just came out last week.”
“You couldn’t have chosen a more perfect place in which to enjoy the hair-raising adventures of Emmalina Smythe—other than a dungeon with rattling chains and dripping water,” he said jestingly. “But that wouldn’t be nearly so comfortable as this.”
“Why, Andover, you speak as if you are familiar with Quill’s novels,” teased Isobel.
“Oh, I’ve read every one of them. They are all the crack in London, and if a fellow wants to converse with the ladies, he has to be up to snuff on Count Alessandro’s exploits.”
Caro hid a smile as Alec caught her eye. She shook her head slightly in response to his raised brow. Andover was a very good friend and her sister’s former beau, but still, he wasn’t aware of Anna’s secret identity. It was kept very closely guarded—Alec only knew because events at Dunbar Castle had forced them to admit him to their inner circle.
“I say, would you mind terribly reading it aloud?” asked Andover after blowing out a contented sigh.
Isobel readily agreed and opened to the first chapter.
With the two of them occupied, it was the perfect opportunity to wander off, decided Caro. The same thought had obviously occurred to Alec, for he was already on his feet.
“Would you care for a stroll?” he asked. “Or are you determined to vanquish that pie?”
“Good heavens, no!” she responded, quickly putting aside her untouched slice. “I surrendered all thought of that after fighting off the last bite of roasted capon.”
“Then come along.” Alec held out a hand. “Let us walk off our indulgences.”
“Don’t get into any trouble,” murmured Andover.
Isobel left off her reading to remark, “My brother never gets into any trouble.” A pause. “That, by the by, isn’t a compliment.”
He chuffed something unintelligible under his breath.
“Was that a grunt or a growl?” Caro couldn’t resist teasing him. “As you see, Isobel, your brother gives a typical male response when stymied by a lady’s wisdom.”
Her friend laughed, as did Andover, who was always willing to poke fun at himself.
Alec turned and regarded her with a very solemn expression. “Ladies aren’t always as wise as they think.” His voice was serious as well, but then the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.
“Nor,” she replied swiftly, “are men.”
A snort—this time there was no mistaking the gruff sound that slipped from his lips.
Isobel giggled.
“It appears we have dueled to a draw,” added Alec.
“Consider yourself lucky, Strathcona,” drawled Andover. “Now put your rapiers away before someone gets pricked. It’s far too lovely a day to cross verbal swords.”
“Agreed.” Alec took hold of Caro’s hand, and the warmth of his long, tapered fingers entwining with hers sent a tiny shiver running up her arm.
Oh, don’t, she chided to herself. Don’t act like a flighty storybook heroine. The poor man had been subjected to enough drama.
“If Miss Caro agrees to sheath her sarcasm, we may actually contrive to enjoy a walk without either of us suffering a grievous injury,” he added, leading her away from the others.
As they rounded a row of stone pillars and crossed into the ancient transept, Caro murmured, “I wasn’t being sarcastic.”
Alec turned, and the fluttery shadows from the overhanging ivy deepened the blue of his eyes to the color of the ocean in winter.
Beautiful, but forbidding. Hinting at depths and hidden currents that could drown anyone who took the danger too lightly.
“Neither was I,” he replied.
“Oh.” Her insides gave an erratic little lurch, though she wasn’t quite sure why. “I thought perhaps you were angry with me.”
“Angry?” He sounded surprised. “Good God in heaven, why?”
“For… for…” She had been thinking of the story Isobel had confided, and a horrible thought had taken hold in her head. Perhaps Alec thought her no different from his late wife—a heartless seductress who took pleasure in toying with men.
“For throwing myself at you,” she finally stammered. “For forcing you to hold me and comfort my hysterics.”
Alec stopped, and before she quite knew what was happening, he placed his big hands on her shoulders and spun her up against one of the mortised walls. Trapped between cool, solid stone and a warm, thrumming mass of male, Caro felt her pulse begin to skitter.
“Let us clarify a few things between us,” he said softly. “Firstly, you did not throw yourself at me.” A pause. “It was more of a floppy little roll.”
Was that a glint of amusement in his eyes? Or were the tiny sparks dancing on the tips of his golden lashes lit by some other emotion?
“Secondly, I am not in the habit of letting myself be forced into doing anything.”
Her face must have betrayed her misgivings, for she felt a rippling of muscles as his shoulders tensed.
“Ah. I see that my sister has seen fit to tell you the story of my youthful folly in all its sordid detail.”
She dropped her gaze, knowing he would hate to see any speck of sympathy in her eyes.
“Well, be advised that I am no longer a callow schoolboy.”
“No one would ever mistake you for that.” Caro knew the sensible thing was to say no more. However, being the least sensible of the Sloane sisters, she added, “But I think that sweet and sensitive schoolboy shouldn’t be ashamed of believing in love.”
She heard the harsh intake of Alec’s breath, which only goaded her to go on.
“And I’ll have you know that I didn’t throw—or roll—myself at you for any Machiavellian reason. I did it because I think you are… nice.”
The lungful of air came out as a strangled wheeze.
“I know, I know, ‘nice’ is a rather lame word,” she muttered, “but I can’t seem to think of another right now.” His closeness—his scent, the curve of his collarbones showing through the sunwarmed linen of his shirt, press of his broad palms—was making her mind a little lethargic right now.
“Nice will do very nicely,” he said, leaning
in close enough that she could see the stubbling of gold on his jaw. “I think you’re rather…”
A cough.
Was that better than a wheeze? She was still uncertain of how to interpret his sounds.
“Nice, as well,” he finished.
It was an awfully ordinary word, and yet it set her insides to doing a slow, spinning somersault.
“That’s n-n-nice,” said Caro.
He laughed, his breath tickling against her cheek.
“I—I told you, my mind’s not feeling very poetic right now,” said Caro. “Feel free to suggest a more inspired alternative.”
“Actually, I’m not feeling much in the mood for musing over words either. Now that the subject of our feelings is nicely settled, we ought to proceed to the real task at hand.”
And yet he made no move to release her.
“Right. The sooner it’s done, the better.” She shifted her gaze to look out over his shoulder, unwilling to look any longer at the sensuous curves of his mouth. “There look to be a number of possible hiding places around the old chancery.”
“You have the ancient eagle?”
Feeling unsettled by his strangely whimsical mood, Caro responded a little sharply. “Yes, of course I do. I’m not so bird-witted that I forgot to bring it with me.”
“Don’t fly up in the boughs. You mistake my words. I wasn’t implying any such thing, merely making sure you had it with you at this moment.”
Drat. She had left it in the basket, hidden under the remains of the oilskin packet of cheese.
“Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.”
“We all make mistakes,” he murmured, as she wriggled free and stepped around him.
His mentioning the word “mistake” was… a mistake.
Reminded of his halting words after their lovemaking, Caro stopped and turned to face him. “Yes, we all make mistakes,” she said hotly. “We all fall on our arses and make fools of ourselves. Ye gods, just look at me! I know I make more than my share of them.”