Within a few minutes, the wide openness of the rolling heath narrowed between two hills where a stream meandered, split, disappeared into crevices, and reappeared to bubble gaily over rocks. Holly followed the sandy bank, the ground sucking at Maribelle’s hooves. Colin had not lied about the bottomlands here. At best, a rider who hadn’t been warned might very likely render his mount lame. At worst, a horse could lose his footing and go down hard, his rider thrown.
A growing elation made her wish she could urge the horse faster. He hadn’t lied. . . .
She sobered as she realized that the hazards of the place also made it perfect for hiding something. Too steep and muddy for riding or cultivating, the land was of no apparent use to anyone, and presented no reason for anyone to venture in.
At her back, the sun climbed into the morning sky, but the vale, narrowing until it became little more than a gorge, shut out the direct reach of its rays. Sparse pines and the occasional sapling clung to the rocky hillsides, the swishing of the breeze through their leaves like the hushed whispers of a crowd before a race. Up ahead, the stream disappeared around an eroded outcropping of exposed rocks while the rippling current swallowed nearly all the level ground. Sand and pebbles slid out from under Maribelle’s hooves.
Holly stopped the mare and dismounted. She had already gone about a half mile into the vale with no sign of anyone or anything having disturbed the area. She would continue only a little farther before admitting there was nothing here to see. With no reason to risk bringing her mount around the bend, she tied the reins to an obliging branch and proceeded on foot.
Water lapping at her hems and seeping into her boots, she pressed close to the outcropping and picked her way around to the other side. There she came to a dead halt and a jarring truth, one that shed doubt on her loyalty to her queen and her friendship with Victoria.
She would rather find nothing, would rather never find any trace of Prince’s Pride, or any evidence that implicated Colin Ashworth in theft or any other crime—even if it meant disappointing Victoria and leaving her reign in jeopardy.
Though she hadn’t been aware of it, the rhythm of that prayer had been dictating the pattern of her breathing and the pace of her steps: Don’t . . . let . . . it . . . be. . . . Please . . . Don’t . . . let . . . it . . . be. . . .
Please.
She moved past the outcropping, and the corner of a split-rail fence came into view. Her hopes plummeting, she gripped a wispy yew sapling growing beside her. Gripped it until her knuckles whitened and the stalk bent against her palm. She stood riveted to the spot and stared at the fence while her heart pounded in her throat, her blood roared in her ears, and images flooded her mind.
A darkened library, a pair of strong arms, a flash of golden hair, and the dear, dear perfection of his features as he leaned his face close and kissed her.
A sickening regret pushed a bitter, burning taste into her throat, her mouth. He had caught her virtually red-handed sneaking about his house, and instead of taking her to task he had kissed her, held her in his strong arms, kissed her again. Heaven help her, a ruse. He had surmised that she suspected . . . something . . . and had hoped to distract her from the truth.
Her regret hardening to cold, solid anger, she released the sapling; it whipped out of her fingers as she ducked beneath the pine branches in her way until she stood right before the fence. Her fists closed on the top rail. She leaned forward.
And saw nothing—nothing but an empty enclosure. Where one end of the fence abutted the hillside, a small lean-to, rough-hewn and half rotting, stood open to the morning air.
It was vacant.
Colin made his way from one end of the terrace to the other, stopping at each linen-covered table to bid his guests good morning. Laughter and conversation filled the air around him. Along the balustrade, a lengthy buffet offered eggs, hot and cold meats, blood pudding, porridge, baked goods, and an array of fruit transported here from the London wharves.
While some of his guests would stay on during the races, others would be leaving later that day, returning to their own estates or taking up residence in rented homes in the area. The solicitors would now go to work, completing the contracts on the horses bought and sold and seeing to details too mundane to warrant the attention of these aristocrats. No, their sights would now be set on the races themselves. Some would profit. Some would wager more than their purses held and end up teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. There would be triumphs and disappointments, unexpected victories and crushing heartbreak.
Colin would be here for none of it.
Feminine voices drew his attention to the base of the garden steps. Holding the trains of their riding habits, Sabrina and Holly started up. He met them at the top of the steps. “Ladies. Did you enjoy your ride?”
“We most certainly did.” Holly appeared flushed and slightly out of breath as she raised her chin to look up at him. The moment he beheld her fresh face, rosy cheeks, and her plump, moist lips, the memory of last night bombarded him. The taste of her, the feel of her soft curves pressed up against him, had proved true everything he had imagined and craved for months, only more so—more tempting, more sweet, lush and intoxicating than he could have dreamed.
“Where did you go?” he asked them. He leaned slightly toward Holly. “Nowhere dangerous, I trust.”
“Ah, but your sister would hardly allow that, my lord, now, would she?” Laughter bubbled in Holly’s voice, and Colin realized he had never seen her quite so buoyant, perhaps not since that very first ride they had taken together in Cambridge. Her mood was infectious, so much so he questioned his suspicions, and whether he truly needed to leave the area that day. “Especially,” she added with a wink of the dimple in her right cheek, “after you expressly told Lady Sabrina to keep an eye on me.”
“I might have known,” he said to his sister in mock admonishment, “that you would not keep that secret. Forgive me, Miss Sutherland, for being overbearing,” he said in the same light tone. “But as you can well imagine, I am responsible for the welfare of my guests.”
“I do understand, my lord.” Her smile dazzled him. “And rest assured you did not curb my enjoyment of our morning ride in the slightest. Isn’t that right, Sabrina?”
Could he have been mistaken in thinking she had somehow learned about the colt and decided to search for the animal? Perhaps her ride toward the vale yesterday had been no more than it appeared—a skilled horsewoman seeking a challenge. And last night, she had claimed she had lost her way and thus ended up in the darkened wing of the house, near his father’s private office, where the records were kept; but she wouldn’t be the first guest to become lost in this maze of a house.
The notion that he might have been wrong in all of his suspicions lifted a weight from his chest, until he remembered that in the end it didn’t matter. He was developing feelings for her, ones he dared not entertain because he was a horse thief who hailed from a broken wreck of a family, not to mention a traitor to his queen.
For that reason alone, he must leave Masterfield Park that very day.
Sabrina answered Holly’s question with a quick word of agreement, but her eyes remained on Colin, her lips curled in that cunning, feline smile of hers, as if she could see right into his mind. She tapped her riding crop against her skirts. “You two may debate the merits of morning rides as much as you like. I am famished.” With that, she stalked away and found a seat at one of the tables.
“So where did you go?” he asked Holly at length, not because he needed to know, but because he didn’t want her to slip away. His mind was made up. He would leave within the next hour or so, and it might be a very long time before he saw her again.
Whatever life held for him next, these were minutes he would savor.
Her smile widened; she shrugged. “We went north mostly, past the pastures and onto the heath. It’s really rather beautiful, the heath.”
“Most people find it tediously flat, of little use except for racing.”
“I find the heath intensely peaceful.” She turned her face to the sun, lowering her eyelids to shield them from the direct rays. “Though I expect it won’t be at all peaceful during the races.”
As if by some unspoken agreement, they drifted away from the noisy company, down the steps, and a few strides along the garden path. They stopped beside a box hedge and she turned to him, still with that radiant smile, her cheek dimpling, her eyes clear and green and filled with . . . elation sprang to mind. As did the word beautiful. Bright and fresh, like the garden around her.
Her lips took on an impish tilt. “I wonder, my lord, if you could name this box hedge?” She pulled off a glove and gestured with her lovely, slender fingers. Laughter danced in her eyes.
For an instant he couldn’t guess her meaning—then he remembered. Remembered that morning at Harrowood in Cambridge, when he had decided to dispense with caution. He had gathered his courage and resolved that he would no longer allow his father or anyone else to dictate his life or rob him of happiness. He had found her alone in Simon’s morning room, and damn it, he was going to kiss her. Going to speak to her. He had beckoned her to the window. . . .
And lost his nerve. Or rather, he had remembered the simple, sheltered life she had always led, she and the sisters she loved so dearly. He remembered her innocence, her honesty, and the lovely ringing of her sheer, delighted laughter as she had galloped her horse over the woodland paths. And he had realized he hadn’t the heart to sully that innocence, that beauty, with the ugliness that lurked in his family.
“I’m afraid I never was much good with box hedges.” He had meant to sound flippant, but he couldn’t quite summon that sentiment. Instead, the words sounded hollow and sad.
A crease formed above her nose. “Is anything wrong?”
He took her hand and raised it to his lips; he kissed it, then held it there, not caring who might see the gesture or what they thought. After today it would no longer matter.
But what Holly thought did matter, very much, and he mustn’t lead her to the wrong conclusion. “I was thinking of last night,” he lied, releasing her hand. “You haven’t recognized the scoundrel this morning, have you?”
“No, but I haven’t been among your guests yet today. Still, I think what you said last night must be true, that he had come only for the ball, or he would have been familiar to me. I’d even feared that perhaps . . .”
“Yes?”
Her gaze drifted to the purple lilacs growing thick on a trellis. “A year ago my sister Laurel was attacked by a man she had never laid eyes on before, but who seemed to know her.” She looked back at him, all the light flirtation of the past few moments erased from her features. “We believe him to be someone from our past, someone who knows a good deal more about us than we do. And who has reasons, unknown to us, for wishing us harm.”
He wanted to take her in his arms, but stepping closer to her would have to suffice. “And you think the man last night . . . ?”
She was already shaking her head as if she’d only just reached a conclusion. “In all probability, no. Laurel’s attacker railed at her in French. But this man . . . what little he spoke was murmured too low for me to be sure. Once he called me mon amie . . . but that doesn’t mean much.”
“No, I’m afraid it doesn’t. I’ve used the term myself many a time.” But the possibility that last night’s incident had been more than a drunken rascal taking a liberty with a young woman at a ball chilled him. “Holly, I think you and your sisters should go home. Forget about the races. Go to Harrowood or back to London, wherever you’ll be safe.”
She drew back as if startled. “Aren’t we safe enough here, especially if we exercise a bit of caution from now on?”
No, because soon I shall be gone. He wouldn’t be here to protect her, and that meant he wanted her somewhere else.
Mistaking his silence, she said, “Unless, of course, we are no longer welcome.”
He was about to assure her that nothing could be further from the truth when one of his head grooms walked quickly up the path to them. He slid his cap from his head before he reached them.
“My lord?”
Colin stepped away from Holly. “Yes, Kenneth, what is it?”
Kenneth held up a hand and opened his fingers. A gray pebble, roundish, sharp-edged, about an inch in diameter, lay nestled in his callused palm. “I came across this in the demonstration paddock, lying in the dirt.”
Colin frowned and shrugged a shoulder. “What’s so unusual about a stone lying on the ground?”
The groom, about Colin’s own age, flashed an indignant look, almost a scowl. “My lord, I supervised the raking of every inch of that paddock myself. Pure, soft dirt, that’s what there was. I’d never miss a stone like this—it could have lodged in a hoof, left one of my lord’s fine hunters lame.”
“Then how do you suppose it got there?” Colin held out his hand and Kenneth passed him the pebble. He held it up to get a good look at it.
The groom shuffled his feet, stuffed his hands in his coat pockets.
Colin shifted his gaze from the stone to the man before him. “Kenneth?”
“I was thinking, sir, about my lady’s trouble with Sport o’ Kings.”
“Are you insinuating someone might have thrown this at the horse?”
“A rock like this would sting a hide much like a bee, my lord. Could make a horse jumpy and irritable afterward.” Kenneth shrugged. “I hope I’m wrong, sir.”
“Did you check the rest of the paddock?”
“Of course, sir. Twice.”
“Thank you, Kenneth.” The groom left, and Colin stood staring down at the pebble in his palm, wondering what it meant.
Holly, who had remained silent during the exchange, touched his elbow. “That would explain Sport o’ King’s behavior. And put your sister’s worries to rest.”
Colin looked up. “Sabrina’s worries?”
Her eyebrows went up and she compressed her lips; then she just as quickly recovered her composure and said, “She blamed herself. She feared she had done something to cause the horse to rebel.”
“But who would throw a rock into the paddock?”
Holly reached for the stone. Holding it between her thumb and forefinger, she narrowed her eyes. “Someone, perhaps, who disapproved of Sabrina riding that day.”
“Please don’t dissemble if you’ve a name in mind. Who disapproved of my sister?”
She met his gaze. “I could be wrong. I’m probably wrong.”
“Tell me whom you mean.”
She blew out a breath. “Mr. Bentley as much as said that if your father had been here, he would never have permitted Sabrina to take such a risk. And he said ‘Blast Drayton for allowing it.’ ”
“Damn him.” Colin raised his chin, searching for Bentley up on the terrace.
“But disapproving is a far stretch from throwing stones,” Holly said quickly. “I’m sorry. I should not have mentioned it.”
“No, you did right.” Still searching, his gaze landed on another face that prompted him to take Holly’s hand. Lady Penelope stood near the balustrade, and she also appeared to be searching. Before that lady could turn and spot Colin here in the gardens, he hurried Holly down a side path that took them into the concealment of the tall topiary hedges.
“My lord?” Holly’s feet lagged, and he gently tugged her along. “What are you doing?”
He stopped behind an evergreen giraffe and her faltering steps brought her bumping into his side. He felt tempted to swing an arm around her and gather her even closer, but instead he grasped her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “I have an important favor to ask you.”
She either sensed his urgency or saw it in his features, for the perplexity smoothed from her brow. “What is it?”
“If you’re intent on remaining at Masterfield Park, will you look after Sabrina for me? Stay with her, ride with her, but do not let her out of your sight. Form a constant group with your sisters an
d mine, and keep one another safe.”
“But . . . you sound as though you are going somewhere. Are you leaving?”
He pulled back, realizing how desperate his appeal had sounded. “No, but with the races little more than a week away, I fear my attention will often be engaged elsewhere. I would rest easier knowing the four of you were always together, never off anywhere alone.” He released her shoulders and reached for her hands instead, giving them a squeeze. “Will you promise me?”
“Of course. You needn’t worry.”
An earnest thank-you formed on his lips, but as he leaned closer to speak them and her sweet face filled his view, he kept leaning. Their lips met, and while hers parted on a little exclamation, no doubt of surprise, his opened on an uncontainable burst of emotion. He pressed deeper, imparting against his will everything he felt for her, his desire and devotion, his wish for more between them, his sorrow that he must leave her.
Straightening, he turned away before he could witness her reaction to the impulsive kiss, before this last image of her could burn itself in his brain, before she could ask any questions. He strode off with an aching gap in his chest where his heart used to be.
Chapter 16
As breakfast ended, gaily chattering groups drifted down the terrace steps to walk among the shrubbery. The crisp morning had turned into a clear day of sharp colors and bracing breezes, warmed by a bright sun shimmering in a cloudless sky. A rare day even for late May, one the Ashworths’ guests seemed determined to take full advantage of before some of them left the estate later today. Sabrina was with her mother, seeing to the departure arrangements, ensuring luggage was brought down and carriages readied.
Holly should have felt buoyant. In fact, she had. Until her morning trek, she had fully believed that if Colin had Prince’s Pride, he’d hidden the colt in the vale. The empty stall she’d found seemed to answer her prayers and clear Colin of the crime.
But then there had been Colin’s plea, and that kiss. . . . As she caught up to her sisters strolling arm and arm down the garden lane, she glanced over at the topiary menagerie. Heat immediately tingled across her lips and cascaded down to her toes. But with the remembered pleasure of Colin’s kiss came a sense of sadness she couldn’t quite explain, like last night in the library. He seemed to be telling her something—good-bye, despite his protestation to the contrary.
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