“She ain’t coming, guv,” Billy bemoaned. “I’ll have to ride the stupid saddle on that plodding animal ’ome. Only fit for the knacker’s yard.”
No. She wasn’t coming. He’d shouted at her yesterday and although he had thought they’d parted on amicable terms, it appeared he had been mistaken. He supposed she could have been called away to a tenant but the maid had assured him that she was in her chambers this morning.
He’d frightened her away. The only woman to hold his attention, to apparently seehim,and he’d scared her off with his clumsy impatience and stubbornness.
Striking his fist out and grazing his knuckles on the rough bark, he cursed his own stupidity. He could have approached it differently, but he’d felt frustrated and annoyed at the lack of progress. Those young girls deserved justice.
Billy plunked himself on a tree root and proceeded to munch an apple, mumbling incoherently between chomps.
A feeling of bleakness descended over Lucas. Maybe he wasn’t the right man for this type of work any more? He should leave, and no doubt Jasper could find some other fellow who would fit in, discover the murderer and find the missing Lady Webster in a day. He could leave Rosalind to her secrets, and she probably wouldn’t even remember his name after a night, let alone his damnable face.
Closing his eyes against the sky and tipping his head back against the trunk, he let out a long sigh. God, he was full of self-pity today and he yearned for something to make him forget… A deep ache formed in his stomach, a crawling feeling that settled in his bones and called for the total oblivion that he knew could be achieved if he–
Branches snapping and loud oaths startled him. His eyes flew open: standing at the edge of the woods was Rosalind. She was wearing… Truly, it was the brightest and pinkest colour he had ever seen. It wasn’t even a proper pink, more purple, but not purple and it clashed terribly with her auburn hair, which had come loose and tangled.
Rising to his feet, he ran to her and noticed she was panting.
“Rosalind. Are you well? What happened?”
“Erm. Fine. Just got a bit…scared in the woods.”
“Scared? Was someone following you? Did you see anyone? Why haven’t you a groom with you? I thought you’d bring a chaperone.” The desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her fiercely was overwhelming, but instead he clenched his fists.
“No, at least, I don’t think so. With all these” – she waved a hand through the air – “goings-on, I rather think my imagination ran wild. I felt watched but I’m sure it was just a stag or some such. It usually is, being a deer park and all, and…and I’m babbling, so I’ll stop. Incidentally, I’m old enough not to need a chaperone and this isn’t London. There’s no one about. Sorry I’m late, I couldn’t decide what to wear. Oh, that sounds awful, but–” He pressed his finger gently to her lips.
“Come, have a sip of this,” he said, producing his engraved silver hip flask from an inside pocket. “It will calm your nerves.” He led her back to the oak and placed his brown greatcoat on the ground. “Sit.”
“I’m not a dog,” she groused.
Lucas grinned, glad she was feeling like her old self again and handed her the small flask. “I thought you weren’t coming. That I had…upset you yesterday?” he enquired, he hoped nonchalantly.
“No, I do understand, Lucas. I realise you have to ask questions, and I will help you all I am able but do not ask me to choose loyalty between you and Benedict.”
“Because I would lose?”
“Because it would hurt me greatly and tear me asunder. I… Well, I like you, Lucas, but Benedict is my family.”
Sitting down next to her, he took the flask from her fingers and took a swig. “Truly, I do admire your loyalty. People do not place its virtue highly enough. I’ve seen men sell their souls to the devil, or Napoleon if you think they are one and the same, for less than a tankard of ale, so I do appreciate it. And any man would be lucky to hold such loyalty.”
Turning, he found Rosalind already gazing at him, her lips wet from the brandy, and she leaned forward, dropping a light kiss on his cheek. “You do say the nicest of things, did you know that?”
He was about to say that wasn’t true, that in fact he was hopeless with words, when a retching sound made them both turn.
“Eugh, ’tis enough to make you heave,” Billy said, proceeding to make more gagging noises.
“Well, we had best be teaching you to ride, before Billy loses his breakfast. Tell me, what was your other choice of riding habit? Blue? Yellow? Orange?”
“Black, actually.”
“Oh, well, I’m glad you chose the purple.”
“It’s puce.”
Lucas couldn’t disagree.
“This is Bluebell. She is very docile.”
Rosalind eyed Bluebell, and Bluebell eyed Rosalind. The horse didn’t seem docile to her: it seemed big and it looked at her as though lunch had arrived.
