Page 9 of Dare it all for Love

Her expression softened and he saw compassion in her eyes, which only ignited a spark of defensive pride in him. Damn it, he didn’t want her pity. Yet he promised himself he would hold his temper in check, no matter what, she deserved that much. Strangely she seemed to sense the change in his mood and her expression became bland, her voice soft but not too kind, avoiding the sort of well-meaning sympathy he could not tolerate.

“I understand, and I thank you for your apology, Mr Stanhope. I only hope you can forgive me for reminding you of something painful. Sadly, I do not know how to make amends for that, but I shall try. Good day to you.”

She left the room and Henry stood rooted to the spot, wishing he’d had the courage to tell her the truth, and then cursing himself for having no more sense than he’d had all those years ago. Florence Knight was a danger to him, whether or not she meant to be, and that was all there was to it.

Henry rode home, feeling strangely frustrated and annoyed with himself, and with Florence. It was irrational to be angry with her. He knew that. The girl did not know what she did to him and so could hardly be held accountable. Only it was so damned inconvenient. Why couldn’t he have felt a surge of lust for one of the lovely women Harriet had selected for him? At least with a widowed lady of his own age, he might have enjoyed a brief affair with no consequences and got the whole thing out of his system. That was hardly an option with Florence. If he so much as kissed her, they’d have to marry, and that would be him nicely trussed up for the rest of his days. He refused to allow himself to consider the idea, reminding himself that marriage was the very last thing he wanted. What in God’s name did he want with a wife and an end to his freedom? And then there would be children, interfering with his well-ordered life and squalling at all hours of the night and day. No, thank you very much.

He was so sunk in despondency and irritation that it took a moment before he noticed the rider approaching. Henry reined his horse in, waiting as he saw Sterling cantering towards him.

“You’d best come,” the fellow said, his expression grim.

Henry muttered a curse and followed him.

They rode to Tun Slip, a five-acre field that bordered Sterling’s farm.

“I came up to check the fences,” Sterling said, gesturing to the dead sheep.

He stared at the dead animal, wondering why Sterling was so unsettled. Sheep were notoriously stupid creatures that got themselves killed for no good reason and were prone to a myriad of diseases and troubles that seemed to manifest on a regular cycle. The occasional dead ewe was hardly cause for the concern in his friend’s eyes. Henry dismounted for a better look.

“Poisoned,” Sterling added, before Henry had the chance to see for himself.

Frowning, Henry crouched down to inspect the sheep, noticing the glossy green leaves on the grass beside it. He picked one up. “Rhododendron.”

Sterling voice was grave. “I’ve ridden around, there’s none anywhere close to this field.”

That meant someone had brought those leaves here and fed the animal on purpose.

“Is this the only one?” Henry asked, scanning the field to where the rest of the flock was grazing, untroubled by their dead companion.

Sterling nodded. “For now.”

Henry frowned down at the sheep. “God damn it.”

“Reckon Miss Knight had a point.”

He looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

“Someone’s out to scare you.”

Henry huffed out a breath, shaking his head. “But it makes no sense!”

Sterling shrugged. “Any enemies? Someone who bears you a grudge?”

“No!” Henry stood, raking a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Sterling, I’ve not even been in the country for the best part of a decade.”

The man stood and stared at him, his expression unreadable.

“You really think this is personal? That someone is targeting me for a reason?”

Sterling let out a slow breath, staring at the sheep before looking back at Henry. “Reckon so.”

By the time Henry had spoken to the shepherd, ensured the rest of the field was clear of poisonous leaves, and returned to the Hall, he was not in the best of humour.

It was a state not helped as he walked through the gates and saw a corn doll dangling from the wrought-iron railings, swaying gently in the warm breeze.

A hangman’s noose was drawn tight about its neck.

Chapter 3