A Clandestine Courtship (11 page)

She wanted to strike him, but a lady could not do so. And drawing attention to them would raise questions she did not want to answer. Her relationship with her husband was no one’s business.

James still believed she had succumbed to John’s wiles, despite his soothing words at their last meeting. Frederick would never have jumped to such an unwarranted conclusion. If he had considered the question at all, he would have feared that she might slip a knife into John’s back if he visited Northfield. She had warned him against John too often for him to mistake her feelings.

“Frederick was understandably concerned for his sisters’ reputations,” she finally claimed, though she doubted he had cared one way or the other. “Allowing John near them would have courted disaster.”

“Yet he left them in your charge.”

Red haze pulsed before her eyes. “Do you practice being offensive or does it come naturally? I rue the day I ever considered you superior to your brother.”

“How dare you?” he snapped.

“At least I base my judgments on the evidence of my own eyes instead of proving my gullibility by accepting the unsubstantiated claims of chronic liars.” She immediately regretted the outburst, but it was too late to recall the words.

“Chronic liars?” He seemed on the verge of losing his temper.

She forced control on her voice, but something prodded her to continue. For years, she and every other person in the district had avoided talking about John. Though he was gone, the fear remained. Why else had she softened her condemnation when James had cornered her the first time? But it was time to lay the past to rest. If James wanted the unvarnished truth, she must provide it.

“John never spoke an honest word in his life, even when telling the truth would have been easier. But he was your family, so of course you believed him. Just as you accept every sensationalized tale Mrs. Bridwell spouts. After all, she is a vicar’s wife, so why would she lie?”

“I am aware that John frequently exaggerated,” he protested. “And I know very well that Mrs. Bridwell is overly judgmental, but those are not my only sources.”

“What you don’t accept is that John was an unconscionable bully who would employ any tactic to achieve his goals. And one of his goals was to inflict as much pain as possible. Not only was he a liar who frequently fabricated stories out of whole cloth, but he intimidated everyone he met. No one dared counter him. If he’d said the sky was green, people would have rushed to spread the word lest he destroy them for daring to oppose him. If a lie is repeated often enough, people accept it as truth. Even if they doubt the details, the core remains viable –
where there is smoke, there must be fire,”
she quoted bitterly.

He let out a long sigh. “I am not as gullible as you imply, and I know that John preyed on most of you. But that is not what I wish to discuss just now. In addition to your husband, who did John usually see when he was here?”

“I’ve no idea.”

His eyes bore into hers, raising odd prickles on the back of her neck – quite different from those John and Frederick had incited.
Not now
, she chided herself, stifling the warmth even as his voice softened into that soothing velvet that stroked across her skin, caressing her, enticing her.

“Surely gossip included talk of who John saw when he was in the area.”

“You still don’t understand, do you?” To hide her emotional confusion, she glared at him. “Anyone with an ounce of intelligence ignored him – they didn’t see him, didn’t hear him, didn’t discuss him. They certainly uttered no word against him, for attracting his attention guaranteed reprisals. Even when he was away in London, no one spoke of him. When commiserating with his victims over their bad fortune, a look or nod toward Ridgeway might hint that John was responsible. But that was the most anyone dared.”

“You heard nothing else?”

“If people whispered in private, I would never know. His lies have always isolated me, and not just because of my reputed escapades. You are not the only one who erroneously believed we were close.”

“Let’s try this another way, then. Who were Northrup’s friends?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why?”

“He never discussed his disreputable acquaintances, and he had no others.” In fact, he had never discussed anything. The only difference his presence had made was casting a pall of tension over the household, fraying tempers and inciting fear.

“But you must be able to guess. You were married to the man for seven years.”

“So what?”

“Who did he see during his last trip home besides John?”

“Give it up, my lord. I know nothing.”

“You mean you will reveal nothing.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” Her temper snapped. “I know nothing. Even when Frederick visited Northfield, he split his time between Ridgeway and the Lusty Maiden. He knew no one and liked it that way. He could have passed the steward or a tenant on the street and not recognized him. I’ve no idea who John knew, so I can’t help you. I know even less about his last visit home because I was in mourning. If you need to find out who he saw, ask your servants.”

“I already did, but they are a close-mouthed lot. They claim he saw no one, but I suspect they are hiding something.”

“Perhaps they are telling the truth.”

“Then what triggered his death?”

That parting question had teased her ever since. If John had spoken to no one, then who had killed him? And why? No one had liked him, but she had heard of no new tragedies that could be laid at his door. So why was he dead?

The obvious answer was that an argument had exploded out of control – which explained why James was determined to discover who John had seen that last day.

She sighed.

Drat the man. He was forcing her to become involved. Despite her vow to leave well enough alone, she would have to ask questions.

It was his voice, she decided as she thankfully left the quarry behind. It had deepened since he had left, taking on a honeyed quality she could not resist. Even when he was absent, it echoed at the most inconvenient times, seducing her with promises of things that didn’t exist.

She must expunge it. Already, under its influence, she had revealed more discontent and more details about her barren life than she had exposed to another living soul.

The clatter of hooves diverted her thoughts. And just as well. Her agitation had pressed Acorn into a canter. They were rapidly approaching the forest.

She was reining in when a phaeton emerged from the trees, its team moving at a ground-devouring trot. But the ends of the ribbons bounced along the road. The driver had collapsed across the side, every bump edging him closer to falling out. At the rate he was going, he would do so just about the time he passed the yawning pit of the quarry.

She spurred Acorn forward even before she recognized the man. James.

“Easy, fellows,” she called, cutting in front of the team in an attempt to slow them. They were not yet spooked, but without a steady hand on the ribbons, they were picking up speed as the road sloped downhill.

“Halt! Stop! Whoa!”

The commands had no effect. The team swerved around her, sliding James closer to disaster. His head and right arm dangled inches from the rear wheel, which posed a more immediate threat than the quarry.

Curses reverberated in her head. The horses were not trained to voice commands. Her best chance of halting them would be to rein in the wheeler, though she wasn’t sure she could manage it. Yet she had to try. Turning, she gave chase.

The team responded by breaking into a canter, bouncing the phaeton harder and accelerating James’s slide. Would the carriage overturn? Phaetons were notoriously unstable and this one was becoming unbalanced.

She fought down terror. The offside ribbon was fluttering out of reach between the horses. But the nearside one had come unhooked from the backstrap and now floated along the wheeler’s right side, so it should be possible to grab it. Yet she didn’t have much time. She would be squeezed between the team and the quarry in another minute, giving her little room to maneuver. And the only way to catch the ribbon was to lean far off her horse.

Panic licked her veins as she glanced back at James. He was jolting up and down, precariously balanced across the side rail. And the quarry was looming closer.

She had not seen Frederick’s broken body, but her imagination conjured increasingly horrible images. James must not die. He was important to her – which was the most horrifying thought yet. She would not feel this crazed about another man. He was upsetting her world, changing her perceptions. And he didn’t even realize it.

Thank God for that. If he again turned his attentions to her, he would destroy her. Somehow, she must deflect these growing feelings. She had no intention of wedding again, and no desire to conduct an affair. Even friendship would not work. It could only cause new pain when they separated – which they inevitably would. Whether he stayed at Ridgeway or not, she would soon be moving to her dream cottage.

Keep your mind on business.

She shook away the images. Whatever her fears for the future, she must stop this phaeton.

Shifting both reins into her right hand, she inched closer to the wheeler. He was in full stampede, with white-ringed eyes and foam-flecked bit. Sweat caked his hide. Gripping the leaping head with her knees – and thanking the fates that she had chosen a saddle equipped for jumping today – she leaned down and tried to catch the fluttering ribbon.

“Easy, easy, easy,” she chanted, but the wheeler paid no attention. They swept onto the narrow ledge ringing the quarry, the ribbon still tantalizingly out of reach. It flicked across the back of her hand, teased her fingers, then plunged nearly to the road before floating up to shoulder height.

She drew closer to the horse’s head. He snorted, shifting toward the cliff and again swerving the phaeton sharply. James’s arm brushed the wheel.

“Slow down.”

She tried using her crop to catch the loop where the ribbon split into two reins. No luck. Acorn tensed as the road narrowed. They were approaching that sharp corner.

In desperation, she lunged farther, her knees barely clinging to the saddle, her hand banging against the wheeler’s shoulder, increasing his panic. The ribbon slapped her fingers once… twice…

She had it. Acorn was fretting over the unexpected weight shift, so she spared a moment to pull herself back into the saddle – a more difficult task than she had expected.

“Easy does it,” she crooned, pulling back as sharply as she dared.

The wheeler tossed his head, fighting the pressure, but he broke stride, throwing his teammate into confusion.

“We’re going to stop now, fellows.” She managed to keep her voice even. Another break slowed them to a trot. But they didn’t halt until they had reached the narrowest point in the road.

She stayed atop Acorn, gasping for breath. Reaction was setting in. Her legs were so weak that standing would be impossible. All three horses were trembling.

Now what?

A quick glance showed that James still hung half out of the phaeton. His right glove was shredded, revealing a bloody hand. But she could not attend him just yet.

She stroked Acorn’s neck. Her voice might calm the team, but it would take time. They were rolling their eyes and twitching. The wheeler stamped one foot in agitation.

“Easy, there,” she crooned softly, adding words of praise and even a song or two. Forcing gentleness into her tone calmed her own nerves. Gradually, their ears began flicking in her direction. Less white showed around their eyes. Tails swished more naturally.

It took several minutes before she dared dismount. Several more minutes of stroking the horses’ heads and necks finally settled them enough that she could attend James.

He remained unconscious, but he did not smell of wine. Had he suffered a seizure? New fears made her hands shake.

She was trying to push him back onto the seat when something landed on her boot.

Blood. And not from his hand.

“Dear Lord,” she murmured as another drop fell. A good-sized patch had already soaked into the road.

His head had grazed the wheel, but the resulting scrape was not responsible for the blood. A deep cut lacerated a large knot just behind his left temple. Swallowing nausea, she pushed his hair aside. It was a fresh injury, but positioned where it could not have been inflicted by the wheel or railing. Yet there was no trace of blood on his coat, so he had not incurred it before beginning his drive.

She had to stop the bleeding before the smell spooked the horses. They were still nervous. Ripping the bottom flounce from her petticoat, she fashioned a bandage that pressed a thick pad into the wound. Now all she had to do was move him back onto the seat.

Easier said than done. He was a big man, broad-shouldered and well over six feet tall – intimidating even in unconsciousness. Pushing did no good. The side rail was so far above the ground that she could get little leverage. If only he woke up, he could help, but nothing roused even a flicker of awareness. Giving up, she tied Acorn to the back, retrieved the offside ribbon, then climbed into the phaeton.

A rock was wedged under his boot.

Shivers stood her hair on end despite the heat of the day. The rock was roughly four inches across, with jagged edges. And one of those edges was smudged with blood that had trapped a dark hair.

Someone had tried to kill him.

She glanced at the forest a quarter mile away, suddenly feeling far too vulnerable. The quarry yawned its sinister mouth only a few feet beyond James’s head. The phaeton sat at the base of a cliff, open to attack from above. She had to get him away before his enemy could strike again.

Tugging moved him only an inch before his coat caught on the rail. Pulling harder had no effect and left her panting from exertion.

The attacker had arranged a very clever accident. The rock might have killed James outright, but its main purpose had been to knock him across the right side of the phaeton, where he would eventually fall. Even if he did not immediately roll into the quarry, a helpful push would have ensured his death. The landing would erase any sign of the initial attack.