A Heart in Jeopardy (8 page)

Leona liked baiting Deveraux. She didn't know why that was, but she enjoyed their battles of will and wit. She enjoyed it as much as she enjoyed the wild, headlong ride down the track. There was a freedom between them that she'd never experienced before with another man or woman. It was the same reckless freedom she experienced riding Lady Talavera.

She pulled up before the large gray stone dovecote and slid from the horse's back, Deveraux right beside her. She tethered her horse to a scraggly bush, then threw herself down on the damp ground, her back resting against the sun-warmed stone walls of the old building. The heat flowed deliciously through her body. She closed her eyes to savor it.

Deveraux moved more slowly, taking time to dismount and tether his horse. "You look like you'd purr if you could," he observed as he lowered himself to the ground next to her. "Good lord, woman, this ground is still wet. Do you want to drench your habit and catch a chill?"

"It will dry fast enough in this heat," she replied laconically, never opening her eyes. "Where are Lucy and Fitzhugh?" she asked self-consciously, though caring little.

"They've gone on down toward the mill by the river, I would presume. Why? Are you afraid of your virtue, being alone here with me?"

"How shall I answer that?" she asked whimsically, opening her eyes to turn her head to look at him. "If I say no, you might be insulted, and I might rile you into attempting to prove otherwise. If I said yes, you would be insulted. As neither course is advisable, I shall keep my tongue firmly between my teeth."

"Ah-hh, a flash of prudence. I would not have thought that your forte, Miss Leonard."

"It isn't," she agreed with equanimity, "but it does have its uses."

"An intelligent woman."

"Did you doubt it?" challenged Leona, a martial gleam in her hazel eyes.

"Hmmmm. Now, how shall I answer that? I won't. . . Miss Leonard, I do, however, confess to something puzzling me."

"Yes?"

"Don't you have a sister? I seem to recall Captain Leonard mentioning two sisters."

"Yes. Rosalie. She's the eldest. She married George Sharply thirteen years ago. They live in Bedfordshire."

"Then why, if coming here was so repugnant to you, did you not simply go to Bedfordshire to stay with your sister? And do not think to gammon me by saying your promise forced you to Castle Marin. If you could have avoided this recourse, I'm certain you would have!"

Leona grimaced. "Truthfully, sir, my erstwhile brother-in-law and I do not get along."

"Why? Excuse me, but he hasn't made improper advances to you, has he?"

Leona's laughter rang out across the empty meadow. "Hardly. No, George Sharply is, if anything, too circumspect. A little of his society and I feel the need to enter a convent for some freedom!"

"That bad, is it? I find that hard to believe. Perhaps the two of you just do not understand each other."

‘Truer words you've probably never said. We are like oil and water. I find him irritatingly officious and self-serving. The man's ego is immense. He refuses to acknowledge that I might, just might, mind you, have a brain underneath this lion's mane," she said, waving a gloved hand toward her hair. Just the thought of George Sharply brought her jaw forward, high color to her cheeks, and a hard, knife-edged sparkle to her eyes.

"Is your sister happy with him?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed. She shook her head, mystified. "And I tell you truthfully that is something I've never been able to understand."

"I'm surprised he has not attempted to wrest control of Lion's Gate from you."

She looked out across the fields and laughed at the memories in her head. "Oh, he has, but the family solicitor who handles the estate paperwork does not get along with him either, so he will not tell him anything, however much George tries to snoop. And Charlie, bless him, positively detests the man!"

"What is your sister's reaction to this running family battle?"

Leona smiled softly. "Poor Rosalie, she's caught in the middle. She merely wrings her hands and looks pained. She has ever been a quiet creature. Not at all like me, I'm afraid!" she said with wry humor.

"Leona! Nigel!" called out Lucy, galloping toward them. She reined in just short of them, clods of dirt spraying up from beneath her horse's hooves. "And here I thought you two were to be our chaperones! I see I was wide of the mark!"

Deveraux rose to his feet, pointedly brushing dirt from his buckskins.

Leona blushed. "I'm too old to need a chaperone," she protested, struggling to her feet, ignoring Deveraux's outstretched hand.

"Ha! It didn't appear so to me, seeing you so cozily together there."

David Fitzhugh reined in beside his fiancée and looked at Leona roguishly. "An attractive woman needs a chaperone all her life, no matter her age."

Leona laughed. "Thank you. ... I think."

"Oh, let's all stop blathering. Nigel, throw her up in the saddle. I want to show Leona some more of the estate before it gets too late."

"There's no need. There's a large rock over there that I can use," Leona said, untying Lady Talavera.

"Nonsense, Miss Leonard. You heard my sister. I dare not disobey." He grabbed Leona about her waist and lifted her up.

Through the thick wool of her riding habit, Leona's skin burned where he touched her. The sensation struck her by surprise, sending her mentally reeling. She knew her reactions to Nigel Deveraux were strange, but never had she felt them so intensely. Tingling radiated from the burning areas at her waist and shot down her legs and up to her head.

"Thank you," she managed breathily when he released her and stepped back. She fought to maintain a calm and serene mien. It was not an easy battle. Deveraux nodded curtly at her before turning to gather the reins of his own horse and mount. Strangely nervous, Leona turned her horse's head to follow Lucy, her back turned resolutely to Nigel Deveraux.

Nigel raised a dark brow as he watched Leona and Lucy engage in a lively conversation. The color was still high on Miss Leonard's cheeks. So, the little witch could be discomfited. He smiled at the knowledge that might be a way to control her. He glanced down at his hands. He could still feel the span of her waist between them. He shifted in the saddle as a familiar pressure built in his loins. Definitely a little witch, he thought sardonically.

He set his heels to his horse to urge it into a comfortable canter and settled down to consider all that he had learned about Miss Leona Leonard. It struck him as singularly unfortunate that Leona and her brother-in-law did not get along. It was most likely caused by a silly misunderstanding. Deveraux could not imagine that the man could be as truly reprehensible as she described him, not if her own sister was happy in her marriage. That silly misunderstanding, whatever it was, was costing Leona dearly. She should not have to feel the burden of duty. It was too heavy a weight for anyone to bear. He knew that full well. He found a curious desire in him to ease Leona's burdens, to allow her to live her own life. Perhaps if he effected a reconciliation with her brother-in-law on neutral ground, like Castle Marin, the two of them would mend fences. Yes. The more he thought of the idea the more he liked it. That would be the best way he could help Leona, the best present he could give her to thank her for her efforts to help Chrissy: to effect a reconciliation between her and Sharply and then lift the yoke of duty from her shoulders and transfer it to Sharply's. That should make Leona very happy and, inexplicably, that was the one thing Deveraux desired.

March was a fickle month, Leona mused as she stood on the wide stone steps before Castle Marin.

Some days were wintery, others warm with the hint of summer. It had been warm today. Now as the night sky darkened revealing the stars one by one, a freshening breeze reminded her that winter was not gone. Leona shivered and wrapped her wool shawl closely about her shoulders. Truthfully she didn't mind the cold. She hoped its bite would waken her sluggish mind. She wished something would. She was confused. She didn't know what to think any longer, what to believe, or even what to feel. The only thing she did know was that she felt useless. That, perhaps more than anything else, bothered her. She wasn't accustomed to uselessness. It stripped her of her purpose, her strength. She wandered aimlessly within Castle Marin without purpose. There were no problems to solve, questions to answer, estate books to handle. Nothing. There wasn't even the ball to help Lady Nevin with, for Maria Sprockett happily took up those duties. And she was much too restless a person to idly sit and watch Lucy be fitted for her wedding wardrobe.

Leona was free to pursue ladylike endeavors such as sewing, art, music, or reading. Unfortunately, reading was the only accomplishment she possessed, and now her eyes were weary from hours spent with a book in hand. She did sew well enough for mending, but Castle Marin was equipped with a seamstress for those chores, and sewing would not be any easier on her eyes.

Horseback riding and baiting Nigel Deveraux were the only relief she had from a growing and unremitting ennui.

She rode for an hour or two every day, but the remaining waking hours fell heavily on her. She was curious regarding some of the farming practices of the tenant farmers, but they were too deferential to her to permit a free exchange of ideas. Then, too, whenever she asked a question within Deveraux's hearing, he would laugh and remind her she was at Castle Marin for a relaxing visit and not to tax her mind with estate matters. His patronizing attitude riled Leona. Lacking a proper conduit for her restless energy, she turned it toward baiting him.

To do him justice, he did not disappoint her. He could give as well as he could take and he had no hesitation to do so. Leona reveled in the verbal sparring between them. She found herself looking forward to each confrontation and planning—during those times he was busy with his horse cosing activities—their next encounter.

Leona sighed and, descending the steps, wandered down the drive toward the paddocks. The breeze played with her neatly styled coronet, pulling strands of hair free to dance in the wind. It molded her dinner gown to her body and colored her cheeks a bright pink. She stopped next to the paddock, leaning against the top railing.

Sometimes, just sometimes, she found herself wishing to repeat the comfortable conversation she and Deveraux had that day when they sat with their backs to the dovecote, letting the heat of the old stone warm their backs. There seemed to be an easy camaraderie between them that day. He had understood her, perhaps for the first and only time of their acquaintance.

She looked toward the old dovecote in the distance, reveling in the memories.

But she shouldn't have been able to see it. Not on this dark a night. Nonetheless she did see it as a dark silhouette against a golden glow. She straightened, curious, and stared hard at the dovecote. It shouldn't look like that. It shouldn't—It was on fire!

Leona grabbed up her skirts and ran toward the manor house. She stumbled up the stairs, ripping a hole in her gown and scraping the skin off two knuckles as she tried to catch herself. She recovered and scrambled on, throwing open the great carved door with a resounding bang.

"Miss Leonard!" began Purboy disapprovingly as he strode out of his butler's alcove. "What—"

"Deveraux!" Leona gasped, ignoring the butler as she ran toward the drawing room where everyone was gathered for cards. "Deveraux! The dovecote! It's on fire!"

Deveraux and Fitzhugh immediately threw down their cards and ran past her. Lady Nevin, Maria, and Lucy babbled questions at her, but she ignored them as she turned to follow the men. Lady Nevin was quickly on her feet to follow, as were Maria and Lucy.

In the hallway, Leona ran past Jewitt who was just descending the stairs. The woman shook her head and pursed her lips in disapproval. In her hands she carried a wool shawl which she thrust into her mistress's arms as Lucy followed Leona. Lucy slowed to flash Jewitt a thankful smile before she flung the shawl around her shoulders. The countess and Maria followed more slowly while Purboy fetched them wraps.

From the stable came the sound of men shouting and cursing as the fire wagon was hitched. It burst out of the stable yard driven by Deveraux with Fitzhugh at his side. They were, closely followed by a motley crew of men riding sturdy Devon work horses, only a few of which were saddled.

The ladies followed as best they could on foot, stumbling over the rutted track. They watched in silence as the conflagration consumed the wood-shingled roof and gutted the inside. Tears ran down Lady Nevin's cheeks. She swiped them away.

"It's only an old dovecote," she muttered angrily.

But it was more than that to the Deveraux family. It was the oldest surviving building on the estate, and it still housed pigeons. It was part of the ambiance of the estate, and even though it could be rebuilt for the stone walls would remain standing, its place in time was forever destroyed.

"Well, ladies," Lady Nevin said crisply, "we'd best return to the house. These men will be hungry and thirsty when they are finished here. We shall need to make arrangements for their comfort." She turned to march back to Castle Marin, Maria at her side.

Leona and Lucy followed more slowly.

"How could that old dovecote simply catch fire?" Lucy asked as they retraced their steps. "It's a clear night. There's been no lightning. It's impossible!"

"I don't see how it could," Leona said slowly. She shivered. "I don't mind telling you, Lucy, that I don't like this. I wonder . . ."

"You wonder what?"

Leona shook her head. "Nothing. It's a ridiculous idea."

"Leona!" Lucy said, exasperated.

Leona frowned. "I just wonder," she said hesitantly, "if it might not have been purposefully set."

"What?!"

"See, I told you it was ridiculous. Forget it."

Lucy was silent for a moment, thinking, as they neared the far edge of the paddock. Ahead of them, her mother and Maria were reentering the house.

Leona gazed absently at the dark shapes of the house, paddock, stable yard, and outbuildings beyond. Her steps slowed further. She laid a hand on Lucy's arm.

"Maybe—" Lucy began, but a firm hand clasped across her lips stilled her tongue. She looked at Leona, wide-eyed.

"Ssh-hh! Look there!" Leona whispered, pointing toward the stable.

The dark shape of a man was creeping around the building.

Lucy nodded her understanding. Leona's hand fell away from her mouth.

"We can't raise the household, he'd see us and escape. Run back and fetch Deveraux," Leona ordered. "Hurry!"

"Wh-what are you going to do?"

"Keep an eye on his activities and see he doesn't escape. Now go!" She gave Lucy a gentle shove then dropped down to crouch among the bushes and shadows along the paddock fence. She crept closer to the stable, seeing in her mind the layout of the building. From inside the stable came the rattling of bits and the pawing of hooves. Leona slipped in the open carriage house door and cautiously made her way over to the door that connected the carriage house with the stable courtyard. Carefully feeling her way along the wall's dark shadows, her hand touched a rack of carriage whips. Silently she drew one out. The sounds from inside the stable were louder, more distinct: the scuffle of boots, the sliding of a latch, the nervous neighing of a horse. Whoever was in the stable was not supposed to be there. Was that the reason for the dovecote fire? A diversion? But it had only been luck that she spotted it. She shook her head. Nothing made sense.

She crept into the courtyard, staying to the deeply shadowed side.

A horse whinnied shrilly, and a man cursed before they burst into the open courtyard. The horse reared and pawed the air, fighting the man. He hung on, viciously pulling the horse's head down. The horse was Nuit, Deveraux's stallion!

Rage burned in Leona. She would not let this man get away with stealing Nuit! "No!" she yelled, running out of the shadows. "Let him go!" With a muffled curse the man turned toward her. She cracked the whip at him. It flung off his hat and caught his cheek. The man howled in pain, losing the reins. "Go! Go!" she screamed at the horse. She flicked the whip again, catching the horse on his withers. Nuit reared and plunged out of the stable yard, knocking Leona backward against a post. Pain shot up her arm, robbing her of breath. She stumbled to the ground, dropping the whip.

The man swiped at a stream of blood on his face, and his eyes glittered with hatred. He stepped toward Leona. She skittered backward in the dirt, her arm useless at her side.

"Bitch," he spat. "Didn't believe Sally at first. She's clever but a bit loose in the cockloft. But you'll pay—" He stopped abruptly, turning his head to listen. The sound of horses and men shouting split the night air. The man swore, then turned and ran out of the stable yard.

She lay on the ground gasping for breath and shuddering. She squeezed her eyes tight, but she could not get the sound of his voice or the look on his face out of her mind. Though dressed shabbily and his face contorted in rage, Leona recognized him. It was Howard North.

Leona swallowed convulsively, her good arm brushing tendrils of dirty hair from her eyes. Chrissy's kidnappers, though foiled, had not been defeated. Deveraux was right.

Leona was struggling to her feet, cradling her injured arm, as Deveraux rode bareback into the courtyard. He slid off the horse's back before the animal came to a complete stop, and ran to her. "Leona, what happened? What's going on?" He grabbed for her, but her cry of pain made him jump back.

"What?!" He glanced down at his hand to see blood on it. His face contorted.

His voice came as if from far away. She swayed dizzily, fighting to keep her balance. She would not disgrace herself by fainting!

"Leona!" Swiftly he picked her up, her uninjured side against his chest, and strode out of the stable yard toward the house.

"No, no, please," she cried weakly. "It's just my arm. I can walk."

He ignored her as he strode grim-faced up the drive.

"Find the bastard!" he bellowed to the soot-streaked clustering of grooms and stable boys. Fitzhugh, coming up on them took one look at Deveraux and was before him, flinging open the manor house door and shouting for water and bandages. Lucy ran alongside her brother, whimpering apologies for not being swifter in her task.

"Leona!" cried Lady Nevin and Maria as one when they came out of the drawing room to see who was injured.

"
Venez ici! Vite! Vite!
" demanded Lady Nevin, her English forgotten in her shock. She scurried back into the drawing room to place pillows at the arm of one of the sofa's and direct Nigel to lay his precious burden down.

"No! No!" whimpered Leona. "The blood, the dirt—"

"Chut! Maria, see what is keeping Madame Henry with those bandages and water!"

"How bad is it?" Deveraux asked softly, his hands clenched into white fists at his sides.

"How can I tell until I have cleaned it?" snapped his mother.

Leona looked up at him, her face white and pinched. Dirt streaked across her face warred with the purple smudges under her eyes. "Not broken, I think," she offered, smiling gamely.

Deveraux, his face implacable against a myriad of emotions that roiled, nodded then turned on his heel and strode from the room and out the manor house door, shouting to his men.

‘Tain't no one to be found, sar," said a young groom running up to Deveraux, huffing and puffing. "But 'appens Nuit's ol' right, sar. Farrow found 'im in the paddock munchin' grass as calm as yur please."

Alan Gerby, the Earl of Nevin's head groom, walked up to them frowning heavily. "Found this in the stable courtyard." He handed Deveraux the carriage whip then scratched the back of his head, knocking his cap forward on his brow. "Can't figure why she took a carriage whip to get ol' Nuit out."

"The carriage whip was for the intruder," Deveraux said frostily, disliking the man's manner.

Gerby shrugged. "Mayhap, but there ain't no trace of anyone about save that Miss Leonard." He turned to walk back toward the stables, calling to the men to see that the fire wagon was put away and the horses tended. The young groom followed him.

"Dev, have the men found anything?" Fitzhugh asked, coming up behind Deveraux.

"No," he said shortly, tapping the carriage whip against the palm of his hand. "And I believe they don't think there's anyone to be found."

"Egad! They're not suggesting, are they, that. . . well, that Miss Leonard fabricated the whole?"

Deveraux slammed his fist into his palm. "I don't know, David. I just don't know."