Emerald Garden (8 page)

Dawn had found them both in the dining room, hunched over cups of black coffee, their thoughts consumed with what they’d learned.

“I’m riding to London to relay the authorities’ findings to Hendrick,” Desmond had announced. “You’re due at Emerald Manor, are you not?”

“Yes. At ten.”

Desmond had cleared his throat, and Quentin awaited the anticipated request. “Then would you do me the favor of breaking the news to Brandice? I’d go myself, but …”

“I’ll tell her, Desmond.” With renewed distaste, Quentin broke in, providing just the answer he knew his brother sought.

Sure enough, relief flashed clearly on Desmond’s face. “Thank you.” He rose, tossing his napkin to the table. “I’d best be off then. Please tell Brandice I’m thinking of her.”

Thinking of her.

Quentin had watched Desmond go, reminded that, despite yesterday’s fervent allegations of his commitment to Brandi, Desmond was the same shallow man he’d always been, avoiding emotional involvement at all costs. But then, how could someone totally lacking in compassion offer compassion to another?

In this case, it mattered not, for Quentin could envision no one but himself shouldering the responsibility of conveying this devastating news to his Sunbeam.

But, dear Lord, how would she take it? She was already teetering at the brink of emotional collapse. How could he tell her that Ardsley’s death was not at fate’s hands but at a murderer’s?

Pausing, Quentin raised his head, staring numbly across Emerald Manor s fragrant flower beds, for once oblivious to the cottage’s unique tranquility.

“Quentin.” Brandi opened the front door herself and walked down the path to meet him. Clad in a simple muslin gown of Devonshire brown, her glorious hair tied back with a matching ribbon, Brandi looked very young and even more vulnerable.

Quentin felt a knife twist in his gut.

“You’re right on time,” she greeted, tilting her head back to gaze up at him. “Are you prepared to be defeated yet again?”

Unfooled by her lighthearted banter, Quentin scrutinized the tiny lines of sleeplessness about her eyes, the pale cast to her skin. Abruptly, he made a decision.

He’d inform Brandi of Glovers’s revelation—
after
their shooting match. At least he could give her an hour of joy, a brief chance to forget, before he shattered whatever emotional reserves she had left.

“Is something wrong?” Brandi asked quizzically. She cast a self-conscious look at her gown. “Should I be wearing black? I thought—given Papa’s aversion to mourning—that dark brown would be …”

“You look lovely,” Quentin interrupted. “And you should most definitely
not
be wearing black. Your grief is worn where it matters—in your heart. Neither Ardsley nor my parents would want it any other way.”

“Then you don’t think our shooting match is disrespectful?”

He shook his head. “I think we should let Emerald Manor offer us the solace our parents wished for us.”

Brandi smiled. “Very well, then.” Visibly appeased, she reached beneath her hem, extracting the twin to Quentin’s pistol. “I’m prepared to emerge victorious yet again.”

A corner of Quentin’s mouth lifted. “You’ve become unbearably cocky while I’ve been away. What makes you think you’ll emerge victorious?”

“The fact that I’m a better marksman than you.”

Unfeigned laughter rumbled in Quentin’s chest. “Arrogant little hoyden. Very well, we’ve selected our weapons. What shall we choose as a prize?”

“The opportunity to gloat.”

“Hmm.” Quentin considered her suggestion. “Not a terribly impressive prize. What if we add a breakneck gallop through the woods, winner astride Poseidon?”

“Oh, yes!” Brandi breathed. “I can hardly wait to show you how expertly I handle Poseidon.”

“If
you win,” Quentin reminded her. “If not, you’ll have to demonstrate your prowess on Goddess’s back.” His eyes twinkled. “Astride, nonetheless.”

“To be sure.” Brandi shot him an impish grin. “And if
you
lose,
you’ll
ride Goddess—astride, nonetheless.”

“How gracious of you.” Quentin chuckled.

“Shall we?” She gestured toward the trees behind the gazebo. “I’ve already chosen the perfect spot for our match.”

“Lead the way, Sunbeam.”

Guiding him through the trees, Brandi reached a small clearing, then halted. “Here.”

With a nod of approval, Quentin surveyed the area. “An excellent choice. Now, where is our target and who shall begin?”

Brandi squinted, pointing ahead. “Right down that line of hawthorn is a Wych elm. Can you see it?”

“If you’re referring to that sweeping tree dividing those two rows of shrubs, yes; I see it.”

“I apologize.” Brandi arched a saucy brow, looking anything but sorry. “I’d forgotten how little you know about perennial vegetation. Yes, that sweeping tree amid the rows of shrubs.”

“Careful, Sunbeam. Such flagrant condescension might persuade me to reconsider my original intent to minimize my gloating.”

“A moot point, my lord, since you’re going to lose.”

A glimmer of amusement. “You do realize that target is even farther away than our last—most likely ninety five feet or more?”

“I selected it tor that very reason,” she retaliated. Our exact target will be the fourth limb from the bottom on the left side. As close to the trunk as possible. One bullet apiece. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Good. Now, take your best shot, Captain Steel.”

“Very well.” Quentin withdrew his weapon from inside his coat. “Let the contest commence.”

Twenty minutes later, Quentin was still muttering as they trudged toward the stables. “I’m not sure how, but I’m certain you cheated.”

Brandi laughed. “You’re a terrible loser, my lord.”

“And you’re an insufferable winner, my lady.”

“ ’Ello, Lord Quentin, Lady Brandi.” Frederick, Emerald Manor’s young stableboy, looked up in surprise. “Did ye plan to ride now?”

“Indeed we did,” Brandi answered cheerily. “Would you mind saddling up Poseidon and Goddess for us, Frederick?”

“Poseidon is even more spirited than usual today, m’lord,” Frederick cautioned, gazing at Quentin. “So take care.”

“Lord Quentin will be on Goddess,” Brandi corrected. “
I
shall be riding Poseidon.” She rushed on before Frederick could convince Quentin otherwise. “And I promise to be extremely cautious. But as you well know, I’ve been exercising Poseidon daily. So he’s quite accustomed to my being on his back.”

Frederick glanced questioningly at Quentin.

“Do as Lady Brandi requested, Frederick. I’ll make certain she is mindful of Poseidon’s energetic state.”

“Very good, m’lord.” The stableboy hastened off.

“I need no overseeing, Quentin,” Brandi muttered in protest. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Tell that to Desmond.” The words were out before Quentin could recall them.

Brandi gave him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

He averted his head, jaw set. “Only that my brother is taking his responsibility as your guardian very seriously.”

“Is he?” Brandi shrugged. “That doesn’t surprise me. You and I both know how rigidly traditional Desmond is. He probably assumes he owes it to Papa to properly manage my life.”

“And do you intend to let him?”

A smile. “I never have in the past. Why would you think I’d begin now?”

“Brandi …” Quentin inhaled sharply. “A lot has changed while I’ve been away. You’ve matured, taken part in several London Seasons—met numerous gentlemen.”

“I wrote you my opinion of those gentlemen.”

“Yes, you did. But, tell me, has there ever been one in particular, someone who made you feel—differently?”

“You sound like Pamela,” Brandi murmured, scraping the toe of her half boot through the dirt. “She was determined that I find my heartfelt mate.”

“And did you?”

“No.”

“Not even …”

“Here ye are, m’lord, m’lady,” Frederick announced, leading Goddess and Poseidon to the stable door. “They’re all saddled up and ready to go.”

“Oh, thank you, Frederick.” Brandi hurried forward, stroking both horses’ muzzles. “Are you both prepared for a brisk gallop through the woods?”

Goddess blinked her huge dark eyes.

Poseidon jerked his gleaming black head up and down.

“I’ll take that to mean two yeses.” Brandi gathered up Poseidon’s reins. “Are you ready, Quentin?”

“I am.” He strode forward, his scrutinizing gaze sweeping Poseidon. “I visited the stables the other night after I’d settled you in,” he told Brandi, his voice rich with pride. “But I was only here briefly. Therefore, I hadn’t the chance to see what splendid condition you’ve kept Poseidon in. Thank you, Sunbeam. And you, too, Frederick.”

“My pleasure, m’lord.”

“And mine as well,” Brandi added, glowing from his praise.

The two of them led their horses from the stables, into the late morning sunlight.

“To the stream?” Quentin asked instinctively.

Their eyes met.

“Oh, yes.” Brandi’s pleasure was a tangible entity. “It’s been ages since I’ve ridden there.” She swallowed, her long lashes sweeping her cheeks. “I do stroll the banks. I even wade and fish. But each and every time I consider steering Poseidon in the stream’s direction, memories of you—and our glorious jaunts on horseback—intervene. And, with you away until Lord knew when, it hurt too much.”

“Don’t.” Quentin stroked his knuckles over her cheek. “No sadness, Sunbeam. Not now.” Valiantly, he squelched the painful reminder of what he had to impart. “Let’s race through the woods to the southern tip of the property, then back to the stream. That should give you ample opportunity to flaunt your skills on Poseidon.”

Eagerly, Brandi nodded. “Excellent.”

“Shall I give you a leg up, or will that insult your independence?”

Brandi laughed aloud. “You could never insult me, Quentin. And I’d be very grateful for the assistance.”

He helped her mount, grinning as she tucked her skirts unceremoniously between her legs to seat herself comfortably astride Poseidon.

“You begin the race, Sunbeam,” he invited, hoisting himself onto Goddess’s back.

“All right.” Brandi grasped the reins, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Go!”

They tore on, neck-and-neck, galloping wildly through the woods. Heads bent low, they raced along the familiar path, urging their horses faster as each sensed the other’s nearby presence.

Brandi reached the clearing first, veering Poseidon into a sharp turn toward the stream just as Quentin came up behind her. She didn’t wait, but took off at a breakneck gallop, flying like the wind as she saw the stream approach.

Goddess’s hooves thudded disturbingly close by, and Brandi caught a flash of gray as Quentin sailed by to her left.

“Come on, Poseidon,” she urged, squeezing the stallion’s sides with her heels. “We’re almost there. Show me that spirit Frederick described.”

Poseidon responded, lowering his head and increasing his speed until the trees were nothing but green blurs on the outskirts of Brandi’s vision, and Goddess a gray streak that had long since been passed. The ground began to soften—a sure sign that the stream was drawing near—and Poseidon’s gait became more labored as his hooves sank into the mud. Every one of Brandi’s instincts told her they should be diminishing their pace so as not to lose control. But pride drove her onward, whispering that victory was in sight, vowing to slow down in just a few steps.

A few steps was too late.

Brandi heard Quentin’s warning shout a split second before Poseidon slipped, whinnying angrily as he wrenched command of the race from Brandi’s hands. With staunch determination, he fought to steady himself, the strong muscles of his back tightening beneath her, his powerful form striving for a firm foothold.

He found it the instant the stream found them.

Acting on instinct, Poseidon gathered his legs beneath him and jumped, soaring over the broad width of the stream to land gracefully on the other side.

Abruptly, he stopped.

Just as abruptly, he reared, tossing Brandi off his back and into the stream.

Mission accomplished, he began nibbling at the grass and flicking his tail to herald his utter vindication.

Quentin stopped and dismounted all at once. “Sunbeam?” He waded into the stream, reaching Brandi’s side in seconds. “Are you all right?”

Submerged in icy water, Brandi struggled to her knees, alternately sputtering and laughing. “Other than my pride, yes,” she gasped, shaking wet strands of hair from her eyes. “Actually, I’m lucky Poseidon’s retaliation was minimal. With the foolish lack of judgment I just displayed, he could have enacted a far more vicious revenge. I believe I owe him my thanks.”

Relief swept through Quentin, and he relaxed, helping Brandi to her feet, then assisting her to the bank of the stream. “You most certainly do. That was the most witless horsemanship you’ve ever demonstrated.”

“You’re right. I apologize, to you and to Poseidon.” She shook her head in disgust. “I must learn to accept the possibility of defeat—at least upon occasion.”

“Yes. You must.” Quentin squeezed the water from her hair. “And to be more gracious a loser when defeat occurs.”

Brandi’s slender brows arched in amusement. “This coming from the man who accused me of cheating and sulked for a quarter hour after losing a shooting match?”

Quentin tossed her a disgruntled look, and she responded with a beatific smile.

“You made your point, Sunbeam. Let’s get you home and out of this saturated gown.”

Glancing down at herself, Brandi giggled. “I look like a drowned rat,” she declared, hoisting her gown to her knees. With a sharp twist, she wrung out the fine material, thereby issuing a copious gush of water. Satisfied that she’d restored her morning dress to its original state, she released her skirts, groaning as the limp muslin tumbled unceremoniously to her ankles, wrinkled and beyond repair.

“Poseidon certainly managed to wreak havok with your dignity—
and
your gown,” Quentin noted, biting back his laughter.

Brandi’s expression clearly stated she wasn’t a bit fooled by Quentin’s feigned sobriety. “You’re enjoying yourself most thoroughly, aren’t you?” she accused, trying to keep her own face straight.