Marshal and the Heiress (14 page)

“All horses are greedy,” Barbara said with just a shade of distaste in her voice. Obviously, she didn't share Lisbeth's love of anything with four legs and a tail.

Sarah Ann picked up on it, too. She turned all her attention back to the pony, the sugar held out in the flat of her hand. She giggled as the pony's teeth tickled her fingers in its eagerness.

“I want to ride him again,” Sarah Ann said.

“I think that's enough for the day,” Ben said. “You need some rest, and so does Peppermint. Remember, this is a new home for him.”

“I think I should stay with him so he won't get lonesome.”

“He'll have new horse friends,” Ben said. “Don't you think they need to get acquainted? And you can see him first thing in the morning.”

“Tonight,” Sarah Ann bargained.

Barbara laughed. It was a pleasant sound, and he glanced up at her. Genuine amusement danced in her violet eyes.

“You might as well give up,” she said. “I sense feminine stubbornness in that face.”

“All right,” he said, surrendering. “After supper for just a few moments. If you take a nap.”

“I will,” Sarah Ann promised solemnly. She hugged the pony. “You be a good pony,” she admonished him. Peppermint nudged her shoulder playfully. “I think he likes me.”

“I think so, too,” Barbara said, taking the words from Ben's mouth. He wondered whether he'd misjudged her. He'd automatically assumed that because she was beautiful, she was also shallow, and even treacherous.

“Thank you for that,” he said as he began to unsaddle the pony. He led the animal into a stall already assigned to him by the silent trainer who was nowhere to be seen. Ben made sure the pony had feed and water, then started back to the manor with Sarah Ann and Barbara, who had waited.

She glided rather than walked. Partway to the house, she put a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Do you miss your home?” she asked.

“Not particularly.” He didn't mention that he hadn't really had a home in more than seven years. A bedroll, sometimes a bunk in a sheriff's office or a temporary bed in a hotel—those had been the extent of his home.

“No family?”

“Only Sarah Ann,” he said. She was good, very good at coaxing out answers.

“Then … there's no one waiting for you?”

He shook his head, amused at the line of questioning.

She hesitated, then continued. “Mr. Alistair said Sarah Ann's mother died?”

“That's right.” His tone was curt now. He didn't want to talk about Mary May, particularly with Sarah Ann just a few feet ahead.

“How did she die?” Barbara had lowered her voice but she wasn't giving up.

He gave her a look that had quelled outlaws, then started walking again, catching up with Sarah Ann and taking her hand in his.

Lady Barbara Hamilton hurried her steps to match his and was silent the remainder of the way to the manor. As they reached the steps, she stopped him again, a slight frown furrowing the lovely brow. “I didn't mean to pry.”

“Yes you did,” he said easily.

She looked startled. He wondered if any man had challenged her before.

She smiled suddenly. “So I did, and I apologize. Do you still want to go to Edinburgh with me?”

The apology was nicely said. He nodded.

“Day after tomorrow?”

He nodded again.

“I'll make the arrangements,” she said. “Though I don't know if Sarah Ann will leave that pony.”

Ben hadn't thought of that. He was still getting used to the needs and wants of a tiny person.

“We can leave her here,” Barbara said. “She'll be well cared for.”

Ben studied the beautiful woman before him, considering her motives. Why would she suggest leaving Sarah Ann behind? Thoughtfulness? Or something else? Sarah Ann was the heiress, not him, and any intended harm would be directed toward her.

“No,” he said firmly. “Sarah Ann goes with us.”

Barbara shrugged, though he saw disappointment in her eyes.

They separated inside the manor entrance.

“I'll see you at dinner,” she said.

“My thanks for the apple and sugar,” he replied, trying to ease the sting of his earlier brusqueness.

She hesitated, looking very, very pretty, and winked at Sarah Ann. “Have a good nap, Sarah Ann,” she said, then hurried down the hall.

Lady Barbara Hamilton could be as charming as Lady Lisbeth could be challenging. Ben thought about the striking differences in the two women as he watched Sarah Ann play with a disgruntled Annabelle. After tucking her and the cat into bed, he stayed a few minutes, listening to her chatter about the pony until the long dark lashes closed over her eyes.

Ben retreated into his own room to wash, and to think. He located one of his few remaining cigars and poured a small glass of the whisky. His bad leg ached, and he sat down, stretching it out into a more comfortable position.

He sipped the whisky, remembering how he and Mary May used to linger over a drink in the saloon where she had worked. He missed her, missed her warm humor and complete lack of subtlety. And he regretted holding himself back from loving her. He'd kept his feelings turned off for so long, he hadn't known how to deal with them when they started to emerge, simmering in some hidden part of him like lava about to erupt.

Ben had made plenty of mistakes. He'd spent his young life trying to please his father. His efforts, though, had not won the love he'd craved from the one person in his life he'd admired. So he'd looked for love elsewhere and thought he'd found it in a beautiful young woman. That had been another mistake—another regret.

War had drained him of boyhood illusions and had made him incapable of practicing law. He'd returned home to discover that he could no longer spend hours and days in a small office, representing clients who engaged in profiteering during the war. So he'd become a U.S. marshal, the opposite of what he'd been before the war. He'd taken a savage satisfaction in that, and in his solitude. He hadn't needed anyone, didn't want to need anyone ever again.

He'd clung to that belief even when he'd met Mary May. He'd clung to it when he'd promised her he'd take care of Sarah Ann. He'd clung to it the first few weeks he had the child. But then something happened. Sarah Ann's needs had become his. She'd squirmed into his heart and made him feel again. And he found he liked to have feelings. It scared the hell out of him, but he was ready to admit that he needed her as much as she needed him.

Ben rose and stalked around the room, then stopped abruptly when he realized something was not as it should be. His gaze searching the room, he recalled how the room had looked that morning.

It had been cleaned before he and Sarah left to see the pony; no one should have been inside since then. Yet he sensed intrusion. He checked the drawers of the bureau. His shirts were as he remembered. He opened the highest drawer, the one where he'd put his gun, a drawer too high for Sarah Ann to reach.

The gun was still there, but the barrel was staring straight at him. He'd left the barrel pointed toward the back of the drawer.

Someone had gone through his room.

Ben checked the valise he'd stowed in a corner, carefully studying the linings. They were intact. The papers were safe: Mary May and Ian Hamilton's marriage certificate, and copies of Sarah Ann's birth certificate and adoption papers.

Were they what someone had been looking for?

He went into Sarah Ann's room. She was still asleep. The room looked normal, just as they had left it earlier; but then Effie had put away her things, not him, and he had no way of telling whether they too had been searched.

Ben hated the feeling of being spied upon. He hated the invasion of his privacy. He cursed under his breath. Dammit, he would find out who had searched his rooms, and why.

Dinner was as awkward as it had been the night before.

Lisbeth tried to lighten it, more for Sarah Ann's sake than her own. But Ben Masters wasn't helping. He was silent, his gaze studying the others at the table slowly and carefully, his eyes devoid of the warmth she'd glimpsed earlier in the day. He seemed too preoccupied to even pay the usual attention to Sarah Ann.

Hugh was late, and he arrived smelling of a distillery. He glared at each one of them, saving his most vicious glance for Ben. Hugh, like Barbara, could be irresistibly charming, but Lisbeth saw fear choking that charm now. Fear that he was about to lose everything he'd been counting on.

Sarah Ann most certainly felt the tension. She had eagerly talked about the pony for several minutes, then had fallen silent.

“Did you enjoy riding Peppermint?” Lisbeth asked to dispel the gloom.

“Oh, yes. He's a splen'id pony. Papa said I could visit him tonight. He's very lonesome.”

“He won't be lonesome long,” she said. “He'll have lots of friends.”

“Lady Barb'ra brought him an apple.”

“That was nice of her.” Obviously, Barbara had no intention of giving up on the girl immediately, Lisbeth thought.

She glanced down at Henry the Eighth, who lay beside her chair being unusually quiet. She wondered whether Annabelle had cowed him or whether he too was affected by the American's dour attitude.

As if in answer to her thought, Henry mumbled. Lisbeth had never known a dog to mumble before, but Henry was very good at it. This one sounded like a complaint.

“Maybe he's lonesome, too,” Sarah Ann offered.

“More like ate too much,” Hugh muttered, “and is suffering from indigestion. Damn dog's a glutton. Eats better than we do.”

Lisbeth looked over at Hugh's plate. It was brimming with lamb, potatoes, and steaming gravy. “At least he doesn't come to the table stinking of drink,” she retorted icily.

Hugh's face went red, then he rose from the table, disregarding the chair that fell with a clatter. “Calholm should belong to me, by all rights, and you willna be telling me wha' to do.” The Scot's accent had deepened in his anger. Lisbeth saw Sarah Ann huddle closer to Ben and his arm go around her. His face went rigid, and a muscle flexed in his cheek, a look far more deadly, more dangerous than Hugh's.

Ben stood slowly, and so did Sarah Ann. “If our claim is substantiated,” he said slowly, “you will mind your tongue and your temper, or you can leave.”

“And if it isn't?” Hugh taunted. “I don't think you have a valid claim. You probably forged everything.”

“And did I bribe someone, too?” Ben replied in a low voice. “Or do you reserve that crime for yourself?”

Hugh's face went completely white, as did Barbara's. “I'll see you laughed out of court,” he said, turning from the table and striding out the door.

A dreadful few seconds of silence followed. Lisbeth held her breath, waiting for Ben to make a move, to say something. Instead Henry barked and, in the next instant, Barbara spoke.

“I'm sorry,” she said softly. “He didn't mean it.”

“I don't like him,” Sarah Ann sniffed.

“Do you ever say things you don't mean when you're upset?” Barbara asked. “Maybe if you hadn't gotten your pony today …?”

Sarah Ann looked up, her insatiable curiosity aroused. “Didn't he get a pony?”

“Well, he didn't get something else he wanted very badly.”

“What?”

Sarah Ann's fear was fading now, Lisbeth noted. She was amazed both by the child's resiliency and by Barbara's almost tender attempts to justify Hugh's behavior. Or was she simply trying to pursue Ben by showing interest in Sarah Ann?

“Can we go see the pony again?” Sarah Ann asked, breaking the awkward stillness.

“What about your dinner?” Ben asked, frowning.

Sarah Ann pushed her plate away. “I'm not hungry.”

Lisbeth wished she'd held her tongue when Hugh had insulted Henry. Her eyes met Barbara's. Regret flickered in her sister-in-law's gaze, too.

“I'll have some food sent up later,” Lisbeth said to Ben. “A meat pie, perhaps. How would you like that, Sarah Ann?”

“That would be nice,” Sarah Ann said politely, but without enthusiasm.

Lisbeth's eyes met Ben's gaze. “I apologize for that scene,” she said.

“I've always heard about English manners,” he said, one corner of his lips curling.

“We're not English,” she replied. “And we Scots are well known for our argumentative ways.”

Barbara winced. “Especially the Highland Scots. I prefer peace.”

Lisbeth arched an eyebrow. “Then why do you keep Hugh around?”

“He has as much right to be here as—” Barbara stopped suddenly.

“As who?” Lisbeth said, unable to help herself. It
was
true, what they said about the Highlanders. She'd never been able to back away from a challenge, not since she'd been old enough to defend herself.

Ben was watching both of them, watching and weighing. He seemed more guarded than ever.

“Papa?” Sarah Ann's question was more a wail.

Ben pushed back his chair. “If you ladies will forgive me, I believe Sarah Ann and I have an engagement with a pony.”

Lisbeth nodded. “I'll go with you and see that everything is taken care of.”

“That's not necessary,” he said. “But I thank you for your concern.” His tone was sharp, almost angry.

“All right,” she said. “I'll have a meat pie and some sweets sent up in an hour.” She hesitated a moment, then continued. “You might like to visit the library later. You mentioned wanting some children's books.”

“That's very kind.”

Did she actually hear a note of sarcasm in his words or had she only imagined it? She watched as the big man and small child left the room, hand in hand.

Which one had searched his room?

Hugh was Ben's prime suspect, but they'd all had an opportunity, including Lisbeth.