Marshal and the Heiress (32 page)

“What did you say to him?” Ben asked Sarah Ann.

“To take care of you,” she said. “He said he would. He promised.”

Ben felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under him. He sure couldn't quarrel with her intent, only with her choice of confidants.

Children are always wiser than we think,
Mary May had said when he'd first met Sarah Ann.
They are very good judges of character.

Ben had been shocked at Sarah Ann's easy acceptance of him months ago. She had immediately asked whether he was her papa and had happily sat in his lap, which then and there showed her complete lack of judgment. He had been a killer. On the side of the law, yes, but a killer nonetheless.

No, Sarah Ann was a dreadful judge of character. So he dismissed her approval of Drew Cameron.

As he fixed her a plate of food, he couldn't help but notice the eyes of several young ladies on himself. Some he remembered from last night, others he did not.

He supposed most fathers would scoop up their daughters and run before considering a match with him. He had no title and little money of his own. For all they knew, he had nothing.

Dammit, he hated that image of himself. A guardian living off his daughter. Even more, he hated sitting here doing nothing when someone had just tried to kill him.

Barbara came over to where he and Sarah Ann had found seats. “Did you enjoy the hunt this morning?”

She looked particularly pretty. Clearly, she loved parties and being the center of attention.

Claire had been like that. And although he'd learned to be wary of that particular trait, he couldn't ignore Barbara's appeal, the sheer beauty of her black hair and violet eyes and laughing mouth. She appeared even more enchanting than usual, now that some of the petulance had gone from her face and her eyes were brighter. He noticed something else, too. Hugh was hovering around her, and she kept returning to his side. Partners in conspiracy?

Damn, but he felt boxed in. He didn't feel he could safely leave Sarah Ann with anyone. He wasn't sure whether he was the sole target, or whether he'd merely presented an opportunity to the murderer. And he couldn't do much investigating with a four-year-old in tow.

If only there was someone he could trust. But that, at the moment, was as remote a possibility as plucking a star from the heavens. Lisbeth. Hugh. Barbara. Drew. One of them was trying to kill him.

And at the moment, he couldn't believe it of any one of them.

Chapter Nineteen

Lisbeth was determined that nothing would interfere with today's triumph. Everything she and Jamie had worked toward—had risked—during the last five years would begin to be justified today. She tried not to think that Jamie had died before reaching this point. She tried not to think that one man could end it in a month.

This was to be Shadow's day.

She had selected a forest-green riding dress that she knew flattered her, and a matching green coat and jaunty hat. The dark colors would not offend those who thought she should still be in mourning.

Callum was in the stable, talking to Drew, who, Lisbeth knew, had ridden over the course earlier in the morning on another mount.

“Shadow may try to balk,” Callum said. “Don't let him. Tell him who's in control.”

Drew nodded. He swung around as he became aware of Lisbeth. “He's a fine horse.”

“Jamie said he would be a champion,” she said wistfully. “He should be riding him.”

“Or you,” Drew said fondly. “Damn shame you were born a woman. I would have liked to race you.”

“You still can.” She tilted her head challengingly.

“Maybe when that ankle improves,” he replied, “though I think the new master of Calholm doesn't exactly approve of me. He's been glaring at me for two days now.”

“He's not the new master,” she countered. “Not yet.”

“But everyone says the petition has been approved.”

Callum gave a snort of disgust and stalked from the stall. “I'll get the other horse ready,” he said and disappeared around the bend. Geordie would ride Torchfire, a six-year-old bay that was available for stud.

Lisbeth turned away from Drew, laying a hand on Shadow's side.

“You don't look happy,” Drew said quietly.

She bit her lip. “Someone shot at Ben this morning.”

“Devil you say,” Drew said.

“And there was an accident in Edinburgh.”

“Edinburgh?” His voice sharpened.

“Apparently after you left them, a carriage nearly ran them down.”

He whistled. “There was also an accident in Liverpool.” He was silent for a moment, and she turned around to look at him.

“You were there each time.”

“Bloody hell,” he exploded. “You don't think—?”

“Of course not,” she said.

She saw a muscle working in his cheek. He was an attractive man with sandy hair and hazel eyes that reminded her a little of her own; in fact, she'd felt an odd familiarity the first time she'd met him. Almost as if she'd known him most of her life. She'd never felt that way about anyone before, had never felt comfortable with a man before, especially so quickly.

“And then there was Jamie,” she said in a small voice.

“That
was
an accident.” At her hesitation, he added, “Wasn't it?”

“He was such a good rider,” she said.

“So are you, and you fell.”

“Because I … became distracted.”

“I don't think I'll ask you why,” he said dryly. “But surely, Masters
can't
suspect you.”

She lifted one shoulder in bewilderment.

“Bloody bastard,” Drew swore. “I gave him more credit than that.”

“But I can understand—”

“Well, I can't,” he said, then stopped as he looked at her more closely. “You haven't, you aren't …”

She looked at him miserably.

Drew sighed heavily. “No wonder he's been glaring at me with such fury.”

The infernal tears started again. She tried to blink them back. Drew brushed a tear away, then he pulled her to him.

“He's a bloody fool,” Drew said.

She stayed in his embrace a moment, then pulled away. “Thank you for riding Shadow.”

He nodded. “Anytime, love.”

“Drew?”

“Yes?”

“Check the saddle well before you mount.”

He had started to turn toward the horse, and he whirled back abruptly.

“Please, Drew.”

“All right, m'lady,” he said mischievously. “And I'll try not to fall.”

She managed a small smile.

“And we'll win.”

“I know,” she replied.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “You can always come to America with me.”

She shuddered.

He chuckled, though the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

Ben knew it would happen. He was even prepared for it, or he thought he was.

Sarah Ann made directly for Lisbeth as the guests gathered for the start of the race. He had to follow.

Lisbeth bent down and greeted his small charge, but her gaze avoided him.

“I missed you this morning, Lady Lisbeth,” Sarah Ann said. “Papa and I both did. Annabelle, too.”

“You'll have to tell Annabelle I'm sorry,” Lisbeth said with that gentle smile that always took his breath away. It was much more potent than Barbara's dazzling smile, perhaps because it didn't come as often or as easily. It certainly wasn't coming his way at the moment.

He turned and watched the five riders. The spectators could see some of the jumps and part of the course, but not all. Ben felt the excitement build as the Scots carefully looked over Shadow and Torchfire.

Shadow was obviously nervous with a new rider on his back, but Ben grudgingly recognized that Drew Cameron was keeping him well under control. He was obviously an expert rider. What else did he do well?

“Look,” Sarah Ann said as she pointed to Drew. “I gave him a favor.”

“And what was that?” Lisbeth asked.

“He wanted my scarf, but I gave him a kiss instead. To help him win.”

“I think that's much better,” Lisbeth said. She cast Ben a quick glance, and he noted the coolness in her. Her face was tense, and he didn't know whether it came from apprehension about the race or his earlier veiled accusations. Her lips seemed to quiver a moment, but then she turned away, toward the horses, toward Callum, who was to announce the start.

“Hold me up,” Sarah Ann demanded, and Ben swung her up onto his shoulder.

Lisbeth took several steps toward one of the Carmichael boys.

Ben couldn't blame her. He had hurt her, probably irreparably if she were innocent. He knew what distrust did to people, and he had torn to shreds that fragile beginning of trust—and intimacy—they'd shared.

He kept telling himself it was because of Sarah Ann. He couldn't take chances with her life. But he wasn't sure that was completely true. Distrusting was a hell of a lot easier than trusting.

“Look!” Sarah Ann exclaimed.

The horses were off, pounding across the ground. They reached the first jump, and suddenly appeared to be flying through the air as they all cleared it. He'd seldom seen better horsemanship than that of the riders in this race. On Shadow, Drew leaned close to the animal's neck, becoming as one with the horse, as he soared over a six-foot fence, then a brush hazard. Then the horses and riders disappeared from view and the crowd grew quiet, waiting.

Reluctant appreciation filled Ben. He looked at Lisbeth, wondering what he would see on her face. He found her looking at him, sad puzzlement marring her features. She should be feeling excitement, victory. And he had robbed her of it. He felt as if he'd destroyed something precious, and at that moment he hated himself.

Someone shouted, signaling that the horses were coming into the final furlong. Ben saw Lisbeth force a smile as Shadow lengthened his lead, flying over the last hazard with space to spare, Torchfire behind him, and the other three horses trailing.

And then it was over, and she was accepting congratulations.

“He's all ye said and more,” Carmichael said, approaching her. “And I'll be going home poorer. Ye wouldn't be thinking of selling him, would you?”

Lisbeth shook her head. “But he has a brother—a yearling—that might be for sale. It will be up to Mr. Masters most likely.” With her back stiff but a smile pasted on her face, she walked over to Shadow. And Drew Cameron. Both were surrounded quickly by a crowd of people.

Ben felt that he no longer existed for her.

“It was my kiss,” Sarah Ann said to him.

He suddenly remembered she was still on his shoulder and set her down. “What, Sugarplum?”

“Drew won because of my kiss,” she said, obviously annoyed that she had to remind him.

His fingers closed around hers. “Of course,” he said.

“Kisses are magic.”

He remembered a particular few recent kisses. “Aye,” he said. “They are.” But all the magic was gone, and all he tasted were the bitter ashes of regret.

The victory should have meant everything. It didn't mean anything.

Why did she keep caring?

Lisbeth accepted congratulations, giving the credit for the breeding to Jamie and the old Marquess, and the riding to Drew Cameron. She looked for Drew, but after dismounting he'd disappeared.

So had Ben.

She and Callum walked Shadow to the stables after the guests had left for the manor house.

Callum gave her as much of a smile as he ever quite managed. “We showed them, Lady Lisbeth.”

“So we did,” she said. “You'll be able to find a position anywhere now.”

“What do you mean?”

She looked at his weathered face. “I'm not sure Mr. Masters will keep the horses. I heard his petition's been approved.”

“It isn't right,” he said. “These are Calholm horses. The old Marquess put his heart into them.”

“So did Jamie,” Lisbeth reminded him.

Callum muttered something under his breath, and Lisbeth looked at him quizzically.

“Lord Jamie dinna care,” Callum said. “He planned to sell them.”

“He never said anything to me about it.”

“Because he knew ye would object. Lord Jamie never did like opposition. He would have gone ahead and sold them, like Lady Barbara wanted. Like the new master will do,” he added bitterly, his mouth tightening.

The thudding in Lisbeth's heart almost drowned out everything else. “How do you know?”

“I heard yer Jamie talking to Lady Barbara.” His voice was grim and his eyes cold. “I should not ha' said anything, but ye believe too easily.”

He walked away, then, toward the stables, leaving her stunned.
Ye believe too easily.

Jamie and Barbara.
She wouldn't believe it. She
couldn't
believe it. She couldn't believe Jamie would sell his heritage, break his promise to his father, deceive her.

She'd lived with Jamie three years. She'd conceived a child with him.

But he never told you he loved you.

Her mind was going in circles, trying to remember fragments that might reveal truths. Jamie was a good horseman, a superb horseman. His father, he'd told her, put him on a horse before he could walk. John Hamilton valued that skill above all else.

But Jamie had never fed the horses tidbits of apples and carrots, had never stayed to talk to them, or curry them or cool them down. He'd always tossed the reins to the grooms and walked off.

She had been the one the Marquess spent hours with, talking about bloodlines and racing. Jamie had always found an excuse to leave.

Jamie. Always polite. Always proper. Always doing what his father wanted. And the Marquess had wanted his sons to have sons.

Lisbeth hadn't know what passion was, what desire was, until a few days ago. Jamie's lovemaking had been quick and efficient, though he had not been unkind, and she had believed their relations quite normal. She'd only been grateful that it hadn't been the onerous act her mother had described. She'd wanted to love Jamie, seeing in him what
she
wanted to see.