One Touch of Magic (20 page)

She reached up and covered his hand with hers. She had no words, and let her actions be her voice. She rose up, and captured his lips with hers.

They were warm and surprisingly soft, parting beneath hers. How she had missed this intimacy in her life, longed for it from Miles! She had not even known how much until this moment.

His clean, masculine scent enveloped her. She wrapped her arms about his neck, and rose up onto her toes to be closer to him, ever closer. He groaned deep in his throat, a sound that moved through her like a warm bolt of lightning, and drew her against him. They fell back onto the settee in a tangle of limbs and skirts, their kiss deepening, hands reaching desperately, hungrily.

After an eternity—or was it only a moment?—they drifted apart, slowly, sweetly. Sarah rested against his shoulder with a sigh, her senses still humming and alive. Never had she known a kiss like that before!

Miles stroked her tumbled hair back from her temples. “Can you doubt how I feel?”

“No.” No more than she could doubt her own feelings. For one more instant, she rested in the golden emotions, until she could hold the outside world at bay no longer. There was still great evil lurking somewhere in her life, waiting for her.

It was not a time for undiluted basking in romance. She had far too much to worry about to try to puzzle out where their places could be in each other’s lives.

But, for this one moment, it felt so delicious to not be alone any longer.

She sat up, feeling suddenly cold at the loss of his closeness. Slowly, she came back into herself. She straightened her hair and clothes in a rather bewildered haze, almost unable to believe that she was the same person who had given in to a passionate impulse only seconds before.

A true wanton, that was what she was. She giggled at the thought.

Miles sat up beside her, looking as dazed as she felt. His hair was adorably tousled, and Sarah reached up to tidy it.

He smiled at her, catching her hand in his and lifting it to his lips for a quick kiss. “We must speak of this later, Sarah.”

“Must we?” she said, teasing him for his oh-so-serious tone.

“You know we do. But first, we have to find who has been doing these terrible things.”

A little more of the glow faded at the reminder of the awful scenes that had brought her to Ransome Hall today. “You mean
I
must. These are my difficulties. It could cause quite the scandal if Lord Ransome was thought to be involved in a
murder
.”

He caught her shoulders, turning her back to him. “
We
must. And I will hear no arguments.”

She smiled at him. “I am not arguing.”

“Very good. Then you should go home to your sister, while I look into some things. I will call on you later this afternoon.”

He sounded quite the officer-in-charge. She almost laughed, but then decided that was not perhaps the most appropriate reaction. And it felt nice to know she did not have to be alone in this confusion any longer. “I do want to be certain that Mary Ann is all right, and that she has obeyed my orders to stay at home today.”

He nodded, still serious and distracted, as if plotting out a battle strategy. “Did you come in your carriage? Shall I send some of the footmen to escort you back to the hunting box?”

“I came in the Hamiltons’ carriage.” She gave him a teasing glance. “Did you think I was driving my phaeton all over the countryside?”

He kissed her forehead, and gave a wry laugh. “With you, one never knows. I will send two of the footmen with you, anyway.”

Sarah nodded, and stood up to cross the room and peer into a small mirror that hung on the wall. Her hair was a tousled mess of curls, quite beyond redemption, even as she tried to push it back into its pins. Reflected behind her, she saw Miles take his coat from the back of the chair where it hung and shrug his arms into it.

For a second, it was as if she stood before the polished bronze Viking mirror again. His coat and cravat were gone, replaced by tunic and leather leggings.

She blinked, and the vision vanished.

“You will send a message to me later, will you not, and tell me what you discover? If you cannot make it to the hunting box,” she added. Her voice shook, even to her own ears.

“Of course.” He came to her, and laid his warm hands on her shoulders. His lips pressed to her temple, all too briefly. “Don’t be frightened, my dear. I am certain we will find whoever is behind these terrible acts, and he will be stopped.”

Sarah covered one of his hands with hers. “I am not frightened.” And truly, she was not. How could she be, with the memory of their kiss glowing in her mind?

Only later, when she was alone in the carriage going home, did she think that perhaps she
should
be frightened. After all, someone—perhaps someone she knew—had destroyed her artifacts and committed a murder. She had been so busy feeling like a giddy schoolgirl over a kiss that she had almost forgotten all that.

She sank back against the cushions with a little frown. That had been foolish of her, she admitted to herself, and she would not do it again. It was imperative that they find the villain and put a stop to his activities—before anyone else could be harmed.

After he was caught, well, that was a different story. She certainly would not mind another of those kisses then.

But did kisses, no matter how passionate, mean that Lord Ransome—Miles—would allow her to continue her work at the village? In all the confusion, she had misplaced that point.

And that was not something she could afford to forget at all.

Miles watched Sarah’s carriage roll away down the drive. He had promised her that he would go and do his best to seek out the villain who had done this, but all he really wanted to do was make certain
she
was safe. Sending her away, even with the escort of two armed footmen, was the most difficult thing he had ever done.

The sight of her pale, frightened face as she told him of the destroyed objects, the murdered man, had aroused such a storm of fury in him! That anyone could hurt her, or frighten her, was unendurable, unforgivable. Every primitive instinct in him, buried for so long under the polite world, screamed out for revenge, for blood.

Not even in Spain had he felt this way. There, battle had been heated but strangely impersonal. Now he wanted to murder someone with his bare hands.

It was frightening—and strangely exhilarating. He felt a great rush of strength, and he knew that he would not rest until he had found his man.

He watched Sarah’s carriage until it was lost to sight, then turned and went back into the house, to the library. The first sight that greeted him there was the settee where they had kissed so sweetly, so passionately.

Where he had never wanted to let her go until he made her his completely.

He looked away from the settee. He could not think of that now. It would distract him from his mission, from what he must accomplish.

He could not even think of what might happen after.

Instead, he crossed over to his desk, opened one of the drawers, and took out a carved and inlaid box. Inside, resting on a bed of blue velvet, was a pair of gleaming pistols.

After, he and Sarah would have to face their differences and their attraction. But now he had a battle to face.

“Sarah!” Mary Ann ran out of the hunting box before Sarah could even step down from the carriage. The kittens chased after her, batting at her skirt hem with their paws. “Where have you been? What is happening? I received a note from Mr. Hamilton saying I should stay at home today, but there was no explanation.” Her glance flickered over to the footmen, both of whom had short swords, and one with a rifle over his saddle. “Something terrible has happened.”

Sarah took her arm and turned her back to the house, leading her along the walkway she had just run down. “Come inside, dear, and I will tell you all about it. I am sorry I was gone so long; I went to Ransome Hall, then to the inn to see Mrs. Hamilton for a moment.”

Mary Ann’s brow creased. “Is there something wrong with Lord Ransome? Or Mrs. Hamilton?”

Sarah remembered the strange call she had just paid on Mrs. Hamilton, dazed from her time with Miles, and was not sure what to say. Mrs. Hamilton had not looked well at all, and had still been clad in her dressing gown when it was past time for luncheon. She had not appeared to understand what Sarah was saying to her. But Sarah just explained the situation as completely as she could (which was not very), and sent her back to her bed with a tisane.

She longed for her own bed now, after all the shocks of the day. That would have to wait, though; right now, she had to talk to Mary Ann. Once settled in the drawing room, she explained the situation yet again. If she had to say the words “artifacts destroyed” and “that man killed” again, she would surely scream.

Mary Ann shook her head, her face bewildered. “How could all this be? What is happening here, Sarah?”

“I am not sure. But you are quite safe, my dear, I assure you. Lord Ransome, Mr. Hamilton, and myself are doing all we can to find out who has done this.” Sarah tried to assure herself as much as she did Mary Ann. “But you promise me you will only go about with me, and that you will stay safely here the rest of the time.”

“I am not completely bacon brained, Sarah!” Mary Ann protested. “I have no desire to be killed. I only wish I could be of some assistance.”

“You are of assistance to me just by being here. I would so hate to be all alone right now.” Sarah hugged her sister close, deeply grateful that Mary Ann was here, safe and whole. “Come, now, it is late, and I have not yet eaten. Let’s find something to eat, and then perhaps you could help me sort out the remaining artifacts and start to relabel them.”

Mary Ann nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes! I’ve been learning so much lately that I am sure I could do that. Tell me about the objects you found, Sarah. Is my drinking horn among them?”

Sarah nodded, and led the way toward the kitchen, glad to think and speak of something positive. All of their work was not lost, and relabeling would occupy her mind far more agreeably than the doubts and fears of the morning had.

As for the future—well, she would have to face that soon enough. At this moment, she had work to do, and that would be enough.

“What have you discovered?” Miles asked Mr. Hamilton, whom he had finally found at the home of the magistrate, Sir Walter Farnham, in Upper Hawton. They walked along the main street now, in the direction of where their horses were being watched.

Miles thought the other man looked tired and strained, and seemed years older in only one morning. His smirks and rudeness were vanished. Miles couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him.

“Sir Walter says that farmer—whose name, by the way, was Mr. White—was feuding with a neighbor of his over a property boundary. In fact, Mr. White was apparently feuding with a great many people over a great many things. Sir Walter says he is not at all surprised that he came to a bad end. I do not think he will exert himself too greatly to find the culprit.” Mr. Hamilton laughed dryly. “So I do not imagine that Sir Walter will look too closely at your own unfortunate encounter with the man, Lord Ransome.”

“That is not what I was concerned about.” Miles stopped on the walkway, and turned to face Mr. Hamilton. “What does Sir Walter say of the vandalism of Lady Iverson’s artifacts?”

Mr. Hamilton’s chuckles died away, leaving him sad and pale again. It was obvious what he considered the true crime; what Miles was ashamed to admit he himself was more concerned about: the vicious destruction of the Viking items.

“I would not say they were exclusively Lady Iverson’s artifacts,” Mr. Hamilton answered. “But Sir Walter believes it was the work of Mr. White, who then coincidentally, and deservedly, met his own end. Sir Walter knew of Mr. White’s—meeting with you, and judges the vandalism to be an act of revenge.”

“And what do you think? Do you believe this to be the case?”

Mr. Hamilton shrugged. “I cannot imagine who else it could be.”

“It does not strike you as being a great coincidence, that this Mr. White would destroy valuable antiquities, and then go home to immediately be murdered?”

“Are you saying that you do
not
believe that is what happened, Lord Ransome?”

Miles was not sure what he thought. This whole situation was becoming ugly beyond belief, and he just wanted to save Sarah from any more suffering.

He wanted nothing but happiness and light to fill all her days. And he would do anything, find any villain, to do that.

“Was there not some trouble before?” he asked. “A cave-in of the cellar at the leather-worker’s shop? Some missing tools?”

“Those were simply accidents!”

“Were they, indeed?”

“Of course. We did not even know of this Mr. White then—no one at our site ever saw him before the day he attacked Miss Bellweather.
I
never saw him until I discovered his dead body. Why would he have caused those mishaps weeks ago?”

“What if it was not Mr. White?”

Mr. Hamilton shook his head. “Who else could it have been?”

“That is what I am trying to discover.” Miles turned back around, and continued along the street to reclaim his horse from the urchin who held the reins. He swung up into the saddle and looked down at Mr. Hamilton, who merely stood still beside his own horse, staring blankly off as if trying to comprehend the whole situation. “Are you going to come with me, Mr. Hamilton?”

The man blinked up at him. “Where are you going, Lord Ransome?”

“I am going to speak with those neighbors Mr. White was feuding with. After that . . .” After that—Miles did not know. “I will see what I find.”

“I must look in on my wife. I asked Lady Iverson to give her a message earlier, but she has been alone all day, and she is not well.” Mr. Hamilton grasped the reins of his horse. “Then I will be happy to lend any assistance I can.”

Miles wasn’t sure what use Mr. Hamilton could really be, but he just nodded, and said, “I will call on you later, then.”