The Runaway Countess (20 page)

He scowled, dark and fierce. “Be warned, you cannot hide the truth from me, Mazie. You will only hurt yourself if you try.”

She wished she could lift her chin, meet his gaze with pride. Her arms still wrapped around her, she turned away.

“I will see you in the morning. And then I expect the answers I seek.” He brushed a lock of hair from her shoulder. And she—she would not sleep for it—did not flinch away. “I bid thee goodnight, little hummingbird.” The epithet was both surprising and oddly unsettling. Before she formulated a reply, he pivoted on his heel and left the room.

Mazie stared at the closed door then paced in a confused circle.

What had she done?

Chapter Ten

“So quick bright things come to confusion.” Shakespeare

Three days later, as Mazie pulled back her bowstring and glared at the mark across the archery field, her mind was still on Trent. No matter how she twisted and turned the facts, she could not make sense of their passionate exchange.

Trent had acted as if it had merely been a ploy to intimidate her, but then he had fled and hidden for days. Did he regret kissing her and, well, the rest? And so he should, the cold-hearted cad.

With a small movement of her fingers, she sent the arrow speeding through the air. It landed with a disheartened plop in the grass.

“Hmm.” Cat drew an arrow from her quiver and placed it on her bowstring. “You seemed distracted that time.” With slow, deliberate movements, she aimed then let fly her arrow. It was a hit, landing inside the largest ring on the straw target.

Intolerable. It was intolerable how Trent had gotten under her skin. Mazie fidgeted with the setting on her bow, yanked on the string to tighten it. She had agonized enough these last three days, wondering what the irksome man was doing. If her ploy had worked, and he was riding to Tyneside. Or if he had discovered something about Roane.

Cat had confirmed that Trent left the estate but claimed ignorance to his whereabouts. She feared for him, she confessed late one night. She hated that her brother was tracking down dangerous criminals.

“Don’t be silly,” Mazie had replied. “The Midnight Rider isn’t dangerous.”

Cat frowned. “The masked
hero
carries a revolver. How do you suppose he will react when my brother descends upon him in a fury of righteousness?”

The truth sank like a cold stone into Mazie’s belly.

Roane could shoot Trent.

Trent could shoot Roane.

The possibilities were endless, and none of them good. Certainly that was the reason for the unsettling emptiness in her chest.

She took her stance and lifted her bow, determined to ignore the winding and winding of her worry. The fresh air felt invigorating, the sun a warm touch. Why be distressed on such a fine summer afternoon, with its puffy white clouds and gentle breeze? Small waves lapped at the shore of the lake nearby, positively exuding calm and peace. She would listen to them.

Stilling her breath, she aimed her next arrow with care. In her mind’s eye she saw the arrow hitting the mark before she let it fly. When the vision felt as true as reality, she let go of the bowstring. Her arrow soared through the air and hit the target, one ring from the middle.

“What a surprise to find my prisoner has escaped the house and armed herself with a weapon.”

Trent. He was home.

A warm, honeyed pleasure spread through her at the sound of his voice, as did the prickly memory of what he had done to her, the surrender he had coaxed from her before leaving her vulnerable and alone. Not turning to greet him, she slid another arrow from her quiver.

“Where have you been?” A twirl of light green satin disappeared from Mazie’s vision as Cat hurried to embrace her brother. “We’ve been so worried.”

“Have you?”

“You left with no word,” she fussed.

He is a cad.
Mazie pursed her lips and nocked her arrow.
Even his sister thinks so.
She aimed and shot in one quick motion. The arrow landed just shy of center.

“I should scold you, Cat, for putting a bow and arrow in Lady Margaret’s capable hands.” The warm rumble of Trent’s voice held no real censure.

Unable to ignore him any longer, Mazie forced her shoulders back and faced him. He leaned against a stone-bordered flowerbed that was crowded with red daylilies, his posture relaxed, his dark hair mussed. He was watching her, waiting. Their gazes clashed with all the power and sizzle of a bolt of lightning.

He looked regrettably handsome, damn the man. His clothes were more casual than she had previously seen, more appropriate for a lord riding about the country. His buckskin breeches hugged his long legs and tucked into a pair of worn boots spattered with mud. His coat was fine, but his flat belly was covered by a waistcoat of linen rather than silk.

Despite her best efforts to remain aloof, Mazie recalled the last time she had seen him, the pleasure he had given her. A hot blush crept up her cheeks, but she refused to look away, refused to hide behind the wide brim of her bonnet.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” Cat tugged on her brother’s arm, demanding an answer. “Where did you go?”

His attention still on Mazie, he finally answered. “I rode west, to Derbyshire.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. What did he mean by that? Both she and Roane were born in Derbyshire. Had he discovered something? Is that where Roane was hiding?

“Next time at least leave a note,” Cat huffed. “Shall we continue our match, Lady Margaret?”

“No, you go on.” Mazie put down her bow and walked away a few steps, busying herself with unlacing her leather armguard. The task proved difficult as her palms were damp, her hands shaky.

“Allow me to help.”

She almost jumped, his voice was so close. The smells of his warm skin wrapped around her, pulled at memories deep within. She throbbed, one long squeeze in her tender feminine flesh.

“No, thank you.” She hurried toward the gazebo, which provided the only shade in the field bordering the lake. She needed to cool her temper, to cool the flush of heat pulsing with unwanted awareness. Really, she wanted to dive into the lake, escape into the quiet, muffled world of the fish.

She hated this vulnerable reaction Trent stirred within, this intense longing. He had played her the fool, yet she still desired him.

“You are correct to avoid me, Lady Margaret.” He followed her, his voice a near whisper so Cat would not overhear. “I behaved dreadfully. Please accept my most humble apologies for my actions. I was the worst sort of fool.”

She halted her retreat, not sure how to feel.

“Your arm.”

Before she could respond, he took hold of her wrist and pulled her hand toward him. She watched his dark fingers unfasten the leather lacings of her armguard, each tug sending vibrations through her body like a plucked bowstring. Either he wore no gloves or he had taken them off. His hands looked masculine against her pale skin and she couldn’t help but remember holding his forearm as his fingers pleasured her—

He glanced up at her, then let his gaze slide down her lilac muslin dress, down to her slippers, before returning to the lacings. Her pulse roared in her ears as he bent his dark head, unwound the last of the leather and slowly pulled the armguard over her hand.

Taking a small step back, away from his grey eyes, his strong jaw, she forced aside her awareness of him, forced her thoughts to her unraveling predicament. What had Lord Radford—for she must think of him that way—discovered these past days? Was there news of Roane?

“I’ve had a most interesting journey, most informative.” He reached out and touched her pearl earbob, on loan from Cat. “Rodsley is a lovely village.”

Mazie flinched, both at the spark of his touch and the surprise of his words.

He let his hand drop by his side and said nothing more. He would make her ask.

“How resourceful that you would seek out the place of my birth.”

“I met Mrs. Martin.”

She forced herself to breathe, though the name of her beloved governess brought a piercing pain to her chest. “How did you find her?”

“Comfortable.”

Comfortable? Comfortable like she wasn’t starving or comfortable like she had a home of her own, a place to rest? Mazie bit her lip and looked away, wanting to ask for information but terrified of the answer. Her father had left no provision for her, his own daughter, after his death. Neither were there funds for her governess who had been with her since her earliest memories. “Is she well cared for?”

“Yes, she lives in a cottage with Mrs. Shelton.”

“The housekeeper? Her husband passed away, then?”

He shrugged. “Both women seem content and loved to talk about you.”

Her heart froze in her chest, sealing away the tumult of emotions threatening her. She was full of questions, excited and sad at once, but did not want to show any of that to Trent—Lord Radford. Perhaps, she admitted, she did not want to show them to herself. It was like Pandora’s box. Once she opened those memories she feared what power they would have.

“What are you two whispering about over there?” Cat called from her spot on the shooting line.

“Your brother has been interrogating my former governess and housekeeper.” Mazie tried to sound more lighthearted than she felt. Truly, she mostly felt raw. She tried not to think back to those days when life had been gentle. When she had been loved and cared for.

Every child must grow up, leave behind their innocence and learn the ways of the world.

The conversation must have been more interesting than the target, for Cat put down her bow and walked toward them. “Were you really bothering Mazie’s governess?”

“And housekeeper.”

Trent shot both women a look. “I wouldn’t say the kind ladies were
bothered
by a visit from the Earl of Radford.”

Cat shook her head at him.

“Actually, I think the women were just excited to talk about their ‘darling little Marguerite’.” He smirked.

“They said I was darling?” This topic held no threat, Mazie decided. Neither woman would say anything about Roane. They had been friends with his mother and helped protect him after she died. The opportunity to talk about her childhood was too tempting to hold her tongue. “They must be getting confused in their old age.”

Trent smiled. “They said you were a willful hellion as well.”

“That sounds more like Mrs. Martin.” She couldn’t help but laugh.

“I also met Vicar Ashley.”

Her laughter froze in her chest and she pressed her fingers to her lips. Vicar Ashley was a kindhearted soul and used to sneak her peppermints after sermon. At one time she had been certain God must resemble him with his white hair and bushy brows.

But the vicar was old now, maybe feeble. Might he have said something about Roane?

“I didn’t mention to him that you are now a blasphemous sinner.” Trent winked to take the sting out of his words.

Mazie’s eyes rounded. She hadn’t thought of such a possibility. “What did you tell them about my current situation? What did you tell Mrs. Martin?”

“I told them you were being considered as a traveling companion for my sister.”

“Oh.” She blinked, relieved and grateful and close to tears at what her life had become. “Thank you.”

“They were worried about you. Someone from your uncle’s estate interviewed them after you ran away and no one has heard from you since. As well they should worry,” he muttered. “A woman alone, without protection, is in grave danger.”

She stiffened against her guilt. She had known Mrs. Martin would fret. The old woman had always been so kind.

“And a willful woman without a reasonable sense of caution is in the worst sort of danger.” His grey gaze never left hers. “No one knew where you were, not even those who love you. You could have been hurt, Mazie.”

She drew back an imperceptible inch. He almost seemed concerned about her. “I can—”

“Take care of yourself? Yes, I see that.” He widened his stance and crossed his arms, preparing for a battle. “You have taken your own brilliant counsel and created quite an adventure for yourself.”

“Trent.” Cat reached out and touched his arm.

He did not look at his sister, just kept his gaze on Mazie. “But what counsel? I have yet to decide if you are running from something or rushing headstrong toward something else.”

She lifted her chin. What in the world had he discovered these last few days?

“I should say I am running nowhere at the moment. At least not in these shoes.” Thinking to distract him, she raised the hem of her dress and pointed her toe. A lilac slipper and a silk-clad ankle peeked out. “They are quite comfortable but would quickly surrender in a disagreement with a rock.”

Trent continued to frown at her as if he was judging something, mulling something over in that thick head of his. “I knew your father.”

Mazie jerked her gaze to his. Where was he was going with this?

“Not very well,” he amended. “But I made his acquaintance.”

A slight raise of her brows was the only reaction she allowed herself to show. Inside, she was a scramble of anticipation and dread.