To Wed a Wild Lord (11 page)

“Because unlike you, who are paid to support whatever she says and does, I can see that she’s wrong. So if you think I’ll stand here and listen to my grandmother’s
lackey
lecture me—”

“Celia!” Gabe snapped, noting the sharpening of Pinter’s gaze. The man had a dark side that he hid very well, but one of these days he was going to let it fly if Celia kept provoking him. “Pinter came all the way out here today at my request, so I’d appreciate it if you’d treat him civilly.”

She scowled at Gabe, then at Pinter. “If I must,” she said stiffly, then turned to go back to her chair.

Pinter’s eyes followed her retreat with an interest that gave Gabe pause. Could Pinter
want
Celia?

No, the idea was absurd. They fought constantly. And Gabe knew for a fact that she despised the man.

The way Virginia despises you?

He shoved that unsettling idea from his mind as he took a seat. “Pinter, I asked you here so I could tell you what I know about the events of the day my parents were killed.”

That got everyone’s attention. “What do you mean?” Oliver demanded.

Gabe took an unsteady breath. This wasn’t as easy as he’d expected. But after their despicable cousin, Desmond Plumtree, had revealed that he’d seen a man riding
toward
the hunting lodge after he’d heard their parents being shot, it had set Gabe to wondering again about the man he’d met that day.

“I was in the stables shortly after Mother rode out to the hunting lodge.” He told them everything about his encounter with the man that he could remember, then added, “You remember how Desmond said that the horse he saw was black with a face blaze and one white stocking on the left hind leg? Well, I’m fairly certain that the stranger in the stable that day chose such a horse.”

Oliver leaned forward, his black eyes stormy. “That business with Desmond was almost two months ago. Why didn’t you say anything then? For that matter, why didn’t you tell us about the man years ago?”

“Until earlier this year, when you finally deigned to discuss your argument with Mother that day,” Gabe said, “none of us knew that Gran’s story of what happened wasn’t entirely accurate. I had no reason to believe that the man I saw had anything to do with our parents’ deaths.”

With a muttered curse, Oliver settled back in his chair. His wife, Maria, took his hand. Her pregnancy was beginning to show, and she had a sweet glow that seemed to soothe Oliver’s dark mood.

For some reason, Gabe felt a stab of resentment. No one had ever leaped to soothe
his
dark moods. “Then you and Jarret decided that Desmond might have killed them, so I still had no reason to think the stranger was involved. Even after Desmond admitted to having seen a man ride toward the scene, I couldn’t see how it was relevant. The man was kind to me. He didn’t seem upset, or interested in finding anyone. I figured it was pure coincidence that he’d ridden near the scene.”

“Except that he never told anyone what he saw,” Jarret pointed out, his eyes flashing in the candlelight.

“Yes, I considered that. But would
you
tell anyone if you’d stumbled across two dead bodies? Wouldn’t you worry that you might be implicated in their deaths, even if you’d done nothing? And that’s assuming he went inside and found them.”

Silence fell upon the room, only broken when Minerva asked, “If you considered his presence there irrelevant, why are you telling us now?”

Gabe threaded his fingers through his hair. “Because we haven’t gotten anywhere in our efforts to find out the truth. It’s been two months, and Pinter seems to have lost track entirely of Benny May, our old head groom.”

“I haven’t lost track of him,” Pinter countered. “I just can’t find him.”

“You found him easily enough a few months ago, when Jarret sent you looking for him,” Gabe said. “Don’t you find it odd that he disappeared only a couple of months after revealing how Mother cautioned him not to mention to Father where she was going that day?”

“He didn’t disappear,” Pinter said coolly. “He went up to visit a friend near Manchester. That’s what his family said.”

“Yet they haven’t heard from him.”

“Benny couldn’t exactly write a letter to them,” Gran said. “He isn’t literate.”

“True,” Gabe said. “But Pinter’s trip to Manchester last week didn’t turn him up.”

“Only because he took a different road there,” Pinter said. “Once I picked up his trail in Manchester, I was only a few days behind him. But he must have stopped off somewhere near Woburn, since that’s where I lost him. Nor has he returned to his family.”

“Which I find troubling,” Gabe said. “I suppose it’s possible he may just not want to be found. Perhaps he knows something. Perhaps he too saw the man, but recognized him.”

“Did you not recognize the man yourself?” Annabel asked.

“I didn’t see his face. I was hiding down in the stall, afraid of getting into trouble. All I heard was his voice. And that was no help in figuring out who he was. I was nursery age so I didn’t meet any of the guests.”

“We’re not even sure he
was
a guest,” Jarret pointed out.

“He had to have been,” Oliver said. “No one else would be so bold as to walk right in and steal a horse. Besides, Gabe said he knew our names and guessed Gabe’s identity. That was no horse thief.”

“If we could find Benny, we could learn whether the horse was ever returned to the stable, and by whom,” Minerva said.

“That’s why I haven’t broached this subject until now,” Gabe told them. “I knew we couldn’t move forward without speaking to him. I was hoping he would turn up and identify the man.”

He rose to pace. “But it’s been too long. I’ve begun to worry about Benny. If he did see or know something, and he did approach the man . . .” He shook his head. “I have an uneasy feeling about his disappearance.”

This time the silence that fell upon the room mirrored his unease. It seemed the more they delved into their parents’ deaths, the more nasty business they uncovered. Sometimes Gabe wondered if they were making a mistake even trying to get to the bottom of it. It had been nineteen years, after all. Nothing could bring Mother and Father back. And yet . . .

If it
had
been murder, then his parents deserved justice. And their killer deserved to suffer the full wrath of those he’d orphaned. Because what good was thumbing one’s nose at Death when Death still got away with the worst crime of all?

“Has it occurred to anyone else that the man might have been Major Rawdon?” Jarret said. “He and his wife left in a hurry the evening of Mother’s and Father’s deaths. We assumed it was because of the incident with Oliver, but it might have been something darker. If his wife was cheating on him with Father—”

“She wasn’t,” Pinter put in.

They all gaped at him.

Oliver in particular scowled. “She had to be. Mother said, ‘You already have
him
.’ What else could she mean?”

“I don’t doubt that your mother
thought
your father was cheating on her with Mrs. Rawdon, given his past actions,” Pinter remarked. “But that doesn’t mean he was. I tracked down your father’s valet a few days ago. He said he knew all your father’s secrets, and that wasn’t one.”

That shocked them all. “He could be lying,” Jarret pointed out.

“He could, but I don’t think he is. He’s no longer in service and came into some money from his mother, so he has nothing to lose by telling the truth.”

“Oh God,” Oliver said hoarsely. “If that’s true, then why did the woman seduce me?”

Pinter shrugged. “Because she could. Or perhaps she’d tried to seduce your father and failed, so she tried for you next. Or perhaps she just didn’t like your mother.”

Oliver shuddered. “I can’t believe this.” He gazed at Pinter. “So if Mother did kill Father out of anger over Mrs. Rawdon, it might have been for nothing? Because she was jealous?”

“I’m afraid so. I still wish to speak to the Rawdons, but the captain has been posted in India for some years. As soon as you mentioned their friendship with your parents, I sent a letter to him and his superiors with numerous questions, but it will be months before I receive a reply. And they may be reluctant to speak of your mother’s penchant for violence in a letter.”

“Mother did
not
kill Father,” Minerva said stoutly. “Giles is almost sure of that. Or at least not in the way we originally assumed.”

“We haven’t ruled it out entirely, though,” Pinter said with a pained look. “Besides, even if it was Captain Rawdon whom your cousin saw, he couldn’t have been the one to kill them. Desmond made it clear that the mysterious man arrived at the hunting lodge after the murders.”

“So we’re back to needing to know what that man saw, and why he went there in the first place,” Gabe said tightly.

“All right then,” Oliver said. “Here’s what we shall do. Pinter, go back and find the other grooms, the ones from your initial interviews who said they saw nothing, and find out if they remember that horse and who might have returned it. Ask about their association with Benny, too. Some of them may still see him from time to time.”

“Very well,” Pinter said. “And if you wish, I’ll speak to Benny’s family again, see if they know anyone else with information on his exact whereabouts. If all else fails, I’ll make another trip to Manchester.”

“Anything you can do will help,” Oliver said. “If you do head for Manchester,” Gabe said, “let me know. I want to go with you.”

The nagging sense that Benny might hold the key to what had happened that day just wouldn’t leave him. Until he talked to the man and satisfied himself that Benny knew nothing, he couldn’t rest easy.

Chapter Six

“I
t’s a nasty day for a race,” Virginia’s grandfather said as they headed for Ealing.

She scowled out the carriage window at the dark sky that threatened rain. Her horses, which had been sent on ahead to the race site hours ago, ran like demons in good weather. Bad weather could scuttle everything, especially if the wind picked up. Horses did not like wind.

“Is the weather what’s got you in such a foul mood?” Pierce asked. He would have returned home yesterday if not for the race. Apparently he was needed back at his estate.

“Of course,” she lied.

Her foul mood had started the day she’d left the Halstead Hall stables. That devil Gabriel wouldn’t get out of her head. She kept feeling the press of his firm body against hers. He had the kind of muscles that made a woman just want to dig in and hold on. Such a fine physique had to be criminal.

And the way he kissed? Pure heaven. She couldn’t stop thinking about his hot mouth and wicked tongue exploring hers.

A blush rose in her cheeks. Sweet Lord, she was as wicked as he. She did
not
want that man to kiss her again. He was awful. Detestable. Despicable.

Unfortunately, that argument grew weaker by the day. Ever since Poppy had put doubts in her head about what had happened at Turnham Green, she’d been thrown off-balance.

But even if Gabriel wasn’t entirely at fault for Roger’s death, he was still an arrogant rogue who thought she should leap at the chance to marry him. She
hated
it when men thought they knew what was best for her, and how it should be accomplished.

By the time they arrived at the course, she’d worked herself up into a fine temper. Just let Gabriel attempt to kiss her today! She would give him a piece of her mind. She would tell him in no uncertain terms that she was
not
the sort of fool to fall for his fine muscles and gorgeous green eyes and cocky smile. No, indeed.

Then she spotted him on the course, dressed in his characteristic black and his shining boots, and her stomach did a little flip. Perish the man. Why must he affect her like this?

“Remember what I told you about feeling the horses’ mouths lightly,” Poppy said as they drew up beside her curricle. “You don’t want to chafe their mouths.”

“Yes, Poppy, I know. I’ve done this before.”

“And keep the outside wheeler well in check while making the turns, or she’ll scuttle the curricle.”

“Or perhaps I should just give the horses their heads and see if they can run the race on their own,” she said lightly.

He started, then scowled. “This is serious business, girl.”

She patted his hand. “I realize that. But it’s time for you to give
me
my head, and see what I can do.”

“I don’t like this,” he grumbled. “Not one bit.”

“You think I can’t win?”

He shot her a long look. “If anyone can beat Sharpe, it’s you.”

“But . . .”

“But you don’t have his reckless spirit. That might keep you from winning. You’re sane. He’s not.”

She stifled a hot retort. How was it that Poppy never saw the real her? She wasn’t always sane, and sometimes she was reckless. Or at least she yearned to be, though she got few chances of it.

But she had one now, and she was going to make good use of it. “He’s not unbeatable, and I mean to prove it.”

Poppy glanced out. “There’s a crowd. Do you think you can handle that?”

She followed his gaze out the window. Good gracious, he was right. People lined either side of the course, leaning in to watch her descend from the carriage. “I understand why Lord Gabriel’s family is here, but who are the others?”

“Are you joking?” Pierce said. “All it took was Chetwin spreading the word to have half of society trotting out here. There’s nothing the
ton
loves more than a juicy, scandalous race.”

For a moment, her heart failed her. She’d wanted Gabriel humiliated before his friends, but she’d also wanted a straightforward race. With so many people crowding in and no rails to restrain them, the race would not be straightforward.

Suddenly she felt Poppy’s hand squeeze her shoulder. “Go give him hell, lambkin.”

That bolstered her courage. “I will. Don’t you worry.”

Pierce leapt out to hand her down, then bent to kiss her forehead. “Time to beat the trousers off Sharpe, cuz. I’ve got twenty pounds riding on you.”