A Perfect Secret (17 page)

She glanced at him. As he eyed the layout of the land, his flushed face and sparkling eyes revealed his excitement. Everything Christian did, whether he painted, played music, rode, or loved, he did it with matchless, unapologetic passion.

She looked away, blinking back tears and swallowing against a lump choking her. Soon they’d part ways, probably forever, and his constant presence would no longer batter with her the constant temptation to release the hold on her heart and allow herself to fall in love with him all over again.

“Ingel!” Christian waved to another man who rounded a hill and approached them. He urged his mount forward.

Desperate to say something to him, she called out, “Christian.”

He paused, looked over his shoulder, his brows raised inquiringly. “Yes?”

Thinking quickly, she held out one of the handkerchiefs she’d embroidered.  “A favor for you, Sir Knight.”

His brows rose in surprise. Grinning, he held out his arm, his pale eyes alight. “I’m honored, fair lady.”

She tied her handkerchief around his forearm. “Good luck.” She prayed he wouldn’t be injured.

“Let’s watch from up there.” Rachel pointed.

“Don’t you want to speak with James Ingel?” Christian said to Rachel with a playful glint in his eye, and made a loose gesture to the distant figure approaching them.

Rachel pinned Christian with a glare that should have felled him on the spot. He grinned in return.

“Is he your opponent?” Genevieve asked.

Christian nodded. “An old friend of the family.”

He waved to the man who trotted up to them. The newcomer had dark brown hair and eye lashes that Genevieve envied. He also wore a rakish glint as his gaze fixed upon Rachel. “What a pleasure to see you again, Miss Amesbury.”

“Mr. Ingel,” she said coolly.

“You look even lovelier than ever.”

“How kind of you to say.” She might have been exchanging pleasantries at the royal palace for all the stiff formality she displayed. “May I present Mrs. Jennings?”

Mr. Ingel dragged his gaze off Rachel and glanced at Genevieve. He nodded politely and then did a double take, making a slow perusal a second time, his smile widening. “Mrs. Jennings. I am delighted to meet you.”

Genevieve inclined her head. “Mr. Ingel.”

His expression openly admiring, he awarded her with what he no doubt considered an irresistibly charming smile. But his appeal fell short compared to Christian’s.

His gaze danced between them and his smile delighted. “I am honored to be in the presence of such breathtaking beauties.”

“You waste your flattery, Ingel,” Rachel said. “Come, Genevieve, let’s find a place to view the race.” As they rode away, Rachel muttered under her breath, “Scoundrel.”

“Good luck to you both,” Genevieve called to the racers.

Her attention lingered on Christian who looked wholly masculine in his buckskin breeches that hugged his muscular legs, and dark, fitted riding coat. He positively vibrated with excitement. Reluctant to leave, she followed Rachel. They rode on ahead a goodly distance and found a good vantage point to watch the race. Others arrived and lined up along the course. Genevieve tugged at her bonnet to ensure it hid her face from the sun and its propensity to make her freckle, and to shield her from any curious eyes. It also concealed her distinctive hair.

She glanced at Rachel. “Why do you dislike Mr. Ingel?”

“He’s a libertine, a heartbreaker.”

“A heartbreaker? Did he break yours?”

“That was years ago before he became so dissipated. Now he breaks the hearts of everyone else.” Rachel pointed to a distant church on a hilltop. “They’ll race to that steeple. This course is unusually rough. Christian will love it. I hope he doesn’t get himself killed, the foolish, thoughtless, juvenile.”

Genevieve smiled at Rachel’s sisterly concern, and shared the sentiment. “You love him very much, don’t you?”

“He’s a cork-brained brat. A ninnyhammer.” Rachel smiled, clearly relenting. “I do love that pup.”

“He’s raced many times, though, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, and I worry over him every time. I’m convinced he races far more than I know.”

He’d raced twice outside of Bath last summer, and Genevieve had fretted over him both times. But now, the rugged course with so many stone fences, rises, rocks, and bluffs seemed downright foolhardy.

They waited while small groups of spectators clustered together on the nearby hills. Genevieve watched in dismay as the crowds grew larger and larger. Waves of quivers rolled through her stomach at faster and faster intervals. She drew a breath, trying to compose herself. They were in a remote village, and her husband would never have come this far north for any reason. And Christian knew what he was doing. Yet a terrible foreboding returned in full force, sparking her nerves and racing along her skin.

The competitors lined up, their horses dancing against the reins. A gunshot split the air and the horses leaped forward. Genevieve watched in awe and horror as the horses plunged through the predetermined course over hedges and stone walls, and sending up a spray as they charged through a stream.

When the racers drew near Rachel and Genevieve’s position, Rachel called. “Let’s go. I want to see the finish.”

Genevieve and Rachel rode along the hilltop and down to the next where they reined. Genevieve’s mount danced and pulled against the reins. Keeping a firm hold on the mare to prevent her from charging down the hill and joining the race, Genevieve turned the mare in a circle. The riders rushed headlong at a terrifying pace, hurtling over and around obstacles at the last possible second, neither giving any quarter.

“This is madness,” Genevieve gasped.

“It is,” Rachel agreed breathlessly. “You’d think he would have learned. He nearly killed himself in the fox hunt last autumn. But he’s so mad for it. I think it’s the one thing he does that always went against Mama’s wishes. Of course, my brothers approve, the idiots. They say it keeps him from being too soft.”

“I would never call Christian soft. He’s certainly the most gentle man I’ve ever met but he’s also one of the manliest as well.”

“Ohhh,” Rachel dragged out the word.

Genevieve glanced at her. Speculation flowered in Rachel’s round eyes.

Genevieve rushed to explain. “No. You misunderstand. I have no expectations whatever for him. He’s kind. And he helped me when I needed aid. But there’s nothing more.”

Rachel tilted her head. “You never speak of your husband.”

She cringed. “There’s no need. He’s no longer in my life.”

“It wasn’t a happy marriage?”             

Genevieve heaved a great sigh. “No, far from it.”

Rachel saved her from answering. “My twin sister Margaret has a terrible marriage, too. Her husband spends all hours of the day and night in the gaming halls and brothels.”

If only Lord Wickburgh had such ordinary vices.

“Here they come.” Rachel gestured.

Christian and Mr. Ingel wound through the ravine, their horses running neck and neck. Genevieve and Rachel moved to the next hilltop within sight of the church. A white scarf fluttered from the branches of a tree near the front steps like a beacon to the racers, urging them to snatch the scarf and win the race.

The racers rounded the hill. Christian pulled ahead by half a length, but the other contender doggedly kept up. They took a final jump.

Something went wrong. James Ingel’s horse stumbled as he landed. Horse and rider fell forward and Ingel was thrown. His body hurtled forward and landed hard. With a cry of horror, Genevieve sat frozen. Rachel let out a sound of distress.

Ingel’s horse rolled, got up and staggered. The man lay still. Genevieve urged her horse forward to lend aid. Rachel raced next to her.

Still running the course, Christian streaked ahead, unaware of the disaster behind him. An instant before he reached the fluttering scarf, Christian glanced over his shoulder. He pulled hard on the reins and turned Erebos in a circle, then ran back to Ingel. Christian leaped off before Erebos had come to a complete halt.

“Ingel!” Christian shouted.

The man floundered about on the ground convulsively. Christian grabbed him by the lapels and struck him hard across the face. Genevieve let out a gasp and urged her horse faster. She raced ahead and leaped off her horse. As she ran toward them, James Ingel sucked in his breath with a loud gasp.

Christian put his hands on Ingel’s shoulders and shook him slightly. “James?”

Ingel struggled to breathe. “I’m all right.”

Genevieve skidded to a halt and watched the exchange. Rachel caught up to her, tears streaking her face. Genevieve found the presence of mind to wonder about Rachel’s emotional display for a man she claimed to dislike.

“Except now my face hurts,” Ingel added, attracting Genevieve’s focus. “Did you have to hit me so hard?” He rubbed it.

Christian got up and stood bending over with his hands braced on his legs. “You were turning blue.”

Ingel nodded. “The fall knocked the breath out of me.”

“Anything broken?”

“I think my jaw is.” He rubbed his face and offered a rueful, if wan smile. “I’m teasing you.”

“I know.” Christian bowed his head, visibly shaken. “Saints above, you scared me.”

Rachel muttered under her breath, “Men!” and turned away, wiping her cheeks.

Christian was unharmed. His opponent was unharmed now that Christian had shocked him into breathing again. Genevieve stood gasping for air and let the terror die down.

As a crowd gathered, Genevieve took a few steps to remove herself from the center of the crowd and looked for something to do, something to assuage her growing helpless anger over the risks the men had taken. Ingel’s horse danced about nearby, his reins dragging on the ground. His eyes were wide and wild and his flanks heaved. She approached him slowly, crooning to him. Putting a hand on his neck, she continued to murmur assurances before taking the reins and leading him back to his rider.

Christian gave Mr. Ingel a hand up, and they went to Genevieve holding the horse. Ingel nodded to Genevieve in gratitude and began examining his horse for possible injuries.

Crouched next to Ingel, Christian ran gentle, practiced hands over the animal’s legs. “He doesn’t appear to be hurt.”

Ingel nodded. “We were both lucky. It could have been worse.”

He was right. It could have been worse. The full reality came over her. It could have been Christian. He might have been badly injured. Or killed. Something dark and horrible and angry took root and sprang into full bloom. She turned on them.

“Stupid, stupid men. Why must you be so reckless? You risk getting yourself killed for what? A bit of sport! Have you no care for your lives? Have you no care for others in your life? Well?”

Her chest heaved as her breath came in angry gasps. They stared at her outburst. As she realized what she’d just done, her anger dissolved into shame. Her face flamed. She shouldn’t have made such an outburst. She had no right to scold either of them. She took a steadying breath. With trembling hands, she held out the reins to Mr. Ingel. The racer took the reins with open-mouthed astonishment. She glanced at Christian who was gaping. Promptly, she turned her back on him and went to her horse.

As she looked about for something to use as a step, Christian came and offered his hand to give her a leg up. He looked alternately bewildered and contrite. She silently accepted his aid. From atop her mount, she turned her head away from him, unable to look him in the eye. She’d just made a scene and attracted attention which was the last thing she should have done. Stupid!

Christian strode away, mounted, and cantered to the tree where he grabbed the scarf. As he returned, he waved it tauntingly in front of his opponent’s face, his tension relaxing into a grin. “I win.”

Mr. Ingel laughed and shook his head. “I want a rematch.”

“Poor loser.”

Ingel nodded to Rachel and Genevieve. “Ladies. It was a delight. I hope we meet under more victorious circumstances next time.”

Christian gave Ingel a look that seemed to convey an entire conversation. Ingel cleared his throat and tugged on his collar. Apparently satisfied with whatever message he’d been sending to Ingel, Christian paused to speak to a group of spectators closing in around him.

Genevieve focused on her riding gloves, making a point to avoid looking at Christian or Rachel. Tears stung her eyes and her hands shook. What would she have done if something terrible had happened to Christian? And why was she so foolish as to have made such a terrible scene?

When Christian returned, they turned their horses back around toward the road leading to the cottage. Rachel and Christian sent Genevieve puzzled looks, but she ignored them. As they rode home, no one spoke. The tension between them left nothing for speech. She’d had no right to be angry. She and Christian had no romantic understanding nor could they ever as long as she remained married. Even if she were free, her heart and soul were too battered and unworthy to offer to someone. But her heart didn’t seem to understand.

Riding next to Christian, Genevieve glanced at his profile. “I apologize for my outburst. I had no right to do such a thing. I fear I was a bit overset.”

He looked over at her, touching her with his blue gaze, and his mouth pulled up on one side. “I flatter myself into thinking you were worried about me.”

“I was,” she admitted.

As they neared a stone wall, a gunshot roared through the mountains. A piece of rock on the wall exploded next to them, sending a shower of debris. The horses shied and they had to keep a firm grip on them. Christian pulled a pair of pistols and held them, poised, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the area.

“Good heavens,” said Rachel. “Who could be hunting here? And why would they be so foolish as to fire while people are present?”

“Are you sure it was a hunter?” Genevieve asked.

“Who else would it be?” Rachel said.

“A poacher I suppose,” Christian said. “but they aren’t usually that careless.”

Who else, indeed. Her unease returned tenfold. First the man who looked like one of Wickburgh’s, then the rose, now a mysterious gunshot. It seemed too coincidental. She looked around but saw no one. No second shot sounded.