A Scandalous Lady (19 page)

He closed his eyes, relief making his bones weak. “Faith,” he called softly. When she didn't stir, he touched her shoulder.

She shot up so fast it threw him backward. Eyes wide, she scrambled back, grabbing at the ground for a convenient weapon—a broken limb—and wielded it before her like a club.

Troyce regained his balance, and slowly unfolded his body. “Faith, it's me.” He held his hands out. “It's Troyce.”

Recognition reached her eyes. She dropped the club, and with a half sob, hurled herself into his arms.

His first thought was that one of the villagers had taken their bitter resentment out on her. “What happened?” he demanded, shoving her back a step for a cursory examination. “Are you hurt? Did they touch you?”

She shook her head, then launched herself back into his arms. “I didn't think anyone would find me,” she said, her words muffled against his coat. Small fingers pressed into the back of his neck, slender curves fit against his rigid frame.

Troyce steeled himself against the wave of tenderness threatening to engulf him. He wrapped his hands around her shoulders and pushed her back. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“I was looking for—” She immediately searched the surrounding area. “Where's the lamb?” Spotting the frightened critter, she scooped it up and cuddled the lamb close to her. “There you are, you little wretch!” She lifted him until their noses were nearly touching. “Do you know how much trouble you've caused?”

Her smile softened the scolding. “I was rounding up sheep. One of the women in the village owns a spinning wheel—I thought if we could gather some of the strays, we might have a shearing party. That's when I heard this little fellow bleating.” She scrubbed his cottony head with her fingers. “I went looking for him, and I must have wandered farther than I thought, because then I couldn't find my way back. All the trees looked the same, I think I was going in circles. Then it got too dark to see anything, so me and this little fellow planted ourselves by the closest tree. I must have fallen asleep.”

She sounded so convincing. So honest . . .

“It's quite embarrassing really,” she said, a becoming flush coloring her cheekbones. “I knows the streets of London like the back of me hand, but put me in the wide-open country, and I'm helpless as this little blighter.”

As always when she was nervous or upset, she fell into the street cant of her upbringing. That, more than anything kept him from falling under her spell. “You expect me to believe that you spent the entire day and half the night looking for sheep?”

She took a long time in answering. Then she looked up at him, her brown eyes bottomless pools of heart and soul. “Actually, I think . . . I must have been waiting for you.”

Chapter 13

T
here was something potent in the silence that followed. Something alive, electrical.

She looked pitiful, hair a sopping stream of amber. Dirt under her cheekbone. Clothes lank and torn on her slender frame. Like a ship in storm-tossed sea, mast listing, rigging shredded, canvases limp.

And still she was so damned desirable she made his chest hurt. How had it come to this, that he could be more aroused by a drowned street rat than the most beautiful ladies in England? He saw her at her best and he wanted her. He saw her at her worst, her most unappealing and still, he wanted her. He saw her in the arms of another man, wearing a gown that belonged to his sister.

And still . . .

He wanted her.

“God damn you, Faith, what kind of game are you playing with me?”

Her brows drew into a V, she shook her head.

Then she opened her mouth as if to answer but he cut her off. “You say you were waiting for me. What of your friend?”

“What friend?”

“The one I saw you with earlier.” With each question pelting her like stones from the villagers, Troyce took a step forward, driving Faith backward. Betrayal coursed from every pore. “Where is he now, Faith?
Who
was he? Your lover? Your accomplice? Both?”

“What are you talking about, Baron? I haven't been near a single soul since I left the village this morning.”

“Did you leave Westborough lands?”

“I may have,” she answered carefully. “How far does Westborough go?”

“To London!”

Her eyes widened. “Your estate reaches all the way to London?”

“No, I mean, have you
been
to London?”

“Of course I have. I lived there over half me life!”

She was playing with his questions, twisting the words. “Today! Yesterday! Anytime in the last week!”

“Why would I go to London? How would I even get there?”

“Just answer the damn question!” He had to know, had to hear it from her own mouth . . .

A birch tree at her back prevented her from retreating any farther. Her eyes blazed, yet her voice was unnaturally calm. “No, milord, I ha' not been to London today or yesterday or anytime in the last week. I ha' not been to London since the day you put me in your carriage and brought me to your home.”

As if to punctuate her claim, thunder cracked overhead, a bolt of lightning split the sky.

Troyce glanced up, then back down at Faith, who wore the same defiant expression she'd worn the day he'd caught her picking his pocket. If he let himself, he could easily fall under the same spell now that she had wrapped around him then.

But he refused to let himself be played the fool a second time. “Get on the horse. There's a storm blowing in, and I've no wish to get caught in it.” He'd been caught in one since leaving the city, one of such violent turbulence that it would put a typhoon to shame.

“You don't believe me.”

He didn't know what to believe. He wanted to trust her—badly. He'd known he was bringing a petty thief into his home, but he didn't want to think he'd been harboring a liar this whole time as well, someone who could be so devious as to sneak around behind his back, plotting who-knew-what transgression against him.

But he'd seen her.

Hadn't he?

Was she the woman he'd seen in London, embraced in another man's arms? The evidence piling up against her had grown more damaging by the minute. No one had seen her since this morning. No one but a lamb could support her story. She could have made it there and back, same as he had.

Or had she truly spent half the night in the woods, lost, scared, alone?

“Tell me this, if I'd have found my way to London, why would I have come back here?”

He hadn't thought of that. There was certainly nothing holding her here. Of course, the chap she'd been with could have abandoned her, he supposed. Or he could have sent her back to Westborough to bide her time. . . .

“I don't know what it is you think I've done, Baron, but let me make one thing clear—I don't lie. I don't make promises I can't keep, and I don't say things I don't mean. If ye can't believe that, then t'hell with ye.”

She started past him. He seized her by the arm and pulled her to him. Instant awareness sizzled between them, born of anger and confusion and, aye, he admitted, raw jealousy. “I thought that you'd left,” he blurted.

“What?”

“When I returned from London and you weren't here, I thought you'd left. I couldn't find you.” He didn't tell her of the woman he'd seen, didn't tell her that he'd nearly been driven insane with jealousy. “I was worried.”

“You were worried about me?”

She sounded skeptical, and he couldn't blame her. “I thought the villagers might have hurt you.”

“Are you saying you believe me?”

He didn't answer for a long time. He wasn't sure he knew how. If she hadn't been the woman in London, then it meant that, although Faith was telling the truth, he was seeing her face in other women. If she
had
been the woman he'd seen, it meant that she'd rejected him for someone else. Either way, she was coming to mean more to him than she should. Rattled, he released his grip on her and stepped back. “Aye, I believe you.” He sighed, knowing even as he said it that he was probably the biggest fool in England. “Now get on the horse before I do something we'll both regret.” Like kiss her senseless, show her who owned her, brand her in the most primal way a man could brand a woman.

Whether she allowed it or not.

She looked as if she would defy him but to her credit seemed to decide against testing the limits of his control. Wise choice, he thought, watching her approach the horse. He was holding on to it by a thread as it was. Troyce had never considered himself an irrational man, yet the feelings rolling inside him were anything but rational. And if he didn't put some distance between them now, he wasn't sure he could hold himself accountable for his actions.

 

A pouring rain kept them company on the way back to the castle. With the lamb tucked beneath her coat, Faith rode behind him, holding herself as stiff as she dared without falling off the back of the horse.

She felt like a fool. For getting lost. For being so glad to see him. For thinking he'd actually cared.

He was furious with her, that much was clear. Part of her couldn't blame him. She had disobeyed him by going to the village after he'd forbidden it. Aye, for that he had a right to be angry.

But another part of her could not understand what the bloody hell he'd been ranting about. He didn't strike her as a lunatic, but his accusations were hardly the ravings of a sane man. How could he have thought to have seen her in London—with someone else, no less—when she hadn't been anywhere near the city in nearly a month? It made no sense. No sense at all.

He'd said he believed her, though. She supposed she should take comfort in that. Except she didn't think he meant it. The knowledge stung. For in the back of his mind, distrust lay like a sleeping giant, ready to be wakened at any given moment.

How could she take comfort in something so fickle?

By the time they reached the manor house, both of them were soaked to the bone. The baron guided the horse straight through the double doors of the stables. Inside, it was warm, dry. The scent of horseflesh and leather lay thick in the air. Piles of hay lay in the corner, as inviting to her weary body as a feather-stuffed bed.

“Go on up to the house and get yourself dry while I put up the horse.”

“I'll help.”

“I can do it myself, Faith.”

“And I said I'd help.” Maybe she was testing fate by staying near him when he so obviously wanted to be rid of her, but if he hadn't found her, she'd be spending yet another night of her life sleeping outside, exposed to the elements. For that, if nothing else, she owed him her gratitude. “It's the least I can do.”

By the time Faith had put the lamb in an empty stall and latched the gate, the baron had already removed the saddle from the horse. She dragged the wet blanket off the gelding's back and laid it over a sawhorse to dry.

They worked in strained silence, he removing the gear, she rubbing the animal's hide with a rag. She wanted to ask him how his trip had gone, why it had taken him so long to return. The house had never felt so big as when he was not in it.

She'd missed seeing him make his way to the boathouse each morning, his powerful frame outlined by sky and sea. She'd missed catching him in his study, worrying over his ledgers. Most of all, she'd missed working by his side in the village, sweat dripping from his brow, clothes sticking to his back, muscles flexing as he wielded a hammer or ax.

By going to the village, she'd only wanted to feel closer to him. She hadn't counted on losing her way back. So she'd done the only thing she could think of.

She'd sat down to wait.

She'd fallen asleep.

And she'd dreamed. Of storybook princes and castles and evil dragons. Of the sun and the sea and a place far away. Of a dashing man and a little girl and a graveside that held ghosts that wouldn't stop haunting her.

Ho-ne-sty, come out come out wherever you are . . .

Faith clenched her eyes shut. Honesty had never come out.

And she'd been sent away.

Faith shook the dream away. She hadn't thought of that day in years, hadn't let herself think of the sister she once loved, the father she once adored. Why it would become so vivid now, she didn't want to know.

With the horse dried and brushed, there seemed to be nothing else to keep her in the stables. She hung the rag over the top of a stall and decided to see if Millie knew what she could feed the lamb until it could be reunited with its mother. But when she reached the double doors, she couldn't bring herself to leave with so much unsettled between herself and his lordship. He didn't trust her, she knew that, and maybe, he had just cause. But he'd come after her anyway. “Baron?”

He glanced up. Rain dripped from a curl of hair over his forehead, moonlight cast the sharp angles of his face in mystery.

“Thank you for looking for me.” No one had ever come looking for her before. Not even Jack. He'd have found her by now. Apparently she was as disposable to him as she'd been to everyone else in her life.

“Did you think I would just let you run off?”

“No one else would have cared.”

At that, she dashed across the saturated lawn to the front steps of the castle and let herself inside. She still couldn't get over the fact that the baron allowed his servants to use the front entrance. She ran into Millie in the entryway, carrying a pile of folded towels. Each day the woman grew stronger and was able to take on more tasks. Still, Faith kept a close eye on her to make sure she did not overtax herself.

“There you are, Faith. His lordship is out looking for you.”

“Actually, he found me. He's in the stables now, brushing down his horse.”

“He wasn't too happy about you going to the village.”

“I know. I found a lamb in the woods,” she said to change the subject. “Do we have anything in the pantry that we can feed it until I can get it back to its mother?”

“We might have some milk in the icebox,” she answered.

Faith had just started for the kitchen to fetch it when Millie's next words stopped her. “Oh, I nearly forgot—there's a gentleman waiting for you in the kitchen.”

“A gentleman?” She hadn't noticed a horse or carriage outside, but then again, nor had she been looking. “Did he say his name?”

Her eyes twinkled. “No, but he seems quite anxious to see you.”

 

He'd found her.

Jack Swift had finally tracked her down. He was the only person with the motive or the means to have located her so far out of London.

Faith's hands were damp with perspiration as she forced herself down the long hall toward the kitchen. She imagined him waiting with courtly impatience, sneering at Millie while she tried to serve him coffee. Toying with his solid gold pocket watch he often bragged had been coughed off a prince.

She realized now that sometime over the last few weeks, she'd grown lax. Fooled herself into thinking that he was part of her past. That she'd not have to face him again. It was a mistake she would pay for now.

Resigning herself to the inevitable, she opened the door.

And gasped.

“Fanny!”

“Oh, my God—Scatter, ya lovely little leech!” He raced toward her, and she caught him in her arms. Crikey, the top of his head reached hers now—had he grown taller? “What are ye doin' here? How did ye find me?”

“The baron brought me.”

“The baron? Ye mean Lord Westborough?”

“Aye. Zounds, Fan, ye should have seen him.” Black eyes glittered with joy. “He punched him left, then punched him right—” He swung each hand in turn.

“Punched who?”

“Jack! Oh lud, 'twas a sight. We'd ha' made a fortune bettin' on him in the ring.”

“Lord Westborough brawled with Jack?”

She sensed his presence and turned. He stood with one shoulder against the doorframe, arms loosely crossed over his chest, hip angled, and booted foot turned outward. Eyes soft as the sea at dawn gazed upon her.

“You fought Jack Swift?” she asked in awe.

Whatever tenderness she'd seen in those misty gray swirls disappeared. “It was nothing. A minor squirmish.”

“It weren't even that,” Scatter interjected. “He popped him one right in the smacker and
phlooop
—down Jack went.”

“Scatter, I believe Millie is waiting for you outside,” the baron said in a tone that brooked no argument.

“They want me to take a bath,” Scatter told Faith.

“It's not so bad. You'll get a meat pie once you're clean.”