Let Love Find You (39 page)

“Move!” she cried when she reached him. “I’m riding with or without you.”

“Mandy—”

The anger had arrived, but unfortunately her tears did, too. But she embraced the anger. “Don’t worry, I’ll consider last night just another of those lessons you want me to forget!”

“Don’t cry!”

She didn’t wait for him to move but pushed past him and
bolted out of the yard, heading straight toward the woods and one of the riding paths her brother had cut through them. She spurred the mare to the fastest pace she could get out of her, as if she might be able to race away from the pain in her breaking heart. She was in the woods before she knew it, but Rafe’s trails were wide. Not that she could see much of it through the tears. Not that she cared.

But Devin followed her! He was shouting at her,
and
gaining on her. His stallion was faster. Much as she wanted to, she wasn’t going to escape him out here in the woods. She needed to return to the house to do that. She just had that thought when she saw his stallion next to her and felt his arm about her waist. He was going to yank her off the horse! She started to tell him that wasn’t necessary, but the crack of gunfire was too close, drowning out her words.

He pulled her toward him, but didn’t stop there. He actually fell off his horse, taking her with him! No, he landed on his feet, holding her to his side, and immediately lowered both of them behind the brush beside the trail.

“Stay down,” he hissed at her.

“That was a—”

“Quiet.”

Having cautioned that, he let out a loud whistle, more noise than she would have made. Both horses had raced on without them, but his came trotting back after a moment. Devin leapt up to grab the rifle she hadn’t even noticed was attached to his saddle, then he whacked the horse to run off again and rejoined Amanda on the ground.

She was staring at him wide-eyed, her heartache forgotten for the moment as she frantically looked for the blood that would account for his losing all the color in his face. But all she
could see was a tear on his jacket high on his upper arm that looked to be no more than a nick. Yet, realizing which arm it was, and that if he hadn’t bent to the side to grab her off her mount, the bullet would have entered his chest, it was no wonder she was shaking like a leaf in the wind.

She kept quiet as ordered, since he was obviously listening for sounds of movement. Yet whoever had fired that shot was apparently doing the same thing, unless it hadn’t been as close as it sounded and the person had already slunk away.

A good ten minutes later, with still no other sounds around them, she whispered, “You carry a rifle with you? Why?”

“Since I started getting shot at, yes, it seemed like a good idea.”

“Who’s been shooting at you?”

“If I knew that, then I wouldn’t be the one dodging bullets.”

“Farrell?”

Devin snorted softly. “I actually wish it was that bounder, but, no, this has been going on long before Exter showed what an arse he is.”

“You have enemies?!”

“At least one.”

“Then that’s who it is, so who is it?”

“I repeat, I don’t know.”

“You just said—”

He put a finger to her lips. “This isn’t the time to discuss it. That bullet could have hit you, Mandy. I only took precautions before, now I want blood. I
will
find out who just risked your life to get at me, but right now, I need to get you to safety.”

So that’s why he’d paled? Because he was frightened for her? And well he ought to be, she thought as her anger returned.
She wasn’t going to take risks for him when he wanted no part of her.

He whistled again. Once more his horse trotted back to him. If she wasn’t filled with painful, angry emotion, she might have asked him to teach her how to do that. But there would be no more lessons from him, of any sort.

He still wasn’t taking any chances. He tossed her up on his mount and leapt up behind her. But he even forced her to lean down against the stallion’s neck for added cover as he raced them out of the woods. No more shots were fired though. His enemy was either hiding, thinking he’d missed, or long gone, thinking he’d succeeded.

He didn’t take her to the stable, but to her front door, dismounting before he helped her down. He started to touch her cheek, but she jerked her head back.

“You can leave now,” she said stiffly.

“Do you think it’s not killing me, to keep you on the proper path? You deserve better’n me. No one has to know what we did. Kendall’s too innocent to figure it out. He probably doesn’t even know what a maidenhead is, so he won’t know it’s missing on your wedding night.”

She slapped him for that. “I’ll know! But you’re right, I can do better than a bastard who takes what he wants and doesn’t give a damn about the consequences. Sounds like your father, doesn’t it?”

“Mandy—”

She’d already entered the house, slamming the door shut behind her, so she didn’t see the effect her words had on Devin.

H
IS FATHER. SUDDENLY IT
all made sense. The man who didn’t want him, didn’t want to even lay eyes on him, wouldn’t want to be confronted with a
mistake
. He probably hadn’t liked it when Devin moved to London where they might cross paths. That run of bad luck with the animals? That could have been his father trying to ruin him so he’d leave town again. When that didn’t work, he’d arranged that shot at the farm, not a poacher after all but a warning—or he’d already decided the easier way to make sure they never met was to kill him. Good God, even the attack on William could have been meant for him, since Will had been using the same coach that night that Devin used when he needed one in town. And now Devin was asking questions, which could have alerted his father that he was actually looking for him now.

Was the man panicking? Afraid Devin would show up at his home and his family would know about his youthful indiscretions? Devin couldn’t begin to guess the workings of a mind like that. Hating his father as much as he did, he’d never once
thought of killing him. All he’d ever wanted was answers, to know why he’d been denied a father so completely.

He mounted his horse, but stared at the closed door for a moment more. He was glad Amanda was angry, better than that hurt he’d seen in her eyes, when there wasn’t a bloody thing he could say to take it away. She didn’t understand and he didn’t know how to fix it, short of letting her be stuck with him, which she wouldn’t thank him for. But he couldn’t think of that now. He had to protect her first. Talking to his uncle could no longer wait. He rode straight for London and his answers.

Arriving at his uncle’s home,
he was directed to Donald’s study, which was no longer a study. Furniture removed, easels filled the room now with canvases mostly finished, but some works still in progress. Donald spent his mornings here with the hobby he was surprisingly good at. Though he preferred park scenes, he’d tried his hand at a few portraits, and the one he’d done of Lydia now hung above the mantel in the parlor.

Donald’s two hounds were lying outside the door, waiting for him to come out. They both sat up at Devin’s approach, probably hoping he’d let them in to be with their master. He didn’t, but it wasn’t easy slipping inside with both of them trying to follow him in.

“Why do you keep your dogs out?” he asked as he closed the door again.

Across the room, Donald laughed. “Because I’m tired of picking their hair off of my paintings, especially whichever one I’m working on that isn’t dry yet. I thought you were in Norford for the week?”

“I came home for some information.” Devin wound his way
around the easels to reach Donald. One distracted him though, a portrait of Devin himself. “When did you paint
that
?”

Donald came over to stand next to him and gave his work a critical look. “Recently.”

“Do I really look that unhappy?”

“No, of course not, you’re just—always preoccupied with the business. And—” Donald paused to chuckle. “I was just never able to sketch you in a more lighthearted mood. The fault was mine. I should have just asked you to pose for me, instead of sneaking about to sketch you when you weren’t aware of it so I could present the painting as a surprise.”

“It looks finished. Why did you never present it?”

“For the very reason you just mentioned, you look too serious in it. I was going to try again.”

“Remind me to sit for you then sometime soon, or maybe not soon. Actually, I have a feeling you won’t be seeing me lighthearted for a while.”

“Has something happened?”

“Much more than expected.” Devin briefly explained about the attempts on his life, ending with “This can’t be shrugged off with ‘better left unknown’ anymore. I need to find my father to put a stop to his nefarious madness.”

“But you’re only guessing it’s him!”

“Can you honestly think of a more likely culprit?”

“
Anyone
other than your actual father, Devin. Truly, he would have to have the darkest heart imaginable—”

“Who says he doesn’t?”

“But he paid for your schooling! That’s not something a blackhearted bastard would do.”

“You said that missive came to you anonymously. You only
assumed it was from him. But I have since learned that Wolseley was the one supporting my mother. He loved her all those years in London, and he was a generous man. It’s much more likely that Wolseley paid for my schooling, as a final gift for my mother.” Devin wished he’d asked the man about it when he’d had the chance. “We don’t know a bloody thing about my real father. It’s time we did. I need a name, Uncle. Who was my mother’s solicitor? Her sponsor that first year in London? The name of her maid. Give me something to work with.”

“We were ten years apart in age, Devin. I never involved myself with her come-out. Our mother arranged it before she died.”

“You don’t have
any
name you can give me?”

“No, I’m sorry. But I kept all of her personal belongings. They are stored in the attic in Lancashire, even that last missive from her. You
do
still have that figurine she sent with it? There was something else in the note, that wasn’t appropriate to tell you at the time, something about that figurine.”

“What?”

Donald rubbed his brow for a moment, then sighed. “Damned memory, I can’t recall the words. But I do remember thinking, ‘Why would she be so concerned about a damned figurine when she was dying?’ ”

“Why do you say ‘concerned’?”

“It’s all that missive, written from her deathbed, was about, that porcelain horse. You do still have it?”

Devin looked down at the floor, remembering the night he’d buried it next to her grave. “Yes, it’s in Lancashire, too. And if I leave now, I can probably get there before midnight.”

Donald snorted. “You know that’s not possible. I’ll go with you, to make sure you break the trip with some sleep.”

Devin grinned. “I was joking, but I’m still going to be riding hard. I’ll let you know what I find out as soon as I get back.”

Devin left immediately. It was a long trip, but the fastest he’d ever traveled the route—and Amanda wouldn’t stay out of his mind. He’d never thought he’d want a woman this much, so much he wanted to spend every day of his life with her. But that was impossible. He recalled his mother’s words to him so long ago:
You don’t know what it’s like to love like this. I hope you never find out.
But he’d done exactly what his mother had warned him against doing, he’d fallen in love with a woman and it was breaking his heart that he couldn’t have her.

He wasn’t racing to Lancashire, he was racing away from his thoughts, and exhaustion kept them away. Sleep didn’t want to find him anyway. Between two nights of trying, he maybe got a total of ten hours of sleep. And he was too close to the farm to stop a third night, so he did actually arrive around midnight after all. Ironic. Hadn’t he buried that figurine around the same time?

He still didn’t know what it was supposed to tell him, but he dug it up and took it up to his old room. He set it on the mantel, then got a fire going. He doubted he’d ever live in this house again, yet the servants still kept it at the ready for him, logs beside the fireplace, fresh towels on the washstand, clean bedding, which he was definitely going to appreciate tonight. But first things first.

He lit the lamps and took one with him up to the attic. Elaine’s things were all in one corner of the huge room, five trunks of clothes, two small chests. He wasn’t about to go through all of that tonight, but he did open the two little chests. One was filled with her jewelry, the other contained her correspondence. Quite a few letters and notes were stuffed in it. That
ought to put him to sleep, reading through those, so he took the chest back to his room and dumped it out on his bed, then lay back and started reading.

Most of the letters were from old childhood friends from Lancashire. Two were from Donald, but he decided not to read those, written at the time of their estrangement. Donald had already told Devin he wasn’t proud of the things he’d said to his sister back then. Countless notes were from Lawrence Wolseley, mostly silly love notes. The man hadn’t lied, he had really loved Devin’s mother. Nothing yet from a man whose name he didn’t recognize. Then he finally found the note written by Elaine that Donald had added to the pile.