Recklessly Yours (22 page)

Minutes later, Holly and Sabrina trotted their horses past the racetrack and onto the open terrain beyond. Here, away from the shelter of the house, gardens, and stables, chilling dawn breezes rolled off the heath without impediment. Holly shivered and tucked her chin lower into the collar of her riding habit. Deep clouds lumbered across an inky blue sky still dotted with a few stars, while the rising sun, little more than a crescent on the horizon, stretched the first reedy shadows across the landscape.

Instead of Thunderbolt, Holly rode a sedate mare named Maribelle's Fancy, a mount that seemed sure of foot and quick to obey. And like Lady Sabrina, she sat properly sidesaddle rather than astride. No one would have thought anything out of the ordinary, except perhaps that Lady Sabrina and her friend enjoyed riding at an ungodly hour. As Lady Sabrina had promised, the grooms had asked no questions. Which left Holly with one remaining problem.

Lady Sabrina herself.

She showed no sign of leaving Holly's side. Holly had carefully retraced the course she and Colin had taken yesterday, but the nearer to the vale she and Sabrina rode, the more confounded she became. She couldn't risk taking the young woman into her confidence. No matter the contention between Sabrina and her siblings, she was still an Ashworth, and Holly had no intention of testing her loyalties.

Holly slowed Maribelle's pace and waited for the other woman to do the same. “Lady Sabrina . . .”

“Just Sabrina. Cohorts in crime needn't stand on ceremony.”

“I assure you, there are no crimes about to be committed. I never inferred any such thing.”

“Then why the secrecy?”

“I have my reasons, just as you have yours for agreeing to help me.”

“Oh, my reasons are no great secret. My life is a bore and you have provided a refreshing distraction.” Sabrina braced her hands on the saddle in front of her and leaned sideways into the space between them. “Whatever you are doing, do let me accompany you. I swear I'll never tell a soul what I see.”

“I cannot. And if you insist on trailing me, I shall be forced to turn around and head back. This is not my decree. It is simply necessary.”

“Oh . . .” Sabrina released a dramatic breath. “You know you only pique my curiosity with claims such as that. But very well, at least for now. I shall ride off that way.” She pointed due north.

Suddenly, despite Sabrina's nonchalance, Holly deduced a possible reason why the young woman might be reluctant to ride off alone. “Are you afraid your horse won't obey your commands? Like in the paddock?”

“That shan't be repeated.”

“But you said it wasn't the first time.”

“Never mind what I said. I was upset. The filly had no doubt been spooked by the noisy chattering and the milling of our guests. It won't happen again,” she concluded with a determined scowl, making Holly wonder who she was trying to convince, Holly or herself.

“I won't be long,” Holly said, though she wondered about the accuracy of the reassurance.

“I'm not supposed to let you go that way.” With a jerk of her chin, Sabrina gestured toward the vale. “My brother's orders.”

A jolt went through Holly until she realized he had probably only meant those orders as a precaution, based on the previous morning. Surely he would have no reason to think she would return there today with his sister. “Wherever I go, I shall proceed at my own risk and my own responsibility.”

“Ride on, then, and do whatever it is that might or might not involve my brother. I will give you half an hour to meet me over by those trees.” Sabrina lifted a hand to point westward, indicating a stand of pine trees. “If you aren't back by then, I shall assume something dreadful has happened and will have no choice but to come searching for you.”

Holly hoped a half hour would be adequate, but she knew better than to plead for more. She was not only indebted to Sabrina, but dependent on her to keep her lips sealed . . . at least for now, as she had said.

After several minutes she glanced over her shoulder to see if the young woman had decided to follow her after all. Bringing Maribelle to a complete halt, Holly twisted round in the saddle and inspected the landscape in several directions for signs of movement. As far as she could discern, a pair of swooping skylarks singing to each other and a rabbit just now hopping across her path were her only company. She continued on.

Within a few minutes, the wide openness of the rolling heath narrowed between two hills where a stream meandered, split, disappeared into crevices, and reappeared to bubble gaily over rocks. Holly followed the sandy bank, the ground sucking at Maribelle's hooves. Colin had not lied about the bottomlands here. At best, a rider who hadn't been warned might very likely render his mount lame. At worst, a horse could lose his footing and go down hard, his rider thrown.

A growing elation made her wish she
could
urge the horse faster.
He hadn't lied
. . . .

She sobered as she realized that the hazards of the place also made it perfect for hiding something. Too steep and muddy for riding or cultivating, the land was of no apparent use to anyone, and presented no reason for anyone to venture in.

At her back, the sun climbed into the morning sky, but the vale, narrowing until it became little more than a gorge, shut out the direct reach of its rays. Sparse pines and the occasional sapling clung to the rocky hillsides, the swishing of the breeze through their leaves like the hushed whispers of a crowd before a race. Up ahead, the stream disappeared around an eroded outcropping of exposed rocks while the rippling current swallowed nearly all the level ground. Sand and pebbles slid out from under Maribelle's hooves.

Holly stopped the mare and dismounted. She had already gone about a half mile into the vale with no sign of anyone or anything having disturbed the area. She would continue only a little farther before admitting there was nothing here to see. With no reason to risk bringing her mount around the bend, she tied the reins to an obliging branch and proceeded on foot.

Water lapping at her hems and seeping into her boots, she pressed close to the outcropping and picked her way around to the other side. There she came to a dead halt and a jarring truth, one that shed doubt on her loyalty to her queen and her friendship with Victoria.

She would rather find nothing, would rather never find any trace of Prince's Pride, or any evidence that implicated Colin Ashworth in theft or any other crime—even if it meant disappointing Victoria and leaving her reign in jeopardy.

Though she hadn't been aware of it, the rhythm of that prayer had been dictating the pattern of her breathing and the pace of her steps: Don't . . . let . . . it . . . be. . . . Please . . . Don't . . . let . . . it . . . be. . . .

She moved past the outcropping, and the corner of a split-rail fence came into view. Her hopes plummeting, she gripped a wispy yew sapling growing beside her. Gripped it until her knuckles whitened and the stalk bent against her palm. She stood riveted to the spot and stared at the fence while her heart pounded in her throat, her blood roared in her ears, and images flooded her mind.

A darkened library, a pair of strong arms, a flash of golden hair, and the dear, dear perfection of his features as he leaned his face close and kissed her.

A sickening regret pushed a bitter, burning taste into her throat, her mouth. He had caught her virtually red-handed sneaking about his house, and instead of taking her to task he had kissed her, held her in his strong arms, kissed her again. Heaven help her, a ruse. He had surmised that she suspected . . . something . . . and had hoped to distract her from the truth.

Her regret hardening to cold, solid anger, she released the sapling; it whipped out of her fingers as she ducked beneath the pine branches in her way until she stood right before the fence. Her fists closed on the top rail. She leaned forward.

And saw nothing—nothing but an empty enclosure. Where one end of the fence abutted the hillside, a small lean-to, rough-hewn and half rotting, stood open to the morning air.

It was vacant.

 

Colin made his way from one end of the terrace to the other, stopping at each linen-covered table to bid his guests good morning. Laughter and conversation filled the air around him. Along the balustrade, a lengthy buffet offered eggs, hot and cold meats, blood pudding, porridge, baked goods, and an array of fruit transported here from the London wharves.

While some of his guests would stay on during the races, others would be leaving later that day, returning to their own estates or taking up residence in rented homes in the area. The solicitors would now go to work, completing the contracts on the horses bought and sold and seeing to details too mundane to warrant the attention of these aristocrats. No, their sights would now be set on the races themselves. Some would profit. Some would wager more than their purses held and end up teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. There would be triumphs and disappointments, unexpected victories and crushing heartbreak.

Colin would be here for none of it.

Feminine voices drew his attention to the base of the garden steps. Holding the trains of their riding habits, Sabrina and Holly started up. He met them at the top of the steps. “Ladies. Did you enjoy your ride?”

“We most certainly did.” Holly appeared flushed and slightly out of breath as she raised her chin to look up at him. The moment he beheld her fresh face, rosy cheeks, and her plump, moist lips, the memory of last night bombarded him. The taste of her, the feel of her soft curves pressed up against him, had proved true everything he had imagined and craved for months, only more so—more tempting, more sweet, lush and intoxicating than he could have dreamed.

“Where did you go?” he asked them. He leaned slightly toward Holly. “Nowhere dangerous, I trust.”

“Ah, but your sister would hardly allow that, my lord, now, would she?” Laughter bubbled in Holly's voice, and Colin realized he had never seen her quite so buoyant, perhaps not since that very first ride they had taken together in Cambridge. Her mood was infectious, so much so he questioned his suspicions, and whether he truly needed to leave the area that day. “Especially,” she added with a wink of the dimple in her right cheek, “after you expressly told Lady Sabrina to keep an eye on me.”

“I might have known,” he said to his sister in mock admonishment, “that you would not keep that secret. Forgive me, Miss Sutherland, for being overbearing,” he said in the same light tone. “But as you can well imagine, I am responsible for the welfare of my guests.”

“I do understand, my lord.” Her smile dazzled him. “And rest assured you did not curb my enjoyment of our morning ride in the slightest. Isn't that right, Sabrina?”

Could
he have been mistaken in thinking she had somehow learned about the colt and decided to search for the animal? Perhaps her ride toward the vale yesterday had been no more than it appeared—a skilled horsewoman seeking a challenge. And last night, she had claimed she had lost her way and thus ended up in the darkened wing of the house, near his father's private office, where the records were kept; but she wouldn't be the first guest to become lost in this maze of a house.

The notion that he might have been wrong in all of his suspicions lifted a weight from his chest, until he remembered that in the end it didn't matter. He was developing feelings for her, ones he dared not entertain because he was a horse thief who hailed from a broken wreck of a family, not to mention a traitor to his queen.

For that reason alone, he must leave Masterfield Park that very day.

Sabrina answered Holly's question with a quick word of agreement, but her eyes remained on Colin, her lips curled in that cunning, feline smile of hers, as if she could see right into his mind. She tapped her riding crop against her skirts. “You two may debate the merits of morning rides as much as you like. I am famished.” With that, she stalked away and found a seat at one of the tables.

“So where did you go?” he asked Holly at length, not because he needed to know, but because he didn't want her to slip away. His mind was made up. He would leave within the next hour or so, and it might be a very long time before he saw her again.

Whatever life held for him next, these were minutes he would savor.

Her smile widened; she shrugged. “We went north mostly, past the pastures and onto the heath. It's really rather beautiful, the heath.”

“Most people find it tediously flat, of little use except for racing.”

“I find the heath intensely peaceful.” She turned her face to the sun, lowering her eyelids to shield them from the direct rays. “Though I expect it won't be at all peaceful during the races.”

As if by some unspoken agreement, they drifted away from the noisy company, down the steps, and a few strides along the garden path. They stopped beside a box hedge and she turned to him, still with that radiant smile, her cheek dimpling, her eyes clear and green and filled with . . .
elation
sprang to mind. As did the word
beautiful
. Bright and fresh, like the garden around her.

Her lips took on an impish tilt. “I wonder, my lord, if you could name this box hedge?” She pulled off a glove and gestured with her lovely, slender fingers. Laughter danced in her eyes.

For an instant he couldn't guess her meaning—then he remembered. Remembered that morning at Harrowood in Cambridge, when he had decided to dispense with caution. He had gathered his courage and resolved that he would no longer allow his father or anyone else to dictate his life or rob him of happiness. He had found her alone in Simon's morning room, and damn it, he was going to kiss her. Going to speak to her. He had beckoned her to the window. . . .