Recklessly Yours (23 page)

And lost his nerve. Or rather, he had remembered the simple, sheltered life she had always led, she and the sisters she loved so dearly. He remembered her innocence, her honesty, and the lovely ringing of her sheer, delighted laughter as she had galloped her horse over the woodland paths. And he had realized he hadn't the heart to sully that innocence, that beauty, with the ugliness that lurked in his family.

“I'm afraid I never was much good with box hedges.” He had meant to sound flippant, but he couldn't quite summon that sentiment. Instead, the words sounded hollow and sad.

A crease formed above her nose. “Is anything wrong?”

He took her hand and raised it to his lips; he kissed it, then held it there, not caring who might see the gesture or what they thought. After today it would no longer matter.

But what Holly thought did matter, very much, and he mustn't lead her to the wrong conclusion. “I was thinking of last night,” he lied, releasing her hand. “You haven't recognized the scoundrel this morning, have you?”

“No, but I haven't been among your guests yet today. Still, I think what you said last night must be true, that he had come only for the ball, or he would have been familiar to me. I'd even feared that perhaps . . .”

“Yes?”

Her gaze drifted to the purple lilacs growing thick on a trellis. “A year ago my sister Laurel was attacked by a man she had never laid eyes on before, but who seemed to know her.” She looked back at him, all the light flirtation of the past few moments erased from her features. “We believe him to be someone from our past, someone who knows a good deal more about us than we do. And who has reasons, unknown to us, for wishing us harm.”

He wanted to take her in his arms, but stepping closer to her would have to suffice. “And you think the man last night . . . ?”

She was already shaking her head as if she'd only just reached a conclusion. “In all probability, no. Laurel's attacker railed at her in French. But this man . . . what little he spoke was murmured too low for me to be sure. Once he called me
mon amie
. . . but that doesn't mean much.”

“No, I'm afraid it doesn't. I've used the term myself many a time.” But the possibility that last night's incident had been more than a drunken rascal taking a liberty with a young woman at a ball chilled him. “Holly, I think you and your sisters should go home. Forget about the races. Go to Harrowood or back to London, wherever you'll be safe.”

She drew back as if startled. “Aren't we safe enough here, especially if we exercise a bit of caution from now on?”

No, because soon I shall be gone.
He wouldn't be here to protect her, and that meant he wanted her somewhere else.

Mistaking his silence, she said, “Unless, of course, we are no longer welcome.”

He was about to assure her that nothing could be further from the truth when one of his head grooms walked quickly up the path to them. He slid his cap from his head before he reached them.

“My lord?”

Colin stepped away from Holly. “Yes, Kenneth, what is it?”

Kenneth held up a hand and opened his fingers. A gray pebble, roundish, sharp-edged, about an inch in diameter, lay nestled in his callused palm. “I came across this in the demonstration paddock, lying in the dirt.”

Colin frowned and shrugged a shoulder. “What's so unusual about a stone lying on the ground?”

The groom, about Colin's own age, flashed an indignant look, almost a scowl. “My lord, I supervised the raking of every inch of that paddock myself. Pure, soft dirt, that's what there was. I'd never miss a stone like this—it could have lodged in a hoof, left one of my lord's fine hunters lame.”

“Then how do you suppose it got there?” Colin held out his hand and Kenneth passed him the pebble. He held it up to get a good look at it.

The groom shuffled his feet, stuffed his hands in his coat pockets.

Colin shifted his gaze from the stone to the man before him. “Kenneth?”

“I was thinking, sir, about my lady's trouble with Sport o' Kings.”

“Are you insinuating someone might have thrown this at the horse?”

“A rock like this would sting a hide much like a bee, my lord. Could make a horse jumpy and irritable afterward.” Kenneth shrugged. “I hope I'm wrong, sir.”

“Did you check the rest of the paddock?”

“Of course, sir. Twice.”

“Thank you, Kenneth.” The groom left, and Colin stood staring down at the pebble in his palm, wondering what it meant.

Holly, who had remained silent during the exchange, touched his elbow. “That would explain Sport o' King's behavior. And put your sister's worries to rest.”

Colin looked up. “Sabrina's worries?”

Her eyebrows went up and she compressed her lips; then she just as quickly recovered her composure and said, “She blamed herself. She feared she had done something to cause the horse to rebel.”

“But who would throw a rock into the paddock?”

Holly reached for the stone. Holding it between her thumb and forefinger, she narrowed her eyes. “Someone, perhaps, who disapproved of Sabrina riding that day.”

“Please don't dissemble if you've a name in mind. Who disapproved of my sister?”

She met his gaze. “I could be wrong. I'm
probably
wrong.”

“Tell me whom you mean.”

She blew out a breath. “Mr. Bentley as much as said that if your father had been here, he would never have permitted Sabrina to take such a risk. And he said ‘Blast Drayton for allowing it.' ”

“Damn him.” Colin raised his chin, searching for Bentley up on the terrace.

“But disapproving is a far stretch from throwing stones,” Holly said quickly. “I'm sorry. I should not have mentioned it.”

“No, you did right.” Still searching, his gaze landed on another face that prompted him to take Holly's hand. Lady Penelope stood near the balustrade, and she also appeared to be searching. Before that lady could turn and spot Colin here in the gardens, he hurried Holly down a side path that took them into the concealment of the tall topiary hedges.

“My lord?” Holly's feet lagged, and he gently tugged her along. “What are you doing?”

He stopped behind an evergreen giraffe and her faltering steps brought her bumping into his side. He felt tempted to swing an arm around her and gather her even closer, but instead he grasped her shoulders and held her at arm's length. “I have an important favor to ask you.”

She either sensed his urgency or saw it in his features, for the perplexity smoothed from her brow. “What is it?”

“If you're intent on remaining at Masterfield Park, will you look after Sabrina for me? Stay with her, ride with her, but do not let her out of your sight. Form a constant group with your sisters and mine, and keep one another safe.”

“But . . . you sound as though you are going somewhere. Are you leaving?”

He pulled back, realizing how desperate his appeal had sounded. “No, but with the races little more than a week away, I fear my attention will often be engaged elsewhere. I would rest easier knowing the four of you were always together, never off anywhere alone.” He released her shoulders and reached for her hands instead, giving them a squeeze. “Will you promise me?”

“Of course. You needn't worry.”

An earnest thank-you formed on his lips, but as he leaned closer to speak them and her sweet face filled his view, he kept leaning. Their lips met, and while hers parted on a little exclamation, no doubt of surprise, his opened on an uncontainable burst of emotion. He pressed deeper, imparting against his will everything he felt for her, his desire and devotion, his wish for more between them, his sorrow that he must leave her.

Straightening, he turned away before he could witness her reaction to the impulsive kiss, before this last image of her could burn itself in his brain, before she could ask any questions. He strode off with an aching gap in his chest where his heart used to be.

A
s breakfast ended, gaily chattering groups drifted down the terrace steps to walk among the shrubbery. The crisp morning had turned into a clear day of sharp colors and bracing breezes, warmed by a bright sun shimmering in a cloudless sky. A rare day even for late May, one the Ashworths' guests seemed determined to take full advantage of before some of them left the estate later today. Sabrina was with her mother, seeing to the departure arrangements, ensuring luggage was brought down and carriages readied.

Holly should have felt buoyant. In fact, she
had
. Until her morning trek, she had fully believed that if Colin had Prince's Pride, he'd hidden the colt in the vale. The empty stall she'd found seemed to answer her prayers and clear Colin of the crime.

But then there had been Colin's plea, and that kiss. . . . As she caught up to her sisters strolling arm and arm down the garden lane, she glanced over at the topiary menagerie. Heat immediately tingled across her lips and cascaded down to her toes. But with the remembered pleasure of Colin's kiss came a sense of sadness she couldn't quite explain, like last night in the library. He seemed to be telling her something—good-bye, despite his protestation to the contrary.

Her imagination? Perhaps, because she knew she should not be kissing the man Victoria had sent her here to investigate. That must be it, not Colin's message to her, but her own admonishment to stay focused on her task.

Her sisters parted and then flanked her, and they all three linked arms as they continued strolling.

“Tell us what you found,” Willow whispered. “I've been mad all morning to hear your news.”

“I found nothing,” she replied with a triumphant grin she was well aware didn't completely reach her eyes. “Colin—Lord Drayton—must be innocent.”

If she had expected Ivy to happily concur, her sister surprised her. “How does not finding the colt in the vale exonerate Colin of all guilt?”

“Yes,” Willow agreed. “I don't see how one necessarily follows the other.”

“But . . .” Holly's shoulders slumped. Frowning, she regarded the path in front of her as they continued walking. “I was so certain that if he had the colt, he would have hidden it in the vale.”

“He could have hidden it in any number of places,” Ivy pointed out. “Do not misunderstand me. I am as eager as you to clear my husband's friend. But we would not be doing our duty to Victoria if we reached conclusions based on superficial evidence.” Ivy halted their progress and turned to Holly. “Having served Victoria previously, I know whereof I speak.”

Holly sighed, the action like wind abandoning sails to leave them sagging. “I know you do.”

They proceeded, and Willow waved to Mrs. Fenhurst, who called a greeting from the Chinese footbridge that arced over the manmade brook. “I grow less convinced than ever that Prince's Pride is not at this moment occupying a stall in the Windsor mews,” she said. “Victoria's perception might be easily explained. After all, a horse can be at the top of its form one day and falter the next.”

“Very true.” With her free hand Ivy adjusted the shawl draped around her arms. “Lady Sabrina's experience with Sport o' Kings proves a horse's performance can vary. The same animal might have appeared extraordinary to the queen when she first laid eyes on him, only to seem diminished once her initial excitement had waned.”

Holly considered telling her sisters about the rock found in the paddock, but decided it bore little to do with Colin's possible guilt and could wait till later.

“Then what do we do?” Willow slipped her arm from Holly's and faced both sisters. “Return to Windsor and tell Victoria we don't believe there is another colt?”

“Not yet,” Holly said firmly. “There is another alternative.”

The idea had just occurred to her, perhaps
only
occurred because of the kiss, because of everything Colin had seemed to communicate to her through the touch of his lips. The memory of it gripped her with a certainty that he wanted—needed—to tell her . . . something. She plunged ahead. “We have been questioning the guests and sneaking about like thieves. Perhaps it's time to come clean with Col—er—Lord Drayton, and see what he has to say.”

“Holly, you mustn't dream of any such thing!” Willow all but cried out. She clapped a hand to her mouth, darted a look about her, then spoke from behind her fingers. “You cannot betray Victoria's confidence.”

But Ivy said calmly, “I think Holly is right. Never mind that I haven't for one moment believed Colin or any other member of the family could be guilty of an act as base as stealing a horse from the queen. The very notion! If anything, I thought perhaps the deed had been accomplished by an acquaintance from the racing world who knew of the colt and decided he must have it. But after all our questioning, not a single individual has given the slightest indication of ever hearing of such an extraordinary horse. The racing world forms a tight-knit community. Secrets of this caliber simply don't exist among turfites.”

Holly agreed, but Willow tossed her hands in the air. “Before you run off to confess all, how do you explain the paddock you discovered in the vale? The colt might have been there, and been moved before you rode out there this morning.”

“That paddock has stood for ages, perhaps built by a long-ago shepherd who saw the vale as a convenient place to seek shelter from storms.” Holly shrugged. “Besides, no one but Lady Sabrina knew I'd be anywhere near the area today, so why would he have moved the colt?”

Yet a niggling memory belied that claim. Lady Sabrina had admitted that she had told her brother she and Holly would be riding that morning. . . .