Recklessly Yours (42 page)

“Perhaps the colt will be found,” Holly said solemnly, “but he will not be returned to Victoria.”

“But of course he will . . .”

Holly shook her head. “There is more that you need to understand.”

She spent the next few minutes explaining the curse and Briannon's legacy, beginning with her tragic heartbreak and ending with the loss of the colt and the tribulations that had recently befallen the tenants of Briarview.

“So you see, the colt must return to the Exmoor herd in Devonshire,” she concluded.

“You talk as though you believe in this curse.” Ivy exchanged an incredulous look with Willow. “And Colin, too. How can he, a man of science, and you, my own sister, put stock in such nonsense?”

“Indeed,” Willow eagerly agreed, “to make the leap in logic from extraordinary animals to an ancient Celtic curse is, well . . .”

“Neither of you was there,” Holly insisted. “You didn't witness how the local folk reacted to the colt's absence. It doesn't matter if curses exist or not. They
believe
, and so the results are the same.”

“Can't they be reasoned with?”

Holly released a breath. “No, Ivy, they cannot be.” Her eyes widened at a sudden realization. “If Colin and I are forced to marry, the Devonshire folk will be more horrified than they are now. Good heavens, it could lead to a greater disaster there than Colin envisioned.”

She explained to them what the dowager duchess had told her, that the curse would be broken if the next duke were to take a wife of royal blood. “So you see, in light of the colt being lost, Lady Penelope, with her royal connections, would make a far better wife for Colin.”

“I beg to differ,” Ivy murmured with a sour look. “Oh, this is all simply too irrational. Neither you nor Colin can be thinking clearly.”

“After what occurred this morning, can you blame them?” Willow asked softly.

Holly regarded each of her sisters in turn. Their inability to understand what was at stake felt like a betrayal and made her feel more alone than ever before. She had told Colin she didn't regret their lovemaking, yet now she realized the consequences of that act, not to herself, but to him, and to the people of Devonshire, even to the Exmoor ponies. She realized suddenly what he had been attempting to protect when he stole the colt from Victoria's mews: a way of life, long-reaching traditions, a belief system. It didn't matter whether those beliefs were founded in logical thinking. It only mattered that people believed with their hearts and souls.

What Colin had been trying to protect were the very things he never knew growing up as Thaddeus Ashworth's son, but which he longed for so deeply.

He wanted to
believe
, as the Devonshire people did, in
something.
Briefly today, he
had
believed—he had believed in
her
; he had said as much. And what had she done? Accused him of not believing strongly enough. Good heavens, what had she expected, an overnight miracle? Considering his upbringing, that he had believed at all, even momentarily, was miracle enough.

 

During the next three days, events spiraled even more out of her control as the duchess set about planning a wedding. Her Grace recruited Ivy's and Willow's assistance, and even Sabrina made her opinions available now that the sick horses had begun to recover, a welcome development that lifted the mood at Masterfield Park for the better. Each day that the horses were no longer fed the tainted feed, their condition improved.

Holly saw little of Colin in those three days, and never alone. The duchess and Lord Shelby made certain of that, the former always surrounding Holly with a bustle of activity, and the latter offering his assistance with the horses and thus remaining always at Colin's side. Lady Penelope and her parents had vacated Masterfield Park in a huff, glowering their recriminations at Holly as they paraded past her on their way out the door. Most of the other guests had left as well, those with Thoroughbreds making alternate arrangements to board their animals for the upcoming races.

The engagement was to be announced at a ball given by the duchess following the opening of the Royal Meeting in less than a week. And then there would be no righting things . . . unless Holly eventually freed Colin with an annulment. Could she muster the strength to pursue such a course? Sabrina had spoken of slippery slopes. Holly felt like a snowball careening down an icy slope of her own.

That third afternoon, while her sisters and the few remaining guests were resting or walking in the garden, Holly wandered the house alone, strolling into the various rooms until finally the drawing room appeared to offer an empty but cozy haven.

She didn't notice the flickering lamp on the card table in the far corner, or the two women bent over their work, until it was too late. She might have backed quietly out of the room had Sabrina not spoken.

“Good afternoon, Holly. Do come in.”

The young woman sat with a basket at her elbow and an array of fabric swatches spread out on the tabletop before her. One of the parlor maids who had brought breakfast to the library on that ill-fated morning two days ago sat beside her, her starched linen cap and apron glowing starkly against the room's gilded furnishings and rich upholsteries.

Sabrina tapped the back of the chair on her other side. “Come sit with me, for this concerns you.” She turned to the maid. “That will be all for now. Thank you, Tildy.”

The girl bobbed a curtsy to Holly as she walked briskly past her. Was it Holly's imagination, or did the corner of the maid's mouth quirk with the slightest bit of derision?

Holly slid out the chair and sat and peered down at the swatches. “This concerns me?”

“Mother is shopping in Windsor today. She asked me to sort through the colors and fabrics for next week's ball.” Sabrina cast a significant look up at her. “Which will now double as your engagement celebration.”

Holly's stomach clenched. “How may I help?”

Sabrina held up three satin swatches. “These are the blue, gold, and burgundy of the Masterfield crest. Mother plans to incorporate the colors into the ballroom decorations in the form of draperies, bunting, and table linens. The flower arrangements as well. The orders must be placed immediately, mind you, or they'll never be ready in time. Is there a Sutherland crest whose colors we might include?”

Holly chuckled. “The Sutherlands don't have a crest.”

Sabrina caught and held her gaze. “You do realize you have no choice in this. You and Colin must marry.” From outside came the faint echo of voices. “I, on the other hand, had a choice, thank goodness.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hadn't you noticed the absence of one guest in particular?” She sat back and let the swatches in her hand drop to the tabletop. “Mr. Bentley.”

In all that had happened, Holly had forgotten about Colin's fellow Jockey Club member. She frowned. “You mean to say he didn't stay to help with the horses?”

Sabrina shrugged a shoulder. “He might have, but I sent him packing before the trouble began.”

“Did you?” Holly couldn't keep her astonishment from showing. “What offense had he committed?”

“He asked me to marry him,” she replied with a moue of distaste.

“Well, I cannot say I'm surprised. What did you tell him?”

“No, of course. And then he became angry. He had the impertinence to call me a tease. Can you imagine?” Sabrina's narrow chin tilted defiantly. “He even threatened to speak to Father when he returns. That is when I showed him the door.”

An unsettling suspicion sent goose bumps up Holly's spine. “You say this all happened before the horses began showing signs of illness?” At Sabrina's nod, Holly continued. “Do you know where he went? Did he leave the area?”

“No, with the races coming I don't suppose he did. . . . What are you driving at?” She drew back against her chair, shaking her head. “Surely you aren't suggesting that Mr. Bentley is responsible . . .”

“Is it possible?” The image of a sharp pebble flashed in her memory, bringing her back to the day Sabrina lost control of Sport o' Kings. Mr. Bentley had disapproved of Sabrina's riding that day.

“But he is a devoted turfite. And a Jockey Club official.” Sabrina scowled down at the swatches, but the compression of her lips revealed her uncertainty.

“Sabrina, I am not accusing Mr. Bentley. I am only suggesting a possibility that should be explored.” Holly stood. “Whatever you select for the ball will be splendid, I am sure. If you'll excuse me, I must speak to your brother.”

C
olin handed the horse he'd been walking in the paddock off to a groom and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. They felt bloodshot and swollen, chafed by the morning glare. No matter. In these past two days the sick animals had rallied, marginally perhaps, but enough to raise his hopes. He hadn't wished to alarm his family, but he hadn't been at all certain they had discovered the bracken poisoning in time.

The truth was, they could still lose horses. But not, as he had once feared, all of them. What frustrated him was not knowing the cause, how a lethal substance had ended up in sacks of horse feed, and how those particular sacks had found their way to Masterfield Park. If he were to prevent another such incident, he needed answers to those questions.

He was glad, then, that he had left Cordelier in Devonshire. Maribelle, too. As he picked his way from the paddock to the stable yard, he couldn't help smiling at how in a very short time the mare had become Holly's own. He intended making the transfer official by offering Maribelle as a gift.

A wedding gift? Dread settled over him. Maribelle would provide paltry comfort when the authorities clapped Holly's new husband in irons and led him to Newgate.

Had his thoughts conjured her? She suddenly stood framed in the archway between the stables. Her hair was loosely drawn up at the crown of her head, ringlets tossing in the breeze. His pulse quickened at the sight of her. Waving, he broke into a sprint that he hoped looked casual and not the overeager act it was.

“Good afternoon,” was all he could think to say when he reached her. She flashed an uncertain smile, but the careworn shadows beneath her eyes raised his concern. “What is it?”

“Did you know Stuart Bentley intended asking Sabrina to marry him?”

Her bluntness took him aback. “No. Has he asked her?”

“He has, and she turned him down. He became angry.”

Colin glanced out at the paddocks. “So that's why he left before we returned. I'd wondered.”

“He left because Sabrina insisted he do so.” Holly pressed a hand to his wrist. “Colin, all this took place
before
the horses became ill.”

“And you think Bentley . . .”

“The rock in the paddock,” she said with emphasis.

“We never found any proof that he threw the rock, or that anyone did. The stable lads might simply have missed it with their rakes.”

“But when you consider all three incidents—the rock, the spurned proposal, the ailment . . .” She gasped. “Why, perhaps he followed us on the road to Devonshire, and it was his bullet that nearly struck us. Colin, perhaps Stuart Bentley has the colt.”

His hands went to her shoulders. “Don't you think you're heaping a bit too much suspicion onto Stuart Bentley's narrow shoulders?”

That seemed to rob her of fervor. “Please, even if you don't wish to take me seriously, at least look into it.”

Despite the grooms' and even Mr. Peterson's nearby presence, he drew her to him and wrapped his arms around her. “I take you seriously. Don't ever believe otherwise.”

“I'm sorry. Forgive me for saying that.” She raised her chin against his shirtfront, and he lowered his mouth to hers.

“My lord! A message!”

He and Holly broke apart as a footman approached. He held out a folded missive. Colin's first thought was that other horses in the area had become afflicted with the bracken poisoning. He broke the unfamiliar seal and read:
If you wish your precious colt returned, meet me at . . .

The note gave detailed directions to a small manor located to the northeast, about halfway between Ascot and Windsor. In stunned disbelief, Colin glanced up from the page. “The colt . . . Is it possible?”

Holly had been attempting to read over his shoulder. “What about the colt? Colin, you've grown as white as the paddock fence!”

His mind worked frantically. Was this some sort of bizarre game? A trap?

Was Stuart Bentley involved?
Come alone
the note insisted.

“The hell I will,” he said decisively.

“Will what?” Holly gripped the arm that held the note.

He shoved the letter into his coat pocket. “I'll be meeting with the author of this note, but I'm not about to go alone, or unarmed for that matter.”

Her face filled with alarm. “I'm coming with you.”

His expression turned thunderous. “The hell you are.”

 

“I should have insisted on going with him.” Her fingers laced tightly, Holly stood at the bay window that overlooked the drive and the sweeping front lawns of Masterfield Park. She and her sisters occupied the formal receiving salon, a room seldom used by the family but desirable today because of the view it offered of the far-off road. She stared hard into the distance, as if she could make Colin reappear by the force of her will.

“Even if he had been amenable to your accompanying him,” Ivy said from the settee behind her, “I'd certainly have stepped in your way.”