Chapter Twelve #2
“I found the poor thing all dirty and hiding in a thicket,” Cassie said. “He’s been a delight, but of course, we wouldn’t want to keep him if he’s simply run away from his owner. You didn’t, perchance have a pup go missing?”
“No,” Mrs. Townsend replied carefully. “But if I recall, Mr. Anderson’s daughter…”
“Mr. Anderson has a daughter?” Cassie asked.
“I would have thought—” Mrs. Townsend stopped herself, then glanced between Harbury and Cassie. Finally, she shrugged. “A grown daughter, Your Grace. But the pup couldn’t be hers. She’s been married and gone for a very long time.”
“I see,” Cassie replied. Though she thought Mrs. Townsend’s embarrassment odd.
“And here, at last, is your cart,” Mrs. Townsend sounded relieved.
As the Townsend’s man handed Cassie up into the box, she thanked her host another time. Settling herself on the seat, she took the reins, called for Trusty to walk on, and, with reins in one hand, steered the cart toward the road.
Her husband’s eyes remained on her the whole time, even bringing his horse alongside the cart.
She forced herself to think of the morning’s successes rather than his ire.
While she hadn’t earned the wives’ complete trust, she had made progress. She had learned Anderson’s behavior had taken a turn. If the change were due to some sort of illness, that could explain why her husband was so reluctant to trace the estate worries back to the steward.
She only wished she had collected proof rather than innuendo.
She sent her husband a sidelong glance, wondering if he’d trust her concerns.
His face was grim, and he rode stiffly—if not rigidly—in his saddle. As a result, his horse moved more skittishly than usual.
Yes, he was angry that she’d disobeyed his instruction about the groom.
Loosely! She wanted to goad him with the same instruction he’d given her during her first driving lesson. She recalled how his fingers lightly encircled her wrist as he demonstrated what he’d meant, the way he’d only reluctantly let go of her hand.
Ugh.
Even when annoyed with him, she still found him attractive.
She couldn’t stay angry with him for long. Not with his thigh at eye level, his body slowly, rhythmically rocking along with the movement of his horse, his tousled hair falling across his forehead. He looked so fine.
Then again, his fine looks had never been in question.
Her besotted mind began weaving excuses for why he’d felt the need to retrieve her from the Townsends. Perhaps he’d come to meet her simply because he hadn’t been able to stay away. He had, after all, taken up residence in her room.
Sometimes the best defense wasn’t an offense, but a diversion. So, as they approached a V in the road, she urged Trusty, not toward the Hall, but toward the bridle path.
“Cassandra!” he called after her. “Where do you think you are going?”
So, they were back to Cassandra, were they?
“The ruins.” She tossed a haughty expression over her shoulder. “Our place.”
“Our—” He paused, looking far more surprised than he should have.
Shouldn’t he be pleased she thought with fondness of the place he’d chosen for their first excursion together? For their first kiss?
His gaze fixed on a spot above her head. “I don’t like the look of those clouds.”
She ignored him and urged Trusty on until, finally, she spotted the clearing with the tie weight they’d used to secure the horses the first time they were there. Without her directing Trusty to do so, the pony slowed.
Odd.
Then again, maybe not. Maybe Sarah’s governess had brought Sarah here. Cassie nodded to herself. That made sense. Of course, she would have taught Sarah the estate’s history. She climbed down out of the box and was hitching Trusty to the weight when Harbury finally drew up behind her.
“I don’t like the look of those clouds either, but, at present…” She let her gaze roam up and down his person. “I very much admire the view.”
He puckered his lips and curled the hand against his thigh into a fist as if struggling to hold back a retort.
He intended to be difficult, didn’t he?
Well, she’d learned a thing or two in the prior weeks. She placed her hand against his calf. His heat seeped through the woolen stocking below his breeches.
“Surely,” she said softly, “you can spare a moment…for me.”
He closed his eyes. She studied the struggle on his features, hoping. When he opened them again, she knew she’d won.
She moved back, holding to her shawl while he dismounted and then tied his horse. She’d never taken particular note of the way a man dismounted, but this man was a different story. She’d good reason to appreciate the way he moved his body, all controlled confidence and skill.
“Cassie,” he said wearily. “You know very well what I asked, and you deliberately—”
“Don’t you dare say disobey,” she interrupted, her voice even. “I agreed to bring a groom when I went out, but I didn’t think your directive included a simple drive to see a neighbor on the estate.”
“I worry about you.”
She searched his face. He did, indeed appear more worried than angry. “What cause have you to worry when you knew I’d be in the company of your own longstanding tenant?”
He hesitated. “Not under normal circumstances, but the last time we visited, Mr. Townsend wasn’t exactly welcoming.”
“Yes, but Mrs. Townsend has been nothing but gracious.” She laid a hand against his arm. “Please, Harbury. Trust my judgment.”
Again, he closed his eyes. “I do. Only…”
“Only?”
He opened his eyes. The force of his gaze was a physical thud against her chest.
“Only I would be devastated if something happened to you.”
Ah. The truth was raw on his features. She stepped forward. She placed her gloved hand lightly against his chest and lifted her face.
What fear. What fire. And all his passion was for her and her alone.
She lifted herself onto her toes and then brushed her lips over his own. Even though he did not respond, the voluntary contact sent a rush of heat through her body. Then, his shoulders fell, and he set his hands on her hips.
“You’re trying to distract me.”
She lifted the corner of her mouth. “I’m trying to turn our attention—both yours and mine—to other matters. Harbury”—she moved her hand to his arm—“I don’t want to fight.”
He stared down at her fingers. “You had your hand against Mrs. Townsend’s arm, too.”
“And?”
His brow furrowed. “Warmth comes easily to you.”
“You, too.”
“No.”
“Yes,” she insisted. “You’re always so thoughtful.”
“I’m not thoughtful.” His frown deepened. “I’m not—” He bit down on his lower lip.
“Harbury?”
He closed his eyes, looking pained. “You merely preoccupy my thoughts.”
“A pretty compliment.” Her gaze dropped to his lips. “If only I were actually capable of such a thing.”
His body subtly shuddered as he exhaled. “You are.” He opened his eyes and then took her fully into his arms. “You know very well, you are.”
She did, now. She smiled against his mouth as he kissed her deeply.
Her efforts had gone very well.
Very well, indeed.
*
Our place, she’d said. Our place.
Her words had jolted him out of his pique because they weren’t wholly true. The Priory could not truly be their special place to meet because the Priory had been his and Viv’s place to meet.
He kissed her tenderly, more thoroughly aware than he’d ever been that he’d done her an injustice. Or, rather, several injustices. He couldn’t make things right…
Or could he?
Suddenly, he recalled the one place on the estate Vivianne had never been. “Come back to the Hall with me,” he said. “There is something I’d like to show you. Something unique, secret, and”—his voice dropped—“very exciting.”
Her gaze moved between the pathway to the ruins, the restless horses, and the darkening sky.
“Secret?”
He nodded, cradling her cheek. “Secret, secluded, and, should the rain commence, much more comfortable for continuing…our current activities.”
Finally, she nodded. “Very well, I’m intrigued.”
He handed her back into the cart, and then mounted his horse.
As they made their way back to the Hall, he considered what had happened.
He’d felt a twinge of guilt when, last time they’d come to the ruins, when she’d assumed he’d brought her there with seduction in mind.
And then, earlier at the Townend’s, he had a sharp reminder that she didn’t know as much as she thought she knew about Vivianne.
Most egregiously, he’d promised they’d be allies, and he hadn’t shared anything about the anonymous letters.
Taken together, the three things left him with a creeping feeling such as a thief might feel—one who had gotten away with a crime but knows he will eventually be caught.
The hatchet would fall on him, too.
He’d seen the truth in Mrs. Townsend’s face when she’d mentioned Anderson’s daughter and Cassandra had reacted with surprise. Why, there wasn’t a person on the estate who had not heard the rumor he’d tried to elope with Vivianne Anderson.
The wayward heir’s humiliating heartbreak had been too delicious an on dit not to share, especially since Harbury’s father provided so little fodder for gossip.
No fun for the telltales in gentry whose behavior was entirely above reproach.
This morning, Mrs. Townsend had chosen discretion above tattle. But what were the chances every person on the estate would follow her lead?
He’d have to find a way to tell his wife that Vivianne, Anderson’s daughter, and Sarah’s governess were all one and the same. And he’d have to brace for her consequent hurt.
But before he disappointed her so deeply, he could give one thing…he could take her to a place Vivianne had never seen, a place which, from thenceforth, would be entirely their own.
And a place, given her fascination with his books, that should distract her with pleasure.
…All kinds of pleasure.
They arrived at the hall, and he escorted her inside. Up until they reached the library, she went along with him willingly enough. But as soon as they entered the long hall, her feet began to drag.