A Perfect Secret (18 page)

“Whoever it was is obviously gone now, the careless idiot,” Rachel said. “He might have shot one of us.”

Christian remained tense, still scanning the area. He said quietly, “That
was
close.”

Genevieve slid off her horse and went to inspect the rock in the wall. Among the debris she found a bullet. It had indeed come awfully close to hitting one of them. In fact, the bullet appeared to have shot right between her and Christian.

That was probably no coincidence. If one of Wickburgh’s men—or even Wickburgh himself—knew she was here and had taken a shot at them, Christian and Rachel were in danger.

She was no longer safe. Not here, not anywhere. And neither were the Amesburys if she remained with them.

After they arrived home, she forced herself to make polite conversation and try to behave as if nothing were amiss. But a great weight settled with increasing heaviness every moment. For the remainder of the day, she must behave as if nothing were amiss. Tonight, she’d leave and draw Wickburgh away from those she loved.

CHAPTER 18

As the shadows began to stretch long, Genevieve glanced at Rachel who was exclaiming over some perfect specimen of something that looked exactly like three others she’d found that hour. Her heart was heavy. She must leave tonight. They’d think she abandoned them and would think poorly of her. But she’d be taking care of them by leading Wickburgh away. The idea of them all remaining outside with a gunman in the area left her jumpy, but if she revealed her fears, the Amesburys would try to intervene. She must do and say nothing to give away her plans, or Christian would try to protect her, thus placing himself in harm’s way. She smoothed the wrinkle out of her skirt, wishing she could smooth out the knots tangling in her stomach, and cast another anxious look around. At the top of the hill, no rocks or trees nearby were large enough to afford a hiding spot to a gunman. Still, she felt exposed and vulnerable away from the cottage. And worse, Rachel and Christian were exposed and vulnerable to Wickburgh’s cruelty.

As Rachel kept up a steady stream of chatter, not needing input from her, Genevieve searched the area again for signs of danger. For a blissful moment, she allowed her gaze to rest on Christian who sat behind an easel, painting the sweeping valley below them. Blue paint smudged his cheek, almost matching the brilliance of his eyes. He’d shed his frockcoat and donned a smock. It never failed to surprise her how he could be dressed to the nines so stylishly that Beau Brummell himself would have been sick with envy, and the next moment ruin the image while engrossed in painting.

With his attention so utterly focused upon his subject, she allowed herself the luxury of looking him over. It may be the last time she’d have the opportunity. The sunlight shimmered in his hair. His eyelashes shaded his eyes when he lowered them, but the brilliance of his blue eyes seemed to leap out the moment he raised them to the view. His long legs, muscular and hard from frequent riding, stretched out before him. A tiny scuff marred the toe of one of his Hessians, a flaw over which his valet would no doubt weep and immediately remedy. His oversized smock failed to hide the breadth of his shoulders or the muscles of his arms. She marveled that this powerful man possessed such a gentle spirit, and such a sensitive, artistic soul.

She glanced at Rachel and then back at Christian. Both threw themselves so wholly into their work. She wondered if all the Amesburys were so driven. So passionate. It left her breathless. And aching to throw herself into Christian’s arms and rekindle what they once had.

She loved him. It was pointless to deny it. She loved him. And she’d do anything to protect him, even if it meant leaving tonight and never seeing him again. The thought smote her as if the bullet had found its mark in her heart.

“Do you see this?” exclaimed Rachel. “Amazing specimen.”

Genevieve murmured a reply but knew Rachel required none. Rachel was an oddity, as well. The daughter of an earl, beautiful, intelligent, yet she sequestered herself away in the Scottish border engrossing herself in the study of plants. Rachel wore a serviceable black gown not unlike her own, in total disregard for her social position. Her hair was twisted carelessly into a knot at the nape of her neck, several strands of her sable brown hair falling out haphazardly, and a broad-brimmed hat that looked at least a decade out of date crammed upon her head.

Rachel scribbled madly upon her papers and then sat back with a satisfied grunt. She turned and grinned in an irrepressible way that reminded Genevieve of Christian.

“A most successful afternoon,” Rachel announced.

“I’m so glad to hear it.”

“I’m hungry. It must be time for supper.”

“Indeed.” In truth, her twisting stomach made the prospect of food unappealing, but she’d say anything to get the Amesburys inside and safe, anything to find an excuse to pretend to go to bed early and leave.

If the gunman hadn’t fired yet, he might not plan to do it so soon after the last attempt. Dragging out the suspense, letting her own terror build before the next blow was exactly what Wickburgh would do. Still, no need to remain in the open unnecessarily.

Rachel looked up at her, then smiled impishly as she glanced at Christian. “I wonder if he’ll notice if we leave him here.”

Despite her heavy heart at the prospect of leaving, Genevieve managed a smile. “Has he noticed in the past when you’ve left him?”

“Not usually. Unless he smells food.”

As they gathered up their supplies, Genevieve eyed Rachel. “May I ask you something of a rather personal nature?”

Rachel crossed her legs where she sat on the grass. “I consider you a friend. You may ask me anything you desire.” A knowing look gleamed in her eyes. “You want to know why I haven’t married.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“I get asked that often.”

“I can imagine. I mean, you’re bright, lovely, the daughter of an earl, and no doubt well dowered. Surely you’ve had offers.”

Rachel nodded. “I received seven marriage offers. I accepted two. One was considered by my father to be … unworthy. The other proved himself to be so and I found myself obliged to cry off.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

Rachel looked down at the papers in her lap. “I don’t know. Sometimes I’m so lonely I think I’ll shrivel up and blow away like dust. My parents were desperately in love. They were seldom apart. When Mama died, father lost his will to live. We took him to the seashore and Bath and did everything we could to revive him, but he slipped a little further away from us each day.”

Genevieve put an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sure I want to risk dying of sorrow if my husband dies. And then I see my sister Margaret and how ghastly her marriage is. Being alone is better than being miserably married, I think.”

Genevieve understood that all too well.

Rachel fixed a piecing gaze upon her that Genevieve found trouble meeting. “Would you rather have been alone than married?”

Genevieve swallowed. “Than married to him? Yes, without a doubt. But there was another ....” She picked up the papers in Rachel’s lap and scattered around, and neatly stacked them.

“Christian told me you knew each other in Bath?”

“Yes. I … I admit I’d entertained hopes of marrying him.”

“But?”

“I found myself … obliged to marry another.”

She flushed. Rachel would probably think Genevieve had dallied and become with child. Let her. It was better than having to reveal the horror of belonging to Wickburgh.

Rachel nodded absently. “Then there’s Cole and Alicia. They are every bit as much in love as Mama and Father were. And Jared seems equally happy with his Elise. But they all chose well. That makes a difference.”

“If you were to meet someone now, someone wonderful, would you give up your freedom to tromp about the moor and make scientific notations in exchange for a husband and a family?”

Rachel leaned back on her hands. “I wouldn’t marry a man who would ask me to give it up. He’d appreciate my fine mind.” Her mouth twisted in self-deprecating humor. “And yes, if I met such a man, I would probably marry him, even at the risk of losing myself so deeply that if he died, I might, too. It’s probably better than living my whole life alone and childless.” She cast an almost guilty look at Genevieve. “Underneath my scientific mind, I have a bit of a romantic in me, too. Not to Christian’s extent, but it’s there.”

“He is very romantic. Everything he draws and paints is more beautiful than it is in truth. It’s how he sees the world.”

“He does. Among the cynics and the critics, his kind of optimism and idealism is refreshing, don’t you think?”

Genevieve smiled. “I suppose it is.”

“But he has a dark side, too.”

She waited.

“He’s desperately sad about our brother who died.”

“Jason?”

“Did he tell you?”

Genevieve shook her head. “Only that he had a brother Jason who died in the garden.”

“I’m surprised he told you that much. Maybe someday he’ll tell you the rest.”

Sighing, Genevieve looked out over the valley and the sharply angled mountains that pointed downward and trying to memorize the view so she could recall it after she left. “I doubt he’ll have the opportunity.”

“You’re very young,” Rachel said. “You should give your heart to heal, but don’t let it scar over. Heal whole, not broken. Heal well, instead of bitter. Keep your ability to love and receive love intact. You may yet meet someone who can be trusted to keep your heart safe.”

Genevieve examined the wisdom that had come out of Rachel. Her eyes were reluctantly drawn to Christian, but she immediately drew her gaze away.

Rachel said softly, “Watching you with him is like watching a moth flutter around fire. You’re irresistibly attracted, but neither of you dare draw too near for fear of being burned.”

Genevieve closed her eyes and winced at the pain that shot through her heart. “You’re far too perceptive.”

A hand covered hers. “I am. It’s one of my worst flaws.”

Genevieve gave her a rueful smile. “But you’re here nursing a broken heart, too, aren’t you?”

A fleeting look of pain crossed Rachel’s face. “A bit. It’s been healing to have something in which to immerse myself. But Christian is right; it’s time to leave. I look forward to doing some traveling. Then maybe I’ll return home and face off Cole’s widowed friends. Not accept any of them, mind you, just put them in their place.” She smiled ruefully.

Christian got up and stretched. He turned and flashed a sunny smile. “I need food.”

Genevieve went to him and peered over his shoulder at his paining. “It’s magnificent. One of your better paintings, I think.”

He tilted his head, examining his creation. “Truly?”

“Absolutely. You have a great talent.”

“I’ve been telling him that for years,” Rachel said.

They carried in all their things, put them away, and Genevieve carefully put Rachel’s file of the day’s notes on the desk where she could review them later tonight and organize them before dinner. Before she left. As she looked around the study, she took no small pride in the organization she’d wrestled out of its former chaos.

After dinner, Genevieve excused herself. “I’m very tired tonight. I believe I’ll retire now.” If she packed a little now, and perhaps even took a nap, she could be ready to leave at dark and ride a goodly distance before having to stop. The prospect of riding alone through unfamiliar land sent a chill of fear through her, but it couldn’t be helped.

Rachel looked at her in concern and slowly nodded. Christian turned, but Genevieve fled the room without looking at him.

Footsteps followed. “What is it, Jen?” Christian’s voice chased her.

She continued walking to her room without looking at Christian who matched her pace. “I told you. I’m tired.”

“You’ve been quiet all afternoon. Are you still angry with me, or is something else bothering you?” he asked softly.

Genevieve halted in the narrow passageway just outside her bedroom. Though she’d planned all day to tell him nothing and leave, the idea of simply stealing away in the night with no explanation made her feel a thief. The last time she’d acted without considering including Christian had led to a year of grief. For them both. He probably didn’t still love her, but her leaving without a word would hurt him again.

It was easier to take care of others than let them take care of her. She’d already relied on him too much. But at that moment, the load just seemed too heavy to carry alone. A lifetime of loneliness stretched ahead of her like an endless, dark tunnel. She couldn’t do that anymore.

She turned slowly around. “I … I think Wickburgh is behind all this.”

“All what?”

She drew a breath to steady her voice and sat on the edge of her bed. “The first night we stopped for dinner, I thought I saw one of Wickburgh’s men.”

Christian hovered in the doorway. “I remember.”

“The night we arrived, there was a rose on my bed. I assume Rachel or Mrs. Fletcher left it as a welcome. But Wickburgh used to leave me roses, sometimes as an apology for being particularly ...” she drew a breath. “But more often right before he did something new.”

His eyes opened wide. “The rose was here?”

She nodded. “Then today someone shot at us. I think he was shooting at you. It’d be just like him to hurt you to punish me.”

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “How certain are you?”

“It fits his style.”

He rubbed this thumb along his lower lip, his eyes darting back and forth as if reading something invisible in the air.

She touched his arm. “You and Rachel are in danger. I need to leave. I’d planned on leaving tonight.”

“Wait. Just wait. Let me think. I can take care of this.” He paced in her room and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

The determination of his tone again reminded her of the image of a knight preparing for battle.

She held out her hands in helplessness. “I’m sorry to have endangered you both. I’ve been such a burden, and now this. But when I leave, you’ll both be safe.”