How to Woo a Reluctant Lady (21 page)

She stared up at him, wide-eyed. “I’d never thought of it like that. Still, you’d think that with my parents dying so horribly, I would balk at describing such things.”

“Actually, I think it’s just the opposite. Children are impressionable, especially at the age you were when your parents died.” He rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. “You heard about their horrific ends, and you couldn’t get it out of your mind. So you found a way to deal with it, to regain the power that was ripped from you in life. That just shows how strong you are.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

With a grateful smile, she released his hand. “I-I think I can manage now. We can go back in, and you can finish what you were showing me.”

“No need.” He would cut off his right arm before he forced her to relive the horrors again. “It’s not cowardice to avoid those things that will damage your ability to cope.” He debated whether to say more, but her haunted expression decided him. “I haven’t set foot in the library since my father shot himself there. I was a grown man at the time, yet I still can’t bring myself to go in.”

Compassion flooded her features. “You weren’t the one to
find . . .”

“No. I almost wish I was.” His voice hardened. “Mother got there first after we heard the shot. She was still screaming when I ran in.”

He glanced away, remembering the scene. “I happened to be visiting at the estate when Father received the news that—”
He’d lost everything to the schemer Sir John Sully
. No, he shouldn’t tell her that. It would lead to other questions. “Father received some bad news. My brother had been called away to town, so it was just Mother and I.” He fought for control over his voice. “I was the one to contact the constable, to deal with the coroner, to make sure that the library was cleaned up properly afterward.”

“Oh, Giles,” she whispered as she took his hand in hers once more. “That’s why you know about bloodstains.”

“Yes. There was one in our library. Mother had the floor redone, but I’ve never seen it. I don’t . . . go in there. I let David or a servant do it.” A breath shuddered out of him. “I tell myself that I’m being foolish, that there’s no reason to avoid it, that it’s not as if his ghost haunts it, and yet—”

“You see it all again in your mind’s eye, and you don’t want the image to plague you any more than it already does.”

“Exactly.” He softened his voice. “It was wrong of me to expect you to do what I couldn’t manage myself.”

“You didn’t expect it. I asked you to do it. And I still want you to—”

“There’s no point. I’ve seen all I can for now, anyway. I need to know more before I can explore further.”

She nodded. “I remember. You said something about . . . needing to know what position the bodies were in when they were found?”

“That would tell me a great deal. Unfortunately, given your grandmother’s involvement, I can’t trust that the constable was
allowed to see the scene exactly as it was. The only person who knows the truth about how they were is your grandmother, and your brothers are reluctant to involve her as long as they suspect Desmond. I gather she’s had some illness, and they don’t want to upset her with baseless theories.”

“Actually . . .” She bit her lip, as if trying to decide whether to tell him something. Then she let out a long breath. “Actually, Oliver knows how Mama and Papa were positioned. He was the one to find them.”

Giles narrowed his gaze on her. “He was?”

Though she avoided his gaze, she nodded. “He didn’t kill them. He would never do that. He found them, that’s all.”

“I know your brother didn’t kill them,” Giles clipped out. How could she think he would believe such a thing? “I knew him long before they died. He was the last person on earth I would have thought capable of murder. He despised your father for his adulteries, true, but he admired him for his handling of the estate. And your mother . . .” Giles shook his head. “Nothing on earth would have persuaded Oliver to shoot
her.
”

Her eyes searched his face. “The gossips said he shot her by accident when she came between him and Father.”

“The gossips are idiots. They also say that he shot your father to gain his inheritance. If he did, he certainly behaved oddly afterward—closing up the estate, setting out to destroy himself with drink and women. That’s not the behavior of a man who got the inheritance he wanted.”

She cast him a watery smile. “You’re an absolute dear to say that.”

“And that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever called me.” He smiled in return.

“I’ve been really awful to you, haven’t I?”

“Not too awful.” And now that he knew how badly he’d hurt
her that night at the masquerade, he understood why. He went back to what they’d been discussing. “Do you think Oliver would tell me what he saw that night?”

She shook her head. “It took him years to speak to
us
about it, and every word was hard won. I can’t imagine his agreeing to detail the how and where.”

“Never mind, then,” he said as her tone grew mournful again. “We’ll consider how to handle it another time.” He stood and held out his hand to her. “Let’s leave this place, shall we? We’ve had enough of death and blood and bad memories for one day.”

“We certainly have.” When she let him pull her up into his arms, he nearly kissed her right there.

Then he glanced behind her at the lodge and thought better of it. This wasn’t the place for that. Instead he turned to untether his mare. Offering her his arm, he led her and the horse across the field.

When he stopped on the edge of the woods to tie up his horse and remove the saddlebags that contained their picnic lunch, she asked, “Where are we going?”

He slung the saddlebags over his shoulder and led her into the woods along a well-trod path. “To the pond where we lads used to swim.”

“There’s a pond on the estate?”

“It’s more like a puddle aspiring to be a pond. But it’s pretty and private enough for our picnic.”

When he cast her a meaningful glance, she looked away.

His pulse faltered. “Unless you’ve changed your mind,” he added.

She flashed him a look of wide-eyed innocence. “About what?”

He frowned. “You know damned well about what. You said
you wanted a taste.”

“Well, of course,” she said, her eyes bright with mischief. “That’s what picnics are for, aren’t they? Tasting things?”

“You’re tormenting me on purpose, aren’t you?”

A wicked smile crossed her lips as she released his arm to dance merrily along the path ahead of him. “Me? Torment you? I can’t imagine what you mean.”

“Then perhaps I should remind you of exactly what you
said
you wanted,” he growled, and lunged for her.

Laughter bubbled out of her. “You’ll have to catch me first.” Then she turned and ran.

He lengthened his stride but didn’t bother to chase her. The path came to a dead halt at the pond, so unless she meant to thrash her way through the underbrush around to the other side, which he highly doubted, he would get her in the end.

Just as he’d expected, as he broke free of the woods, he found her pacing before the pond, looking for an escape and not finding one. “The woods are thin on the other side, minx—that’s the only way out.” He opened a saddlebag and removed a small blanket to spread on the ground. “Unless you know how to swim?”

She faced him with a sparkle in her eyes that made his blood roar through his veins. “I’m afraid that isn’t one of my skills, sir.”

“Would you like to learn?”

A look of pure longing crossed her face. “That would be marvelous.” She then seemed to catch herself. “No, we can’t. If I go home with my clothes wet, everyone will
know
I’ve been up to something naughty.”

“Very well.” He tossed down his hat. “So take them off.”

H
ETTY WAS SITTING
in the library, thoroughly enjoying her discussion with Maria and Oliver about plans for the nursery,
when the butler announced a visitor.

“Mr. Pinter!” Hetty said with genuine pleasure as she rose to greet him.

“Mrs. Plumtree,” he murmured with a courtly bow.

The young man was always unfailingly polite, a mark in his favor. He’d served the family well so far, and for that she was grateful.

“Tell me, what brings you out to see us?”

With a furtive glance at Oliver, he said, “I’m here to report on the matter you discussed with me a few days ago.”

“What matter?” She searched her mind for what had been going on a few days ago. “Oh, right. Giles Masters.”

Oliver’s head shot up. “What about Masters?”

When Mr. Pinter stiffened, she said, “It’s all right. I don’t mind if Oliver knows.”

Mr. Pinter acquiesced with a nod. “Your grandmother paid me to look into Masters’s personal and financial affairs, since he’s courting Lady Minerva.”

Oliver leaned back in his chair. “And?”

Mr. Pinter removed a notebook from his coat pocket. “Masters is very successful in his profession.”

“Not that it matters, since he gambles it all away.”

“Actually, that’s not true,” Mr. Pinter said. “Everywhere I went in the clubs, people spoke of his wild gambling, but no one could remember the last time he’d lost a truly large sum of money. He seems to gamble a bit here and there, but not enough to create any serious financial problems for himself. He’s having a house built in Berkeley Square that’s nearly completed, and you know that takes some money.”

“That’s good to hear,” Hetty said, though she wasn’t surprised. She was beginning to think there was more to Giles Masters than met the eye.

“Rumor also has it that he’s the most likely candidate to be appointed the next King’s Counsel,” Mr. Pinter went on. “He’s very highly regarded in the Inns of Court.”

Oliver cocked his head. “I knew he’d handled some important cases, but King’s Counsel . . . are you sure? You’d think he would have bragged about it.”

“I forgot to tell you,” Maria put in. “His clerk told me and Minerva the same thing. And he really was quite amazing in court.”

“Was he?” Oliver said with a frown.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Maria teased. “I’m only speaking of his legal prowess, and you know it.”

“What about his personal life?” Oliver asked Mr. Pinter. “Does he have a mistress?”

“Not that I could find.”

Hetty smiled. This got better and better.

Oliver mused a moment. “Any idea why he might have been in Ealing yesterday?”

“None, I’m afraid. After your brother mentioned to me yesterday that he’d seen Masters there, I thought I should follow him today to see what he was up to, but when he reached Ealing he didn’t stop. He just came on here, so I suppose it’s possible he really did just have business—”

“What do you mean, he came on here?” Oliver interrupted.

Hetty’s eyes narrowed. Minerva had been in an awful hurry to go for her walk.

Mr. Pinter looked perplexed. “He’s paying a call on Lady Minerva, isn’t he? When I realized he was headed here, I pulled back, not wanting him to see me. I returned to Ealing and asked a few questions there, then came on here to give my report.”

Oliver rose with a black scowl. “You’re sure he was on his
way to the estate.”

“I saw him take the road to Halstead Hall. I suppose he could have passed it by, but I can’t imagine why he would have.”

When Oliver met her gaze, Hetty knew he’d come to the same conclusion as she. “That little weasel,” he growled. “Minerva was acting peculiar at breakfast, too. He’s seeing her in secret. And you know damned well there can only be one reason for that.”

“Now, Oliver,” Hetty began, “you cannot blame the man if he wants to spend time alone with her. You are such a bear when he is around.”

“Because I know what he’s up to!” Oliver shouted. “It’s what
I’d
be up to if I were in
his
place.” He marched toward the door. “I knew I should have beaten some sense into that rogue while I had the chance.”

“What are you planning to do?” Hetty called out.

“Find them, even if I have to send the dogs out after them. He is
not
going to ruin my sister, damn him!”

“I am coming with you.” Hetty looked around for her cane.

Celia chose that moment to enter the library. “Who is Oliver sending the dogs out after?”

“Mr. Masters and Minerva,” Hetty replied as she found her cane. “Mr. Pinter saw Mr. Masters headed this way, but since he never showed up, we think they may be meeting privately on the estate.”

Celia’s gaze swung to Mr. Pinter, then darkened. “So Gran’s got you spying on us now?”

“Not all of you,” he said. “Just the ones who cause trouble.”

The flippant remark gave Hetty pause. Mr. Pinter was never flippant. Pretending to be looking for her shawl, she kept an eye on the pair.

A light flush stained Celia’s cheeks. “I suppose you include
me in that number.”

Mr. Pinter smiled, but his eyes did not. “If the shoe fits, my lady . . .” he drawled.

“I’d be careful, Mr. Pinter,” Celia said coldly. “If you take to spying on
me
, you’re liable to find yourself at the wrong end of a rifle.”

“Trust me,” he said in a voice of silk over steel, “if I take to spying on
you
, you’ll never know it.”

Hetty had heard enough. “Come, Celia. I think you’d better go with me and Oliver to look for Minerva.”

With a sniff, Celia headed for the door. Hetty observed Mr. Pinter watching Celia walk away. When his gaze dipped down to
her bottom in a look of frankly male appreciation, Hetty groaned.

It appeared that she might have a problem. She liked Mr. Pinter, truly, she did. But when Oliver had suggested hiring him, she had made some inquiries, and she had learned a few things that she suspected even Oliver did not know. Like the fact that he was a bastard, with a whore for a mother and an unknown father.

Hetty had been fine with Oliver’s marrying a Catholic American of no rank, and Jarret’s marrying a brewster with a bastard son. Maria was an heiress, after all, and Annabel was of a good family. Even the rogue Mr. Masters was the son of a viscount.