Love's Guardian (7 page)
“Lady Lochsdale, it’s always a good idea to keep your enemy close.” Declan had the audacity to smile. “You’ll keep him off balance if you pretend friendship.”
She almost choked.
Was this his way of telling her he knew what she was doing? Fidgeting with her bracelet, she refused to look him in the eye.
“Promise me you’ll be courteous.” He stepped toward her and tipped her face up to look at him. “Don’t worry, I’d never allow him to hurt you. Addington and I are going hunting in the morning. I’ll learn more of his plans then.”
Declan pushed a lock of hair away from her face, hovering just a moment longer than necessary. The small space between them seemed more charged than the wild beat of the storm outside. Another moment, and she’d be burned like a tree scorched by lightning.
She backed away. “I’ll be courteous, but no more.”
“That’s all I ask.” Declan headed for the door.
“Lord Worthington?”
He paused, looking back over his shoulder.
“Be careful,” she said. “I don’t want anyone putting holes in that skin of yours, unless it’s me of course.”
He gave her a sudden grin, and was gone. She didn’t need a guardian, but she wouldn’t want anything to happen to him. Anyone who got in Luther’s way tended to get hurt, and Declan was in the way.
“Berta, he’s forcing me to marry.” Alex looked down from Blade’s back into the calm face of the older woman. Her wispy white hair and lined face spoke of age, but her eyes were lively, active, and not the least surprised by Alex’s news.
Getting to her feet, Berta threw a handful of weeds onto the pile at the end of her garden and wiped her hands on her apron. “You’ll be staying for a cup of tea. It’s been ages since we’ve had a chat. Not since...”
Ageless blue eyes met hers and mirrored the same pain. Alex suspected Berta and her grandfather had been closer than what society would have deemed proper. They’d never married, but Alex thought of her as a surrogate grandmother.
She dismounted and allowed Blade to graze, then followed Berta up a stone path interspersed with velvety moss. It led to a small, whitewashed cottage, nestled in a grove of pines.
As she crossed the threshold, familiar smells assailed her: dried herbs, wood-smoke, and over it all, the scent of wool. Piles were mounded in the corner to be carded and made into the shawls Berta was famous for. They were comfortable smells. For the first time in several weeks, Alex began to relax. Why hadn’t she come sooner?
“Have a seat.” Berta bustled around, filled the kettle with water, and hung it over the fire. She put loose tea in a flowered teapot, then came over and sat across from Alex. “The townsfolk say there have been a few changes up at the manor.”
Words tumbled out, and Berta let her ramble on. Listening seemed to be what Berta did best. Maybe that’s why so many people brought her their problems. Alex told her everything. Well, almost everything. She left out the kiss. That was her secret.
“So, Lord Addington’s staking his claim at last. I wondered how long it would take.” Berta got up, brewed the tea, then carried two steaming mugs back to the scarred wooden table. She set one in front of Alex, and resumed her seat.
“You knew he’d try this?”
“No, but he’s been after you, or rather the manor, for years. His title came to him from an impoverished estate on his mother’s side. He and your grandfather had many disagreements, as Lord Addington considered Oakleigh Manor to be his inheritance.” Berta put sugar in her tea and stirred it thoughtfully. “The crown allows the title and estates to go to you. Few women are that lucky.” Berta paused a moment, looking at Alex intently. “You
do
realize you must marry quickly.”
“Why does everyone keep insisting I marry?” Berta had been her last hope. No one seemed to understand she was waiting for someone to share her life. They thought of marriage as a duty, but it was a decision that could make her miserable for the rest of her days.
Her grandfather had never pushed her to marry after that disastrous Season in London. He’d made her feel as if she’d had all the time in the world to settle down.
He was wrong.
“Why didn’t Grandfather encourage me to marry sooner if he knew Luther was a threat?”
Berta sighed and sat back in her chair. “We all have a little selfishness in us. He just wasn’t ready to lose you. He’d already lost your mother, and when you refused to marry, he was content to have you by his side.” Berta patted Alex’s hand. “Refusing to see the extent of Luther’s ambition was a mistake. I suspect your grandfather thought you’d meet someone eventually.”
Alex sat back in her chair. Her body felt oddly numb. All these years she had fought to choose her own destiny. She had decided early on to marry only when she found someone she could respect. She’d wanted a love like her parents. Now what was she to do? There wasn’t a single man of her acquaintance she’d even consider.
Berta gave her a concerned look. “Lord Addington is going to continue his little games.” The elderly woman dropped her gaze and fidgeted with her spoon, staring into her cup as if seeking answers. At last she met Alex’s eyes. “You...please be careful. I’ve heard things about Addington. I feel better knowing your guardian is at the manor.”
“Don’t worry, Berta. I can take care of myself.” Alex got up, went around to the older woman, and bent down to give her a hug.
“There now, child,” Berta murmured. “Everything will be fine, you’ll see.” She patted Alex’s back like she used to do when Alex was a young girl. “I hate to see you go all the way to London to find a husband. They tell me your guardian’s a handsome devil. What about him?”
Alex broke the embrace and straightened. “He won’t do at all.”
“Why not? I remember him as a pleasant young man. Your grandfather spent a great deal of time with him after your mother left. He thought very highly of the boy.”
“Obviously. But, boys grow into men.” She strode to the window, and stared out at nothing in particular. “Oakleigh Manor and its people are my responsibility. My husband must let me care for them.”
If she couldn’t have love, then her future happiness hinged on marrying a man who would allow her to control her own life. “You’ve not met Lord Worthington. I can assure you, he’d never let me do as I please.” She turned back to Berta. “Besides, he’s already expressed a desire to marry me off as quickly as possible.”
Was that a trace of disappointment in her voice?
“It’s getting late. I should go.” She crossed to the old woman and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.
“Remember what I said,” Berta admonished as she saw her to the door. “Watch yourself around Addington.” She placed a dry, roughened palm against Alex’s cheek. “I know you don’t want a husband dearie, but it wouldn’t be such a trial, if you found a man you could love.”
Alex headed down the path.
What did love have to do with anything? She needed a man who would leave her alone.
The last pink had just faded from the morning sky when Alex followed Declan and the others from the mews. Staying out of sight, she kept to the trees, until the small party came to a meadow a few miles from the manor.
She was spying. It was wrong, but maybe in this case, God would forgive her. Declan didn’t know Luther the way she did. Her cousin could tell her guardian anything in order to get what he wanted. Although, Declan didn’t seem much inclined to fall in with Luther’s plan
—
whatever it was–judging from his aloof expression.
If only she could hear what they were saying, but they’d chosen a spot near the middle of the clearing. Keeping to the edge of the woods, she watched as most of the men tried to calm their respective falcons. Only Declan and his bird sat perfectly still. No doubt the animal felt the same mesmerizing compulsion she did in his presence.
The primal lure of the beautiful birds surrounded her. So delicate in appearance, yet she’d seen the scars the falconer bore from the talons of his beloved charges.
Unlike guns, this form of hunting appealed to her. It held a quiet dignity. Man and bird worked together in the age-old cycle of life and death.
The head falconer passed between Declan and Luther, giving them instructions Alex couldn’t hear, stopping here and there to adjust the hoods on some of the other birds.
Declan let his falcon fly first. There was great beauty in the way it floated on the wind. She watched it soar, higher and higher. Very soon it would plummet to earth, breaking the back of its helpless prey. She never liked to watch the kill, so she focused on the forest nearby.
Sunlight glinted off something metallic not fifty feet from where she sat. There weren’t any paths in that area, so it couldn’t be a horse’s bridle. She watched intently for several minutes, but saw nothing.
Nerves
.
She was about to give up, when a shadowy figure stepped from behind an oak, raised what appeared to be a gun, and took aim directly at Declan.
Fear sliced through her. She shouted to get the attacker’s attention and urged Blade forward. He plunged out into the open, angling in front of the small hunting party. With luck, she’d block the assailant’s view of her guardian. A shot reverberated in the crisp air as she approached.
A sharp sting blossomed in her right arm. Every moment slowed, as if she needed to memorize events. Blade reared. She struggled not to lose her seat, her left arm straining as she yanked on Blade’s reins. Declan raced passed her, placing himself between her and the would-be assassin, his gaze sweeping the horizon. The others seemed frozen, their faces twisted into various forms of surprise.
At last, Blade quieted, though he still quivered beneath her. The right sleeve of her shirt felt damp. She looked down at the red seeping into the white silk—so much blood.
Riders approached. She dropped her reins to place her hand over the wound, and through the pain, the men’s voices seemed muffled, almost as if they spoke a foreign language. Then she heard nothing at all as darkness engulfed her.
Alex’s mouth tasted like cotton. What had she eaten last night? She threw off her coverlet and tried to rise, but the throbbing in her arm went from an annoyance to shooting pain.
She fell back and stared at a dark speck on the ceiling. Memory came rushing back, followed by panic.
My sword arm
. Alex glanced at the bandages on her upper arm. With cautious movements, she tried to roll her shoulder. It hurt like hell. With her good arm, she drew the covers to her chin and returned to staring at the ceiling. How long had she been asleep?
“Don’t worry, you’ll live to fence again.”
Alex’s gaze jerked toward the foot of the bed, where she met Declan’s turbulent blue stare. He was stretched out in a chair. He’d removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, revealing muscular brown arms. With his long hair free of restraint, and the shadow of a beard emphasizing his masculine jaw line, he seemed more like a pirate than a lord.
She remembered the stories Paddy used to tell on
The Merry Elizabeth
. Right now, she wouldn’t be surprised if Declan dragged her out of here and sold her to the white slave traders the way pirates did with all unwanted captives.
“May I ask what possessed you to ride in front of a man with a loaded weapon?” Declan queried. “Better still, why were you there at all?” He got up, shoved the hair off his forehead, and started to pace at the end of her bed. “You could have been killed. Fine way for me to repay your grandfather’s trust.”
He stopped and looked directly at her. “I’m waiting.”