Miss Carlyle's Curricle: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) (8 page)

“Where were you? Why did you not come back immediately? Are you hurt? And why were you careering about the place without a groom?” His voice was low and harsh.

She stared at him, bewildered at his words, and then, slowly, anger sparked and grew.

“I have always gone about the estate by myself and have never come to harm. Indeed, if you had asked the grooms, they would have told you that I often come here, that I have never been thrown by my horse, and he has in the past escaped from me to return to the stables by himself.” She tried to pull away from him, but he held her firm. “And no, I am not hurt, as you can clearly see.”

“Excuse me for my concern,” he said sarcastically. “I merely saw you crossing the fields at an insane speed, your hair flying behind you, and found your bonnet snagged upon a branch. Shortly after you entered this wood, I saw your horse galloping back without you, and you nowhere in sight. Of
course
I should have assumed you were perfectly well and uninjured.”

For a moment his words stopped her, for she could see how someone unused to her ways would think she might have met with some mishap. But there was still little cause for him to react so vehemently. She made herself shrug.

“You have no reason to concern yourself with me. I am not your ward, only a distant relation, and a hanger-on at that.”

“Is that what you believe I think of you? Someone unwanted?” His brows drew together, his hands loosened their grip on her shoulders, but one hand came up and cupped her chin. “You don’t know the danger—I thought I had lost you, Diana.” His thumb ran softly against her jaw and his fingers moved across her cheek to her loosened hair.

His touch made her let out a long breath, and she stared at him. “Danger? There is no danger. Lost me? How can you have lost me when you have never . . . I have not . . .” Her voice faded as she looked into his eyes and saw a terrible yearning there, as if he were poor and starving, and she a treasure just beyond his grasp. She felt as if he were someone else, not the dandy full of quips and jokes, not the man who—she thought—had not much concern for things above his neckcloth or boots. Was Sir James right, that there was something in Gavin’s background of which she should beware? She had seen this small part of him before, but she had not bothered to question it or wonder much.

She felt his fingers stroke the back of her neck, and she knew she should step away. She should, perhaps, even be afraid. But she felt no fear, and continued to stare at him, wondering now what was behind those heavy-lidded eyes that watched her, and the soothing voice that coaxed confidences from her.

He continued to stare at her, his eyes moving from hers to her lips and back again. “Danger . . . of course there is. I am in danger of loving you too much, Diana.”

She took a quick breath, not able to look away.
He is not jesting
, she thought.
He is serious.
An odd, shimmering heat rose in her belly, and she trembled.

“If I were to kiss you, what would you say?”

“I . . . I don’t know—that is, I should say—I—”

For the first time, he did not listen, but put his lips on hers.
They are soft
, she thought, then:
I should be afraid.
But her hands only clutched the lapels of his coat, for her knees felt weak. His mouth moved over her lips, gently, then Firmly, as if he were tasting them. One of his hands gently caressed the back of her neck. She closed her eyes, thinking of his long, elegant fingers and how they had moved over her skin when he had held her hand that day in the carriage house, and how they were now moving over her shoulder to her back then down to her waist, holding her hard against him. He shifted away from her, his lips leaving hers, and she made an involuntary, protesting sound.

A half laugh, half sigh came from him, and he kissed her again, and this time her hands moved from his chest to his face, touching his cheek hesitantly. His skin was smooth, and then less so as her hand moved to his chin.

His hands abruptly caught her wrists, and he moved away from her. Diana opened her eyes, her heart hammering. He gazed at her, his smile wry. “Now this, my dear, is quite shocking. You should not let men kiss you, particularly when you do not know them well.”

A blush heated her face, and she tried to pull away, but he still held her. He was strong—stronger than she thought a dandy of lazy habits should be. “You see,” he said, “though you think it is none of my business where and when you ride, it is, very much. You are under my protection, and if I say so, you shall have a groom with you at all times when you ride.” He smiled wickedly. “Unless, of course, you are with me.”

She did not know whether to slap him, be relieved that he had returned to his usual levity, or try to convince him that she did not go about kissing men. She stared at him, unable to say a word. Finally, she shook her head. “I don’t think I shall wish to be with you.”

“No? You will have to convince me better than you have done for the last few minutes.”

Embarrassment caught her, and she glared at him. “For your information, I have never been kissed by a man. How should I have—have known how to act?”
But you know you shouldn’t have let him kiss you
, said a nasty little voice inside her that sounded very much like her Aunt Matchett.
You could have stopped him.
Her stomach began to hurt. “And besides, I see no reason why I should go about with you or anyone else. I always inform the servants when I am going out. I have never come to harm before, so I should not now or in the future.”

His smile faded, and the twinkle in his eye disappeared. “You are a soothsayer, are you? Tell me, how do you know you will not come to harm in the future? As formidable as you are”—the twinkle in his eyes returned—“you, indeed no one, is proof against accident or hurt.”

She felt suddenly as if the walls of her life were collapsing in on her. She had not returned to Brisbane House from London to be hemmed in and tied down by senseless rules. If she could not roam the world as she had always wished, she could at least roam the estate at will.

“It has never happened before, there is no reason why it should now,” Diana repeated stubbornly. “I have always been careful, and my horse, for all that he pretends to be, is not at all skittish.”

Lord Brisbane sighed, then suddenly sat on the stump she had used earlier as a step down from her horse. He pressed his hands over his eyes and groaned. “If only I had not fallen in love with a stubborn, willful woman.”

“More fool you for doing so,” she said brusquely, not sure whether she wanted to laugh or scream, for she at once wanted his arms around her again and wanted to run away. Lord Brisbane unsettled her, and made her want to shore up the walls inside of her that she had created after her uncle died, so that his words would not settle in her heart.

He lifted his head and an angry glint entered his eyes. “So I am beginning to think. Very well, then.” He rose and when she stepped away, took her arms in his hands, and held her tight when she tried to struggle from him. “Listen to me, Diana. Listen!”

She stopped, then watched him warily.

“You are an intelligent woman, but your passions run away with you, I think.” He smiled ruefully. “As have mine. No matter. I only want you to listen, and not run away.” Diana nodded slowly, and he sighed again.

“Think now,” he said, slowly, as if choosing his words with care. “Have you ever wondered if your uncle’s death was purely an accident?”

Chapter 6

Diana gazed at him, dread and denial seeping into her, and slowly shook her head. “You must be mad. Of course it was an accident; I saw it myself,” she said. She tried to step away from him. “Let me go!”

The earl groaned. “Diana, you said you would listen.” She stilled herself, watching him warily. “I will let you go, but you must listen. Please.” “Very well,” she said reluctantly.

He released her and she walked away slowly, and he moved backward, his hands raised on either side of him as if in surrender, or to show that he would not touch her again. He sat once more on the stump, and rested his hands on his knees, while she sat upon the oak root. He looked at her in a considering manner, and he frowned, as if wondering how he would frame his words. Finally, he smiled.

“You are a wild one, as your uncle said you were. He said I would like you, and in that he was right.”

Diana relaxed a little. “Did he say that? I suppose he was right about me being a little wild. He did not think London would suit me, though my mother insisted I have a Season there.” She hesitated. “I am sorry about my outburst. I should have waited.”

Lord Brisbane grimaced. “Well, I was at fault. My behavior was not exemplary.” He gave her a speculative glance. “Any other woman would have slapped me.”

Diana felt heat rise in her face. “I rightfully should have, but, well . . .” She could not help the small smile that crept upon her lips. “It was my very first kiss, and I was curious. There, I admit it, and no doubt you are very shocked.”

“No,” he replied, grinning. “That is usually the way first kisses happen, I believe.”

“But most people would not say or understand such things, I am sure.”

“Yes, but I am not most people,” he replied.

She laughed, then grew sober. “That is all very well, but I think we need to get back to the matter at hand—my uncle’s death.”

“I was hoping to avoid that for a bit. Kisses are much more enjoyable to talk about, I believe.”

“No doubt,” she said tartly. “But you have requested that I sit and listen to you. Here I am, and so you might as well begin.”

He sighed. “Ah, well.” He hesitated, then said, “Your uncle sent for me about a year ago; at that time, I had some idea we were related, but distantly, and . . . let us just say my family had not any contact with his for many, many years. I had thought he wished to see me for a matter of business, for I have a good reputation in my line of work—”

“And that is?”

He grinned. “A vulgar thing. I have worked for business insurers—Lloyd’s for one—to make sure the claims against their policies are not false.”

Diana raised her brows. “I would think a gentleman’s word would be enough.”

“Yes, but not all businessmen are gentlemen, and even some gentlemen think businessmen do not deserve their word of honor.” His expression changed, and grew somber. “Sometimes a man, foolish in his business decisions, can grow quite desperate and make a false claim on his property’s insurance, hoping to regain some of his fortune.” His voice drifted off, and he gazed at the pond before him, silent.

“Was . . . was my uncle one such?” Diana asked. He blinked and looked at her for a moment. “What? Oh, no, he wasn’t. Your uncle had a good solicitor of impeccable reputation in Bartlett, and your uncle made sound business decisions.” He frowned. “He wanted me to investigate some . . . odd happenings. Or so he said. He also mentioned his will, and that he wished to discuss it with me at some time in the future, but beyond that, he said nothing. I met him several times regarding the investigation he wished me to conduct, but I could not start it before I was done with some others. I had finished my last assignment the day before I came to Brisbane House to meet your uncle. Unfortunately, word had not reached me that he had met with an . . . accident before I left London.” He glanced up at the sun peeping from between the tree branches and he rose. “Come, shall we continue this conversation on our way home? I daresay you shall want your luncheon soon.”

Diana did not really want to leave, for she had been drawn in by his deep, soft voice and had been all rapt attention, and was about to say no. But her stomach growled at that moment, and she winced in embarrassment. “Yes, I think I shall.”

He laughed. “Good. I am fairly gut-foundered myself.” He rose and went to her, then took her hand, bowing over it.

“How vulgar of you to say so,” she said, chuckling. They walked to his horse, and he helped her upon it.

“And how vulgar of you to understand what I just said.” Her chuckle turned to a laugh. “Now you see my uncle was very right; I am quite wild and have willingly listened to and learned stable talk.” The horse moved forward.

“There, I see we do have something in common: You have learned vulgar stable talk, and I have learned the vulgar tongue of the docks.” He snapped his fingers as if an idea had suddenly come upon him. “I have it! Let us teach each other what we know, and then we shall practice it in company, and see how many people we can either shock or confuse. When we are out of mourning, we shall invite all those people who tried to confine you to tedious society talk, and horrify them so they never come near Brisbane House again.”

She laughed again and shook her head. “Oh, no, for then who shall see your magnificent waistcoats and wonderfully tied neckcloths? You dandies need an audience, after all.”

“You are right,” Lord Brisbane answered, considering the problem. “Public displays of vulgarity will never do. I see we shall have to be vulgar . . . in private.” He gave her a wicked glance, and she blushed.

“Nonsense . . . and you have gone off the subject again.” “How persistent and perceptive you are,” he said, with a crooked smile. “Well, then: I had asked a few questions of common acquaintances concerning the matter your uncle wanted me to investigate. However, by the time I was able to meet your uncle again, it was too late.” He sighed. “I had thought his concerns had not much basis, but now after his death . . . now I think they most certainly do.”

“Then . . . then you don’t think his death was an accident? But I was there! It was not from carelessness on his part, to be sure, but one of the horses went wild—perhaps there was a problem with the curricle.”

Lord Brisbane shook his head. “I doubt there was anything wrong with the carriage,” he said. “Your uncle bought it about a year ago, am I correct? And you rode and drove in it during that time?”

Diana nodded.

“And in all that time you did not have any trouble with the horses or the curricle? No accidents?”

“No, none . . .” she said slowly. Surely it could not be true! She deliberately pushed aside the pain and grief as she thought of the accident again, examining the incident in her mind as best she could remember.

“Then how can a perfectly good, new carriage suddenly have a fault in it that caused the horses to panic?” he asked.

“Perhaps it had some flaw that did not surface until the race.”

“That is a possibility, but unlikely; the workmanship is very fine, with great attention to detail. I would be surprised if your uncle did not inspect it himself before he bought it. Certainly the rest of the carriages in the carriage house are the best I have seen anywhere, of very high quality. I think it very strange that your uncle would stint on this one carriage.”

“He never stinted on his carriages,” Diana cried. “Never! He always said it would not be safe—and yes, I know, a curricle is often seen as a dangerous vehicle, but that is precisely why Uncle Charles took such pains with the quality of his purchases. Indeed, he had this one made to order. . . .” Diana realized what she was saying, and stopped. She gazed at Lord Brisbane, dread rising in her again.

“No . . . not the carriage. But perhaps one of the horses,” she continued desperately, not wanting to think that anyone could have wanted to hurt her uncle. “Perhaps there was something wrong with one of the horses. Indeed, one and then the other went wild, right in the middle of the race. If it was not the curricle, then perhaps some other problem—a burr under the pads on the back of one of the horses.” She knew the idea was unlikely as soon as she said it, but she wanted to find some excuse, any excuse, to keep her uncle’s passing an accident, not anything so horrible as—The walls around her heart trembled, and her hands turned into fists, trying to keep herself calm.

Lord Brisbane shook his head. “No, a burr would have been felt immediately, and your uncle—indeed, any of your grooms—would have seen it and removed it from the outset.”

“Well, then, perhaps some insect stung the horse,” she said.

“Now that is possible,” he replied. “However, you yourself have wondered where your head groom is, and have said that he would not leave his post without letting you know that he was leaving. Do you not think that is the least bit curious?”

“Well, yes, of course, which is why I have been asking about him in the village.”

“Yes, so I have heard,” he said. “I would be careful about the kinds of questions you ask regarding McKinney.”

“Why so?”

He looked at her somberly. “They could be . . . unfortunate. And, considering that your uncle has had near-accidents in the recent past, I cannot help thinking that McKinney’s disappearance so soon after this one is not a coincidence.”

Diana stared at him. “Other accidents? But when did—”

The earl merely looked at her.

“Of course,” she groaned, anger rising at her uncle. “It would not be something he would tell us.” She gazed at him.

“Does Bartlett know?”

“Yes,” he said. “But he can do nothing. There is no solid proof, nor do we have any real suspect.”

“Then how can you say it is not an accident?”

“Because your uncle’s last letter to me said he knew who it was, but characteristically, he did not say who.”

Diana frowned. “But that does not make sense. If Uncle Charles knew who it was, then why did he decide to do something as risky as a curricle race? Surely such an event would be a tempting opportunity for someone bent on—on—”

“Murder,” Lord Brisbane said bluntly. “From what I can tell, your uncle is the sort to tempt fate just so he could find out for himself who it might be.”

“But I cannot think who might want to kill him! He was a good man.”

They had come to the stables at last, and the earl led the horse to the door. “Good men have been killed when it served the purposes of the killer,” he said. He lifted his hand up to her to help her down from the horse. “You may list any one of the seven deadly sins and that would be motive enough.”

Diana took his hand and placed her other hand on his shoulder as she slid off the horse. His hand went to her waist to steady her, and their position was not that different from when he had started to kiss her in the woods. She looked at him, and he smiled slightly, probably guessing what she was thinking.

“I do not see how it could apply to any of our acquaintances, for surely my uncle’s goodness would make them think twice before they did him harm,” she said hastily and stepped away from him.

Lord Brisbane’s smile grew larger before he called for a stablehand to take away the horse.

“Lightning’s got his oats,” the stableboy said to Diana, and she nodded, assured that her horse was well.

The earl turned to her and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, escorting her toward the house.

“And here I thought you a perceptive woman,” he continued and glanced at her. His smile turned sympathetic. “In reality, you would see it yourself, but am I correct in believing perhaps you do not wish to think of all this . . . unpleasantness? It is difficult enough when a beloved member of the family dies, but to think that his life was deliberately cut short makes it much worse. Even nightmarish.”

A sigh escaped her, and she felt as if the lid on a tightly closed pot inside of her were suddenly lifted, easing the pressure within. “It has been difficult lately,” she admitted. “Sometimes I do not
want
to think at all, which is not at all like me.”

“No, I imagine you think a great deal,” Lord Brisbane replied. “Indeed, I am regretting I have told you any of this. It is not a burden I would wish on anyone, much less a lady.”

Diana withdrew her hand from his arm. “I am not so weak-minded as that,” she said firmly. “In fact, I am glad you told me, for I am beginning to detest not being told things, especially if it’s deemed to be in my best interests.” She crossed her arms in front of her.
“Especially
if it is in my best interests.”

The earl grinned. “I understand completely. I myself have a deeply ingrained dislike of being uninformed. I wonder, however, if I have rushed my fences, so to speak.”

“Why do you say that?”

“For one thing, I have declared my sentiments toward you much too early.”

“Oh?” Diana said in an ironic voice.

He grinned, then sobered. “For another, I should have kept my investigation to myself until I have had more evidence. You have raised some good objections, and all I have is your uncle’s word that he suspected someone was trying to kill him in the last few months.”

Diana drew in a deep breath. “If my uncle said it, then it was so. He was never one to imagine ghosts or goblins, but had a great deal of common sense.”