Strangers at Dawn (24 page)

“And what about me? What do you feel for me?”

“You know I’d do anything for you.”

He threw his cigar in the empty grate and came to sit on the edge of the bed. Smiling, he pulled the sheet down till she was completely exposed to his view. “I want to make love to you in your own bed,” he said huskily. “In Longfield.”

Her eyes went wide and she shook her head. “Beckett, no. It’s too dangerous. Someone could find us out.”

“Not if we’re careful. You could let me into the house and no one would be the wiser. You said you would do anything for me.”

“No.”

“I
want to. It will be exciting.”

He spread her legs wide and began to stroke into her with his fingers. When she moaned, he smiled. “Say yes to me, Constance.”

She gave him the answer he wanted. He thought of Lucy, climbed on top of her and gave her what
she
wanted.

A
FTER BECKETT HAD SEEN HER BACK TO THE
main house, he took the path to the dower house. All his
instincts told him that William was buried nearby. Sara Carstairs would not have had the time or opportunity to dispose of a body far from the house. But all his searching had come to nothing. He would never find William’s body unless Sara Carstairs either led him to it or told him where he could find it.

He was well aware that Lord Maxwell Worthe was not interested in the reward. What he wanted was a story for his newspaper. No one at Longfield knew his true identity.

Beckett laughed. It seemed that both he and Lord Maxwell were cut from the same cloth. They were both ruthless in the pursuit of their aims. But he had the edge on Lord Maxwell. Five thousand pounds was a fortune to him. There was nothing he would not do, no risk he would not take to claim it.

Fourteen

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING, SARA OVERSLEPT
and awoke with a headache. She didn’t feel like facing Max, not because she was angry with him, but because she was angry with herself.
Restless. Hot. Feverish.
That’s how she’d felt last night after he left. The bedclothes were in such a jumble, it looked as though a hurricane had passed right through her chamber.

She wished there were someone older and wiser who could explain how this man could have such an effect on her. He was the
Courier’s
special correspondent. All he wanted was a story for his newspaper. She didn’t want to want him, but that night in Reading had opened a Pandora’s box, and she was suffering the consequences.

She would fight it. She had no choice. Max Worthe was a dangerous man.

Her thoughts buzzed around her brain, aggravating her headache, and she decided that a ride around the park would do her good. She was descending the stairs when Max strode into the hall, and she pulled back so that he would not see her. It was obvious that he had been out riding. She was ready to turn and make for her room when he
went through the door to the breakfast room. When the door closed, she quickly left the house.

It was a perfect day for riding. The ground was soft, though not sodden, from yesterday’s downpour; the sun was out and the breeze from the west brought the warm air from the coast. A stable boy led out Sara’s mount, an elegant mare with flashes of white on her nose and fetlocks. She nuzzled Sara’s neck in a frenzied welcome.

“She looks like she ‘as missed you, miss.”

“No more than I’ve missed her,” said Sara. “Where is Dobbs?”

“Rubbing down Arrogance, miss. Shall I get him for you?”

If Dobbs, the head groom, was rubbing down Arrogance, the only person who could have ridden him was Max. Sara was surprised. Arrogance had been William’s horse, and William had ruined his temperament. No one could ride him now.

She shook her head. “No. I’m not going far, only to the downs. I’ll speak to Dobbs later.”

She went uphill, through a wide swath that had been cut in the dense grove of beeches and yews. There were no manmade lakes, none of the fountains or gazebos that were presently in vogue. Her father had restored the park as it was originally, a rich man’s hunting chase. The only difference was, her father was so softhearted that he had never allowed anyone to hunt in it.

The thought made her smile.

For the first little while, Sara simply gave herself up to the pleasure of her surroundings. The sky was cloudless; the sun’s rays filtered through the leafy canopy overhead, creating lace patterns on the turf; the smell of damp grass under her horse’s hooves was sweet and heady.

Memories came to her, pleasant memories that were touched with nostalgia, happier days when she and Anne first learned to ride on Shetland ponies, with Dobbs, the
same groom they had now, keeping a watchful eye on them. Life had been carefree and golden then, just like this golden day.

The trees began to thin out, and at the top of a rise, she halted. Ahead of her were the downs, treeless, but dotted with patches of gorse and broom, and grazing on the sweet grass, clusters of sheep that blinked up at her without much interest, then went back to cropping the turf.

The view from the downs was extensive. The village of Stoneleigh, on her far right, was a huddle of Bath stone dwellings on the banks of the river. Directly below her, Longfield and its stables and workers’ cottages seemed like an oasis against the encroaching wilderness of trees. The dower house was shielded from view, but it was only a half mile below Longfield, and across the valley lay the rich pastureland and farms of Hampshire.

She touched her heels to her mare’s flanks, and Bonnie broke into a canter. At this point, the downs were unsafe for riders. Primitive manmade earth dwellings had been cut into the chalky soil, and there was a ruined Saxon fortification that had crumbled into a warren of treacherous pits. When William disappeared, the place had swarmed with men searching for his body.

She didn’t want to think about William or her problems. She just wanted to feel the wind on her face and the thrill of racing across the turf.

She touched her heels to Bonnie’s sides again, and in a few leaping bounds, her mare broke into a gallop. They crested one rise, then another, and there was nothing to hinder their progress but the wide, wide skies. Sara felt the sun on her back, the wind fragrant with gorse and broom on her face and her spirits soared. She felt free, without a care in the world, and in that moment she was conscious only of the pleasure of her mare stretching out her long legs to eat up the turf at the speed of lightning.

At the summit of the downs, she slowed her mare to a
walk, then reined in. It was then that she saw him, a rider on a white horse coming toward her. She turned Bonnie in a half circle so that she could see him better. At first, she thought it might be Simon on Eclipse, but as the rider drew nearer, she recognized him as Sir Ivor Neville.

She was shocked. Sir Ivor never rode on this part of the downs, had never done so in her memory. To him, Samuel Carstairs and his family were only one step above the servant class and he would not demean himself by putting himself in their way.

As her shock wore off, a bubble of panic rose in her throat. Her first impulse was to take off. The last person she wanted to come face-to-face with was William’s father. She quelled the impulse because she’d left it too late. Behind her was a wilderness of junipers and bramble bushes; on her right were the earth dwellings and the Saxon ruin. Sir Ivor had cut off her escape.

He stopped a good ten yards in front of her so that if she made a bolt for it, he could close in and cut her off. He was a ruggedly handsome man, but when he was angry, the veins in his nose and cheeks turned purple. He was angry now.

Her hand trembled as she stroked her mare’s neck and she braced herself for what was to come.

He was breathing hard and his voice was harsh. “You proud bitch! Have you no shame? To come back here where you did my son to death? Is this where William’s body is hidden? On the downs?”

Her voice shook as much as her hands. “I didn’t hide your son’s body. I was acquitted of his murder.”

When he edged his horse a little closer, she tensed.

“Go back to where you came from!” he said furiously. “You’re not wanted here.”

“Longfield is my home. I’m here to stay.”

She’d said the wrong thing. He had a crop in his hand
and he raised it threateningly as he slowly approached. Sara did not wait. She wheeled her mount and sent Bonnie racing across the turf.

There was nowhere to go but toward the treacherous Saxon ruins. It came to her as Bonnie’s legs ate up the distance that this is what Sir Ivor wanted her to do. He was maddened by grief and rage. He truly believed she had got away with murder. If she had an accident on the downs, no one would be the wiser. And to Sir Ivor, she would be getting no less than she deserved.

She checked Bonnie’s speed as they approached the ruined foundations of the fort. She heard Sir Ivor’s mount thundering at her back, gaining on her, but she didn’t allow it to panic her. This was her territory and she knew this part of the downs like the back of her hand. And so did Bonnie.

It took all of her concentration to send Bonnie soaring over the first open pit, check her, then send her over the next. A few short steps, then they jumped over another obstacle and the mare came down on a narrow track.

They were in the clear.

Sara did not look back. There was no sound of pursuit now but she couldn’t bear to see the hatred on Sir Ivor’s face. She had always despised him, but in that moment when she should hate him most, all she could feel was pity.

S
HE WAS STILL THINKING OF SIR IVOR WHEN
she left the stable block.

“If I’d known you were going out riding, I would have waited for you.”

She whirled to see Max approaching her. He was coming from the workers’ cottages.

He frowned when he saw her face. “Are you all right?”

She wasn’t going to tell Max that she’d had a frightening
encounter with Sir Ivor. She said lightly, “I fell off my horse. I’m out of practice, I suppose.” She looked back the way he had come. “You’ve been to see Drew?” she said.

“Yes, but he wasn’t there.”

“He’ll be in Stoneleigh. He has other clients besides me, you know.”

They walked side by side toward the house. “Constance tells me,” said Max, “that he sometimes sleeps over at his office.”

“Only when he is working late.”

“Was he working late the night William disappeared?”

She suddenly halted and turned to face him. “You can’t think Drew had anything to do with William’s disappearance!”

“I’m asking a simple question.”

“No,” she said angrily. “He was not. He was in Bristol on business, if you must know. Besides, what motive could Drew have for doing away with William?”

“Sara, you’re your own worst enemy. You won’t allow that anyone had a motive but you. If William is dead, someone must have had a motive for killing him, And who knows what goes on inside another person’s head?”

She wanted to weep. She was shaken from her confrontation with Sir Ivor, and now this. Max would never give up. He thought that she was innocent and he wanted to clear her name. But it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t simple at all.

When he cupped her shoulders and kissed her, she made no move to evade him. It was a gentle kiss, nothing more than the brush of his lips on hers.

“What was that for?” asked breathlessly,

“That,” he murmured, “was an apology for last night.”

He kissed her again, but this time his hand cupped her neck and she couldn’t draw away. After a moment, she didn’t want to draw away. She felt safe in his arms, safe and
cherished. Desire came quickly, then emotion.
If
only, if only, if only
drummed inside her head.

Her hand fisted in his coat. Her mouth softened. She wanted that kiss to go on forever.

Max drew away first. He smiled down at her dazed expression. “It’s the same for me,” he said softly. “I’ve never felt like this before either.”

Her heart slammed into her ribs. Her response was barely audible. “No.”

“You’ll come to it on your own sooner or later.” He smiled wistfully. “I hope it’s sooner. You’ve been too long alone, Sara, and I want to change that.”

She wanted to believe him. She was in the act of putting her hand to his face before cold reason returned. Her hand went to her own temples instead. “I think I’m more shaken from that fall than I realized,” she said. “A cup of sweet tea is what I need.”

They walked back to the house in silence.

T
HEY WERE IN THE DRAWING ROOM DRINKING
tea when Anne entered. Right behind her was, obviously, the vicar. He was older than Sara expected, fortyish, and dressed all in black. He had a square face, a strong mouth, and a long, aquiline nose.

Anne made the introductions, then immediately invited Mr. Thornley to sit down and have some tea.

He beamed at Sara. “Allow me to thank you, ma’am, for your generosity in supporting the work of our church. You may rest assured that every penny we raise will go to alleviating the misery of the destitute in our parish. I trust we can count on your help at the fair?”