Unraveling Secrets (The Secret Trilogy) (7 page)

“You are a very clever man, Lord Ashbury. Of that I have no doubt. But you will not be rid of me so easily.”

The next morning, Stephen sat astride his black gelding, tapping his riding crop against his leg as he waited near the entrance of Hyde Park, still not certain how
this meeting had come to pass.

He
’d said no.

In fact, he
’d said it several times. Yet here he was. Something about Abigail made her impossible for him to resist. He admonished himself for thinking of her with such familiarity but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

His mood lightened as he saw h
er riding toward him, her footman following behind. She sat well in the saddle, and her taste in horseflesh couldn’t be faulted. The chestnut gelding with a white blaze on its face and matching white stockings tugged at the reins, but she held them with a firm hand.

Stephen had great sympathy for the servant trailing her as he now knew this woman refuse
d to listen to anyone’s requests for caution. For some odd reason, he found himself admiring that quality about her.

Her riding outfit was tailored to mimic a man
’s suit, a deep shade of rose with cream-colored piping that made her skin glow. The taut material formed to her every luscious curve, the side saddle rounded her hip, and once again he found himself thinking things about her that he shouldn’t. A matching hat sitting at a jaunty angle completed the ensemble. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight chignon with not even one loose strand dangling to tease him. Yet he realized the slender column of her neck was the true temptation. Nibbling there would be a sweet beginning. Did her luminescent complexion extend to the rest of her body?

The image the thought created made him stir with desire, their heated kiss still fresh in his mind. Her innocence had been obvious,
equal parts warning and allure. He couldn’t say why she appealed to him, but something about her struck him like a flame to tinder.

She w
aved and smiled at him. He was proud of himself for refraining from returning her wave. Instead, he surveyed the area—anything to cool his blood.

“Good morning, my lord.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement while sternly reminding himself of their purpose here. “Have you seen Simmons?”

She glanced over her shoulder at her footman who shook his head. “Not
yet. Beautiful day, don’t you think?”

He
glanced up at the sky, not having noticed the weather. Clouds were scattered across the pale blue expanse, but the sun prevailed, an unusual event in the spring. “Indeed. Shall we?”

He led the way then slowed
for her to ride alongside him.

“You could at least act like you
’re here to enjoy the day rather than searching for someone.”

He raised a brow at her. Did she truly think that necessary?

She shook her head. “You’re as bad as Ponsford.”

“Who is
Ponsford?”

“Our butler. He is constantly raising his brow at me.”

“Then you make a habit of doing inappropriate things?”

“According to him,” she said ruefully.

“And what of your stepmother. Does she find your behavior untoward?”

“She
’d prefer me to be more traditional. Luckily, the twins take much of her attention.”

Though more questions crossed his mind, he held them back. There was no point in learning more about this woman or her family. Within a few days, his association with her would end.
The thought did not please him at all.

“What of you, my lord? Do you have siblings?”

“No.”

“Parents?”

“Deceased.”

She gave an exasperated huff. “Has no one versed you in the art of small talk?”

“I’m not here to visit with you. I’m here to find Simmons.”

“There
’s no reason we can’t enjoy a friendly conversation while we see if he appears.”

He said nothing, hoping she
’d take the hint. Conversing with her wouldn’t be wise. The more he knew about her, the more he wanted to know. He needed to keep his distance from her if he wanted to keep his sanity.

The park was busy with people in carriages, on horseback, and on foot. Ladies were well dressed in riding attire with matching ornate hats, ostrich plumes dancing with the movement of their horses. Men wore dark coats, top hats and brandished riding crops, all taking in the scenery nature provided as well as
the interesting parade of people.

Abigail’s
footman rode a respectable distance behind them and seemed to watch carefully for Simmons as well.

“Couldn
’t you pretend as though we’re conversing?”

“Why? You don
’t seem to care what people think.” Already he could feel the stares of others. It bothered him that she didn’t try to better protect her reputation.

“Abigail?” a feminine voice called out from behind.

Stephen turned to see an attractive lady riding toward them.

“Catherine. Two days in a row.
How surprising,” Abigail said with a laugh, color high in her cheeks.

The woman looked with wide eyes
between him and Abigail as introductions were made.

Miss Catherine Vandimer seemed to be Abigail
’s age. Her aura was a muddy brown, confirming his first impression of her—outwardly friendly but inwardly unpleasant. Another member of the
ton
whose thoughts did not match her behavior. A fraud for certain.

Stephen didn
’t remember meeting her before, but she acted as though she was acquainted with him. He never went to balls or other events as the only purpose for such affairs was to find a wife, and that was not possible for him. Not with his secrets.

“When I spoke with you yesterday, you never mentioned your acquaintance with
Viscount Ashbury.”

Miss Vandimer
’s smile and obvious interest made Stephen certain he’d been the topic of their conversation. He nearly smiled. It seemed Abigail had been making some inquiries of her own.

“Didn
’t I?” Abigail glanced at him as her aura dimmed. Clearly she was uncomfortable at the conclusions her friend seemed to be drawing.

Miss Vandimer
’s speculation about their relationship was obvious. She had a hard edge to her, a brittle beauty betrayed by the tightness of her smile and the calculating look in her eyes.

Her kind was common in society, putting her own desires above anyone else
’s, intent on trapping the most eligible nobleman to whom she could latch on. Stephen dismissed her, his attention returning to the search for Simmons.

Abigail
quickly changed the subject. “Are you out to enjoy this fine day?”

“Actually I
’m meeting someone. There he is now.” She smiled over her shoulder.

Stephen looked to see who was
joining her. Surprised, he drew a slow breath. Perhaps America wasn’t so far away after all. Michael Drury, Lord Weston rode toward them. His eyes narrowed when he saw Stephen.

“Ashbury.”

“Weston.” Stephen couldn’t help but regret that their once close friendship had been reduced to awkward, one-word greetings. No aura was visible around Michael. Stephen had never been able to see it. He could only conjecture that it was because they’d both been affected by the accident.

Abigail
’s curiosity rose as she watched the two men, the tension in the air palpable. What history did they have that made them so wary of one another?

“You
’re already acquainted?” Catherine asked with her usual forthrightness.

“Old friends,” Lord Weston responded. His clipped words made Abigail think they weren
’t friends any longer.

“Old indeed,” Lord Ashbury added
, a note of regret to his tone.

Catherine laughed nervously. “Well...Abigail, I don
’t believe you’ve met Viscount Weston?” She sent an intimate smile at her riding partner.

Lord
Weston was an attractive man, near Lord Ashbury’s age, with riveting blue eyes and black hair.

“A pleasure, I
’m sure,” Lord Weston said with a smile, making an effort to be friendly, which was more than Abigail could say for Lord Ashbury. “Amazing weather for May, isn’t it?” he asked as he glanced around the park.

“
Indeed,” Abigail agreed as she glared at Lord Ashbury.

“I do hope the sun stays out
for a time,” Catherine added, but rather than admiring the bright day, she smoothed the deep blue skirt of her riding habit.

Abigail wondered if she thought the sheen of the material was more flattering in the sun then berated herself for being petty. As though she
’d read Abigail’s mind, Catherine took a long look at Abigail’s riding attire.

Before she could criticize it as she often seemed to do, Abigail
decided to change the subject. “Are any of you attending the Mortenson’s ball?”

Catherine gave a sidelong glance at Lord Weston before answering. “I hope to, but our schedule is just so busy right now.
My father and I have many invitations to consider.”

Abigail caught herself before rolling her eyes. Instead, she glanced at Lord Weston to see his reaction to Catherine
’s unsubtle way of claiming popularity.

He gave Catherine a charming smile. “You
’ll have to let me know if you’re attending so I can plan accordingly.”

Catherine giggled and batted her lashes. “Of course.”

For heaven’s sake
. Abigail decided she needed to escape before she said something to Catherine about her ridiculous behavior. Abigail looked at Lord Ashbury, hoping he would add to the conversation or better, suggest they be on their way.

“And what of you, Lord Ashbury? Will you be coming since Abigail will be there?” Catherine
’s question made Abigail’s cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“I fear I
’m already engaged that evening.”

Catherine cast her a pitying look. “That
’s too bad. Lady Bradford will be there. Or perhaps you’ve already met her?”

Lord Ashbury didn
’t answer. Abigail could only guess what gossip Catherine might start spreading after this encounter. The last thing Abigail needed was for Catherine to speculate about her relationship with Lord Ashbury to her stepmother.

“Miss Vandimer, shall we be on our way?” Lord Weston asked, as he gave Abigail an apologetic smile
. Whether it was for Catherine or Lord Ashbury’s behavior, Abigail wasn’t certain.

Within moments, the pair had bid her goodbye and rode off across the park
, ignoring Lord Ashbury completely.

“That woman is irritating.
” Abigail watched Catherine tip her head back and laugh at something Lord Weston said.

“So it seems.”

“Ah, he speaks.” She turned to glare at her companion.

“Talki
ng is often overrated.”

She had to admit he had a point. Catherine was a perfect example. “Is Lord Weston an old friend or a former one?” she asked, noting his grim expre
ssion as he watched them leave.

“Depends on who you ask.
” Stephen’s expression was unreadable, his gaze still on the departing couple as he raised his gloved hand to rub his temple.

“Do you have
a headache?”

He dropped his hand abruptly. “No.”

Exasperated at his obvious lie, she returned to the topic at hand. “Couldn’t you at least pretend to be civil?”

He
raised a brow in surprise at her question. “She’s your friend. Not mine.”

“Yes, but
—”

“You
’ve shown no regard for propriety. Therefore, I must conclude that it doesn’t matter to you. In which case, what she thinks of me or us riding together doesn’t matter either.”

“Perhaps I should catch up with her and ask her not to speak of...us,” Abigail suggested, still worried that Catherine would say something to Irene. Her stepmother didn
’t need any encouragement in that area.

“That would only make matters worse. The damage has alread
y been done. She’s a person of few scruples and wouldn’t think twice at stepping over you to improve her own station in life.”

Abigail looked at him
with wide eyes, making him realize he’d said too much. “How interesting that you’d say such. Catherine wasn’t truly rude. Most people are fooled by her, much like Lord Weston. I had no idea you were so insightful.”

He tried to think of a plausible explanation for his comment
but none came to mind. At times, he forgot he knew more about people’s intentions than he should. Miss Vandimer’s aura and mannerisms had shown malice, only a mild case of it perhaps, but malice none the less. The best they could hope for was that she was so diverted with Weston she’d forget about them.