Silent Deception (5 page)

Minnie nodded.

As promised, he was already waiting when Minnie opened the front door in her riding habit, having asked Beth’s help with dressing. The girl wasn’t pleased about being in the house alone but with John around, she agreed she’d be safe.

A breeze stirred as Minnie mounted the mare with John’s help. Lord Drake was already astride a beautiful chestnut stallion. To her relief, the mare proved kind and patient, and within minutes they rode side by side.

“It’s going to take weeks to clear the garden,” she said as her gaze drifted across the unkempt grounds. Sadness overcame her at the thought of such willful neglect.

Lord Drake agreed. “Yes, it’s good of John to make a start but I’m going to ask Charles’ gardener for help. The weeds have grown everywhere.” He faced her. “Shall we head out along the path to the cliff top? That will give you a sweeping view over your estate.”

Minnie’s heart soared. “How wonderful!” Her estate.

A sense of belonging engulfed her. Once the past was properly laid to rest, Trekellis Manor would make a lovely home.

For her alone?

Beside her, Lord Drake seemed to be deep in thought. His gaze aimed ahead, his body relaxed, Minnie wondered again why he helped her. Yes, he had the time and inclination, but surely he wouldn’t do it if he didn’t have any ulterior motives. That’s what Father had always warned her about–men and their motives.

That was why she–at twenty-one years of age–was still unmarried, never been engaged or even remotely of interest to any man. Granted, her lack of a generous dowry hadn’t endeared her to the eligible bachelors at home either.

But she was no longer in Canterbury and Trekellis Manor was now her home.

She finally had property, but she didn’t need a man. Minnie stuck her chin forward, her head held high.

“Are you well, Miss Goodridge?”

“Of course, why do you ask?”

He grinned. “You look determined enough to chase away ghosts.”

“Not ghosts,” she laughed, “but men.” She urged the mare into a canter.

Lord Drake caught up within seconds, and for a mile, they followed the swerving outline of the path. The droning of the sea grew louder, the breeze picking up.

“Wait a moment.” She brought her mare to a halt and adjusted her hat and shawl which had become askew in the wind. ‘We should slow down, this close to the cliffs.” A sudden sense of trepidation coursed through her.

At a weathered gate, the path ended. Lush grass stretched beyond, until it stopped sharply. The cliff’s edge.

“Allow me.” He helped her off the mare and tied the horses’ reins to a stake. Opening the gate, he let her through before he secured it again behind him.

“Take my arm, Miss Goodridge. The ground appears uneven in places.”

Spotting rabbit holes in the knee high grass, Minnie was grateful for his support. As she slid her arm through the crook of his elbow, a surge of heat seared through her. Her cheeks flamed but fortunately the breeze cooled her face instantly. With her free hand, she clutched her hat.

“How far can we go? Is it safe?”

He shrugged. “A few yards at most. Up to there, perhaps.” He pointed to the beginning of a slope ahead.

She nodded, relishing the fresh air. Canterbury had been so…stuffy. “Home.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I do feel at home here already. Strangely so.” She smiled, swallowing hard as he covered her gloved hand with his.

“Yes, this land pulls you in, doesn’t it? I never much liked the seaside in Kent where my mother resides. It’s too…” He cocked his head.

“Civilized?” Minnie smirked when he laughed.

“Yes, I guess you’re right. We appear to share a sense of adventure, don’t we?” His gaze met hers, full of mischief and…something she couldn’t determine.

“We may,” she whispered, suddenly hot beneath her skin.

They stopped at the slope. The view ahead was dizzying. Only a short distance away, the land crumbled steeply into the sea. Minnie could only guess how high up these cliffs were. To her left, a mile or two away, the shoreline dipped gently downward to a beach.

“Henrietta.”

Minnie startled. What made her say that?

Lord Drake eyed her quizzically. “Mr. Walker’s murdered wife?”

“Yes.” Dread settled in her stomach. “I was just thinking how she…died.” A sense of flying gripped her. Black spots blurred her vision. “The cliffs. I…”

“Miss Goodridge…Minerva?”

Strong arms encircled her, and the spell of giddiness passed as his warmth seeped into her. Minnie blinked.

“Here, look this way.” He steered her away from the abyss, toward the manor barely half a mile away.

She blinked again, then straightened. “Thank you. I don’t know what came over me.”

Lord Drake didn’t loosen his hold. “Don’t worry, these heights often have that effect.”

“I never feel faint, Lord–” Her breathing stilled as his gaze–only inches away–captured hers. She licked her suddenly dry lips.

“Gideon,” he groaned, then his mouth was on hers, fierce at first, then tender, softening.

Minnie’s eyes closed as a tingling sensation surged through her. His arms pulled her close; a hand caressed her exposed neck. Delicious shivers ran over her skin and she forgot to breathe. His tongue nudged her lips, the playful invitation almost too much to bear. As her body molded against his, she returned his exquisite exploration with an eagerness unbeknown to her.

Men and their motives.

Minnie stilled, her father’s admonishing voice in her ears. He’d warned her of men and their habitual seduction of innocent girls like her. Placing her hands firmly against Lord Drake’s chest, she pushed away from him. When he released her, she almost fell, having leaned into him so much.

“Here, here.” His deep voice comforting, he steadied her until she felt safe on her feet.

Embarrassed, her cheeks burning, she turned away, but her shawl caught in the breeze, drifting toward the cliff edge. “Oh no!”

He reached out to catch it but the soft woolen fabric floated over the edge, and disappeared into the mist. Halting too close to the sheer drop, he stopped short. “I’m sorry, Minerva.”

Minnie froze as memory flooded back. Henrietta Walker’s shawl had been found washed onto a beach nearby.

“Step away from the edge,” she shouted, her heart contracting in fear. For him? Or for Henrietta? Staring at the spot where only moments ago her shawl had lingered in the wind, Minnie shuddered.

Perhaps Henrietta hadn’t been murdered after all.

Perhaps it had been an accident.

***

Gideon glanced at Minnie’s tense profile as she rode back to the manor, head held high, her back stiff. They were cantering along the open fields, heading to a side gate into the grounds he’d pointed out.

How soon until she realized he knew more about Trekellis than he’d admitted?

But watching her, he might rather be concerned about her changed attitude toward him. Following the kiss, her demeanor was cool, almost dismissive, despite her cry for him to remove himself from the cliff’s edge. She seemed frightened.

Damn! He shouldn’t have kissed her, even though her reaction had surprised him. She’d seemed as taken as he was.

They reached a rusty gate and he dismounted. With a firm shove, he pushed the bar locking the gate and opened it. Minnie rode through without a glance at him and, instead of waiting, she urged the mare into a canter toward the manor house.

Gideon pulled himself into the saddle and extracted the leather thong from his windswept hair. Brushing it back with his hand, he fastened it again at his neck, then followed Minnie at a slow pace. No need to rush. He had to think.

With her now resident, he had very little chance of discovering his grandfather’s secret. Certain the answers lay hidden in Bartholomew Walker’s study, he had to gain access to it. Soon.

Outside the stables, Gideon watched John help her from the saddle. She nodded her thanks before almost running to the kitchen door.

What was she running from? Him, or something else?

The sun had moved westward, hanging low in the sky when finally the door to the parlor, where Gideon had made himself comfortable following the ride, opened.

“Oh.” Minerva’s voice didn’t hide her surprise.

Gideon rose, a book still open in his hand, and gave a curt bow. “Miss Goodridge.”

She closed the door behind her and stood, arms crossed, glaring at him. “I thought you’d gone back to your friend’s manor.”

He grinned, spreading his arms wide. “Apparently not.”

“I thought you’d left after I made it clear that…” Her cheeks turned a becoming shade of pink. “Erm.”

“You made what clear?” His voice low, he cocked an eyebrow.

The flush in her face deepened. “You know exactly what I mean,
Lord
Drake.”

“Gideon.”

“Pardon?” Her breathing increased.

He couldn’t help but let his gaze roam over her rising and falling breasts, still confined inside the tight fitting riding jacket. “It’s Gideon, Minnie.”

Minnie’s back straightened. “I can’t remember allowing you to use my given name.” The rising and falling grew quicker.

Meeting her gaze, he snapped the book shut and dropped it onto the chair. “I’d say you have.”

In three strides, he stood inches from her and grasped her hands firmly, not allowing her to withdraw. The stubborn set of her chin showed her apparent displeasure. His mouth quirked. Minerva Goodridge was utterly tempting when she was furious. He pulled her close.

“I can always remind you…”

Her intake of breath, breasts straining the tight fabric, sent heat coursing through his body. He swallowed and shifted his position, not wanting to scare her off. A flicker of shock in her eyes, she opened her mouth. His lips fastened on hers before she could speak.

Her rigid body softened as he wove his arms around her narrow waist. Caressing her back, he deepened their kiss as he explored her mouth, tongues teasing in playful contest. He nipped her plump lips before leaving a trail of soft kisses down her delicate throat but the collar of her riding jacket put a stop to any further progress. Gideon swore softly before plundering her pliant mouth again.

Minnie’s body relaxed into his, her curves pressing against him. God, she was unaware of what she was doing to him. Damn! He dragged himself away with a final soft kiss on her lips, keeping his arms loosely around her.

“Do you remember now?”

“Umm, I…” Flustered, she stepped back, and he let her go, ignoring the sudden sense of loss. With shaky hands, she patted her hair, pinning escaped strands into place. Her face a polite mask, she couldn’t meet his eyes. How endearing! So unlike the ladies who’d thrown themselves at him in London. So very much unlike Emmaline...

Chapter Six

I think you should leave now.

Minnie remembered her words to Gideon Drake as she pummeled the pillow into submission before lying back. Crossing her arms, she stared at the ceiling in the light of a solitary candle. How dared he!

A wave of indignation washed through her. She brushed aside a pang of conscience. No, she had most definitely
not
enjoyed the kiss. Gently, she touched her lips with her fingertips. Four days had passed, yet she could still taste him. At first, her lips had felt sore, then she’d begun to crave more, the fire between her legs burning stronger with every day she didn’t see him.

“No!”

This had to stop. She crossed one leg over the other, ignoring the warmth spreading from her center. Lord Drake was just an adventurer, a rake, here on a whim to play lord amongst the locals.

After she had–politely–kicked him out of the house, Minnie had thrown herself into a tidying frenzy. Two further reception rooms, four bedrooms including Walker’s, and all the servants’ quarters had fallen prey to her cloths and dusters. She giggled, remembering Beth’s astounded face when she’d rolled up the sleeves of an old gown of hers and, gritting her teeth, set to wiping surfaces, removing curtains and drapes, beating the dust from padded chairs and settees. Not that the maid had stopped either. Her skills at cleaning floors, doors and windows had worked wonders. Together, they’d finally managed to make Trekellis Manor sparkle again.

Apart from the study.

Claiming a headache, she’d refused to see Lord Drake when he visited the day after the kiss. But watching him ride away from behind the curtains of a reception room hadn’t been as satisfying as she’d have preferred. Somehow, the man made her blood boil, and the longer she left it to simmer the more miserable she became.

True to his word, he’d sent Eaton’s gardener to attack the overgrown shrubs, the high grass, and the moss stuck to the weathered stone of the building. Even the towers were slowly cleared of their encroaching ivy. The piles of cut branches burnt for hours on the pyres he built close to the cliff’s edge–at safe distance from the house.