The Last of Lady Lansdown (8 page)

She cocked her head. “You hardly know me. I can’t understand why you would go out of your way to do such a great kindness.”

An ironic smile played on his lips. “Neither can I. A moment of madness, perhaps?”

“At least allow me to reimburse you.”

He shook his head. “If you must pay me back, come riding with me. Have you ridden the trail by the river? It’s quite spectacular.”

“I would love to.” Her heart lifted at the thought of riding Beauty again. She called to Timothy, “Do you still have my saddle?”

“Yes, mum.” The stableman beamed. He disappeared inside.

“I took the river trail once but didn’t get far. It will be so lovely to—” Oh
, no
! What was she thinking of? Beatrice’s words came back to her.
Despicable ... a depraved individual
... Sir Archibald’s words followed.
You must be the soul of discretion.

She should not even be talking to Douglas Cartland, let alone riding with him.

She bit her lip and lowered her eyes. “I cannot.” How to explain? She could easily think of a dozen white lies, but instinct told her not to lie to this man.

A flash of humor crossed his face. “Ah, but, of course, you cannot ride with me, especially now. No doubt Sir Archibald has warned you of the perils involved in so much as speaking to a man during your ... shall we say, period of waiting? Aside from all that, your reputation would be in tatters. You could never hold your head up again. Mama might be so horrified she’d go into a decline. All because you chose to ride along the river with that scoundrel, Douglas Cartland.”

Despite his sarcasm, she felt relieved she didn’t have to lie. “I’m glad you understand.”

“I understand all right.” His shrewd eyes drilled into her. “I feel sorry for you.”

She bristled. “I may be recently widowed, but I am in no way an object of pity.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He crossed his arms and assessed her with a critical squint. “You, my dear countess, represent everything that’s wrong with our society.”

“That’s a rather grandiose statement. Would you care to explain?”

“Gladly. You have been born into a society that keeps its women virtual slaves.”

“Are you daft?”

“Let me count the ways.” He brought up his fingers and began to count. “One. You were forced into a marriage with a heartless sod who hadn’t the faintest notion how to treat a woman.”

“I suppose you do?”

“Yes, I do, but that’s beside the point. Two.” He ticked off another finger. “Look at you, all dressed in dreary black on a lovely summer day. You wouldn’t dare wear anything else, would you? All to mourn a man who treated you badly, an old letch you never loved in the first place. You would never admit it, even to yourself, but you’re glad he is gone.”

Now he had definitely gone too far. “How dare you, sir? I refuse to listen to more of your outrageous remarks. I will have you know—”

“Don’t bother.” He paused, then shook his head as if genuinely concerned. “Don’t you ever get tired of living a lie? Doing what you’re told to do and not what you want to do?”

“We must all do our duty.” After the words left her mouth, she silently cringed, aware of how priggish they sounded.

“Duty be damned.” He ticked another finger. “Three. You would like to ride along the river with me, but you won’t because Mama, sister-in-law Beatrice, and a whole slew of self-righteous ladies of the
Ton
would not approve. Therefore, you must forego all pleasure in your life and do as they say.”

The whole time he’d been talking, she knew she should turn her back and walk away. First, of course, she should thank him again for bringing Beauty back and insist upon reimbursing him for whatever he paid Lord Gamfield. Then she should inform him his remarks were unacceptable and she would never again engage in conversation with a man so vile.

She opened her mouth to speak but could not get the words out. She had to admit that he was absolutely correct in every respect. She had been forced to marry the earl. She was
not
sorry he was dead. She hated wearing black, and most of all, she very much wanted to take Beauty for a ride along the river with Douglas Cartland. Why, she didn’t know, because Beatrice was right. The man was despicable, a totally depraved individual.

Timothy emerged from the stables carrying a blanket and her hand-tooled lady’s saddle, a treasured gift from Papa long ago. Before she could say a word, he walked to Beauty, set down the saddle and laid the blanket over the horse’s back. He picked up the saddle and with one easy motion slung it over the blanket.

“Never mind. I am not going riding after all.”

“That’s too bad, mum.” Timothy’s broad Irish face reflected his disappointment. He reached for the saddle.

“No!” The word escaped her mouth before she could stop it. Why couldn’t she go riding with whomever she pleased? Just once. No one would see them on the secluded river trail. “Leave the saddle. I have changed my mind.”

“What is this?” Cartland’s eyes squinted in mock surprise. “A change of heart?”

She lifted her chin. “Not that I was in the least bit influenced by,” she held up her hands and ticked off an exaggerated one-two-three with her fingers, “your so-called
persuasive
arguments, of which there is absolutely no truth, by the way. I simply changed my mind, that’s all.”

“Then let’s go riding, shall we?”

“How wonderful to have Beauty back again!” Jane called to Douglas Cartland who rode beside her on his own horse, Thunder, a beautiful thoroughbred with a shiny black coat. “I love this trail.” There could not be a more beautiful spot on earth than the riding path that followed the lazy current of the River Hulm upstream. At times they rode not more than a few feet away from the blue ribbon of water. Other times the path cut away and led them through dense woods where pine and poplars grew, where green moss and lichen made a soft, silent carpet on the forest floor. Time and again Jane reached for Beauty’s withers and stroked her long, silken hair. In return, Beauty would give a nod and a snort, as if she knew her beloved mistress was riding her again. At times Jane and Cartland brought their horses to a gallop. She would laugh from sheer joy, every care forgotten as she tore up the path, her beloved horse beneath her, the sun in her face, her loose auburn hair streaming behind her in the breeze.

After they had ridden for at least an hour, they came to a shady forest glade that overlooked the river. Such a beautiful spot.

Douglas called, “Here’s where we stop. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” She wondered what he meant. There was no food around here. They were in the middle of nowhere.

He swung off his horse and came to assist her. “I don’t know how you women put up with these ridiculous side saddles.” She was about to inform him that she could easily dismount by herself, but before she could, he gripped her waist and swung her down. Other than that one dance years ago, it was the very first time he touched her. She laughed to herself, amused that such an irrelevant fact should enter her head. Perhaps it had to do with her liking the feel of his strong hands and sure grip around her waist.

“Tie your horse. We will sit under that tree over there.” He pointed to a large oak that grew on a grassy knoll overlooking the river.

She tethered Beauty to the sturdy branch of a small pine tree and stood waiting while Douglas reached into his saddle bags. He pulled out a small blanket, which he proceeded to spread under the tree. He gave an exaggerated bow and broad sweep of his arm. “Do have a seat, Your Ladyship.” Amused, she settled herself upon the blanket and watched while he returned to his horse and pulled a large packet from his saddle bag. He brought it back and set it in the middle of the blanket. Pulling out items one by one, he announced, “We have bread, cheese, fruit and chicken, all prepared by Rennie’s cook, Mrs. Groton, who happens to be one of the best cooks in the world. And,” he held up a sterling silver hip flask “a bit of brandy to keep us warm in case a storm should strike.”

“It’s July.”

“This is England. You never know.” With a flourish he unfolded two linen napkins and placed one in front of her. “The table is set. Let’s eat.”

Famished, she dug in, soon concluding that she had dined on many a fancy meal in her life but nothing as good as this simple picnic by the river.

“Mmm, it all tastes wonderful. The chicken, everything.” She popped a bit of cheese into her mouth.

Sitting across from her, he uncapped the flask and poured brandy into a small sterling silver cup. “Wash it down with this.”

She accepted the cup and gazed at it uncertainly. “Brandy in the middle of the afternoon? Mama would be scandalized. I’m not sure I—”

“If ever there was someone who could use a bit of fortification, it’s you. Drink up. It won’t kill you. In fact, it will doubtless do you some good.”

She didn’t feel like arguing. She brought the cup to her lips and took a generous sip. Umm ... the fiery liquid slid down her throat, leaving behind a delicious trail of warmth and comfort. She took another sip, which felt even better than the first. “It’s good, although I mustn’t make a habit of it.”

“I doubt you will end up a drunken doxy lying in some gutter,” he said with some amusement.

“How very kind of you to say.”

After the meal, she leaned back against the oak tree, totally content. “I’m reminded of when I was a little girl and my father used to take us on picnics. It was such a happy time.”

Looking as contented as she, Douglas stretched his lean body full out and propped himself up on one elbow.
Even at rest, he looks powerful
. Her gaze locked upon the rich outline of his strong shoulders straining against the fabric of his open shirt. “Tell me about your father.”

His request opened a floodgate of memories. While the birds chirped, the lazy river flowed by and a warm, gentle breeze ruffled her hair, she recalled her childhood. “My sister and I had a governess, but even so, our parents spent a lot of time with us, not like other parents you hear about who hardly know their children exist.” She paused and smiled. “Papa gave me a pony when I was six, then Beauty when I was twelve. My mother and sister didn’t care to ride, but Papa and I used to ride together all the time—every trail on our estate and then some. What fun we had! That’s why I’m so reminded of him today ... all the good times.” A sudden heaviness settled in her chest. “The good times don’t last, do they?”

“What happened?”

“My father started spending more and more time at his clubs in London. Boodles, mostly. Mama was aware of his gambling, of course, but little did she dream he was throwing every last penny away. After he fled to America, she ... well, she has never been the same.”

Douglas nodded in sympathy. “I have seen more than one man gamble himself to utter ruin at the faro tables.” He gave a self-deprecating grimace. “I almost did it myself.”

“What stopped you?”

After a long pause, he sat up and leveled a gaze at her, unspoken pain alive in his eyes. “What stopped me? A little girl dying in my arms stopped me.”

Of course, the accident. Her hand flew to her mouth. “How thoughtless of me to ask. I am sorry I reminded you.”

“Don’t be.” He gave her a rueful smile. “A day doesn’t go by that I’m not reminded. I provided enough scandal to the wagging tongues of the
Ton
to last for years. What they don’t know is my life changed forever on that day.”

“Were you arrested?”

“Of course not. I was a man of rank and privilege, beyond reproach,” his voice resonated with bitterness and self-derision, “whereas she was only an orange-girl and orphaned besides, obviously a lesser being.” He paused and took a shaky breath, as if touched by some deep emotion. “I left London immediately. No great loss to the
Ton
since I was labeled as a worthless reprobate anyway,” he raised a cynical eyebrow, “which actually, I was. Since then, I haven’t held a card in my hand.” He raised the silver flask high. “I’ve rarely tasted spirits until today.”

She pulled back in feigned concern. “Good heavens. Have I driven you to drink?”

“No. My drinking days are done except for special occasions such as this.”

“So where did you go when you left London?”

“After the accident, I knew I had to get away, to escape the memory of what I did. So I went north and found work on a canal.”

“Was it interesting? Did you get to steer the boats?”

He burst into hearty laughter. “No, I did not ‘steer the boats’ as you put it. I was a tow man. Believe me, there’s nothing lower on this earth. I dredged channels, cut weeds, drove mules and horses, fed them and cleaned up after them. You could say I was a horse myself at times, helping to haul the narrow boats along the tow path when the horse power wasn’t enough.”

“How awful.”

“No, it wasn’t. Hard work is good medicine. It makes you forget. In the process, I not only learned about canals, I learned I could build canals. If fact, I’m rather good at it. You have to know how to take a level, dig a channel, remove tree roots, dispose of tons of earth, mix underwater cement, create locks and a hundred other things. So that’s what I’m doing now for Lord Rennie.” He gazed at his outstretched hands, roughened with calluses. “These are not the hands of a gentleman, which pleases me to no end. I shall never be a so-called
gentleman
again.”

Didn’t all men aspire to be gentlemen? She had never met a man like Douglas Cartland before and she was not sure how to answer. “That is most interesting, Mister Cartland.” She sat with one leg neatly folded beneath her. The other, stretched straight out, she kept carefully covered with her long, black skirt. Now she noticed the hem of her skirt had crept up, enough to reveal her black kid shoe and a bit above. With care, she reached to tug it down again.

Watching her, he suddenly smiled. “Perish the thought I should see too much of your lovely ankle.”

She willed herself not to blush. “I was just—”

“Just what?” With the swiftness of a snake, his arm shot out and grabbed her foot. With one swift tug, he pulled her shoe off and cradled her foot in his hand. “Trying not to awake my base desires? You know how men are.” He gave a devilish grin. “Who knows? One more glimpse of your ankle and I might not have been able to contain myself. You could have been ravished on the spot.”