Trial by Desire (12 page)

Once he had heard it, he might begin to put together all the strange, unexplained events. After all, Kate was the reason Mrs. Alcot was no longer living with her husband in the village.

“Is there something I should know?” Ned repeated.

“Yes,” she said, and stood up on tiptoes. It wasn’t lust that drove her to place her lips against his, but splintering dismay. She needed
time.
He reacted with a scalded hiss. His hands came around her waist. And yet when she touched his chest, his mouth opened to her. His tongue met hers. She could feel his body, the outline of his shoulders, the swell of his thigh brushing hers. And then he gathered her up in his arms and pulled her against him. He was hot to the touch, and his heat did nothing to dispel her growing sense of panic. The hard expanse of his chest pushed into her breasts; her legs fell against his thighs. She reached up to touch his face, and a half-day’s worth of stubble prickled the palms of her hand.

It had started as a kiss given out of panic—the easiest way to put off his questions; the best way to garner time to think. But thinking was the last thing she could do with his mouth on hers. What had started as panic became more. Her lips traced the sum of her fears against his; her tongue met his in sheer desperation. He tasted bittersweet. She could not kiss him, not without remembering the secret, sad certainty of his abandonment. She could not feel the warm promise of his arms around her without knowing that she had to push him away from her secrets.

Her kiss spoke of years of loneliness, and his body had no answer.

She could have poured all her shattered marital hopes into that one kiss, if he had let her continue. But he did not. Those strong arms about her held her in place. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. She doubted he could make out any truth in the shadowed light dancing through the leaves overhead.

“That was very nice,” he said, his voice low, “but it was not an answer.”

Drat.

“Mrs. Alcot’s husband lives in the village,” Kate said quietly. “Mrs. Alcot herself lives in the old Leary place. She has, these last two years.”

“Why the devil would she do that?”

“Because her husband was beating her black and blue,” Kate snapped, “and now that she’s coming up in years, he might have broken bones.”

“He agreed to the separation?”

He would find the truth of the matter; all he had to do was poke about the village. Kate lowered her eyes reluctantly. “He did after I decreed it.” Mrs. Alcot had been one of the few women she’d been able to help openly. Kate had been the lady of the manor; in her husband’s absence, her word had not precisely been law, but it had been very, very persuasive.

“You decreed it,” Ned repeated. “Why did
you
decree it?”

“Because
you
were not here.”

He was silent, rubbing his chin. He shook his head, as if clearing it of preconceptions. “I hadn’t realized I left
you with so much responsibility. It seems a serious matter to have been placed upon your shoulders.” She
wanted
him to underestimate her. She wanted him to overlook her, for Louisa’s sake.

But for her own sake, she could have happily shoved him into the mud of the stream bank for the solicitous tone in his voice. “You may notice that I failed to shatter under the strain.”

“Of course, I didn’t mean to imply you were unequal to the task,” he said, practically tripping over himself to reassure her. “No doubt you dealt with the matter magnificently. I merely meant that you shouldn’t have
needed
to do so.”

Heaven forfend that she take time from her schedule of frivolity to think of matters of substance.

“Indeed,” she responded. “The matter took valuable
days
from my last trip to Bond Street. Why, that season, I had to go to the opera with ready-made gloves on opening night. You can imagine my shame.”

What she wanted to say was
I’ve been doing more than that since I was sixteen.

“Are you angry about something?” he asked in bewilderment.

“Of course I’m angry. There was a shortage of peacock feathers that year, and because I was late to town, I had to settle for diamond pins instead.”

He frowned at her. “Did I say something wrong?”

It was a form of kindness he practiced. She’d felt one like it most of her life. No doubt her father had intended to keep her as every woman ought to be kept, safe and out of harm’s way. Women were supposed to plan parties,
after all, not escapes. Ned wouldn’t understand that she wanted more than that. She imagined herself trying to tell him anyway.

I wanted more responsibility, and so I started stealing wives. Did you know Louisa is number seven?

No. That clearly wouldn’t work.

“I did say something,” he said, staring at her. “You
are
angry.”

“I’m
furious
just thinking about those diamonds,” Kate said with a sigh. “Remember, if you love a woman—buy her sapphires.”

Ned simply stared at her, as if she’d announced her intention to give birth to kittens.

“I will never,” he finally said slowly, “
never,
in my entire life,
ever
understand women.”

No, he wouldn’t. And Kate wasn’t sure whether she should thank the Lord for that, or burst into tears.

N
ED HAD NO MORE OPPORTUNITY
to talk to his wife that evening, and in any event, he very much doubted she would say anything he comprehended.

After the evening meal, Kate had cheerfully asked if anyone wanted to play at hide-and-seek. She’d spoken with a bright smile, her hair glinting in the lamplight. If it had been a
real
house party, her suggestion might not have been taken amiss.

As it was, Harcroft had stared at her for a very long time before shaking his head and leaving the brightly lit dining room without a word. Jenny had made polite excuses for herself and her husband. And when they’d all left, Ned had caught that look on her face again—that
curious combination of self-satisfaction and hurt, all mixed into one.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was already hiding. He wasn’t sure what role she’d assigned him in the game, but he felt uneasy. Nobody else seemed to notice, and Ned was left to his own devices.

There was more to all of this than appeared on the surface.

He had gone in search of Jenny, who had a keen eye for seeing hidden things. He’d stopped at the downstairs study. A little sullen light shone from beneath the door, which stood ajar.

Ned eased it open.

Harcroft turned as he entered. “Ah, Ned. Your wife told me I could sit in this room. I hope you’re not accustomed to making use of it.”

“No, no. I have a desk in an alcove in my upstairs chambers.”

Harcroft had laid a heavy sheet of paper on the wooden table. As Ned drew nearer, he realized it was a rough hand-drawn map of the area, roads and villages sketched in by the wavering marks of pencil. Wood shavings—and the aforementioned pencil—decorated the edge of the table.

A single spot of red ink in the center marked the point where gossip had placed the woman who looked like Louisa. Two straight-pins pierced the villages Ned had conducted Harcroft to earlier in the day.

“You’re being quite thorough,” Ned said. For some reason, those two pins, bristling out of the map like the spines of a hedgehog, made him feel uneasy.

“I dare not let anything slip by. Not so much as a single cottager, who might otherwise have useful knowledge.”

The man’s hair shone almost copper in the orange lamplight; he frowned and shifted, staring at those pins until Ned thought they might reduce to slag in the heat of his gaze.

Ned had known Harcroft for years. The ferocity of his expression was nothing new. Harcroft looked like a ruffled angel, with his gold hair and his tired slouch. He had always seemed perfect—so damned perfect. But for his confession on that long-ago night, Ned would have believed him to be truly without fault.

Harcroft had poured himself a finger’s breadth of sherry, but as usual, the liquid sat untouched in a tumbler by his map. He leaned back and sighed, scrubbing his hands through his hair.

“I can help with your sojourns,” Ned said. “I spent enough time hereabouts in my youth that I know the environs quite well.” He reached for the pencil and sketched a little X between two hills. “There are five farmers’ cottages in this valley. Not truly a village, but the houses are built within shouting range of each other, the lands radiating out from that point. And here…”

Harcroft nodded as Ned talked. It was good to feel
useful,
to know that someone was willing to speak with him. Ned discussed the area within a day’s ride from Berkswift slowly, starting from the north and then filling in details in a clockwise sweep. It was only until they got to the southeast quadrant of the map that Ned paused to sharpen the pencil with a penknife.

“There’s very little out west,” he said. “It’s all sheep
pasture now.” He tapped the map at the old Leary place, remembering Kate’s words that afternoon. “Mrs. Alcot, apparently, lives alone here.” He sketched in an obligatory squiggle. “The house she is staying in is rather out of the way.”

Now that he was looking at the rough map, he was reminded of precisely how out of the way the house was—a good thirty minutes on horseback. On foot? Kate’s trek must have taken considerably longer. Over an hour. Another two or three to come back, by the roundabout route she’d taken. She could have made it back to the point where he’d met her in the time allotted. If she’d walked very quickly, and spent no time visiting with Mrs. Alcot.

“Something doesn’t add up,” he said aloud.

“I know that feeling.” Harcroft rubbed his eyes. “I feel as if I’m missing something right in front of my nose, and if I could only draw back, I would see it.”

“There’s another cottage.” Ned moved his pencil a few inches north. “It should be abandoned—the shepherds use it in spring and summer. It’s right here, along the ridge. We passed it this morning. But it’s empty this time of year.”

“Perhaps I’ll go knock these two dots off, tomorrow morning,” Harcroft said, watching as Ned inscribed a second squiggle to represent the shepherd’s cottage.

Ned had scared Kate this afternoon. By the tempo of her breath and the pallor of her skin, she’d seemed terrified to see him at first. And it hadn’t just been his abrupt appearance. His questions had discomfited her enough that she’d thrown herself at him in that frightened parody
of a kiss. And he hadn’t even done anything—just asked after Mrs. Alcot.

“Kate spoke with Mrs. Alcot this afternoon,” Ned said slowly. “She would have spoken up if the woman had seen anything.” He reached for a straight-pin, to puncture that dot on the map.

Harcroft reached forward and blocked his hand. “No. I think not.”

“Kate is friends with Lady Harcroft. I know she wants to help.”

“She’s a woman. She’ll be rather too kind in her questioning. I’ve seen your wife with mine for three years, Ned. If there’s a thought in her head beyond the latest fashions in head gear, I’ve yet to see evidence of it.”

That seemed too much an echo of Kate’s own words this afternoon. Ned felt another prickle of unease travel through him. He was
definitely
missing something.

“Well,” he said, “then I’ll do it myself tomorrow. I know Mrs. Alcot, and if what Kate said is true, she’ll be more likely to talk to me than a stranger. You go here.” Ned tapped east on the map. “Concentrate on the towns with significant populations—it’s the best use of your time, in any event. I’ll handle these two.”

That sense that something was eluding him intensified.

Harcroft shook his head. “Well. That decides that. I suppose I should turn in if I’m to have an early start tomorrow.” He stood and stretched.

Ned stared at the map a while longer. “I was just wondering one thing, Harcroft. Jenny and Gareth spent all their time today searching out news of any ruffians who
might have absconded with your wife. But this afternoon, you asked after gossip about a woman and child alone. Do you think she left of her own free will?”

Harcroft froze, his arms still above his head. “I cannot afford to discount any possibility.”

“But why might she have done that?”

“Why does any woman do anything?” He shrugged, as if all feminine foibles could be reduced to whim. “Honestly, I simply cannot comprehend those women who claim that they should be granted the right to vote or own property. If they could vote, they would choose the fellow with the prettiest moustache. Or the one who promised to usher in a new fashion.”

“That’s a rather harsh assessment.”

“Hardly. In my experience, if a woman thinks she is capable of deciding an issue of importance, it should be taken as presumptive evidence of her incapacity. Too foolish to know what she cannot do.”

Ned shut his mouth. Harcroft was overset. Unhappy. It was inevitable that he feel a bit embittered toward womankind, under the circumstances.

But Harcroft was looking at him with a disbelieving glower. “Surely you don’t believe that women deserve
more
rights? That they are competent to handle men’s affairs?”

Ned’s father had died in a hunting accident. His mother had raised him practically on her own—choosing his tutors, making sure that he learned the fundamentals of hunting and boxing from uncles and cousins, and the principles of estate management from his grandfather. In his later youth, he’d watched Jenny, the marchioness,
handle situations that would have brought lesser men to their knees. Ned knew the prevailing sentiment was that women needed to be protected from the world, but in his personal life, the women he’d known most closely hadn’t had much male protection. They’d still triumphed.

Perhaps that was why he found it difficult to become exercised, as many of his compatriots did, at the thought of women gaining traditionally male prerogatives. In his life, women had
always
had those prerogatives.

“If you’re worried about how Lady Harcroft will fare on her own,” he suggested gently, “it’s been my experience that women are capable of more than we give them credit for. I am sure she might surprise you with what she has done.”