She nodded. "No one could disprove the charge, though Ridgeway was entertaining house guests during most of his stay. And the girl married Mr. Derwyn shortly after the rumors started, putting paid to most of them. They moved to York."

"Unexpectedly?"

She shook her head, her eyes fading into disappointment. "He had accepted a position as steward to Lord Thorne. 'Twas what allowed their marriage. He had courted her for two years."

He must discover the details of the marriage. Derwyn may not have known the truth until after the ceremony. Sir Tristan could have packed the girl off to avoid further embarra.s.sment or arranged Derwyn's post because she was increasing. Either man might have taken steps to avenge his honor.

Honor was a powerful motivation. He knew two young lords whose escalating animosity was entering its third year. The quarrel had begun over a perceived slight by one to the inamorata of the other. But instead of settling the matter in a duel-which would have been the end of it-the injured lord had insulted the other, who had replied in kind. Each attack had provoked a counterattack. Neither now cared that the girl had long since wed another.

He swallowed a bite of cake. "Does anyone else have a recent grievance?"

"Your tenants. They all believed that he was about to raise the rents again."

He nodded, though he had not heard that particular story. Why had Walden not mentioned it? Or Jem?

Walden had left yesterday, a tepid recommendation in his pocket. James had agonized over the wording for days. Now he wondered if letting him go had been a mistake. Had Walden been responsible for John's death?

He had discounted the notion earlier. Walden must have known what John was doing to the tenants, yet he had not raised a single protest. But a demand to raise rents yet again might have been more than even a spineless coward could tolerate. Weak men rarely struck back at their persecutors, so their rage built. When they finally exploded into action, they could be even more vicious than their quick-tempered friends.

Walden was the one person who could have easily drawn John away from the house. And he could have recovered the note before anyone suspected John was missing. No one would have noticed the steward visiting the library.

"Barnes grumbled for months about the damage John's guests inflicted on the inn," continued Miss Hardaway.

"I know about that, and have taken steps to rebuild the wing. Are there any other tradesmen with grievances?"

"The Ridgeway account was six months in arrears with the chandler-but that was a chronic problem with every merchant." She frowned. "There was an argument in the linen draper's about a year ago."

"John actually visited a shop?" He sounded so incredulous that she smiled.

"No. Now that I think on it, Lord Northrup caused that contretemps. Mrs. Ruddy was attending a sick relative, so when Ruddy's daughter contracted influenza, he asked Rose Moore to watch the shop for a few days. But she wasn't very knowing about the stock. Northrup thought she was disrespectful and knocked her down. Ruddy came down from Alice's sickroom and found what Northrup needed. Gave him a good price, too, just to smooth over his temper."

He couldn't see how the incident related to John, but he would relay it to Mary. Frederick had died shortly thereafter.

Miss Hardaway continued to ramble, relating old gossip, rumors, and speculation, but nothing of interest turned up.

He reviewed her information as he drove back to the Court. The gossip had confirmed his impressions of Robby. The lad had talked more freely after meeting with Forbes, but he knew little more than what Mary had already reported. He had hired on after Frederick's death, so his sole contact with John had been the morning the note appeared. Veiled warnings from the other employees had revealed that John was a man to fear. Other mutterings gave the impression that John and his friends engaged in outrageous practices, but no one ever spoke of specifics for fear of reprisal. Since Robby had witnessed nothing for himself, he wasn't much help.

He sighed. No one else was willing to talk beyond generalities. But the note did help, moving the tenants to the bottom of his list of suspects. Not that their grievances were petty, but John would never have met one away from the Court. Of course, the note might have lied, claiming to be from someone else. He thought it unlikely, though. Few of the tenants could write, and none could write well enough to forge the hand of someone John would trust. Besides, impersonating a friend would require intimate knowledge of John's affairs-information unlikely to come a tenant's way. But a tenant might have taken advantage of finding him out alone.

Unlikely, he decided, recalling die isolation of the ridge. So who were his prime suspects?

Mr. Derwyn lived too far away to be responsible for the attack near the quarry, so he joined the tenants at the bottom of the list.

Sir Tristan was another matter. He was the owner of the estate beyond Brewster's Ridge, the estate reached by that rarely traveled path. The rumors were vague, but the fact that they had carried so far from Sir Tristan's home gave them veracity. So Sir Tristan was a definite suspect.

Walden could both have written and destroyed the note. He was the one man John had met with before his death. If they had argued, John would not have ridden out to meet him, but even a minor incident might have snapped Walden's temper. Or he might have discovered that John meant to turn him off. No evidence supported such a plot, but John may have wanted a more villainous steward.

What about Bridwell? He had a past he wanted to hide. Perhaps John had threatened to expose him or was trying to force him into some new crime. Bridwell could have summoned him on the pretense of accepting his orders.

Or Barnes could have lured him. He might have overheard something incriminating at the inn. And he might have samples of handwriting that would allow him to impersonate one of John's friends. His anger would have been hot when Frederick died, and John's refusal to repair the damage-which bit deeply into Barnes's income-would have kept his temper on the boil for months.

How many of the local gentlemen had John fleeced at cards?

His head ached. He had never thought of himself as naive. He had traveled the world, witnessed the depredations of war, watched easily inflamed Latin pa.s.sions explode into mayhem, ignored the torture and butchery that petty Indian princes inflicted on their enemies. But even knowing John since before birth had not prepared him for finding such evil and pain in his own home.

He slowed his team as he entered the woods. Since the attack, driving here had made him nervous, but this was the shortest route from town. Taking the longer road would add miles to the journey and concede victory to his unseen enemy.

Yet he hated these woods. Eyes alert, he scanned the trees, looking for any hint of movement. He had seen nothing the first time, though the culprit must have been fairly close. The difficulty of throwing that rock between the trees would have jumped drastically with even a small increase in distance.

Every rustle made him flinch. But only birds and squirrels roamed today. Their friendly chatter declared that he was alone.

Miss Hardaway was beginning to accept him. Everyone else in town had been polite, but wary-Barnes, Ruddy, Bridwell, the inn's head groom, the chandler, the confectioner. They did not trust him. It might take years before they welcomed him.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he left the trees behind. But his imagination was far from dead. He could feel eyes boring into his back as he carefully skirted the quarry. Rounding the narrowest corner, he flinched, picturing the long fall he would have taken if Mary had not somehow halted his team. His eyes followed the ribbons and measured the width of the road. How had she done it?

He shivered.

His mind needed a rest. For the remainder of the trip, he considered ways to convince Mary to dance with him at Sir Richard's party.

Pulling up before the Court, he handed the phaeton to a groom and headed for the library. But he had hardly settled into his chair when Forbes appeared in the doorway.

"What is it?"

"Matt asks that you come to the stable, my lord."

James frowned, but Matt was his own groom, who had been with him for fifteen years, had accompanied him on his travels, and had no connection to Ridgeway.

He was halfway to the stable before he thought of the other possibility. He had only Forbes's word that Matt had requested this meeting. Was Forbes conspiring with whomever had killed John? The butler had seemed less suspicious since receiving Turnby's endors.e.m.e.nt, but it might have been an act.

His eyes darted right and left. A hedge screened the stable yard from the formal gardens. Was someone lurking behind it? Where was the usual bustle? No grooms exercised horses. No stable boys carried used straw to the refuse pile. No coachmen polished the bra.s.s fittings on their conveyances.

Silence thrummed in his ears. Chills crawled up his spine.

Then Matt appeared in the doorway, and the scene returned to normal.

Laughter echoed from beyond the dog run. Peering around a corner, he spotted two stable boys fencing with staves, cheered on by half a dozen grooms. One of the boys tripped, sprawling face first into the mud. Renewed laughter rolled across the yard. The lad's opponent helped him to his feet, then squared off for another round.

Matt touched his arm. "I thought you should see this," he said softly, leading him around the other end of the building. He squatted, pointing to the phaeton.

Red mist welled up to blind him. Someone had cut halfway through the rear axle. Another attempt.

" 'Twere fine when you left," vowed Matt. "I checked her meself. Don't trust the lads here none."

"Why?"

"They none of 'em liked your brother, milord. There's been too much mutterin' 'bout identical twins to my way o' thinking, despite me swearin' you were far away all those years. Don't know if it's more'n mutterin', but I ain't takin' no chances. I keeps a close eye on the horses and equipment."

"I appreciate that. It happened in town, then. Had to. I left it in a corner of the inn's stable yard, but I didn't unhitch the horses because I wasn't planning to stay long."

The inn had been busy, so the ostler had kept his grooms jumping. They would have had no time to admire his rig-or to notice if someone else had been doing so.

Thank G.o.d he had driven slowly. Speeding over the quarry road would have made the phaeton bounce, cracking the axle and spilling him out. If it had happened on that narrow corner- which was quite possible, given the condition of that road-he would have gone over the side. People might have noticed the cut on the phaeton's axle, but by then it would have been too late. He fought down shudders at how close he had come to dying. Again. But the killer had underestimated the impact of his earlier attempt. Either the man did not expect him to be cautious near the quarry, or he did not know that Mary had recognized his intentions.

Mary.

He could not afford to make a.s.sumptions. Would the killer strike Mary to silence any chance she might know?

Later, he decided. It was more important to fit this attack with his other facts.

The culprit had known he was in town that day. Either he had been there on his own business and taken advantage of an unexpected opportunity, or he had followed him there. Which narrowed his list of primary suspects to those in town, those on the estate, or those he had pa.s.sed on the road.

Had Walden stayed in the area, hiding out in the woods or in an abandoned cottage? There was such a cottage halfway to town. He would check it in the morning for signs of occupancy.

He had pa.s.sed two tenants, the Adams brothers, and Sir Richard on his way to town, but someone else might have spotted him and hidden until he drove past.

Besides the town's residents, any of whom could have seen him, Isaac had waved before disappearing into the doctor's house-probably not a professional visit; the two had been friends since childhood. Sir Maxwell had come out of the tailor's. Lady Carworth had been chatting with Mrs. Bridwell. And those were only the ones he had noticed. Market day brought dozens of people to town. Others could have seen him and stayed out of his sight.

He returned to the library and poured a gla.s.s of brandy. His head hurt.

This second attempt put paid to the notion that someone had wanted to discourage further investigation into John's death. The killer was serious-which meant Mary was also in danger. She had asked as many questions as he had.

Whatever his feelings about the attacks on him, he would not tolerate injury to Mary.

Chapter Thirteen.

Mary sank onto the bench in the rose garden and wept. d.a.m.n James! d.a.m.n him, d.a.m.n him, d.a.m.n him! He had destroyed her peaceful retreat.

Amelia had been bursting with happiness that morning as they planned the ball that would celebrate the betrothals. Mary had tried to be supportive, had tried to share her joy-and she had carried it off. But the effort had brought on the headache that was pounding her temples and pressing against the backs of her eyes until they threatened to pop onto the ground.

How could she place Amelia's life in the hands of a libertine? Yet how could she stop it?

The deed was done. Justin had approved. Letters had already been dispatched to Harry's family and the newspapers. Amelia could not back out now without ruining herself.

Mary dabbed at her eyes. Never had she felt more helpless. After eight years of running the estate, making all the decisions, approving every action, she had not even been consulted about so important a decision. Women rarely were, of course, but she was finding the transition to the traditional subordinate role more onerous than she had expected.

It should not have surprised her. Since her earliest childhood, she had a.s.sumed more responsibility than was considered seemly. First with her family, then with the Northrups. How quickly life could change. Two weeks had stripped her of everything. Even a role as lady of the manor was denied her here, for the widow of the previous lord had authority over nothing.

New tears flowed. Amelia's life had changed even faster. How could she know Harry well enough to wed him, when she had met him only ten days ago? He could easily keep a genial facade in place that long. Frederick had done so for the entire month between their betrothal and their wedding. John had been adept at hiding his true nature until after he had achieved his goal. Even Edwin might be living a lie.

But she was powerless to break the betrothals, powerless to order investigations into their backgrounds, powerless to protect the girls from harm. The admission filled her with panic. Her life was out of her control, as were the lives of those she loved. And she was powerless to stop it.

Hoping to at least calm her panic, she had sought the peace of her rose garden where the scents of a thousand blooms would soothe away her pain.

But James had stripped her even of peace. The garden no longer offered surcease. He remained there-huge, virile, tempting her down a path that would destroy her.

Why had he accosted her here? Anyplace else would have been better-the house, the stables, out on the road. Instead, he had tainted her one refuge.

Her fists clenched, remembering his touch. Shivers rolled up her arms-but not from fear. Warmth pooled in her womb. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s tightened, growing heavier, prodding her to awareness. His kiss still tingled on her lips.

She swore again, fleeing the garden that no longer offered sanctuary. He must be in league with Satan. How else could he affect her so strongly? He was bigger than Frederick-taller, broader, stronger. Capitulating to his demands would kill her.

Yet she wanted to. Insidious devil that he was, he had made her desire him. The intensity in those dark eyes stopped her breath whenever he pinned her with a glance, coiling heat inside that could burst into flames with the slightest hint of that crooked smile. Even his tension aroused her, for she knew he held himself in check with difficulty. Every gesture made it worse, for she could imagine those long finger stroking her, those beautiful hands cradling her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, his lips- Please, G.o.d, no, she pleaded, almost running as she approached the stables.

A laugh floated out to meet her. Lighthearted. Carefree. Trailing into giggles.

Mary rounded a corner and stopped. Sunlight drenched an emerald-green lawn and the stately oak that had stood there for more than a century. Blue sky blazed overhead, dotted with tiny puff clouds. Mary's heart calmed as she gazed on the peaceful scene.

Caro's yellow dress could not have had a more perfect backdrop as she sprawled on the gra.s.s amid half a dozen puppies. She giggled as a pink tongue washed her face and another tickled one ear. Two of them pounced on her legs. Another gnawed playfully at her fingers.

Edwin sat in the shade, absently petting the mother as yet another puppy chewed on his boot. His eyes watched Caro, his face revealing such love that Mary caught her breath.

The puppy abandoned his boot to chase its tail, yelping when he caught it. Caro grabbed the hapless fellow, tickling his tummy as Edwin laughed and another of the pups raced after a b.u.t.terfly.

Mary backed away, loath to intrude. But the image had lightened her heart. Such innocent pleasure was outside her experience-as was Edwin's approval of it. Not even her father would have tolerated chewed boots.

But Edwin did not seem to care, and he had reveled in Caro's fun.

She released a sigh, admitting that Caro's future was secure. And perhaps Amelia would be all right, too. Edwin and James both swore that Harry was honest and caring, though it was impossible to imagine him sitting on the ground with a litter of puppies.

She laughed, then laughed again when she realized that her headache was gone.

James frowned as he rode toward Northfield. Harry and Edwin were already there, but he needed to see Mary. And it had to be alone.

The second murder attempt had shaken him badly. It had taken all of a largely sleepless night to bring his emotions under control-a vital step, for he could not afford to break down around Mary. He needed to hold her, to absorb her strength so he could banish his own fears. Only then could he protect her from harm. But she was not ready for that.

Besides, she had needed time before facing him again. Calling yesterday would have pressured her, strengthening her determination to resist him.

But they must talk.

He had stopped at two empty cottages that morning. Neither held any sign of recent occupancy. Both floors were covered in dust, undisturbed by any feet. If Walden remained in the area, he was hiding in a remote location. No one had seen him.

At least Mary was at home and agreed to speak with him. But one glance revealed that she had set even more distance between them than he had feared.

"I will apologize again for my behavior at our last meeting," he said once greetings were out of the way and she had offered him a gla.s.s of wine. "Then we will put the incident behind us."

"Very well, my lord," she said coolly.

"It won't happen again," he promised. "Not because I didn't enjoy it, and not because I don't wish to repeat it, but because I respect you too much to cause you distress."