"Interesting theory. You also have a remarkable imagination. So why did John leave after Frederick's death?"

He frowned. "Coincidence?"

"Unlikely. What about your tenants?"

"I had discounted them, for few of them can write and none well enough to impersonate a friend. But if someone was blackmailing him, then they will have to go back on the list."

"But what had he done locally that might attract blackmail? He was rarely here. A blackmailer was more likely to come from elsewhere."

He muttered what sounded like imprecations. "Perhaps John killed Frederick. That would explain his flight. And if someone saw him, they might consider blackmail."

"Which puts everyone on the list, not just the tenants."

"That is true anyway. There is not a resident for miles who doesn't have a motive."

"True. But which of them has the strength and accuracy to knock three men senseless with rocks?"

"Ouch!"

She raised her brows.

"I had not considered that particular skill, but it is crucial. I will have to inquire about who throws well. Yesterday's incident eliminates no one, for anyone in town would have had access to my phaeton. It was parked in an out-of-the-way corner of the inn's stable yard."

"Speaking of the inn, what about Barnes? Both John and Frederick were there the night the fire started. And Barnes is both a champion quoits player and an accurate thrower. I saw him pick off a rabbit at twenty paces one day."

"And he could tamper with my phaeton without drawing attention."

She frowned. "Not really. He is rarely in the stable yard, so draws the eyes of every groom when he appears."

Another theory gone. "Then there is Bridwell."

"Did he have a complaint against Frederick?"

"I don't know, but he has a big one against me. I sent notice to the bishop yesterday that I wished to replace Bridwell with your brother. If he heard about the letter, he could easily guess at its contents."

Howard would be pleased to have his own living, for it would allow him to wed. But James's voice deflected her thoughts, flowing over her like velvet and raising desire. Intimacy is beautiful... Warmth and yearning choked her breast. She wanted his arms around her, his lips on hers, his- Don't trust him! It's a trick! But the yearning increased, reminding her that life was empty, nights were long, and she had no one who could share her thoughts. Once the girls wed, she would have no one at all.

His words no longer made sense. She was falling into the rich depths of his eyes. His voice wove spells that bound her, paralyzed her, froze her thoughts. The warmth burst into flames, consuming her body. Not until he moved did she escape.

"I will let you know if I learn anything new," he promised, standing.

She automatically rose. "Thank you." What else could she say? She had no idea what he proposed to do.

Her hand reached out, without thought. Smiling, he raised it to his lips, then bade her farewell. But his fingers lightly caressed her palm before he released her, weakening her knees. By the time she stiffened them, he was gone.

James kept his face solemn until he was away from the Manor, then he laughed. He had her. She was firmly hooked. All he had to do now was reel her in.

He shifted in the saddle. He would have stayed longer, but caution had sent him away. In another minute, he would have swept her into his arms-and would have terrified her into locking the doors against him.

She cared. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, but the fear still lurked. Desire had shoved it aside for one glorious moment, but he had not yet won the battle. It was that naked yeanling that had eroded his control. Without her fear to hold him at bay, he didn't trust himself.

He groaned.

He might be frustrated out of his mind right now, but he had to keep it slow. At least she had granted him a dance.

He pulled his mind away from long legs and a generous bosom, unclenching his stomach muscles in his effort to relax. She had thought of possibilities he had not considered, giving him yet more paths to follow. Investigating those would keep him occupied.

The man stared into the fire, cursing his failure. The cut had been too shallow.

Sawing that axle had been risky, for he had been in a public place in broad daylight. The specter of eyes boring into his back had made his hands shake. And his fear of exposure had made him flee before testing his work.

And so he had failed.

It was time to end it. Long past time. He could no longer rely on an accident. This last effort would raise suspicions anyway. He doubted Ridgeway would consider the cut a prank.

So no more chances. Their next encounter would be decisive. And he had little to fear. No one connected him with John's death. No one suspected that Northrup's accident had been well-deserved retribution. Ridgeway's demise would cause talk, but it should not affect him.

Soon it would be over. Soon he could find peace. Soon...

Sir Richard and Lady Redfield considered themselves the luckiest of hosts. Not only were they holding the first formal gathering since word had spread of the Northrup betrothals, but they had no marriageable daughters, so they were not bemoaning the loss of the most eligible gentlemen to appear in Ridge-field in some time. Pity the poor women who were sponsoring elaborate entertainments but now had no chance of snaring a match. Few considered Ridgeway a viable choice. Of course, there was still Northrup. Three-and-twenty wasn't that young. Seven years of military life had aged him.

Mary smiled as Lucy Granger batted her lashes at Justin. The girl was on her best behavior tonight, determined to erase the memory of her last public appearance.

Lady Redfield did not call her modest gathering a ball. Instead, she had patterned her evening after the informal waltzing parties that were all the rage in London. A full quarter of the sets were waltzes, though she included many other steps in deference to country sensibilities.

Mary had made a point of disapproving the waltz since the first military man returning from the Continent had described it. Allowing a gentleman to hold her in his arms was a repugnant idea, but tonight she perversely wished to partic.i.p.ate. James danced divinely, and his arms would have been welcome.

Or so that insidious voice insisted. She couldn't get rid of the plaguey thing, proving that James had already seduced her conscience. Would her body be next?

"Scandalous!" hissed Miss Hardaway from the next chair. "I never thought to see your charges waltzing."

"Nor I, but I could hardly refuse them permission to dance with their betrotheds, and Justin had already agreed."

"Of course a man would agree," said Miss Hardaway. "My sister in Southampton tells me scandalous tales about officers."

"Who is betrothed?" interrupted Miss Sharpe. "Why was I not told?"

"She never remembers anything." Miss Hardaway sounded pleased.

"Amelia has accepted Mr. Crenshaw, and Caroline is to wed Sir Edwin," Mary explained. "Those are the gentlemen who are dancing with them right now."

"How delighted you must be." Miss Sharpe actually clapped her hands.

"Quite."

"You should have remembered," said Miss Hardaway chidingly. "I've already told you three times."

But Mary knew the gossip didn't mind. Miss Sharpe's failing memory provided a perpetual audience for her tales.

She wrenched her eyes from the dancers. James was twirling Miss Lawton around the room. The girl was an exquisite beauty despite her minimal breeding. He seemed enchanted.

One hand had closed into a fist, so she deliberately relaxed it.

Miss Hardaway repeated the latest gossip, with Miss Sharpe's shrieks of surprise and wails of sorrow punctuating each story. Mary listened without comment, but nothing could explain why the sabotage to James's phaeton had gone unnoticed.

James led her out for their country dance. By the time they had completed one pattern, she was grateful it was not a waltz. Every touch of his hand burned through her gloves. Every brush of his body weakened her knees until she feared she would collapse. Warmth burned her cheeks, posting her thoughts for all to read.

"You seem overheated. Shall we find some lemonade?" he asked when the set concluded. "And perhaps a corner where we can talk privately for just a moment?"

She nodded, praying that he would attribute her flush to an unusually warm evening. But he was too good at reading her mind for her to believe it.

"Have you learned something new?" she asked when they had retired to Lady Redfield's morning room.

"Not exactly, but I did some thinking after leaving you yesterday. If I hadn't been so furious over the attack, I would have realized it sooner. Only someone who lived in town could have cut that axle."

"Why?" She concentrated on her lemonade, ignoring his shoulders, which stretched even wider under an elegant wine-colored jacket trimmed in black velvet. Tonight's cravat jewel was a ruby.

"To inflict the damage, the culprit had to crawl underneath my phaeton-and probably lie on the ground. But that corner was rather muddy. Who would risk it unless they had clean clothes nearby?"

"A very good argument. Who knew you would be in town that day?"

"No one. It was a decision I made after leaving the Court. I had originally intended to call on Isaac."

"So the attack was spontaneous. Could Barnes have reached that corner without being spotted by one of the grooms?"

"Not unless something distracted the entire stable staff."

She sighed. "Miss Hardaway was recounting gossip just now, but none of the tales would have done so." The words were almost random because he was staring at her mouth. She ought to walk over and look out the window, but her feet seemed stuck to the floor.

"What was the most exciting story?" he asked, then slowly licked his lips.

What? Mesmerized by the seductive pa.s.sage of his tongue, she had no idea what he'd said. Had he asked her a question? She couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't escape the heat pouring through her body. The corners of his mouth twitched upward.

"I want to kiss you, Mary."

She clenched both hands around her gla.s.s to keep from stroking his chest. The ruby pulsed in the candlelight, inviting her touch, promising fiery pleasure and ecstasy beyond imagining.

"I am asking permission," he continued softly, sliding close to lift her chin with the tip of one finger. "You need not fear me, now or ever. I would never hurt you."

She raised her eyes, but saw only longing in his. There was none of the cruel calculation she had once spotted when Frederick looked at a new maid.

"Please, Mary?" He offered his hand.

Fear curled in her stomach, but she could not deny him. Slowly she set down the gla.s.s and laid a hand in his. Gently he drew it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her wrist where he had flicked open two b.u.t.tons on her glove. His other hand stroked down the side of her neck and across her shoulder.

Despite her high-necked gown, she shivered.

"One kiss?"

She nodded, expecting a repeat of the kiss in the garden. But it wasn't.

He brushed his lips across her mouth, exhaling gently. It was she who turned back for more, who demanded a second touch, then a third.

He nibbled experimentally, making her lips tingle with excitement. She increased the pressure. Her hand slipped around his neck as she stretched on tiptoe to better reach his mouth. The movement brought her against his body, sending sparks stabbing through each breast. Rubbing against his chest created delightful sensations.

He groaned.

His tongue swirled lightly, slipping behind her lips to tease and beg. Fire burst along her veins; every muscle trembled. Whimpering for more, she opened her mouth.

Dear G.o.d. He thrust inside, conquering even as he playfully invited partic.i.p.ation. The yearning grew until she could barely contain it. Heat collected in a wet pool between her legs.

A stab of fear quickly fled, for he was not constraining her. One hand rested lightly on her hip. The other moved slowly up her back, leaving warmth in its wake.

He was trembling and taut as a bow string. And hard. That part of him strained against her. Another spurt of fear coursed through her mind. Would he lose control and attack?

But again the fear drained away. He used no coercion, instead enticing her with pleasure and sultry promises. She could not pull back. The yearning was too powerful. His touch felt too good. And he would not hurt her.

Merciful heavens, I trust him!

It was James who finally eased away. "That is enough for now," he murmured, his voice husky. "More than enough. But I will leave you with one last thought. Lovemaking is life's greatest joy. It can be wild and frenzied or soft and sweet. But it should never frighten or inflict pain. You know what I want, but I swear on my honor as a gentleman that I will never hurt you."

With that, he slipped out of the room.

Mary collapsed on a couch. What was she to do? And not just about his desire. He had made it clear that he had more honorable intentions than merely bedding her.

How could she give herself to any man? It would put her in his power, giving him control of her life.

Yet how could she live alone after knowing him? She wanted him. If he had pressed, she would have gone to him without pause. His touch had banished the fear-for the moment. Was it a trick?

She was caught on the horns of dilemma. Her plans were made. But leaving sounded less desirable than ever before. That idyllic cottage no longer looked so peaceful.

It looked lonely.

Chapter Fourteen.