Down, he ordered his raging body,but it ignored him.

Again he shifted his position.

Their confrontation had not gone as he had expected-starting with her vehement denial of an affair with John. He had believed her-and not because his heart had leaped with joy at her words. She had to have heard the rumors. They were too ubiquitous for her to remain ignorant. So the white face could only have been from fury that a former friend had turned on her. Or perhaps pain?

But he thrust that thought aside. Pain would indicate stronger feelings than friendship-unless she was upset because he had accepted that she was dishonorable, while she had dismissed more dastardly tales against him.

Yet she was far from the sweet innocent he remembered. Now that he was removed from proximity to that delectable body, he could think more clearly. She had succored John's victims before her marriage. What had her father been thinking?

He remembered Vicar Layton as a devoted parent and dedicated servant of the parish. Neither role was served by discussing s.e.xual encounters with an innocent, especially involuntary ones-which cast new suspicions on her virtue. She might not have met with John, but he had heard tales of a suitor crying off.

He stiffened. Consider all the facts. Was Mary a better actress than he had thought? John had not merely claimed an affair. He had offered evidence-a mark visible only to a lover. He would never have mentioned something that might be easily disproved. So he must have seen her naked.

Pain clenched his stomach.

He twisted facts. Mary's voice reverberated in his head. There must be another explanation for John's knowledge. If only he could think of it.

His expression was growing grimmer, but this was not an appropriate place for serious thought. When they arrived at Ridgeway, the light would expose his face. Glancing across at his friends, he forced his mind back to the conversation.

"Lady Northrup is the only mother Amelia remembers," Harry was saying. "Her own died when Caroline was born, and their father never remarried. Their governess was an ancient crone who disdained anything frivolous. Fortunately, Mary replaced her with a younger woman and took the girls under her own wing."'

"Caroline mentioned that. They were shocked when Frederick married within a month of their father's death-and to a vicar's daughter of little breeding-but they soon learned to love Mary. Without her, Caroline fears she would have been judged insane. It was Mary who realized that her problem was excess energy, and who taught her to control herself."

"And they rejoiced that Frederick rarely returned home. He was a brutal man when crossed."

"How?" asked James, though it was hardly surprising in one of John's friends.

"He broke Amelia's arm knocking her across the room one day. She had interrupted him to ask a favor despite his orders that he not be disturbed. The servant who let her in was summarily dismissed."

Which sounded exactly like something John would have done, he had to admit.

The carriage pulled up before Ridgeway.

Chapter Six.

Mary rode along the rim of the abandoned quarry, keeping her horse as far from the edge as possible-which wasn't very far. Trees crowned the crumbling cliff that rose on her right. Piles of rock had acc.u.mulated at its base. Wind and rain had gouged out the quarry walls until the road was only twelve feet wide in spots.

People had talked for years about moving the road to the other side of the hill, but so far nothing had happened. She hoped James would consider it. The decision would ultimately be his since the proposed right-of-way would cross his land. In the meantime, she shuddered every time she pa.s.sed this spot. Frederick had tumbled to his death here.

Not that she missed him.

As she rounded the sharpest corner, a hawk exploded out of the pit, clutching a squirrel in its talons. Acorn shied, swinging dangerously close to the edge and kicking loose a rock that bounced twice before landing twenty feet below.

The Ridgeway gentlemen had called at Northfield the morning after her dinner. Justin had been out with the steward, so she had been the girls' sole chaperon. But the job had been surprisingly easy.

Mr. Crenshaw had entertained them with humorous tales of the London Season, drawing giggles from the usually sedate Amelia.

A very proper couple had been thrown into hysterics while walking in Hyde Park one day. Two boys and a dog had raced past in a game of tag, knocking them into the Serpentine and ruining their clothes. Though Mary rarely laughed at anyone's misfortune, his narrative had been so witty that she hadn't been able to help herself. And the tale of the climbing-boy-turned-burglar was even funnier. The lad had been released by his master, who deemed him too old to work. The master had been right. When oaths awakened Lady Benchley, she had discovered his head dangling in her fireplace, his shoulders firmly stuck in the chimney. Nothing could dislodge him. They had finally sent a smaller boy down to tie a rope around his ankles so they could haul him out the top.

Mary sighed. She could see why Amelia found Mr. Crenshaw so fascinating.

Sir Edwin was not a sparkling entertainer, but his conversation was just as interesting. He had described why he believed the remains of a Roman villa were buried on his estate, painting such vivid word pictures of the Roman invasion that she could see the legions marching across Britain. Caroline had hung on every word, and she had stayed in control for the entire visit with hardly a clenched fist to help.

Neither of the gentlemen had said or done anything to justify her suspicions. The only surprise had been the way James had studied every move and a.n.a.lyzed every word. Had he feared his friends would reveal some secret? Or were her earlier suspicions correct? If he were like John, then his friends would be like Frederick. Hiding their faults could be a ploy to inflict pain by winning their regard before crushing their spirits.

She didn't want to believe it, but ignoring the possibility could be dangerous. Somehow, she must discover his ultimate intentions. Their conversation during that morning call had merely raised new questions.

They had retired to a corner of the drawing room. He had still been harping on John's recent visits, demanding a detailed list of who his brother had met.

"How should I know?" she'd finally burst out, though she managed to keep her voice pitched low so the others would not hear. "I avoided him as much as possible, for I despised the man."

"But he was your husband's closest friend. You must have seen him often."

She glared at him. "Yes, he was Frederick's friend and led him into trouble more often than not. But even when Frederick was home, John never visited here."

"Why? Was your husband afraid you preferred him?"

She wanted to strike him, but a lady could not do so. And drawing attention to them would raise questions she did not want to answer. Her relationship with her husband was no one's business.

James still believed she had succ.u.mbed to John's wiles, despite his soothing words at their last meeting. Frederick would never have jumped to such an unwarranted conclusion. If he had considered the question at all, he would have feared that she might slip a knife into John's back if he visited Northfield. She had warned him against John too often for him to mistake her feelings.

"Frederick was understandably concerned for his sisters' reputations," she finally claimed, though she doubted he had cared one way or the other. "Allowing John near them would have courted disaster."

"Yet he left them in your charge."

Red haze pulsed before her eyes. "Do you practice being offensive or does it come naturally? I rue the day I ever considered you superior to your brother."

"How dare you?" he snapped.

"At least I base my judgments on the evidence of my own eyes instead of proving my gullibility by accepting the unsubstantiated claims of chronic liars." She immediately regretted the outburst, but it was too late to recall the words.

"Chronic liars?" He seemed on the verge of losing his temper.

She forced control on her voice, but something prodded her to continue. For years, she and every other person in the district had avoided talking about John. Though he was gone, the fear remained. Why else had she softened her condemnation when James had cornered her the first time? But it was time to lay the past to rest. If James wanted the unvarnished truth, she must provide it.

"John never spoke an honest word in his life, even when telling the truth would have been easier. But he was your family, so of course you believed him. Just as you accept every sensationalized tale Mrs. Bridwell spouts. After all, she is a vicar's wife, so why would she lie?"

"I am aware that John frequently exaggerated," he protested. "And I know very well that Mrs. Bridwell is overly judgmental, but those are not my only sources."

"What you don't accept is that John was an unconscionable bully who would employ any tactic to achieve his goals. And the goal was often to inflict as much pain as possible. Not only was he a liar who frequently fabricated stories out of whole cloth, but he intimidated everyone he met. No one dared counter him. If he'd said the sky was green, people would have rushed to spread the word lest he destroy them for daring to oppose him. If a lie is repeated often enough, people accept it as truth. Even if they doubt the details, the core remains viable- where there is smoke, there must be fire," she quoted bitterly.

He let out a long sigh. "I am not as gullible as you imply, and I know that John preyed on most of you. But that is not what I wish to discuss just now. In addition to your husband, who did John usually see when he was here?"

"I've no idea."

His eyes bore into hers, raising odd p.r.i.c.kles on the back of her neck-quite different from those John and Frederick had incited. Not now, she chided herself, stifling the warmth even as his voice softened into that soothing velvet that stroked across her skin, caressing her, enticing her.

"Surely gossip included talk of who John saw when he was in the area."

"You still don't understand, do you?" To hide her emotional confusion, she glared at him. "Anyone with an ounce of intelligence ignored him-they didn't see him, didn't hear him, didn't discuss him. They certainly uttered no word against him, for attracting his attention guaranteed reprisals. Even when he was away in London, no one spoke of him. When commiserating with his victims over their bad fortune, a look or nod toward Ridgeway might hint that John was responsible. But that was the most anyone dared."

"You heard nothing else?"

"If people whispered in private, I would never know. His lies have always isolated me, and not just because of my reputed escapades. You are not the only one who erroneously believed we were close."

"Let's try this another way, then. Who were Northrup's friends?"

"I don't know."

"Why?"

"He never discussed his disreputable acquaintances, and he had no others. In fact, he had never discussed anything. The only difference his presence had made was casting a pall of tension over the household, fraying tempers and inciting fear."

"But you must be able to guess. You were married to the man for seven years."

"So what?"

"Who did he see during his last trip home besides John?"

"Give it up, my lord. I know nothing."

"You mean you will reveal nothing."

"Don't put words in my mouth." Her temper snapped. "I know nothing. Even when Frederick visited Northfield, he split his time between Ridgeway and the l.u.s.ty Maiden. He knew no one and liked it that way. He could have pa.s.sed the steward or a tenant on the street and not recognized him. I've no idea who John knew, so I can't help you. I know even less about his last visit home because I was in mourning. If you need to find out who he saw, ask your servants."

"I already did, but they are a close-mouthed lot. They claim he saw no one, but I suspect they are hiding something."

"Perhaps they are telling the truth."

"Then what triggered his death?"

That parting question had teased her ever since. If John had spoken to no one, then who had killed him? And why? No one had liked him, but she had heard of no new tragedies that could be laid at his door. So why was he dead?

The obvious answer was that an argument had exploded out of control-which explained why James was determined to discover who John had seen that last day.

She sighed.

Drat the man. He was forcing her to become involved. Despite her vow to leave well enough alone, she would have to ask questions.

It was his voice, she decided as she thankfully left the quarry behind. It had deepened since he had left, taking on a honeyed quality she could not resist. Even when he was absent, it echoed at the most inconvenient times, seducing her with promises of things that didn't exist.

She must expunge it. Already, under its influence, she had revealed more discontent and more details about her barren life than she had exposed to another living soul.

The clatter of hooves diverted her thoughts. And just as well. Her agitation had pressed Acorn into a canter. They were rapidly approaching the forest.

She was reining in when a phaeton emerged from the trees, its team moving at a ground-devouring trot. But the ends of the ribbons bounced along the road. The driver had collapsed across the side, every b.u.mp edging him closer to falling out. At the rate he was going, he would do so just about the time he pa.s.sed the yawning pit of the quarry.

She spurred Acorn forward even before she recognized the man. James.

"Easy, fellows," she called, cutting in front of the team in an attempt to slow them. They were not yet spooked, but without a steady hand on the ribbons, they were picking up speed as the road sloped downhill.

"Halt! Stop! Whoa!"

The commands had no effect. The team swerved around her, sliding James closer to disaster. His head and right arm dangled inches from the rear wheel, which posed a more immediate threat than the quarry.

Curses reverberated in her head. The horses were not trained to voice commands. Her best chance of halting them would be to rein in the wheeler, though she wasn't sure she could manage it. Yet she had to try. Turning, she gave chase.

The team responded by breaking into a canter, bouncing the phaeton harder and accelerating James's slide. Would the carriage overturn? Phaetons were notoriously unstable and this one was becoming unbalanced.

She fought down terror. The offside ribbon was fluttering out of reach between the horses. But the nearside one had come unhooked from the backstrap and now floated along the wheeler's right side, so it should be possible to grab it. Yet she didn't have much time. She would be squeezed between the team and the quarry in another minute, giving her little room to maneuver. And the only way to catch the ribbon was to lean far off her horse.

Panic licked her veins as she glanced back at James. He was jolting up and down, precariously balanced across the side rail. And the quarry was looming closer.

She had not seen Frederick's broken body, but her imagination conjured increasingly horrible images. James must not die. He was important to her-which was the most horrifying thought yet. She would not feel this crazed about another man. He was upsetting her world, changing her perceptions. And he didn't even realize it.

Thank G.o.d for that. If he again turned his attentions to her, he would destroy her. Somehow, she must deflect these growing feelings. She had no intention of wedding again, and no desire to conduct an affair. Even friendship would not work. It could only cause new pain when they separated-which they inevitably would. Whether he stayed at Ridgeway or not, she would soon be moving on to her dream cottage.

Keep your mind on business.

She shook away the images. Whatever her fears for the future, she must stop this phaeton.

Shifting both reins into her right hand, she inched closer to the wheeler. He was in full stampede, with white-ringed eyes and foam-flecked bit. Sweat caked his hide. Gripping the leaping head with her knees-and thanking the fates that she had chosen a saddle equipped for jumping today-she leaned down and tried to catch the fluttering ribbon.

"Easy, easy, easy," she chanted, but the wheeler paid no attention. They swept onto the narrow ledge ringing the quarry, the ribbon still tantalizingly out of reach. It flicked across the back of her hand, teased her fingers, then plunged nearly to the road before floating up to shoulder height.

She drew closer to the horse's head. He snorted, shifting toward the cliff and again swerving the phaeton sharply. James's arm brushed the wheel.

"Slow down."

She tried using her crop to catch the loop where the ribbon split into two reins. No luck. Acorn tensed as the road narrowed. They were approaching the sharp corner.

In desperation, she lunged farther, her knees barely clinging to the saddle, her hand banging against the wheeler's shoulder, increasing his panic. The ribbon slapped her fingers once... twice...

She had it. Acorn was fretting over the unexpected weight shift, so she spared a moment to pull herself back into the saddle-a more difficult task than she had expected.

"Easy does it," she crooned, pulling back as sharply as she dared.

The wheeler tossed his head, fighting the pressure, but he broke stride, throwing his teammate into confusion.

"We're going to stop now, fellows." She managed to keep her voice even. Another break slowed them to a trot. But they didn't halt until they had reached the narrowest point in the road.

She stayed atop Acorn, gasping for breath. Reaction was setting in. Her legs were so weak that standing would be impossible. All three horses were trembling.