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Chapter Four

An iron band of an arm closed around her waist at the same moment her feet left the ground. She hung suspended above the raging sea for what felt like hours, but could only be seconds. That arm twisted her around and plonked her down. Not on the ground, but on a pair of hard muscled thighs gripping a saddle.

Teeth chattering, heart racing, she gazed up into the earl’s hard face. With a click of his tongue he backed the horse away from the edge. Was he mad? They could all have gone over the cliff.

Clear of the edge, he halted the horse’s backward progress and wheeled around so they were no longer facing the sea. Further along the cliff, a shepherd, crook in hand, was running towards them. The earl waved, an everything-is-fine acknowledgement, which it wasn’t, and the shepherd stopped running and waved back.

‘Put me down,’ she demanded.

A grunt was all the answer he gave.

She felt his thighs move beneath her as he clicked his tongue. The horse headed down hill. Back the way she had come. The urge to protest caused her hands to clench.

‘Are you mad?’ she yelled over the wind. ‘I almost went over the edge.’

His cold gaze flicked over her face. He took a deep shuddering breath as if to control some strong emotion. Fear? More likely anger. His next words confirmed it. ‘It would have served you right, my girl. What the devil did you think you were doing?’

She shoved the annoying lengths of hair out of her face. Dash it, she would not lie. ‘Walking to St Ives. Now I have lost my bag.’

‘You are lucky that was all you lost,’ he murmured like a threat in her ear.

He meant she could have lost her life. She swallowed and glanced back towards the headland, where the shepherd, a hand shading his eyes, was still watching them. It would have been the answer to all the earl’s problems if she had gone over that cliff. She could have sworn something nudged her in the back. Had he changed his mind at the last moment?

A cold hand clawed at her stomach. She glanced at his grim expression. He’d been angry about that will. She could well imagine him taking matters into his own hands. But murder? A shiver slid down her back.

The further from the cliff they got, the less the sea and the wind roared in her ears. She lifted her chin and met his chilly gaze. ‘You have no right to keep me here.’

‘I have every right. I am your guardian.’

‘Only in your mind,’ she muttered.

He stiffened. ‘You need a keeper if you think it is safe to walk along that cliff top.’

Now he was pretending he minded if she fell. Why? So she wouldn’t guess his intentions? It certainly wasn’t because he cared about what happened to her. The cold in her stomach spread to her chest. She readied herself to jump down and run for her life.

He hissed in a breath, as if in some sort of pain. ‘In heaven’s name, stop wriggling.’

‘Then put me down.’

‘I’ll put you down when I am good and ready.’

The big horse pranced and kicked up his back legs. She instinctively grabbed for his lordship’s solid shoulders. He tensed and she heard him curse softly under his breath. He pulled the horse to a stop and, putting an arm around her waist, lowered her to the ground. He dismounted beside her.

‘No need to interrupt your ride,’ she said brightly. ‘I can find my own way.’

He grasped her upper arm in an iron grip. Not hard enough to hurt, but there was no mistaking she could not break free. ‘How did you get out of the house without anyone seeing you?’

She gasped. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I left orders that you were not to leave.’

‘Orders you have no right to give?’ ‘Don’t test my patience, Miss Wilding. I will have no hesitation in dealing with you as you deserve.’

She swallowed hard. ‘Killing me off, you mean?’ Oh, no. She couldn’t believe she had just blurted that out.

He released her as if she was hot to the touch. His eyes flashed with an emotion she could not read—pain, perhaps? More likely disgust given the hard set to his jaw. ‘I assure you, when I want your death, it will not occur in front of witnesses.’

So he had seen the shepherd and thought better of it. She tried not to shiver at the chill in his voice. ‘I will keep that in mind, my lord. Thank you for the forewarning.’

He stared at her, his lips twitching, his eyes gleaming as if he found something she had said amusing. ‘You are welcome, Miss Wilding. Come along, I will escort you back to the house.’

So now they were to pretend nothing had happened? That he hadn’t seriously thought about pushing her off a cliff? Perhaps she should pretend she was joking about thinking he wanted her dead. She quelled a shiver. She hated this feeling of fear. Anger at her weakness rose up in her throat, making it hard to breathe or think, when she should be finding a way to beat him at his own game. She gave him a look of disdain. ‘Did no one tell you it isn’t polite to creep up on a person?’

‘I was riding a very large stallion over rocky terrain. That hardly counts as creeping.’

‘I didn’t hear you over the noise of the sea. Surely you could tell?’

He gave her a look designed to strike terror into the heart of the most intrepid individual. ‘I had other things on my mind.’

Such as pushing her over the edge. She began striding down hill. Unlike most men of her acquaintance, he easily kept pace, the horse following docilely, while the dog bounded around them. Surprisingly, his steps matched hers perfectly. On the rare occasion when she’d walked alongside a gentleman—well, back from the village with the young man who delivered the mail—she’d had to shorten her stride considerably because the young man was a good head shorter than she. The earl, on the other hand, towered above her. A rather unnerving sensation.

All her sensations with regard to this man were unnerving. The fluttery ones when he kissed her, the shivery ones when she felt fear and the one she was feeling now, a strange kind of appreciation for his handsome face and athletic build when she should be absolutely terrified. It seemed that whereas her mind was as sharp as a needle, her body was behaving like a fool.

It was this silence between them making her react this way. It needed filling to distract her from these wayward thoughts and feelings.

‘The Abbey is an extraordinary house, isn’t it?’ She gestured towards the sprawling mish-mash of wings and turrets.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Highly impractical. Ridiculously expensive to run. It should be torn down.’

Aghast, she stopped, staring up at his implacable face. ‘But think of all the history that would be lost.’

‘A history of murderous brigands.’

‘Rather fitting, don’t you think?’ The words were out before she could stop them.

He gave her a look askance, as if he found her a puzzle he would like to solve. Well, she had solved his puzzle. She knew exactly what was on his mind. Her murder. A bone-deep shudder trembled in her bones.

They reached the ruins near her tower. He stopped, his gaze fixed on the door through which she had left. ‘You came through there.’

It wasn’t a question. She shrugged and kept walking.

He caught her arm and halted her. ‘Give me your word you will not try to leave again without my permission.’

‘You have no authority over my actions. None at all.’

He let go a sigh. ‘Very well, that door and all the others will from now on be locked and barred.’ One corner of his mouth curled up, and if his voice had not been so harsh, she might have thought it an attempt at a smile. ‘You might as well use it to go back inside.’

She pulled her arm free. Anything not to have to spend any more time in his company. Her runaway heart was going to knock right through the wall of her chest. She headed for the door.

‘Miss Wilding,’ he said, softly.

She turned back.

‘Be in the library at eleven o’clock.’

‘Why?’

‘There is a funeral to arrange.’

Why would she need to be involved in family arrangements? Unless he still thought she was some sort of relation. The very idea made anger ball up in her chest, because while she had longed for it desperately, it wasn’t the case. And that was just as foolish as the way her emotions seemed to see-saw around him.

She shot him a glare as he stood there, waiting for her obedience, one hand on a hip, the other gripping the horse’s reins, watching her with those unnerving grey eyes as if she was a recalcitrant child.

With no other alternative in sight, she lifted the latch and went in.

As custom dictated, the ladies were not expected to attend the funeral. Mary also refused to attend the reception arranged for afterwards. She wasn’t family and there had been quite enough speculation about her relationship to the deceased earl. She had no wish to run the gauntlet of local gossip. Besides, she had nothing suitable to wear now her valise was gone. Reluctantly the earl had agreed.

Heady with triumph at winning the argument, Mary had settled herself in the library with Maria Edgeworth’s Belinda. Romantic nonsense, Sally would have called it, but it had a depth to it, too, that Mary found fascinating.

‘What are you reading?’

Startled at the closeness of the voice, Mary looked up with a gasp. The earl, dark and predatory, loomed over her looking like a dark angel. Much as he had looked at his grandfather’s bedside. Perhaps not quite as grim.

‘Shouldn’t you be at the reception?’ she asked sweetly.

‘It is over.’

A hot flush travelled up her face as she realised that evening was drawing in rapidly. The afternoon had flown by in unaccustomed idleness. She was already straining to see the words on the page, but she’d been too engrossed to get up and light a candle. She closed the book. ‘I didn’t realise how late it was.’

He glanced down at the cover. ‘A novel. I should have guessed.’

The back of her neck prickled because he was standing so close. Because once more his cologne invaded her nostrils and recalled to mind her disgraceful response to his lips on hers. Her body warmed in the most uncomfortable way at the memory. How could she think about his kiss after he had practically dropped her off the cliff earlier in the day? Her mind must be disordered.

‘Was there some reason for your interruption?’ She gave him the frosty glance that had new girls quaking in their slippers.

It troubled him not one whit, it seemed. Indeed he didn’t seem to notice the chill in her voice at all, since a flicker of amusement passed across his face. Hah! She should be glad he found her entertaining.

He held out a note. ‘The post brought you a letter.’

Oh, now she felt bad for being rude.

He moved away to give her privacy and began browsing the shelves on the far side of the room.

She frowned at the handwriting. She had not expected Sally to write after such a short time. Sending mail such a distance was expensive. Now she would owe the earl for the cost of the postage and she had little enough money in her purse. She broke the seal and spread open the paper.

For a moment, she could not quite believe the words she was reading. She read the cold little missive again, more slowly.

Miss Wilding,

Ladbrook School is now closed as ordered by the Earl of Beresford and the property is sold. I wish you all success in your new life. Yours, Sally Ladbrook.

Closed? How could the school be closed? Why would he do such a thing? How could he? Anger trembled through her with the force of an earthquake. The paper shivered like an aspen in her fingers. A band tightened around her chest as the enormity of what had happened became clear. She was homeless.

Abandoned by her only friend in the world. It hurt. Badly.

The earl, who was leaning against the shelves leafing idly through a book, looked up from the pages to meet her gaze. ‘Bad news?’

The wretch. ‘Bad?’ She rose to her feet. ‘You take away my livelihood and then ask if it is bad?’ She gave a bitter laugh.

He straightened, frowning. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘You know very well what I am talking about.’ Her voice shook with the effect of roiling anger. Everything inside her chest rocked and heaved. Her ribs ached from the force of it. For a moment it seemed she might never breathe again. But she did. And words followed. ‘You need not think this will stop me from leaving.’ She crumpled the note in her fist and threw it at him. Incredibly, he plucked it out of the air.

She marched for the door, not knowing where she was going, but knowing she could not remain in the same room with him without trying to do him a mischief.

‘Wait!’ he commanded.

She didn’t stop, but once again he beat her to the door, holding it closed with his hand above her head, while she pulled on the handle. She swung around, glaring up at him. ‘Open this door.’

He glanced down at the note. ‘This school has no relevance now.’

‘No relevance?’ She wanted to hit him for his stupidity. Instead she dodged around him and went to the window, putting as much distance between them as possible. ‘The school was my home.’

She turned to stare out of the window, wanting to bang her fist against the glass, break through it to freedom, like a trapped sparrow in a garden room.

Her stomach fell away. Even if she did, she had nowhere to go. No home. Not even a forwarding address for Sally. Was that his doing, too? Or did Sally blame her for the loss of her school? The selfish, horrid man.

Moisture burned in the back of her throat and pushed its way up behind her eyes. She bowed her head against the pressure and swallowed hard. Tried to regain her composure

The earl drew closer, his gaze puzzled. ‘Miss Wilding, surely it is not as bad as all that? You will have enough money to buy a hundred schools when you marry.’

‘Marry who?’ She whirled around and stared at him. Was that guilt she saw in his face? Guilt because he’d taken away all her options as well as her only friend.

Or guilt because he had decided that marrying her was preferable to her death? Or guilt because he planned …?

A sob pushed its way up her throat. Tears welled up, hovering on her lashes, blurring her vision. She dashed them away, clinging to her anger. ‘Ladbrook’s is the only home I remember. Everything I owned was there. My books. My mementos from my pupils. Why? Why did you have to interfere?’ She struck out at his chest with her fist.

The next moment she found her face pressed to his wide shoulder, her hand gripping his lapel and supressed sobs shaking her body.

‘Mary,’ he said, his voice achingly soft. A large hand landed warm on her back, tentatively at first and then patting gently. ‘I will have your property recovered, if that is what disturbs you.’

The urge to give in to her overwhelming longing for someone who cared battled with her good sense and won. She leaned against that broad chest, felt his heat and his power, and the steady rhythm of his heart as he held her close.

For a moment, she lost all sense of self. Forgot it was his fault things had come to this pass and revelled in the sense of being protected.

‘So, this is how it is.’ The angry voice came from the doorway. ‘What a cur you really are.’

‘Gerald,’ the earl said, loosening his hold and looking over her shoulder. ‘Could you be any more de trop?’ The sarcasm was back and the raspy drawl.

Apparently oblivious to the threat those soft words contained, Gerald stomped across the room.

Mary pulled away, turning her face to the window while she groped for a handkerchief. The earl planted himself between her and the intruder who was clearly bound and determined to have his say. ‘Miss Wilding is distressed. Please leave.’

‘Distressed?’ Gerald said. ‘Aye, I can believe it. And what did you do to bring her to tears?’

‘It is none of your business,’ the earl replied coldly. ‘Go away.’

Mary blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes. A few deep breaths would set her to rights, but she needed to be alone, away from the disturbing presence of the earl, to work out what Sally’s letter really meant for her future. ‘Please, excuse me, gentlemen.’