A Night of Secrets (24 page)

He slapped the reins harder and the horse burst into a run. Meg squeaked and clung to the side of the phaeton. The scenery rushed past, a kaleidoscope of green grass and gray skies. Instantly he was a young lad again, racing his mates through London, laughing, jesting, completely fearless for he knew it would take more than the average to kill him. But the memory was as fleeting as his smile.

He slowed the carriage to a respectable trot. Meg’s giggle made him stiffen. Color had rushed to her cheeks and her forget-me-not eyes sparkled in pure delight. He couldn’t seem to look away. He wanted to drown in her innocence, her purity, her laughter. She caught his gaze and her smile fell.

He didn’t want her to stop smiling. “Where would you like to go? You know the area better than I. Where are your flowers?”

She shifted, hesitating. “Well, anywhere will do.” Suspicion quickly replaced the sparkle in her eyes. How could he gain her trust? She took her lower lip between her teeth, her hands twisting the material of her gown.

“Go on then, you obviously have some place in mind.”

“Well,” she turned to face him, her eyes sparkling once more. “Near the marsh is a flower I have yet to catalogue.”

Her excitement was oddly infectious. “Point me in the direction.”

“Truly?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

A smile spread across her face, and like a Russian saber her joy pierced his heart. A joy that he didn’t quite understand, had never felt before. He had the sudden desire to see her this happy always. Disconcerted, he looked away. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somehow she’d found a way into his thoughts, his soul. She’d seen a part of him in that prison he’d wanted to keep secret, a part of him that should have terrified her. Yet, she wasn’t cowering now. Almost as if… she accepted him for who he was.

She inched closer to him and pointed toward a bend in the road. “Turn there.”

Her shoulder brushed against his arm and his heart lurched at the close contact. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. He felt on the brink of battle, a war he had no choice but to participate in. Even now he could taste the memory of her blood on his tongue. How much longer could he be this close and not have her completely?

“You’re writing a book?” he said, desperate to talk of something, anything that would take is mind away from her warm body.

Her face flushed and she twisted her skirt more tightly. “Yes. At Beth’s insistence, actually. I had thought on it for quite a while and Beth gave me the push I needed. She noticed how much I appreciated nature and that I could draw rather well.”

“I see.”

She seemed to bristle at his comment, her body stiffening. “It’s very popular at the moment, you know, botany and such.” There was a touch of defense to her tone.

He wasn’t sure what he’d said or done to make her upset. Humans were so damn confusing. “I’m sure it is.”

She frowned and fell silent. The wind whispered seductive words around them, making her locks dance on the breeze and brush across his neck, taunting him. How he wanted to wrap his fingers into her hair, jerk her close and crush his mouth to hers, propriety be damned.

“It’s just over the hill,” she said. With a sigh, her shoulders slumped. “It seems as if summer is over. My sister’s favorite season was fall.”

“Hanna’s mother?”

“Hmm?” She turned to look at him, her brows drawn together with confusion.

“Hanna’s mother.”

The clouds in her eyes cleared. A rush of pink colored her high cheekbones. “Oh, yes, of course. Julia was her name.” She looked away, as if avoiding his gaze. He found her response incredibly suspicious. “I think it a bit depressing. Autumn. Everything goes still, the year has ended, never to return.”

“I prefer the season, actually. A time for quiet reflection, rest for the weary.”

Meg laughed. “And what induces your weariness, Mr. Bellamont? The constant respect people give you? Your large house? Your money.”

His gaze slid to her. “No one has a perfect life, Miss James.”

She dropped her gaze to her lap. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “You must forgive me. I’ve had little sleep and have not been feeling myself.”

“It’s not surprising, given the circumstances. I suppose it’s difficult taking care of an entire family. Not to mention the stress your under.”

“Of course not. I am blessed to have such sisters,” she said the words as if she’d rehearsed them.

Memories of his own childhood flashed to mind. A childhood of indulgences and laughter. How differently would his life be if his parents had lived? If he wasn’t a monster… She was right. He’d led a life of privilege. As a child he’d wanted for nothing, and he had thought his family was invincible. Isn’t that what his parents had taught him? Blood sucking demons lived forever. But every living thing had a weakness. Someone had found his parents’ and someone had found Emma’s.

“Calm down, Miss James. I am not condemning you.” He shifted, scanning the rolling hills. “Where is this place?”

“It’s just there,” she said, pointing ahead.

He maneuvered the carriage to the side of the road and set the break. Gray clouds hovered above, like a demon flying over the landscape, awaiting to cloak them in its darkness. Just off the road, an inky marsh glistened, creeping across the landscape and into the birch and fir trees that dotted the ground. A person could get lost in a marsh like this.

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Meg didn’t wait for his assistance, but jumped from the carriage eager to escape his touch. Only once she was on the ground could she breathe with some normalcy. She’d been terrified during the entire drive that he would kiss her again and when they’d stopped and he hadn’t, she felt something else. Disappointment? No, surely not. She should be terrified, being alone with the man, not thrilled. What was wrong with her?

The breeze picked up, making her skirt swing like a bell and sending a chill over her skin. Her gaze went automatically to the roiling clouds, down to the low hills. Pools of water crawled across the land, mysterious wells that reminded her of childhood tales of fairies and trolls.

She should have insisted they stay home. She hadn’t felt right since her night in the gaol and she knew the weather here better than he. But the desire for fresh air and freedom overrode any good sense. And the desire to be near Grayson…

She slid a glance toward the man. Wrinkle free clothing, shiny boots. He wasn’t exactly dressed for a jaunt. Still, there was an aura of danger about him. A very power that shimmered in the air. And she was alone…with Grayson. A man whose eyes glowed like the very men she’d seen in New York. A man who was one of them. But what were they?

“You’ll completely destroy your appearance, you know. Your boots will be ruined.”

He jumped from the carriage, not a lock of hair falling out of place as if every strand obeyed his command. “I’ve been covered in mud, in blood and other things I won’t mention.” He snapped his boots together and gave her a mock salute. “Do your worst.”

Although he made a jest of it, her stomach clenched all the same. She could imagine what these
other things
were. He held out his hand, his fingers radiating strength. Grayson had the disposition to kill. Those hands murdered. She swallowed hard and reached out, her hand hovering over his. They didn’t touch but she could feel him all the same. And they were here…alone.

“We should go.” As if annoyed with her hesitation, his fingers clamped around hers and he jerked her forward.

Why had she agreed to this jaunt? Meg stumbled after him, his grasp too tight, his pace too quick, as if he was trying to outrun her. How many of them were there? More importantly, how did she know the good from the bad?

“Mr. Bellamont,” she gasped. “Please, do slow down.”

He looked perplexed for a moment, as if he had never walked with a woman, as if he couldn’t possibly understand how she could be so slow. Fortunately, he stopped, his hold loosening on her tingling fingers.

“I apologize.” He removed his hand, and slipped her arm through his. He was so intent on portraying the perfect gentleman, but she knew the truth. She’d seen a side of him that would frighten others into a dead faint. And if that beast was released here…there’d be no one to come to her rescue.

Her side brushed his and an uncomfortable heat shot through Meg’s body. She tugged at the collar of her bodice. Though the weather was cooler than it had been in days, inside she felt like a bread oven when Grayson was near. What was wrong with her? The moment she’d seen the man she’d gone mad; lost her senses.

“Were you at war?” she blurted out, then mentally cursed herself for the insensitive question.

“Yes.” He hadn’t looked at her when he answered.

She wanted to ask him about the medal, but then she’d have to admit she’d searched his beside table. An unease settled around them like an itchy, wool blanket. So many questions, but too afraid to ask.

“Where are we?” he asked as the small lodge came into view.

“You don’t know? Tis your hunting lodge. There’s a boat we can borrow.”

“My land?” Grayson asked, lifting the branch of a birch tree so she could duck underneath.

“Yes, actually.” She frowned. “Do you not know your own land? What buildings you’ve purchased?”

“No, but you obviously do.” He took her hand and helped her over a fallen log, a chivalrous gesture that made her heart flip. She, just like everyone else, was easily seduced by his charm. It was worse, for she knew the truth. She knew what he was capable of and still he fascinated her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her face flushing.

No doubt he’d been the gentleman to many, many woman. Before he could respond she rushed forward, putting distance between the man and the feelings he stirred within. Ridiculous. Since when could she not control her emotions? Even around Mathew she’d been able to contain herself. But then Mathew’s chaste kisses had never made her feel all warm and achy inside. His touch had never made her burn for more.

Purple thyme grew along the perimeter of the stone lodge. She knew the building well, had slipped inside a time or two to hide from the rain. As a child, she’d pretended it was her home. A place of quietness and comfort.

“How long has it been empty?” Grayson rubbed his knuckles along his chin, an act that drew her attention to his mouth and made her think of their kiss all over again. He glanced at the sky, then back at her.

She shrugged. “Years. Come, I know where the boat is.”

“Isn’t that stealing?”

Flustered, Meg shook her head. “What shall you do? Arrest me?”

He slid her an annoyed glance.

She swept past him, her head tilted high. It drove her near mad the way he always questioned her, never trusting, always looking to find her guilty. “Just because you are from London, where people must keep an ever watchful eye, doesn’t mean you must here.”

“Yes,” he drawled out. “It’s oh so safe in your little town.”

She made no comment about his sarcastic remark, but knew he was right. Perhaps it had been pure silliness on her part to think that dragging Hanna here would somehow be safer than keeping her in London. She pulled the doors wide, the hinges squeaking high and irritating in the soft quiet. The blue rowboat lay on the dirt floor, splashing the darkness with light. Grayson shrugged off his jacket and handed it to Meg.

She took it without thinking, tucking the garment around her arm, pressing it close to her chest. His scent clung to the material and unwillingly, she breathed deep. What was it about his scent, a lightness of spice and outdoors that warmed her insides?

She tried not to notice the way his shirt stretched across his back, the way he rolled up his sleeves, showing off sinewy forearms, but she couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. There was no doubt about it, handsome as sin and underneath his arrogance, honorable. Grayson was like no other man she’d ever met. He leaned back and pulled the boat forward, the bottom scraping against the dirt.

“Where, exactly, does the pond began?” He straightened, resting his hands on his slim hips.

“That’s the genius of a marsh, Mr. Bellamont, it never begins or ends. Just when you think it’s over, you take a step and are surprised to find yourself knee deep in water.”

“Genius and dangerous.” He gazed out across the glimmering water. “Beautiful on the surface, but who knows what lies beneath.”

He continued to look at the water, so why did she feel as if he’d directed his statement toward her? “Yes, well, not dangerous as long as you show it respect.”

He didn’t respond, merely attached the oars to the sides of the boat. Mud slurped and gurgled as he pushed the vessel toward the pond. Shin deep in bog, he looked back at her. “Shall we?”

Meg hesitated, studying the murk. She’d ruin her only pair of boots. Of course, she’d wanted to come, so she couldn’t very well complain. She pulled up the hem of her gown, and tiptoed toward the boat.

The corners of Grayson’s mouth quivered right before he started toward her.

“W—what are you doing?”

He wrapped his arm around her waist and jerked her forward. Meg gasped, her hands flattening against his hard chest. Before she could protest, he scooped her up into his arms and started toward the boat. She could feel his heart beat against the side of her breast and with each pulse, an aching need shot to her lower belly. Her mouth went dry. She couldn’t look at him, could barely hear the birds chirping over the rush of blood to her ears.