Double Deception (18 page)

Athena's heart chilled within her. "No," she responded sharply. "I shall go myself. Send down to have Tarantella saddled and brought up here, please."

Ten minutes later, after having donned her habit in record time, Athena found herself being tossed up onto her fidgety mare's back amid the garrulous protests of the head groom.

"There ain't no cause for alarm, ma'am," old Bates assured her, his shaggy eyebrows drawing together over the bridge of his large nose. "Master Peregrine ain't no fool. A tad rash at times, I'd 'ave to admit, but no fool. 'E'll be back with the ladies before ye get to Hanging Wood, ma'am. See if 'e ain't."

The old man appeared to be severely put out that she paid no heed to his advice, but Athena had ceased to care about anything except Penelope. Impatiently, she waved him away from the mare's head and urged her into a canter.

Once she was out of sight of the Castle, the sky seemed to become darker and the wind made an eerie moaning sound as Athena forced Tarantella into the Hanging Wood. It was even darker under the trees, and the mare became increasingly unmanageable, shying at every windswept leaf, snorting at every bramble that lashed across their path.

When she emerged from the wood, Athena felt the first heavy drops of rain on her cheeks. If only there was no lightning, she thought, urging the reluctant Tarantella past the elaborate summer house erected, according to Perry, by his great-great-grandfather. She spared hardly a glance for the clean marble columns of the classical structure, but kicked the mare into a faster gallop past the heavy growth of rhododendrons and up a sharp incline to the top of the hill. She paused for a moment, suddenly remembering that she had sat in this same spot with the earl, revealing to him more than she had intended about her need for a home.

Angry at herself for allowing Lord St. Aubyn even that brief confidence, Athena pushed on. She could not see the lake from here, but she knew it lay about two miles beyond the summer house on the estate lane, less than that if she could cut through the orderly plantings of apple trees laden with their ripening fruit.

Those first scattered drops became heavier and more frequent as she made her way through the estate orchards. Tarantella protested the rough ground, and Athena began to regret that she had not chosen the longer, more accessible lane that meandered past the tenant farms, the mill, and hot-houses before leading down to the lake.

Athena's exasperation grew as the minutes flew by and she realized that what she had imagined would be a short cut had turned into a confusing maze of fruit trees that obscured her view and distorted her sense of direction. After what must have been a full fifteen minutes of wandering through rows of fruit trees that stretched endlessly in all directions, Athena came across a wagon track that led her back to the lane.

By the time she forced the recalcitrant mare to push through a low hedge and scramble up a ditch, the rain had increased to a steady downpour, and Athena felt the panic fluttering in her stomach. She kicked Tarantella into a gallop, ignoring the rain that lashed into her face, almost obscuring her vision of the road ahead. She hardly noticed the mill as the mare raced past, and was only vaguely conscious of the startled faces of two laborers unhitching their team of plough horses in the shelter of an old barn.

And then the lake came suddenly into view over a crest in the grassy lane. Athena glanced nervously around, but saw no sign of riders along the banks. A family of swans sat stoically in the center of the lake, heedless of the gusts of rain rippling across the water around them. Athena turned the mare's head to the left, intending to follow the path towards the large boathouse at the farther end of the lake. Perhaps they had taken shelter there, she thought, urging the mare once more into a canter.

And then a bolt of blinding light flashed across the sky, followed by a roll of thunder that seemed to go on forever. Athena shuddered violently, and the mare, sensing her fear, reared up and twisted back towards the way they had come. Athena was only able to avoid a fall by grasping the saddle with both hands. Recovering instintively, she pulled the mare around and forced her towards the boathouse.

Her spirits sank as she drew closer. They were not there, she thought, her fingers trembling as she clutched the reins to control the frightened mare. Then her heart lifted. A horse's rump was clearly visible in the dimness of the large shelter. Then another. Athena kicked the mare forward until she was out of the downpour. She wiped her eyes to clear her vision.

Yes, there were two horses—but neither of them was Buttercup. Her panic stirred again.

"Perry!" she cried, her voice shrill with rising hysteria.

A muttered oath came from the depths of the boathouse. Unable to see anything, Athena urged Tarantella further into the dim interior.

"Perry!" she called again. "Is Penny there with you?"

She peered into the dimness and suddenly froze. Perry had risen to his feet, his clothes in disarray. Behind him, on a bed of old sails and tarpaulins, Miss Rathbone sat with a smirk on her face. Leisurely, she tucked her bosom back into the bodice of her gown and drew her skirts down from where they had been bunched about her knees.

"La!" she trilled in lilting tones. "How ill-timed of you, my dear Mrs. Standish. I declare you have quite put me to the blush."

Athena ignored her and stared at Peregrine, refusing to believe the enormity of what he was about. But her brief, horrified glance at the Beauty had told her all she needed to know.

"The devil take it, Perry," she said with icy calm. "What have you done with my daughter?"

"She went home, Athena," he mumbled, tugging ineffectually at his crumpled cravat. "She is all right, I swear—"

"You allowed her to return by herself?" Athena did not want to believe it. "How dare you abandon my daughter to indulge in ... indulge in your whoring?" she spat out, quite overcome with fury. "How could you be such a beast?"

"P-Penelope is p-peifectly safe, I c-can assure you," Perry stammered, abandoning his futile attempts to salvage his cravat and stepping forward.

"Do not come near me, you ... you ..." Words failed her.

"Penny is s-safe, I tell you," the viscount insisted.

"That is quite correct, my dear," a cool voice drawled so close behind her that Athena jerked the reins violently, causing the mare to rear wildly.

She fought to steady the frightened animal, but a firm hand on the bridle brought the mare abruptly under control. She snorted and rolled her eyes, trembling almost as much as her rider.

Athena glanced up into the earl's eyes. In the dimness of the old boathouse they were almost black, and his face as stern and humorless as that first day she had confronted him in the library. She felt a flicker of fear. Was he telling her the truth? she wondered. Or was this merely another of his deceptions to calm an hysterical female?

"I do not believe you." The words were no more than a whisper above the wind, barely moving her stiff lips.

"Nevertheless, it is quite true. I myself delivered your daughter safely to Mrs. Easton not ten minutes ago."

He was bare-headed, she noticed suddenly. His dark hair plastered to his head, curling damply about his ears and against his soaking cravat. His bottle-green coat was drenched, and the damp buckskin of his breeches clung revealingly to his powerful thighs. She could see the muscles ripple as Ajax moved restlessly beneath him. Athena quickly withdrew her gaze and found him watching her, a glitter in his eyes that had not been there before.

A drop of water ran down her cheek, and Athena dragged her mind back to her present predicament. Why had the Earl of St. Aubyn followed her through the storm? she wondered. And her daughter. Was Penny really all right as he insisted?

Needing to convince herself that Penny was truly safe, she edged the mare backwards, keeping her eyes averted from the dark recesses where Miss Rathbone still lurked. She felt Tarantella flinch as the mare's rump backed out into the rain.

"I suggest we remain here until the rain lets up a little," the earl remarked, quite as though it was an everyday affair to share a dark boathouse with a couple whose disarray proclaimed the nature of their assignation more clearly than words.

He did not look directly at either of the culprits as he spoke, but Athena could tell, from the hard line of his lips, that the earl was well aware of the impropriety of the situation.

"What a charming notion, my lord," the Beauty's voice murmured seductively from the dim interior, setting Athena's nerves on edge. "And how cozy, too," the voice purred.

She jerked the mare's reins, and Tarantella backed away from that sickly sweet voice until Athena felt the heavy rain envelop her again. All she wanted was to get away from that painful scene of Peregrine's ultimate betrayal. A sudden nausea threatened to undo her; she whirled the mare and urged her into a reckless gallop, a warning shout from Peregrine echoing in her ears.

Athena shut her ears to the sound of his traitorous voice and leaned forward over the mare's neck, clinging to the saddle with both hands, the reins flapping aimlessly. She could not wait to get back to her room and pack her trunks. There was no question of staying a moment longer under the same roof as her betrothed.

Her former
betrothed.

There was no question after what she had witnessed in the boathouse that her betrothal was at an end. She would give Perry back his ring—throw it in his face. No, she thought, closing her eyes against the driving rain, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing how much she had been hurt by his thoughtless cruelty.

And how Lord St. Aubyn must have enjoyed her humiliation. Athena grimaced as she realized the implications of that strange glitter in the earl's eyes. He had been amused! He had been gloating over her defeat at the hands of that frivolous chit, Miss Rathbone. It did not bear thinking about.

A flash of lightning erased all these uncomfortable thoughts from her mind. She braced for the inevitable thunder, her teeth chattering as she clung desperately to the saddle, the reins entirely abandoned. She knew that tears were running down her cheeks, but she could not feel them, lost in the rivers of water that lashed her face. Another clap of thunder, so close it made her cringe with terror, drove all but the most primitive fears from her distraught mind.

Abruptly the mare swerved crazily off the lane and plunged through a hedge. Athena felt thorns tear at the skirt of her habit, low branches brush her knees as Tarantella careened through what must have been the apple orchard. Soaked by the downpour, the ground was soft and made heavy going. The mare slowed her runaway pace, her flanks heaving. Athena dared to glance up and realized that the sky was now so dark it might well have been evening instead of midafternoon.

Once clear of the orchard, the mare picked up speed and bolted up a slope, ears laid back in terror. Before they reached the crest, another flash of lightning caused Tarantella to shy violently. Athena clung desperately, the wet surface of her gloved hands slipping on the mare's streaming mane and the wet saddle pommel. Feeling her hands slip, Athena cried out in panic, knowing that she was falling.

Then she felt a hard jolt, and she was on the ground, her face buried in the wet grass, the sky darkening, descending, enveloping her in its cloak of oblivion.

Sylvester cursed under his breath when he saw the mare swerve from the lane and plunge through the hedge. The beast was obviously out of control, and he wondered why a consummate horsewoman like Athena Standish had allowed this to happen. She appeared to make no effort to regain control of her mount.

He hesitated for a second, then set Ajax at the hedge, which the chestnut cleared easily. The ground in the orchard was soggy and his heavy horse sank up to his hocks in the mud. The mare was lighter and made better time. Sylvester lost sight of her among the wind-lashed apple trees.

When he emerged onto the grassy slope, the runaway mare was nowhere in sight. Sylvester spurred Ajax impatiently. He had intended to catch up with Athena long before this, but she had surged ahead with such reckless disregard for her own safety that he had hesitated to urge Ajax to his full speed. As it was, the great chestnut had come close to falling twice, and now his hooves faltered on the wet grass, sliding dangerously as he pounded up the gentle incline.

The earl brushed ineffectually at the driving rain that almost blinded him. He might well have missed the still form in dark green lying near the top of the slope had not Ajax pricked his ears nervously.

With another curse on his lips, Sylvester pulled the chestnut to a slithering halt and threw himself from the saddle. The stillness of the woman in the grass sent a tingle of panic snaking up his spine. Dear Lord, he thought, let her not be hurt. The intensity of this plea surprised him, but he did not stop to examine it.

He went down on his knees beside the body and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. There was no response. The jacket of her riding habit was soaked and the drenching rain had loosened the neat auburn chignon she usually wore into a tangled mass of curls spread around her on the grass in delightful disarray. At least under different circumstances it would be delightful, Sylvester corrected himself, his thoughts shying away from the inappropriate direction they had taken of their own accord.

He ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms. Nothing seemed to be broken, but the lady's stillness alarmed him. Gently he let his hands roam over her ribs and hips, then down her legs, firm and rounded beneath the soggy habit. He paused, curling his hand around her ankle in its leather half-boot, slim and cool beneath his fingers.

She made no move, lying there completely passive under his questing hands. In spite of himself, the thought titillated him. What if, he thought... allowing the idea to trail off uncompleted.

Then he heard a low moan and felt her shudder. "Athena," he said urgently, touching her cold cheek with his fingers. She moaned again, moving her head restlessly.