Betrayed Countess (Books We Love Historical Romance) (28 page)

“I am not certain. It is confusing
,” Bettina sighed. “I am furious he treated me so coldly. But I am also hurt, so hurt I cannot explain.” Secretly, she preferred the anger. It kept her misery from seeping out of every seam, as if she were a piece of rotten fruit.

“Wish I could tell you something to put it right. But you has to go through it on your own. Let the pain wear itself down.” Maddie put an arm around her. She smelled like the Canary wine she’d cleaned up earlier after a regular spilled it. “Men can be such rips, aye, useless.”

“It is my fault too. I did not have to stay the night with him.” Bettina closed her eyes against the tumbling feelings inside her. “I do not know what possessed me.”

“What about the boy? Is you quitting your schoolin’ with him?”

“No, not yet. I hope Mr. Camborne does not dismiss me from the tutoring, so I do not clutter up his regimented life. Now he can send Frederick away to school … I do regret that.” But Bettina had planned to abandon the child, which added to her guilt. She rubbed her hands over her cheeks. “Everett never loved me, I just wanted to believe he did. Though he never said that word, so I cannot claim he lied. But I still ache so much inside.”

“I can understand that feeling.” Maddie chewed on her lower lip. “You hardly ate all day, too, and that ain’t good.”

“Part of me clings to the idea he had to feel some affection for me. But why hold on to that, it does not make—”

“Mads!”

Both women turned to see Kerra emerge into the light from the lantern that hung over the inn door. Bettina frowned at her pallid face and sunken cheeks.

“Where the hell has you been?” Maddie stepped to the end of the porch.

Kerra limped closer. “I fell from a horse. I be fine, don’t fuss at me.” She grabbed her sister’s arm and hoisted herself up the steps. “Feelin’ a mite poorly, still. Think I’ll go to bed.”

“You do look sickly. Had me worried half to death.” Maddie tugged on Kerra’s hair, then slid her arm around her. “Don’t never do that again. Ain’t bein’ responsible.”

Kerra grinned at Bettina over her shoulder. “I was well taken care of.” The sisters entered the inn and closed the door.

Bettina gripped the porch rail. A sudden fear surged up that she’d become too ingrained here. “But I will save and leave in the spring. Maman, I promise you, I will travel to London to find you. If you are there.”

* * * *

Shevall stretched his long, bony legs into a reluctant gallop. Bettina
was riding him up the coast road to Camelford on this beautiful August afternoon. Three weeks had passed since her crushing row with Everett, who remained in London. Inside, she strained to bind her fractured emotions. Maddie spoke true: in time, she’d get over that ill-advised affair.

Bettina kicked Shevall’s flanks and shifted her tired muscles in the saddle, for she had slept little. Her stomach growled, but food held no appeal.

She continued to scrimp with her wages for her travel plans. It saddened her that her absence would deny Dory the extra money, but she had to be selfish. The few months with increased wages should have helped to buy those children some decent food and clothes. Frederick was elated at her delayed departure, but she’d have to disappoint him, too.

She paid the wine seller in Camelford, a quaint town astride the Camel River, and rode back down the road.

A rider turned his horse into the trees just below before the road sloped to Sidwell. She spotted the unmistakable bulk of the Hunter. Bettina reined in, anger rising. Tired of being taunted, she kicked Shevall to follow and confront this man. He’d ridden into the area’s thickest woods. This expanse stretched to the north of the inn and the Camborne estate before thinning out at the desolate moor to the east.

The loamy fragrance of earth and the honey-scented gorse surrounded her. Her horse’s warmth beneath and the power of movement emboldened her. This man had to confess his true purpose or cease harassing her.

The trail twisted through the cool spruce, silver firs and clusters of beech. She slowed her mount to a walk to scan the area. The dense undergrowth thwarted her view. A few minutes later, a loud crackle alerted her. Two birds left a tree limb and flapped into the sky. Still, she saw nothing. She stood in the stirrups and scrutinized beyond the trail.

“I know you are here, monsieur le Hunter. You will please to come out and talk to me.” Sunlight streamed in through the treetops, splashing strange patterns on the trail as her horse paced along.

The bushes rustled and Bettina stopped Shevall. Another horse nosed out onto the trail. The Hunter sat astride, his grin slick. “So you have found me, très bien.” He flipped up the brim of his hat to reveal a scarred face, rough like the skin of a toad. His small eyes, set wide apart, appraised her from above a flat nose. “Now we will talk alone. What is your true name?”

“You are French.” She spoke in a haughty tone, hand gripped on the pommel. “I demand to know what you want with me. Why are you following me?”

He grunted a laugh. “Are you not Lisbette Jonquiere, the Comte’s daughter?” The Hunter looked pleased with himself, as if confident of her answer.

“Who are you?” Bettina tried not to squirm in the saddle. “What do you know about my family?”

“I seek information to do with your father. You were not easy to find, hiding in this remote place. But I am the best, as you see.” He reached out and grabbed her horse’s reins below the bit. “Let us ride elsewhere to talk.”

“You ask me here. I will not go with you.” Bettina jerked on the reins. She ached to know anything about her father, but fear soared up in her like a whoosh of icy wind. “Let go of my horse.”

The Hunter laughed again, a nasty croak like the malignant toad he resembled might emit. He pulled her gelding toward the bushes.

“Here, we will stay here! Tell me about my father!” She yanked on the leather, her hands stinging. “You cannot steal my horse!”

He nodded and continued to drag her mount along. Bracken scratched at her legs. Bettina jerked up her skirt, swung her left leg over the pommel and slid off Shevall’s right side. She stumbled when she hit the dirt, but lurched up.

The Hunter frowned and looked about to dismount.

Bettina rushed into the woods. She’d made a serious blunder in seeking him out alone, with no weapon or aid. Her skirts hiked to her knees, she jumped over brush and darted around trees and over gullies, not hesitating to see if he pursued.

Chapter Twenty

Trampling through the gorse and bracken disoriented her. Bettina had never been off the trail before. Out of breath and dizzy, she saw the back of the Camborne barn and stables, the rear of the estate.

After a dash over the low hills, she passed a cemetery knoll, flew across the clearing and ran to the rear door of Bronnmargh. She pounded her fist on the kitchen door, gasping for breath. She had to find help.

The door creaked open and she flung herself inside, propelled by fury.

Hands grabbed her.

“Help!” She shouted into Everett’s face.

“Bettina! What is this? Are you all right?” He put his arms around her, his eyes wide with shock.

“
Grâce à dieu!
It is you.” She almost slumped into him, then pulled back from his embrace and wheezed to catch her breath. “A man, he … took my horse in the woods.”

“Please, sit down and explain.” He clasped her elbow and led her to a chair before the empty hearth. “I’ve just returned from London.”

Bettina sank into the chair and coughed. “This man, he has come to the inn. I saw him following me on the road, I went to speak to him.”

Everett handed her a glass of cider and sat down opposite. “What did he want?”

Bettina sipped the cider, refreshing and tart on her throat. She took a deep breath and explained about the Hunter’s words at the inn.

“You should never have spoken with him alone in the woods.” Everett’s brow furrowed in concern, his eyes full of compassion.

“I realize that now.” Bettina had to look away. “He knows who I am, my father….”

“He knows you’re Jonquiere?”

“Yes. And my proper name, Lisbette. My father called me Bettina, after a nurse’s pet name for me as a little girl. It is a name only my parents use.” She strained against the quivering inside her. “He knows my father was a count.”

“What could this rogue want? What purpose could he have? A strange way to behave if he were searching for you at your family’s behest.” Everett stood and paced on the kitchen flagstones in his dusty boots, his expression brooding.

“It cannot be for my family. He said he wanted information about my father. He could have explained all this the first time we met. His reasons are not honest.” Bettina began to calm, but she was now unsettled looking into Everett’s eyes. “And how did he ever find me? Armand, he is the only person who knew where I had gone, and he sent me to Bath. Cornwall is quite a distance from there.”

“This is confounding. Now I worry about your safety.” Everett hovered beside the table, staring down at her.

“I should not have brought you into it. I will ride to the Justice of the Peace tomorrow; Kerra can go with me.” Bettina finished her drink, the liquid churning in her stomach. She fingered the glass.

“John Trethewy?” He straightened and grimaced. “If it will do you much good with him. Instead of seeing people at his estate, our self-important Justice keeps an office in Port Isaac. I’ll take you there in the morning.”

The deep anger on his face intimidated her. Bettina rose to her feet. “I will handle it on my own. I should return to Maddie’s.”

Everett’s expression softened. He stepped close to her. “You must stay here tonight, where you’ll be safe.”

“No, that is out of the question. I cannot stay here.” She bristled at the idea and straightened her straw hat. Burrs and leaves fell from it.

“The inn is the first place he'll look for you, Bettina. I can protect you better than those women can. I insist you stay.” He reached out his hand then stopped himself.

“He will not dare show himself there now.” Bettina stepped around the table on the other side, bumping the pots on the lug-pole in the fireplace. She remembered the Frenchman’s grotesque visage, and her fingers clenched.

“You can sleep in the room Mrs. Pollard used. She’s upstairs with Frederick. I’ll have Lew escort her home.” Everett stroked his chin for a moment. His gaze grew sad before it sharpened. “Don’t worry, I’ll respect your privacy. I just can’t allow you to leave here tonight knowing a madman is searching for you.”

“I … do not know.” Bettina sighed, closing her eyes. She tried to relax the muscles that bunched up all over her body; it was as if tiny fists pummeled her.

“Please sit down again.” Everett put a hand on her shoulder. She sat just to remove his touch. He stirred up the flames under a low hanging pot. “Mrs. Pollard left mutton pottage. You’ll feel better if you eat something.”

“I am not hungry.” She glanced at this man who aroused and confused her emotions. His concern was obvious, but she still didn’t see how matters could improve between them.

She managed a few bites of the heated pottage, and they cleaned up in relative silence. She carried a pitcher of water upstairs to wash. Stripped to her shift, she splashed water on the drawn face she saw in the looking glass. Her eyes were large and alert like a woodland animal. She removed her torn stockings and cleaned the scratches on her legs. At a knock, she wrapped the bed quilt around her and cracked the door open.

“Do you need anything else?” Everett asked in a gentle voice. He had washed as well, his hair was still damp. The kindness in his gaze pulled at her.

Bettina took a deep breath and bunched the quilt to her chin, to stop herself from reaching out to touch his face. “No, I am fine, thank you. Goodnight.” She closed and locked the door.

She curled up on the bed, still wearing the counterpane wrapped around herself. She overpowered the urge to go to him and ask why he couldn’t love her. But to beg for emotions that weren’t there would be humiliating. Everett probably didn’t even desire her by this time. That idea saddened her as she sorted through her confused feelings for him. But soon the thought of the Hunter asking about her father brought about more apprehension.

* * * *

“I asked Mrs. Pollard to keep Frederick for the day,” Everett told her in the morning as he helped her into his curricle. His manner was a little formal, yet his expression remained tender. “We’ll stop at the inn first, to let Miss Tregons know what has happened.”

After leaving the inn, they rode in solemn silence down the coast. A chough flew past them, a streak of red and black against a cornflower sky. Bettina stared straight ahead, feeling off balance, as if she swam through a bizarre dream and foundered, incapable of reaching the shore.

“I do care about you, Bettina, despite what you might think.” He uttered this in a brusque fashion, as if ashamed of such tender sentiment.

She winced at that word again—care, never love. She gripped her knees and made no reply. The skin along her shins itched from the previous day’s trample through the woods. An itch of frustration built up inside of her.