The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) (23 page)

He shifted, then moaned. The slightest movement brought pain. His head pounded. His face ached. And he was so very tired; too tired to think, his arms and legs, too heavy to lift. Time was illusive. He drifted. Occasionally he dreamed of the angel but mostly there was blackness. He welcomed sleep for when he woke the headaches were blinding. The kind that brought tears to his eyes and caused him to vomit into a basin held by the woman who tended him. Not the angel, but an older woman with a sharp voice and work roughened hands. She bathed the sweat from his forehead and body. Gave him sips of broth and then a bitter drink that put him to sleep. Once when the pain had eased, he tried to sit up but dizziness and nausea swept over him, his ears rang and the edges of his vision turned black. He slowly laid his head back down on the pillow. He slept and dreamt of the angel.
    A doctor came. An idiotic, short, rotund man, who removed his bandages, poked and prodded and asked asinine questions that took great effort to answer.
    “Does your head still hurt?”
    “Oui.”
    “Are you dizzy?”
    “Oui.”
    “How many fingers am I holding up?”
    “Deux.”
    “Do you know where you were born?”
    “Non.”
    “What is your name?”
    He hated the question. The short fat man peered at him over wire rimmed glasses.
    “Do you remember your name?”
    He wanted to curse at him but it would take too much energy. Everything took too much energy. “Non. Leave me.” he muttered. He only wanted to sleep and dream of the beautiful woman.

Cecelia felt a sudden draft of chilled air intrude upon her senses. More asleep than awake, she groped blindly for the covers and found nothing but air. Instinctively she curled into a ball in an attempt to warm herself.
    “Wake up, slugabed.”
    “No,” she mumbled.
    Something pinched her bottom and she tried to brush it away. “Go away. And give my covers back.”
    “Wake up.”
    “Mmm.” She curled up even tighter.
    “I thought we could ride to the ruins this morning. Unless of course, you’d rather sleep all day.”
    She rolled over and opened one eye. Wearing a grin, her husband stood by the bed looking uncommonly countrified in buff breeches and a brown jacket. “You’re taking me to the ruins?” she asked. “Why didn’t you mention this last night?”
    He sat on the bed beside her. “Because every time I promise you we’ll go, something happens. I didn’t want you to be disappointed if it rained or some new catastrophe spoiled our plans. But the weather is marvelous, Cook is packing our luncheon and I’ve let Ella know that you won’t be giving lessons today. I’ve even rung for Mattie. All you need to do is get dressed, have breakfast and meet me at the stables in an hour.”
    She pushed herself into a sitting position. “I don’t need an hour. I’ll meet you in half an hour.”
    “Impossible. There isn’t a woman alive who can get dressed and have breakfast in half an hour’s time.”
    She snorted. “Is that a challenge?”
    His hazel eyes lit with laughter and the corners of his mouth kicked up. “Do you want it to be?”
    “I do.”
    “Then, I look forward to proving you wrong.”
    She scowled at his arrogance. “And I look forward to proving you wrong.”
    Laughing, he rose from the bed just as Mattie entered with a tray holding Cecelia’s morning chocolate. “You’ll find your mistress in a tremendous hurry, this morning,” he told her as he pulled out his fob watch. “Let’s see. It’s exactly eight thirty-four. I’ll expect to see you at the stables, madam, at four minutes past nine. And not a minute later.” In no apparent hurry to leave he propped his shoulder against the bed post and folded his arms across his chest. “What do you plan to wear? As I recall, you have a number of riding habits and I’ve an inclination to help you pick something out. Of course, you would need to try several of them on before I could make a decision.”
    “Oh, just go,” she retorted as she padded toward her dressing room. “I know you’re trying to slow me down and I won’t have it. And bring my chocolate in here, Mattie.” She threw open her wardrobe. “I’ll wear the brown velvet riding habit with the braided green trim. The one piece that Madam Celine designed.” She accepted the chocolate her maid offered and took a sip. “Are my black boots polished?”
    “Yes, milady.”
    “Has hot water been brought up yet?”
    “’Tis on its way,” Mattie said as she pulled out the garment.
    She took another drink of her chocolate. “Excellent. Because if I’m not at the stables by four minutes past, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Twenty-nine minutes later Cecelia rushed into the stables where Rand was perched on the top rail of a stall just inside the entrance. She was flushed and slightly out of breath and he guessed she had run the distance from the house to the stables. Her hair was a bit untidy but he thought she looked remarkably polished for a female who had dressed in such a short period of time. She was stylishly turned out in the brown velvet and a tricorn hat sporting a black plume that curved toward her shoulder. He couldn’t fault her sense of style. She knew what suited her.
    She stopped an arm’s length away from him. “Would you have the time, sir?”
    He made a show of consulting his watch, yawned then said, “Oh, you’re finally here? Almost nodded off while I was waiting.”
    She put her hands on her hips and grinned. “Admit it. I made it, didn’t I?”
    “With a minute to spare,” he admitted.
    “Brilliant.” Still smiling, she leaned against the railing and pulled a small napkin wrapped bundle from her skirt pocket.
    Rand watched as she unfolded the napkin and took out a thick slice of bread wrapped around a chunk of ham. He waited until she had taken a bite before saying, “What have we here? Would this be your breakfast?”
    “I didn’t have time to eat
and
get dressed. Oh, drat.” Obviously realizing her mistake, she quickly shut her mouth.
    He cupped a hand to his ear. “I beg your pardon? Did you just say there wasn’t time to do both? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe my words were ‘get dressed and have breakfast in half an hour’s time.’ You’ve only accomplished one. And if you attempt to polish that off in the ten seconds you have left, you’ll likely choke on it.”
    “Unfair,” she protested.
    “How so?”
    “It just is.” She turned away and ignoring him completely, ate her bread and ham while they waited for stable hands to bring down Penny and Hudson.
    It wasn’t long before they heard the clipped rhythm of hooves against the packed earthen floor. Penny led the way with Hudson directly behind her. Rand thought he’d never seen two more splendid animals. Beautifully sculpted of smooth muscle and sleek lines, they moved with grace and arrogance. Penny’s coat gleamed like a copper penny; Hudson’s like polished ebony. Both had liquid brown eyes that shone with intelligence. He watched with amusement as Penny forcefully nudged aside the wiry stable lad who held her, in order to reach her mistress.
    “She’s feeling her oats today, milady,” the lad muttered with embarrassment.
    She turned a sunny smile on him. “She’s a handful, isn’t she? I’m afraid she’s inherited her arrogance from her sire. He was forever knocking stable hands to the ground.” Stroking the mare’s muzzle, she crooned, “My sweet girl. Are you looking forward to a good gallop?”
    Rand lifted her into the saddle then picked up the satchel holding their provisions and strapped it onto Hudson’s saddle. He turned to the oldest lad. “We’re headed to the ruins, Jake. What’s the easiest way to get there?”
    “Ride ‘cross the fields ‘til ye reach the stream. Follow the stream to the bridge. On the other side ye kin take the road wot runs ‘longside the woods or ride straight ‘cross the meadow. Stream feeds a lake right close t’ the ruins. It’s pretty.”
    “Tell Mrs. Brice we’ll be home for dinner.” Rand hoisted himself into the saddle and Lord and Lady Clarendon were on their way. They trotted past pens and paddocks and several cottages that housed the stable hands and Rand couldn’t help but think of all the work waiting to be done. Some of the pens needed to be rebuilt; nearly all of them needed painting, more stables and cottages needed to be built and the existing stable roof leaked in spots. Whitley was in the process of hiring more help and building materials had been ordered. Things were progressing, though not as quickly as he would like.
    The interest he took in the land went beyond a proprietary or fiscal interest. Fenton Abbey was beginning to feel like home and this was a new and still somewhat surprising experience for him. His bachelor quarters in Mayfair had simply been a place to sleep. The townhouse was his mother’s domain and Bryony Hall had not seemed like home since that last encounter with his father. He and Cecelia would need to visit the other estates and he knew she would want to spend time at Bryony Hall, but this was their home and hopefully it wouldn’t be too long before there were a couple of Clarendon brats to complete to picture.
    He shot a sideways glance at Cecelia. She controlled the mare with expertise, but the animal’s ears were pricked back and her muscles quivered with barely contained impatience. It was obvious that rider and mount were both bristling to be given free reign. He understood Harris’s exasperation with her. On horseback, she was fearless and containing that fearlessness was not an easy task.
    A few minutes later they passed the last outbuilding and the land opened up, vast and unencumbered. “Are you up for a race, my dear?”
    The black plume fluttered as she turned her head toward him. Two spots of color showed on her cheeks. He saw the gleam of competition in her eyes. “I’m always ready for a race, my lord.”
    “You won’t win of course,” he taunted. “Hudson’s a powerful beast. But I suppose we could give you a head start.”
    Her eyes sparked defiantly and she tossed her head. “How terribly generous of you, sir. As a mere female, I’ve no chance of besting you in such a masculine sport unless you grant me some advantage. I gratefully accept your offer of a head start.”
    He cocked a single blond brow. “I’m pleased to hear you understand how things are. On occasion, you seem to forget.”
    She tossed her head again. “Pray tell, what is our destination?”
    Grinning, he looked at the field stretched out before them trying to discern something that would make a tangible finish line. In the distance, a white fence snaked across the grass.
    Before he could say anything, she called out, “See the fence up ahead? Whoever jumps it first, wins.” And without waiting for a response, she and Penny surged ahead.
    He heard her laughter as she leaned over and encouraged the mare. He counted to ten and nudged the trembling Hudson, who plunged into the race as if the devil were at their heels. The broad-chested stallion was rippling muscle, sinew and steel, unwilling to ignore a challenge and hell-bent on victory. Rand crouched over the animal as they pounded the earth. Other than the head start he would make no concessions in this competition. He felt the raw power in Hudson’s flanks and the ground beneath them became a blur as the stallion ate up the turf. Three-quarters of the way to the finish line, they pulled ahead. The mare stretched forward as she valiantly tried to regain the lead but it was a futile attempt. As magnificent as the mare and her rider were, they were no match. The stallion lengthened his stride preparing for the jump ahead. The fence was no more than five feet tall but Rand felt sheer exhilaration as they soared. It lasted mere seconds. They hit the ground and he reined in.
    Cecelia whooped as she landed safely not far behind him.
She landed safely.
He went cold.
Christ! Talk about idiocy!
They’d made the jump without having the faintest idea what was on the other side of the fence. He couldn’t believe he’d been so foolish.
    Her voice rang out. “I’ll concede you your win, but one of these days I’m going to best you, though I’ll likely need to wait until that beast of yours is put out to pasture. He’s simply outstanding.”
    He wanted to rant and rave and shake her for taking such a foolish risk. But he was at greater fault. He was her husband and therefore responsible for her safety. That this eighteen year old had scrambled his brains was no excuse for his own recklessness. He gave himself time to calm down before he turned to face her and spoke in a clipped tone, “What we just did was foolish. We had no idea what was on the other side of this fence. There could have been a ditch, a pile of stones, anything. We’re damned lucky we didn’t break our necks.”
    Unconcerned, she reached up to straighten the tricorn hat. “Oh, but I knew it was safe. This is the only fence I can jump without Harris having a fit.”
    “You’ve ridden here before? Why didn’t you mention it?”
    She shrugged. “I was occupied taking advantage of my head start. Does it matter?”
    “I suppose not.” What mattered was that he hadn’t known it was safe and he had
    allowed the risk. Had he joined the ranks of the other Clarendon idiots? He was known to take risks, but once he’d accepted the trappings of maturity, the risks he took were generally calculated. He hadn’t put a second’s thought into the outcome of sailing over the bloody fence. He closed his eyes a moment and sighed heavily trying to force the tension from his body.
    “Aren’t you being a bit overcautious?”
    His eyes opened. “I’d rather be overcautious, than reckless.”
    “From what I understand that hasn’t always been the case.” She cocked her head and pursed her lips. “Tell me. Is it true you scaled a three story brick wall for a romantic interlude with the wife of one of your tutors when you were at Oxford?”
    “Don’t believe everything you hear. My exploits have been greatly exaggerated. If I did half of what it’s been said I did, I’d be dead by now.”
    “You haven’t answered my question.”
    “And I don’t intend to,” he muttered. It seemed his past would follow him for the rest of his days.
    Cecelia nudged the mare forward. “The stream isn’t too far ahead but you won’t see it until we reach the top of the rise,” she called over her shoulder. “It’s a lovely spot. It’s wide but doesn’t appear too deep. We could probably ride through the water, but I daresay, you’d rather take the bridge.”
    “I daresay, you’re right,” he said pointedly as he and Hudson caught up to her.
    They cantered up a gentle slope enjoying the warmth of the sun on their faces and the
    sweet summer scent of crushed grass and honeysuckle. It was only a matter of minutes before they reached the stream, a swift moving, glittering surface close to forty feet wide. At its edge, silvered water tumbled over smooth rocks. Poplars and tall grasses grew along the banks. They stopped long enough to let the horses drink, then picked their way along the water’s edge until the stream narrowed and they reached a stone bridge just wide enough for a carriage to pass over. Rand dismounted and headed toward it. “I’ll just be a minute.”
    Cecelia brushed a stray curl from her cheek. “What are you doing?”
    “There’s a crack along one side and some of the stones have tumbled down into the water. I’d rather we didn’t tumble down with then and take an unexpected swim.”