Harte Court,” Jamie muttered. “Jesu, you’ve worked hard to make it prosperous.”
“Life is not always fair,” Hugh muttered. “I will have a fine estate when I wed Willa.”
But it wouldn’t be Harte Court. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“’Tis all right.” Hugh cleared his throat, a sure sign he had something to say. Something he deemed unpleasant. “I…we were upset when we heard you’d been accused of murdering that woman. I abandoned work on the west walls and rode with Mama and Papa to London to support you, but we arrived to learn you’d been cleared and had returned to your ship.”
“Sir Thomas had naught against me save the maid’s word her mistress had been expecting a man that night. Lily never actually saw who did visit poor Celia, but it wasn’t me. I was aboard the Lady at the time, and my men bore out my story.”
“I should have known you would come out on top…you always do. Did you know her…Mistress Celia, I mean.”
Jamie nodded. “Aye, but not well.”
“She was very beautiful. The sort of woman you like.”
Celia had been vain, stupid and shallow, but Jamie wasn’t one to speak ill of a lady. Especially a dead one. “Aye.”
“I heard she loved you.”
“Who said that?”
A shadow passed over Hugh’s face, gone so briefly it might have been a trick of the light. “’Twas the talk at court.”
“Since when are you a courtier?”
“Even crippled second sons are welcomed at court.”
“I did not mean you weren’t welcome there. “Tis a surpris—
“Aye, I’m sure you are astounded anyone could enjoy spending time with me. Icicle, is that not what you and Jo call me?”
Jamie flinched. “I am sorry that my biting wit wounded you. Despite our differences, I think you are a good man, Hugh. A better man than I.” He deeply regretted the gulf between them caused by his youthful pranks and mockery.
Hugh looked even more ill at ease.
“Lord Jamie,” called a soft voice. The overblown blonde hurried along the path toward them. “Have you a moment?”
Jamie gazed down into naughty eyes and wished they moved him half as much as Emmeline’s sober ones had. Ah, well, a man could not have everything. “Sorry, I must be going.”
“Let me come with you.” She pressed against him.
“Impossible, I’m afraid,” Jamie said with no real regret.
Hugh cleared his throat and bowed stiffly. “If you’ll excuse me, I should be getting back to Mama’s party.”
“Hugh, please take Lady…”
“Chantal,” the blonde replied.
“Of course. Please take Lady Chantal back to the—”
“I want to go with you.” Chantal pouted prettily.
“She obviously prefers you.” Hugh sounded petulant, too.
Jamie had no time to humor either of them. “Well, we don’t always get what we want.” He bowed over Chantal’s white hand, gallantly lied about seeing her in London and hurried away. “Thanks for everything, Hugh”, he called over his shoulder.
The nape of his neck began to prickle as he reached the stable. The courtyard was deserted, Rob nowhere in sight. Jamie paused at the stable door, acutely aware he’d be silhouetted in the opening when he entered to retrieve Neptune. An inviting target if someone waited within.
His ears and eyes strained to pick out any hint of trouble lurking in the dimness. All was quiet save for the low, contented sounds of horses dozing or chewing. Reassured but still vigilant, he stepped within. The new straw crunched beneath his boots, and he cursed his father’s fastidiousness. Had the straw been old and wet, his movements would have been soundless.
Neptune was saddled and waiting in the first stall. Nerves taut, Jamie reached for the reins and prepared to swing into the saddle. Straw rustled to his left. Quick as lightning, Jamie dove to his right, drawing his sword in the same practiced move and raising it to counter an attack.
“Sweet Mary,” gasped a soft voice.
Jamie stared up the length of naked steel into Emmeline’s pale, shocked face. “Emma, what are you doing here?”
“Emmeline,” she replied. “Waiting for you.”
“For me?” he echoed.
She nodded, her eyes huge, her fingers pleating her skirts.
“Is Markham after you?” Jamie leapt up, wrapped an arm around her and scanned the darkened stables for her uncle.
“What? Nay.” She looked even more uneasy, and shudders rippled from her body into his, tearing at him.
“Easy, sweetling.” He drew her closer. “Tell me what troubles you, and I’ll deal with it.”
“I…oh, this is so difficult.” She looked up at him, her lips set in a grim line.
He had a sudden urge to kiss her and soften her mouth, bend her to his will. Not now, you randy wretch. “Tell me,” he coaxed.
“I will go with you.”
“With me?”
She nodded. Her slender throat worked as she swallowed, the gulp audible in the silent stables. “If…if you still want me.”
Want was a feeble word to describe the thrill that shot through him. Anticipation. Triumph. He hid both. ‘Twas not chivalrous to gloat. “Of course I do, but what changed your mind? You were so, er, vocal in rejecting me earlier.”
She looked away, then up at him, not through her lashes as a practiced flirt might, but openly, directly. “I am afraid.”
“Of Markham,” he guessed. At her nod, he sighed. “Well, at least I am accounted the lesser of two evils. You were supposed to smile at that,” he added when she didn’t.
“I have not had much to smile about lately, milord.”
“None of that formality if we are to be, er, traveling companions.” He wondered if she meant to share his bed, then dismissed the notion as unworthy of a white knight. “Have you a horse?” he asked.
She let go the breath she’d been holding, the sound even louder than her gulp had been…and more touching. “Aye, but I fear the poor old thing will not keep up with this fine beast.”
“I could take you up with me if you’d prefer.”
“Would you mind?”
