A hollow beneath the dirt twisted her ankle and nearly sent her sprawling. Beatrice righted herself just in time and fought back the latest wave of tears that threatened.
Do not cry.She wouldn’t. Years of practice holding in tears, lest she suffer more at her aunt’s hand, had helped her master that skill. If she’d cried before her uncle or spoke at all of her misery and abuse, Aunt Margaret would make life that much more miserable when he left again. And he was always leaving, hardly ever home, given his assignments in the House of Lords—and his dislike of his wife, Beatrice guessed. So she pretended as best she could when he was home, even admitting to mischief and misdeeds that ought to have been credited to Violet.
This time it will be my misdeed that disappoints him.Beatrice could imagine all too well the frown that would turn down his lips when he heard how she had allowed his only daughter to run off.
To distract herself from such thoughts, Beatrice lifted hereyes to the stunning scenery—to her left, green hills crisscrossed with flowing contours made by the sheep grazing there. They were like the sea, with sculpted waves cresting one after the other, but with blades of grass in different shades of green instead.
Below these, growing right up to the narrow road, a palette of purple and blue wildflowers seemed to be cheering her on as they waved delicately in the gentle breeze. Farther up, the hills darkened with the thick clusters of sturdy pines covering the slopes. On her right, a stream gurgled over and around rocks and was steadily growing wider. Above it all, the sky stretched pale blue and wide, curving down to meet the surrounding beauty. She’d never seen a place so picturesque, and her eyes feasted upon every detail, committing them to memory. She would never be able to paint this scene—even if she’d had artistic talent, her aunt would never have abided the expense of the materials—but she could hold them in her mind and heart, recalling this solitary walk as the best hours of her exceedingly shortened summer in the Highlands.
Carriage wheels sounded behind her, and Beatrice hugged the side of the road, hoping the vehicle would pass quickly without taking note of her. Instead, it slowed as it approached.
“Miss Worthington.”
Lord Hughes. Her body reacted as it had upon hearing his voice the first time, an almost liquid warmth flowing through her. Somehow his voice had been everything she’d ever imagined—deep, rich, melodious.Until it turned angry.
“Lord Hughes.” She glanced at the carriage and saw him leaning out the open window as if he might see her, though his eyes were still bandaged. Thank goodness they were bandaged. It was terrible of her to think such a thing, especially considering the pain he must have suffered, but his inability tosee had likely saved her. She’d not had the practice of events in polite society to learn to hide her emotions. She tended to feel—either joy or sorrow—with her whole heart. And it seemed her expressions reflected that.
What might Lord Hughes have seen in their first moments together? Initially, she had imagined that he would pay her little heed, as he’d be so swept up in his reunion with Violet. And while that would have been painful to witness, Beatrice had hoped it would have protected her, and her secret as well. But without Violet to buffer their interactions...
He is handsome.The thought came unbidden once more as she glanced at his strong chin and cheekbones and the chestnut curls topping his head. Muscled arms and broad shoulders gave him the appearance of health and strength, though he was confined to a wheelchair.
“I did not mean for you to walk back to Inverness. My earlier words were spoken in haste, and I apologize.”
She had not expected this. No one ever apologized to her. “Thank you, milord. It is a fine day for a walk, so no harm done.” Beatrice continued, picking up her pace as the carriage rolled alongside.
“May I give you a ride?” he called.
She shook her head, though her feet were already sore. “I do not wish to trouble you.”I do not wish to land myself in trouble.More than she already had.
Violet was a fool. Beatrice had realized that within the first moments of meeting Lord Hughes. He had truly cared for her cousin. That much had been evident in his crestfallen expression and utter denial of Violet’s betrayal.To have someone who cared for me like that, who maybe even loved—
Foolish thoughts. An impossible dream. Any man who had ever shown interest in her had been put off by Aunt Margaret’s lies. No man within fifty miles hardly dared evensay hello anymore, such was her reputation. Little wonder Lord Hughes had thought the worst of her immediately. Tired and distraught as she was, she did not feel she could face his censure again so soon. Better to have sore feet and sleep out on the moor if necessary.
“Please, Miss Worthington. I would appreciate the pleasure of your company.”
Beatrice stopped and slowly turned toward the carriage as it also came to a standstill. No one had ever said please to her either. Her instructions were given as orders, never requests. Neither had she ever been told that her company would be a pleasure.
“Please come back to Broughleigh with me.” Lord Hughes leaned forward and pushed the door open. “In your haste to leave, you’ve forgotten your trunk. We can retrieve it and take you to the station after that.”
“My belongings disappeared with Violet. I have nothing to retrieve.”
A frown turned down the earl’s mouth, and Beatrice imagined a matching furrowed brow beneath his bandages.
“This situation points more and more to a robbery and abduction. Why should your cousin wish to take your clothing when she has plenty of her own?”
“Because she hates me,” Beatrice blurted, then instantly realized it was the wrong thing to say. He would think shewasinvolved in Violet’s disappearance, that they had quarreled or some such thing.
Instead, he asked quietly, “Why should she hate you?”
“Because her mother does,” Beatrice said, defeated. She had told the first truth; there seemed little sense in denying him the second. He would certainly think the worst of her now—a thought that hastened the return of tears that had threatened earlier. Why should his opinion of her matter? She was used to the disdain of others after so many years.
“Regardless of your feelings for each other,” Lord Hughes said, “I would like you to come with me to describe what Violet was wearing and what the man—William—looked like as well. We’ll send a notice to the authorities in Edinburgh. Perhaps, if they find them, you will have your belongings restored.”
Beatrice swallowed back disappointment.He had not spoken to her kindly because he wished her company or truly regretted his earlier words, but because he still wanted to discover Violet’s whereabouts. Beatrice held in a weary sigh. Denying his request now would make her appear even more guilty. She walked toward the carriage. At least riding would keep her out of the sun. “I shall be glad to assist you, milord.”
The earl held a hand out to her as she stepped up. His grasp was strong and sure, and after she was safely inside, he held her hand a few seconds longer than necessary and gave a gentle squeeze of sincerity. “Thank you.”
Beatrice nodded as the hovering tears spilled over.He thanked me.Her third first in as many minutes. He released her hand, and she brought it near to her heart. His simple touch upended her even more than his generous words. When had someone last touched her with kindness? With any sort of affection at all—even if it was only gratitude for her assistance? She could not recall this either, and so she held her hand close and blinked away tears, thankful that he could not see her gratitude or the way she savored their contact.
