He checked his watch. “Would you rather play cards?”
“Not with someone who knows all my facial expressions.”
She got a chuckle for that. “Perhaps we could find you a mask.”
Pip gave him a grudging smile. “Even that doesn’t work. I am hopeless at it.”
“Chess?”
That did get her interest. “That just might serve.”
She turned around to see him pulling out the ivory set Lizzie’s aunt had cherished. It was nice to see it again and remember the evenings the old woman had beat her nieces—and their guest—to flinders with a delighted cackle and a demand for her winnings. Hairpins and orange slices.
By the time Aunt had passed on, Pip had begun to beat her.
She didn’t beat Beau, but she gave him a good game, which seemed to surprise him.
“I suppose I never expected strategy from you.”
She scowled. “I am not ten anymore, Beau.”
“Another?” he asked, setting the pieces back up.
But Pip had had enough for one day. It was time to make an orderly retreat to her lonely bed and try not to dream of those minutes in the salon that evening.
“Thank you,” she said, gathering her shawl and slipping her shoes back on from where they had somehow ended up beneath her chair. “But I believe it is time to say my good nights. It has been an eventful few days.”
“Meet me at the stables at seven for a ride?” Beau asked.
She thought about that for a minute. “Any other day I would say yes. But I believe I will be sleeping in late tomorrow and enjoying chocolate in bed. Try me again at about ten.”
“Could you manage to wear a riding habit this time?”
Pip scowled at him. “I never took you for a prude, Beau.”
“We aren’t the only people in the area.”
“The people in this area know me quite well and have seen me ride in breeches any number of times these last ten years.”
“Just humor me. Maybe your reputation can stand it, but I don’t think mine can.”
She was forced to grin, even still so conflicted about everything. “Tomorrow at ten.”
* * *
They rode.If Pip had been a gothic heroine, she would have arrived red-eyed and drawn after her night spent all too alone. Unfortunately, Pip was not romantic at all. She had slept soundly, mostly, she thought, from all the wine she had imbibed that day. And when she rose, she withstood the strong urge to pull out the breeches and slipped into her royal blue riding habit instead. It was more cumbersome, having to carry her skirt everywhere until she got into the saddle, but she had to admit that she looked quite nice in it. From the brief spark in Beau’s eyes when he saw her settling her matching shako hat, she had to believe he agreed.
The ride itself was lovely. Pip’s Macha was a lovely, tireless filly, but Beau’s Ares was a ghostly grey powerhouse. For the hour they were out, she and Beau were in the closest to perfect harmony they had ever been. But then, when Pip was on a horse, it was almost impossible for her to be angry at anyone.
That lasted until they once again came within sight of the Dower House, and she saw the man. Almost a shadow, medium sized, color, impression. Just as Beau had described him. And just as Beau had said, she knew instinctively there was something wrong with his being there. But he wandered off back toward the manor house before they could approach.
“You’re sure you didn’t hire him just to unnerve me?” she asked as they rubbed down their horses a few minutes later in the little four-stall stable behind the Dower House.
He flashed a brief grin. “I didn’t think of it in time. I’d like for you to stay at the house. I’m going to check in with Nate Adams. See if he has had his eye on any of this.”
“Is he another Rake?”
Beau shrugged. “Something like that.”
