Of course he didn’t listen to her. “Violet will not gossip.”
And just like that, all goodwill evaporated. “This was a bad idea. I’m returning to the house.” She would have swung her horse around, but he reached over and caught her reins.
“You said you wanted to help with my purpose here.”
She gave him a sour smile. “You told me toplay cards. You said that wasallyou wished from me.”
A muscle hardened in his jaw. His eyes were a very dark blue this morning, bluer than she’d ever seen them. He’d shaved. She caught the scent of the soap he’d used. That spicy, spicy aroma of bazaars and places beyond her reach.
Gwendolyn braced herself, wanting an apology, not wanting an apology, wanting him to say he cared for her as much as she did him. And then hating herself for abandoning her night’s hard-won convictions. She didn’t need him. She didn’t want him. She’d already sacrificed enough of her sanity and self-respect for him—
He let go of the reins. “Follow me.” He set his horse off down a path into the forest.
“Where are you going?”
He drew his horse to a halt. The forest created a background of green and gold behind him. “There is a river in this direction. I heard a story last night about a cottage located on its banks. I wish to have a look at it.”
“What sort of story?”
“A ghost story. The last marchioness built the cottage. It was her sanctuary. She drowned there. I want to take a look at the place. They say she haunts it.” He gave a half smile, a canny one. He knew he’d baited a hook that she would find hard to resist. It bothered her that he believed he knew her.
And he was right. He had hooked her on the wordghost. She kicked her horse forward. “Where did you hear this story?”
“I thought you were returning to the house?” he said as she drew up beside him.
She could have shoved him out of his saddle for that remark. “You are annoying.”
He reacted with genuine surprise. “What have I done?”
“You want my help. You don’t want my help.”You look like you wish to kiss me. You don’t kiss me.Gwendolyn shook her head, not wishing to speakthosethoughts aloud.
But they were true.
They rode in silence a moment. Then he said, “I have a man who is a Middlebury servant. He told me the story.”
A shared confidence... it was a start... maybe. And once again, Gwendolyn had to pick up the thread. “Does the story tell us how the accident happened?”
“It is the same as we’ve already been told. She had a young son, and the thought is that he may have gone into the water the way children do, and she went after him. They found her body, but he was washed to the sea.”
“And now the last marchioness haunts Colemore? I do believe in spirits, Mr. Steele. My family home in Wiltham is full of them. My sisters and I hope they keep our cousin Richard up at night.”
“It is claimed some have heard her spirit singing for her child,” he said.
“The singing woman.” Gwendolyn could barely contain her excitement. “Is it every night? Or just some nights?”
“According to the tale, told by men trying to out-impress each other around a fire, the marquess is the one who can hear her. Interesting,no? He is an odd one.” He told her of his meeting with the marquess the night before.
“But you didn’t ask him about the ghost.”
“There were servants around. He behaved differently than at dinner.”
“In what way?”
“More sure of himself, although he is definitely eccentric.”
She nodded. “He didn’t recognize you? Or see a resemblance?”
“Any resemblance is slight. Thank God.”
