“Then we should go,” Edward said, already calculating what needed to be done.
Powers merely toyed with his drink, his lips pursed in exaggerated consideration.
Edward crossed to the bellpull by his fire and tugged. “We can be away in a few hours.”
“Edward—” Mary’s shoulders straightened, matched by a determined slant to her eyes. One of realization. “I think—I think my father is mad.”
“We’re all mad, love,” Powers cut in. “He’s just . . .” Powers twirled his fingers about and whistled. “A bit cocked up.”
“
A bit
?” she echoed.
“I grant you, he’s done his nut better than most. But think, how many men beat the daylights out of their wives, then walk down the street, a bloody great grin on their faces? Nobody knows and nobody really cares.”
“I care.” Her words were a deadly swipe through the room, silencing both Edward and Powers.
After a prolonged moment, Powers whispered, “There. There you are.”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Edward nodded, understanding exactly what Powers meant. “The woman you truly are, Mary.”
“One who does not fight in fear or flail out of anger,” Powers began.
“But one who believes in something. In herself and her own worth,” Edward finished.
“I don’t understand,” she said softly.
Edward smiled at her, his heart alight. “You will.”
Powers slammed down his snifter upon the mahogany sideboard with a degree of finality. “Now, as wonderful as this moment is, I shall not hie hence, until I state my intentions.”
“You’re bound for Australia?” Mary quipped.
“No, Mary dear. I am bundling you, our bruised bawd, and his lordship here to my estate.”
Her eyes narrowed. “But if my father wishes to find me, he will pursue us. Besides, I don’t trust you, for all your mysterious encouragement. I’d rather have my eyeballs yanked from my sockets and fed to dogs than go with you.”
Powers leaned forward, diminishing a degree their height difference. “Knowing Hardgrave, that is an imminent possibility.”
Mary paled. Still, she didn’t back down. “You can’t be serious?”
Powers didn’t reply. His silence was enough.
Edward glanced from Mary to Powers. The nagging fact that these two had a great deal in common grated on his nerves. They both chased the dragon, they both were scarred, and they’d both sold themselves to get what they needed in this life. If he had believed in such things, he would have assumed fate had put them together for a reason. What that reason was, he had yet to surmise. “Powers is correct. It’s the best place for us to go.”
Mary whipped toward him. “What? Why?”
Shoving them even closer together was now the last thing he wished, but circumstances forced him to point out, “It takes us out of London and it will be some time before Hardgrave guesses that Powers would help you.”
She lifted her chin. “I will not run away.”
“You shan’t,” Edward assured. “The estate is fairly isolated and it will give us time to plan and ready you.”
“For revenge?” she asked.
Powers strode for the door. “And more, my dear. Much, much more.” As he opened the panel carefully, there was a dangerous glint in the viscount’s eye. “Be ready in an hour to depart. And, Mary, Edward and I will see you have your desires fulfilled.” He smiled slowly. “Oh, and, Edward—you look happy. It’s most strange.”
Powers slid out the door and left it open. His boot steps echoed down the hall.
Happy? It wasn’t an emotion he was overly familiar with. But dared he believe it? Even with all that had happened, he realized that, yes, with Mary he was starting to know happiness. He couldn’t lose that. It was far too precious.
Edward waited for the sound to dim entirely before venturing, “You’ll go?”
“Yes.” The passion and softness that had lit her features the night before had disappeared from her countenance, leaving in its place the face of the battle hardened. “I’ll go, but I do not care for him.”
“Not many do.”
Mary pressed her lips together, weighing her next words. “He’s dangerous.”
“Yes . . .” Edward fought for words that would correctly convey how he felt about Powers. “But in this, he is necessary.”
“A
re you certain you wish to ride him?” Edward fought to keep the concern out of his voice.
From her incredulous look, he must have failed.
She stroked her hand along Whip’s russet flank. “Why shouldn’t I?”
Edward shifted on his riding boots, standing amid Powers’s massive stable yard, holding the reins of his own horse. “He’s a bit of a brute.”
Mary grinned at him. “I should hope so.”
“But—”
Without reply, Mary swung up into the saddle, her breeches stretching over her legs. And she was off, dashing out of the yard.
“Bloody hell,” Edward gritted. He mounted the gelding and urged him forward into a brisk canter.
By the time he reached the top of the hill, he spotted Mary halfway across the moor. Suddenly, she pulled up Whip and reared the stallion onto his hind legs.
Then she waved.
She bloody well waved.
Edward let out a groan of frustration, then laughed. Mary was always going to be full of surprises.
Tapping his heels against his own horse’s barrel, he charged after her.
When he finally caught up, she’d slowed her stallion to a walk. The cool air and excitement had pinkened her cheeks.
Any fear he’d felt dissipated. “You are a fine horsewoman.”
She gripped the reins lightly, keeping the massive horse in check but at ease. “Oh, well. My father didn’t have a son, and I supposed he wanted to teach someone to ride. I was in the saddle when I was three.”
“Ladies don’t often learn to ride such temperamental beasts.”
“True.” Mary reached forward and stroked her hand along Whip’s sleek neck.
Edward felt a moment of ridiculous envy at the way she touched the stallion, so easily, so happily.
She sat straighter in the saddle, gazing far out to the horizon. Her features were relaxed, as if this was the best day in the whole of history. “You should have seen people’s faces when I rode to hounds the first time.”
Edward quirked his brows “A wild thing, were you?”
“Mmm.” She let out a long breath. “It’s the only time my father encouraged me to be reckless. Said a proper Englishwoman had to know horseflesh.”
It shouldn’t surprise him. The Duke of Duncliffe just seemed to be so controlling of his women that to give his daughter such a chance to be free seemed odd. But then, horsemanship was one of the true pedigrees of their class. If Mary was a great horsewoman, she’d be more of an asset. He pushed such thoughts aside, adjusting the reins between his thumbs and palms. “I haven’t ridden much. Not in some time.”
She gave him a wicked smile. “Neither have I.”
At first, he considered cursing himself for saying something so insensitive, but he stopped. She wasn’t angry with him, but making light of her situation. “We shall have to change that,” he said.
“I adore it. Thank you for suggesting it.”
“I had no idea it would strike such a chord.”
As they road over the green countryside, the sea suddenly rolled in the distance. The crash of the waves drifted toward them. Here in the fresh salt air, away from everyone, it was almost possible to believe that Mary wasn’t in danger. That they were simply able to enjoy each other’s company.
“Riding is such release.” She lifted her face to the sun, closing her eyes for a moment. “Don’t you think?”
The solid step of the horse, its rolling gait, the sheer power of the animal was invigorating and peaceful at once. He somehow felt totally present, unmarred by past or future. “I never really thought about it, but yes.”
“You can be totally free riding. No pretense. Just you and the horse.”
“And I suppose your companions.”
She flashed him a smile. “I could leave you over the next dale and be off on my own in a moment.”
He swallowed. “Is that what you’d prefer? If you wish to be alone—”
“No, Edward. I enjoy your company and I’m glad to share the day with you. Now, I’m racing to the sea—do try to keep up.”
Mary gave Whip a slight kick and they were off, hooves tossing up the turf and Mary’s delighted laugh echoing through the air.
Edward paused for only a moment, wondering who the blazes this woman was. Whoever she was, he was damn glad he’d found her. He urged his horse on and . . . he couldn’t keep up.
He couldn’t fight the feeling of awe in his chest. Mary was such a wonder.
As he came to the beach, she was already there, dismounted, her boots sinking into the sand. “Are you a snail?” she called.
He swung down and took the reins, striding toward her. “No, madam. You are an absolute fox. Dashing about like that.”
She stroked Whip’s neck and the stallion, usually so volatile, turned his face toward her and nosed her chest.
Mary laughed again, a free sound. “Aren’t you beautiful,” she whispered to Whip.
“Shall we tie them off?” Edward asked, once again slightly jealous of Whip.
“Yes, let’s.” She took Whip’s reins and tied them to a large tree trunk that had washed up along the beach. The stallion whinnied, then began munching the tall grass around the log.
Edward followed suit, happy for her to be the leader in all this.
She gave him a cheeky grin. “Come on, then.”
Something about the horses had changed her dark mood. The worry that had creased her face vanished as she skipped—yes, skipped—along the sand.
She stopped suddenly and stared out to the sea.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as he strode forward.
She drew in a long breath. “I was thinking of someone.”
“Who?”
“Another girl.” She continued to stare out to sea, lost in some memory. “Someone who I hope has found happiness. I think she has.”
For one moment, he let anger tear through him. How many years had her father stolen from her? And her friend? Who had ruined that girl’s life? Fate seemed a brutal thing.
But then again, what if Mary had never been in the asylum. Would they ever have met?
Mary turned and headed farther down the beach, her head high.
As he watched her leave deep prints in the sand, her short hair tousling in the wind, he couldn’t help but feel grateful that the fates had brought them together, no matter the path.
He ran after her until finally he kept pace beside her, silent for a moment. “You know, somehow, this will all be well.”
She glanced up at him, her face surprisingly gentle. “Yes. I have to believe that.”
He took her hand in his, twining their fingers. “I will make sure it is.”
She bit her lower lip, then slipped her hand from his. “We are being far too serious,” she said as she bent down and began tugging off her boots.
“What the bloody hell are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
A mischievous look brightened her pensive face as she sat in the sand and stuck her foot up toward him. “Turnabout is fair play.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You take off my boots now.”
“Aha.” The muscles in his abdomen tightened. He loved touching her. In any way. And now he was going to be touching her ankles.
He didn’t waste any time. Gently, he took her foot in his hands and lightly caressed the leather.
She grew silent as his fingers spread over her foot.
He tugged.
A peal of laughter escaped her as she slid forward along the sand. “Oh, dear. That didn’t quite work as planned.”
He grinned back at her. “Perhaps if you brace yourself?”
“Yes, sir.” She dug her hands into the sand.
He tried again, and this time her boot slid off in one go, exposing her delicate foot encased in a functional wool stocking. It was one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen.
Mary was not only letting him touch her; she was encouraging it.
“Are you daydreaming?” she asked.
“I am admiring.”
“My foot?” she asked skeptically.
“No, the weave of this rather superb wool,” he said as he stroked his palm along the bottom of her arch.
She gasped. “You’re a devil.”
“Quite possibly. Now hold still.” He repeated the process with her other boot, reluctant to let her go.
“Now the socks,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I am hardly going to run about in the foam with my socks on.”
Edward’s heart thudded. She was letting him undress her. Not entirely, but from Mary this felt as if the mountains were moving and the sky was suddenly going to open up with a thundering crash of glorious light. “Whatever madam requires.”
Meeting her still gaze, Edward slipped his fingers into the edge of her stocking, then oh so slowly peeled it down her calf. He allowed his fingers to trace her skin, skimming it lightly.
Her chest rose up and down in fast breaths. “Now the other,” she whispered.
Carefully, he repeated his performance, watching her face for any signs of displeasure. Instead, her pink cheeks deepened with color and her lips slightly parted.
When he stripped her foot of the fabric, she held still for a moment, her ankle in his hand. The world expanded around them, only the crash of the waves breaking the silence.
“Thank you, Edward.”
He knew she wasn’t thanking him for removing her boots and stockings, but for so much more. And this time, her thanks resonated in him—it hadn’t come from obligation, but because there was something between them now.
His throat closed as emotion filled him. She was so precious, so important. And, slowly, she was recovering.
This
. This was what she needed. Playfulness, and horses, and the beach. To be looked after and cared for, focusing on the beautiful things of life and ignoring the bitterness of the past.
No. That wasn’t right. She’d never be able to rest as long as her father was still out there, waiting to send her back to the asylum. Would she? His sudden doubt shook him, but he cast it off as quickly as it had come.
He caressed his thumb over her calf. “You’re welcome.”
“Now let’s see if on your feet you can catch me.” Suddenly she jumped up and darted down the beach into the rushing surf.