“That does sound rather promising,” Stanton admitted.
“What does?” It was Ryan who’d asked the question.
“Lord Stanton here desires to waltz this evening,” his sister explained, “but since all the ladies appear to be either taken or unable to oblige him, I merely suggested that he wait and see who else shows up. Lord Hackston has what…five daughters, all of marriageable age. I’m sure they’ll be more than eager to take a spin upon the dance floor with our handsome Lord Stanton.”
Ryan groaned, leading Lucy to suspect that the Hackston women had remained unmarried for a reason. He swiftly confirmed it by saying, “I advise you to steer clear of that lot, Stanton. Their mama is the sort of desperate woman who will risk anything in order to see her daughters wed.”
“Duly noted, Summersby,” Stanton said with a chuckle. “Indeed, it does appear as if I shall either have to choose my partner wisely or simply forego altogether.”
“Ready for a bit more speed?” William shouted, his horse already quickening its step in agitation.
“Most assuredly,” Alexandra responded with an edge of eagerness. “Same route as usual?”
William strained against his horse’s reins to keep the beast from bolting. He nodded his head. “We’ll ride out to that old cottage—you can just about spot it on the horizon—turn around, and head on back. Anyone not up to it?” His eyes caught Lucy’s, and she knew that his question was directed at her. How gallant of him not to have singled her out directly. But she knew that she was up to the challenge, so she quickly offered him a nod of confirmation. “Very well then—may the best man, or woman, win!” Giving the reins some slack, he allowed his mount to take off across the moor.
The rest of the horses, clustered together as they were, whinnied and neighed, their hooves frantically shuffling about as they got ready to take up the chase. Pulling sharply on the reins, Lucy eventually managed to break free with Primrose’s long legs leaping forward and picking up speed as she raced after Alexandra and Stanton. She knew that the rest of the group was now coming fast behind her, for she could hear the heavy beat of thunder drumming the ground. A moment later, Ryan drew up beside her, casting a lopsided grin in her direction as he leaned forward against his horse’s neck, and passed her.
Frustrated, Lucy flicked her whip against Primrose’s rump and held on tight as the mare quickened her pace, catching up to Ryan again in a few easy steps. “You’ll never beat them,” he yelled across at her as he nodded his head toward William and Alexandra. The pair already appeared to have made it to the cottage. “I’ve been trying for years!” And with a cheeky grin, he veered off to the side, disappearing out of sight.
Turning her head, Lucy saw that he’d turned about and had begun heading in the opposite direction; apparently he’d given up. But she also saw that Galensbury, Fairfield, and Reinhardt were coming up behind her fast and quickly returned her attention to the race. She might not be able to beat William and Alexandra, but she could still come in third and ahead of the other men. Tapping her whip against Primrose once more, she leaned forward, bracing herself against the agile creature while the wind whipped across her face and tugged at her hair.
Fairfield and Galensbury were the next to come up beside her, their jackets billowing out behind them. Tossing a quick glance at each of them, Lucy leaned as far forward as she dared and yelled for Primrose to pick up her pace. The loyal mare immediately complied, but the awkward position that the sidesaddle offered Lucy, prevented her from reaching the optimal speed, and a few seconds later, she was forced to concede defeat as Fairfield and Galensbury both overtook her.
Looking up, she saw William and Alexandra heading toward her on their way back to the finish line, followed closely by Stanton. Winning would now be impossible, of that there was no doubt. But she wasn’t one to give up either. She would finish this race, even if she came in last. Looking back, she saw that she was still a few yards ahead of Reinhardt, and she turned her attention back to the ground that lay stretched out before her, covered by a purple blanket of heather. Another hundred paces, she reckoned, and she would reach the cottage. Fairfield and Galensbury were already turning about, both sporting smiles of boyish glee as they started their homeward run.
But as they passed her, concern began to descend upon her, wrapping itself across her shoulders and clinging to her with insistent determination. She was alone now, with Reinhardt on her heels…Reinhardt…the only person who’d remarked on her mother’s pendant the night before. Was it a coincidence or something more? She dared not think of it, but she knew that he must be able to pass her just like the rest had done, if that was what he wished to do, and yet he remained behind her.
If he wanted her dead, the race would offer him the perfect opportunity. All he had to do was ensure that she fell from the saddle…perhaps once they reached the cottage, for as they turned about, they would be hidden from view momentarily. A cold chill dug its way beneath her skin, and she drew a sharp breath as panic swept over her. He could break her neck as soon as she was down, and nobody would be the wiser. Nobody would suspect a thing.
With fear curling itself around her, she glanced back one more time and then whacked her whip against Primrose as she tugged the reins to the left, forcing them in a wide circle that would take her back to the safety that the rest of the party offered.
“Stop!” she heard Reinhardt yell. Like the devil she would. Her heart was now beating so fast she felt it might burst through her chest. She could hear the beat of his horse’s hooves coming closer, and unable to stop herself, she looked back again, only to find that he was now right on her tail.
“Get away from me,” she cried as she desperately thrashed at Primrose with her whip. If she could make it only another five minutes…But then she sensed Reinhardt draw up beside her, and her better judgment failed her. With a sharp pull on the reins she attempted to cut him off, but she miscalculated the distance required and found herself pushed up against him instead.
Before she could think of what to do, his arm was about her waist and he had grabbed hold of her reins, pulling both animals to an immediate stop.
“What the devil’s wrong with you?” he fumed, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her around to face him.
Lucy slapped Primrose’s rump, forcing the obedient horse forward once more. With a hard yank, she then freed herself from Reinhardt’s grasp, only to find herself pulled back once more—this time by her gown—and it dawned on her that Reinhardt must have reached down and grasped the fabric, knowing that it would either bring her to a standstill or send her tumbling from the saddle. With a sense of impending doom bearing down on her, she tried to kick him away.
“For the love of all that is holy, would you please sit still?”
Turning her head to face him, intent on offering the scoundrel a string of oaths, she instantly stilled at the sight of the blade that now flashed in his hand. In that moment, it was almost as if her heart had stopped beating. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. All she could do was sit there and stare as he leaned toward her, his forehead creased in a frown of serious determination. She was going to die, and she very much doubted that there was much she’d be able to do to stop it, but she was damn well going to give him one hell of a struggle.
Balling her right hand into a tight fist, she leaned back and away from him before sending the upper half of her body forward, adding force behind the punch that she delivered a second later to his left cheek. He instantly dropped the knife, his eyes wide with shock as he stared back at her in wonder. But then his eyes grew dark, and she saw his jaw clench in anger.
Unwilling to give up just yet, she dealt him another blow, but he moved aside too quickly, and it landed against his shoulder instead. Hoping to give it another try, she readied herself, but he anticipated her this time and caught her tightly by the wrist. “What on earth has gotten into you, Lady Summersby?” he asked between bursts of air. “You rode like a madwoman, beating your poor horse until her hide was practically raw. I tried to stop you, but you refused to listen. Why?”
“You know well enough, Lord Reinhardt,” she replied, her eyes flickering momentarily to Primrose’s backside, only to see that it was indeed marked with angry red lines. Her throat tightened at the sight of it. How could she have been so cruel?
“No, I don’t, but what I do know is that you very nearly caused what could have been a fatal accident, trying to intercept me the way you did. You got the skirts of your gown caught in my stirrup in the process—a terrible mess if you’ll only care to take a look yourself. But when I tried to cut you lose, you decked me like no other woman I’ve ever seen. In all honesty, I’m inclined to think you’re completely mad!”
“Is everything all right?” With a small gasp of surprise, Lucy turned to find William trotting up behind her. “Bloody hell, Charles, you look like you’ve just been in a tavern brawl! What the devil happened?”
“A slight misunderstanding, I believe,” Reinhardt offered in response to his friend’s question, though he served Lucy a chastising gaze as he did so.
“Lucy?” William then asked. His tone was soft but stern.
“I…” Her mind boggled. She’d been so certain that he was after her that she’d acted completely out of character. She’d been spurred on by fear. Of course it was still possible that he was the assassin and that he was merely toying with her the way a cat might play with a mouse before gobbling it up. Truth was, she no longer knew what to think, but what she did know was that this did not look good, and it most certainly was not in accordance with the assassin’s request to avoid drawing attention. Actually, she’d just caused quite a scene, and she wasn’t at all certain about how to explain it to William.
“Lord Reinhardt was only trying to assist, but when he drew his dagger, I’m afraid I had a moment of panic…ever since the incident that I mentioned to you yesterday, William, knives and the like have a tendency to terrify me. I hope you’ll forgive me.” She turned to Reinhardt who was staring at her with great intensity. “You too, my lord—my actions were terribly inappropriate. I’m really sorry. If we hurry back to the house, we should be able to put a piece of meat on your bruise so you won’t look too terrible tonight at the ball.”
Reinhardt blinked, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend that she would even be thinking of the upcoming ball at a time like this. He opened his mouth to speak, but William cut him off, saying, “I was surprised to see you fall behind, Charles. Is everything all right?”
Reinhardt held silent for a moment, his mouth set in a tight line while his eyes shifted first to Lucy and then to William. “I dislocated my shoulder in a boxing match last week. It’s still a bit sore—forces me to take things slow.”
William drew a deep breath and let it out again in a loud gush of air. “Come along then, you two. The sooner we tend to that bruise of yours, Charles, the less likely you’ll be to frighten away the ladies.” Turning Primrose about, Lucy felt like the stupidest simpleton ever to have walked the earth. Reinhardt had kept pace with her because he’d been in pain, yet in addition to a recently dislocated shoulder, he now sported a black eye as well, thanks to her. She groaned inwardly as she plodded back toward Moorland Manor. This was the second time in the course of one day that she’d allowed her imagination to get the better of her. Whatever it was the assassin had in mind, if he hoped to rattle her, then he was doing a very fine job indeed.