Page 31 of How to Seduce a Viscount
She’d chosen loyalty to his grandfather over him and she’d done it not once but twice. There couldn’t be much future in a relationship that was trust deficient but how could it be otherwise between two agents who dealt in secrets? The revelation hurt and Luce did not like to hurt.
Was she right about that? That he exchanged examining his feelings for work? When Stepan had first gone missing, he’d been the one who’d spent that night on the docks running from party to party gathering information because he couldn’t stand still and wait, didn’t want his mind to have even a moment to think about what Stepan’s disappearance in the water meant. Was he doing the same thing now? Using the very vital and urgent work of the Horsemen to prevent reconciling the complex feelings the evening raised in him—betrayal, loss, want.
He pushed a hand through his hair. How was it possible he wanted her when he knew she’d betrayed him? He should not want a woman who’d not been truthful with him. He should not crave her, should not want to run down the hall and beg her forgiveness for harsh words.
He needed to leash this vulnerability of his—another reason to keep his heart under wraps. Vulnerability made people reckless and clouded their thoughts, his among them. The same woman who’d deceived him had protected Celeste and had brought vital information that might lead to Stepan. How did one reconcile the good and the bad? Or perhaps she was right: truth was subjective. The truth was whatever he made it. Heroes didn’t exist in black and white but in grey. Quicksilver grey.
Chapter Sixteen
In the grey light of a winter’s dawn, Falcon and the Horseman set off for Essex. The Horseman on Vercingetorix and Falcon, swathed in a warm cloak with a deep hood covering her hair, mounted on a competent white mare from the Tillingbourne stables. If the Horseman noticed that Falcon hazarded one last backward glance at the abbey and raised a gloved hand in farewell, he said nothing but filed away the meaning behind it. She would not be back.
They travelled in silence, making what speed they could in the snow. The horses were shod for winter weather and that helped, as did the lower elevation as they left the hills. By mid-morning, the snow was behind them and the road was clear. They stopped every couple of hours to rest the horses, check the horses’ feet and eat a small snack. At villages, they chose to stay to the side roads and cut across country where possible to avoid being seen. It didn’t seem likely they’d be noticed or tracked out here in the vast, empty countryside but such practice was standard protocol for those in the Sandmore network and they followed the practice, riding hard, talking little.
Luce didn’t mind either condition. After weeks of being cooped up at home, the hard riding felt good. Vercingetorix was enjoying it as well, his hooves eating up the ground with ease.Wren had given her mare her head, too. At present, the road was dry and clear of traffic. With luck—if the road and the horses’ stamina held—they might make thirty miles today. That would put them halfway to Essex. As for the silence, the difficulty of carrying on conversation while riding at more than a trot was a convenient excuse not to do it.
What more was there to say anyway? Two days ago he would have thought they could talk for ever and still not discover everything there was to know about each other. The prospect of peeling one another back layer by layer had seemed delightful, sensual even. But not now. They were together no longer. Bed mates and soulmates no more. They were work partners only.
In the rare chance of working with a partner, one did not tell a workmate anything personal so as not to burden them with knowledge that might be dangerous to them later on. His mind whispered he could apologise for his behaviour last night. He could offer her absolution. He could tell her that he understood why she’d done it. He could tell her he’d stayed awake in his empty bed wishing the evening had gone differently. That he wanted her still. But that would only set him up for more hurt later. It didn’t change the fact that she couldn’t stay, that he had to wed, or that when the critical moment had come, she’d chosen loyalty to his grandfather over him. It only deferred the hurt a few months.
They slowed and pulled their horses over to the verge in order to let a carriage coming towards them by. Evening shadows were starting to stretch. ‘There should be a village around the next bend,’ he observed. The presence of a little traffic on the road, too, signalled that would be the case. The carriage was the third one in the last two miles after a veritable dearth of traffic.
‘We should stop there for the night.’ Something in Wren’s voice made him look at her. She was pale and was leaning forward in the saddle, hands fisted in reins and mane.
‘You’re hurting,’ Luce said gruffly. ‘You should have said something.’
‘You wanted to make thirty miles while we had a chance. We don’t know what tomorrow brings,’ she countered. He felt as if he was a complete cad. It was a testament to her resilience that she was on horseback at all after her injury.
‘You rode so well today I forgot to consider that may be uncomfortable for you just yet,’ Luce apologised. ‘I do wish you’d spoken up.’ But he knew why she hadn’t. Her effort had been her attempt to mend the breach between them, her own apology of sorts.
‘Come sit on Vere with me. He can carry two for a short distance and I can pony your mare.’
‘Her name is Beatrice and I can finish the day under my own power,’ Wren said stubbornly.
‘I know you can, but you don’t have to.’ Luce hoped that softened the offer or perhaps she didn’t want to be that close to him. ‘Don’t be obstinate if the price of it is you not being of any use at journey’s end.’
‘I’ll be fine. A hot bath will solve me.’ She shifted in the saddle with a wince and Luce had to hold his tongue not to force the issue. ‘Will you tell me a tale the rest of the way?’ she asked. ‘It will take my mind off the ache. I want to know the story of your horse’s name.’
If there was one thing Luce loved to talk about, it was his horse. ‘He’s named for a Gallic military commander who succeeded in uniting the Gauls against Caesar and nearly put an end to Rome’s presence in France. Vere is fifteen years old. He was a gift to me when I officially became a Horseman. He was three then. I trained him and we’ve been together ever since. My brothers’ horses are from the same sire. They received theirs when they became Horsemen, too. Kieran’s horse is Tambor,Stepan’s horse is Caravel and Caine’s horse is Argonaut. He’s the oldest. He’s over twenty now.’
That gave Luce pause and he continued more solemnly. ‘Caine would be lost without him.’ As would he without Vere. ‘Our horses are like an extension of ourselves. I can’t imagine life without them and yet I think must.’ Even if Argonaut lived another twelve years—horses did live into their thirties with good health and proper care—Argonaut would not be mission worthy. Today would have been difficult for him. And yet, there was reassurance in knowing Argonaut had made the trip to Wales with no problem. The horse still had a couple good years left, perhaps. Luce reached down and patted Vere’s shoulder.
‘What sort of horses are they?’ Her prompt sounded terse. She must be suffering badly. Guilt stabbed at him hard. Quarrel or not, mission or not, he’d not meant for her to hurt like this.
‘Friesian-thoroughbred crosses. Their sire is a Friesian and their dam a thoroughbred.’ The village came into view and Luce strained for the sight of an inn that was clean and respectable. By his calculations they were in the north-western part of Kent, perhaps right outside of Sevenoaks. He spied a neatly kept sign and hoped it was a portent of what it looked like on the inside. ‘The Horse and Bull seems promising. Shall we try?’
In the stable yard, he dismounted and gave instructions to the ostler. The stalls looked clean and they were mostly full—also a good sign. People stayed here, although he did wonder what their choices would be if they didn’t.
‘Luce.’ Wren’s voice held a desperate tone. He turned, her face pale in the lanternlight of the yard. ‘I don’t think I can dismount on my own.’
He was by her side instantly, arms reaching up. ‘Just fall into me, I’ll catch you.’ He carried her, too, despite her protestations. She could walk, she argued. ‘Why walk, my dear, when I can carry you just as easily.’
Inside, he gave orders for a hot bath to be brought up and dinner to be served in the room. ‘You will need my assistance tonight. Two rooms is pointless.’ He gave her a sharp look when she questioned his choice. ‘Besides, I have helped you before. It’s no problem.’
The room was large with an antechamber furnished like a small sitting room before giving way to the bedchamber. Luce set her down on the settee and saw to it that the tub was placed before the fire and a dressing screen brought to ensure she had privacy.
‘You can go downstairs and get a drink. You needn’t stay with me,’ Wren called from the tub.
In answer, Luce took up residence in the antechamber’s wing-backed chair. ‘You can’t get out of the tub without me, but I know you’ll try if I am not here. So, no, I will not be going downstairs. It’s my fault you hurt. I shouldn’t have pushed you today.’ Damn, he’d wished she’d said something about it. It was proof that a truce wasn’t enough. They’d barely talked all day. All the talking they’d done had happened in the last half hour on the road. And yet, there was no going back to how things had been before. But there might be going back to how things had been when she’d first arrived at Tillingbourne, when she’d spent the days in the library with him, wrapped in his robe. Back to before he’d kissed her. Before he’d let his heart go to her.
