Page 94 of Miss Flibbertigibbet and the Barbarian
Beside Nicholas, her gaze locked on Kirkwood, Adriana whispered, “He’s waiting to hand over the horse to whoever he’s working for.”
Nicholas added, “And he’s expecting that person at any minute.”
“Finally,” Adriana breathed, and there was steel in her tone, “we’re going to get some answers.”
Watching Kirkwood, Nicholas thought,On the blackmail front at least.
* * *
Minutes ticked by as they continued to watch. Everyone was alert and tense, yet with the end of their campaign in sight, no one broke ranks; they waited patiently and silently while Kirkwood paced.
The church’s position at the top of the downward-sloping green gave them an excellent view of the entire expanse.
Then the clop of hooves reached them, and two men rode up along the lower edge of the green, arriving from the direction in which Kirkwood had been glancing.
Relief and expectation suffusing his expression, Kirkwood swung to face the newcomers.
The pair saw him and dismounted. After tying their horses to a nearby tree, they trudged up the green toward him.
Anchored by The Barbarian, Kirkwood was closer to the church than the lower edge of the green. The huge horse had his head down, nibbling grass, although Nicholas knew the stallion would be well aware of all around him. When Kirkwood tried to draw the horse to him, presumably to meet the approaching men, the beast ignored the tug on the rein, refusing to even acknowledge it.
Then the newcomers drew close enough for Nicholas to make out their faces.
“Damn!” In disbelief, he studied the features of the taller of the men, a well-built dark-haired man wearing a caped greatcoat much like Nicholas’s. “That’s Nigel Devenish.”
Adriana glanced at Nicholas. “Who’s he?”
Nicholas looked from Devenish to Kirkwood and back again. “He’s another major breeder. Come on!” He pushed through a gap in the hedge. “They’re about to sell the horse!”
With his greatcoat flapping about his booted calves, Nicholas strode determinedly down the green. Adriana was right behind him, and Dickie quickly joined her. Phillip and Viola followed, and the grooms and stablemen spread out behind them, circling to ensure that none of the three men in the center of the green made a break for their tethered mounts.
As they neared, Kirkwood, with his back to them and unaware of their approach, offered The Barbarian’s leading rein to the man who had arrived with Devenish.
“Here you are.” Kirkwood released the rein into the other man’s grasp. “As promised.”
Just then, Devenish, facing upslope, heard their footfalls, glanced up, and saw them. A second later, he recognized Nicholas.
Devenish’s head rose, and Nicholas saw him stiffen. The instant Nicholas was close enough, Devenish called, “Cynster!” He glanced sideways at the other two men, who whirled to face the descending company. Suspicion filling his expression, Devenish looked back at Nicholas. “What the devil are you doing here?”
Grim-faced, Nicholas tipped his head toward The Barbarian. “Helping the rightful owners reclaim that stallion.”
Devenish swung to face Kirkwood and the man with whom Devenish had arrived. He addressed the latter, a shorter, slighter, more nattily dressed gentleman. “Wisthorpe? What is this?” Devenish glanced at Nicholas, but continued to speak to the other man. “You can’t seriously be thinking of staging some kind of auction, not after I paid the deposit.”
Nicholas halted two paces from Devenish and, with Devenish, studied the other man. “Wisthorpe?” He’d heard the name before, but where?
Adriana, Phillip, and Viola halted to Nicholas’s left, while Dickie, his expression pugnacious, came to stand on Nicholas’s right.
Eyeing Viola and Phillip, Kirkwood edged uneasily back.
Her eyes narrowing on Wisthorpe, Adriana said, “If you’re the current Viscount Wisthorpe, I presume you were heir to the late viscount, Henry Wisthorpe.”
Wisthorpe’s gaze had been shifting from face to face. He knew Devenish and Kirkwood, but patently had no clue as to who any of the rest of them were. He looked at Adriana, then raised his head and straightened to his full if unimpressive height; all the other men there were distinctly taller than he. “Yes, indeed. I am Viscount Wisthorpe. I inherited the title and estate from my father’s cousin.” His pale gaze shifted to The Barbarian, still cropping grass at the end of his rein. “Along with that horse.”
“Actually,” Adriana crisply informed him, “Henry Wisthorpe bequeathed The Barbarian to his very old friend, the Earl of Aisby. The horse now belongs to the earl.”
Wisthorpe attempted to look down his nose at them all, but couldn’t quite pull it off. “I beg to differ. The horse was part of the estate and should, by all that’s holy, have come to me.” He tipped his chin even higher. “He’s mine to dispose of, and that’s all there is to it.”
Nicholas inwardly sighed. “As Lady Adriana informed you, in reality, that’s not the case.” He caught Devenish’s eye. “Ask him for the papers.”
