Trial by Desire (Carhart #2)(34)

And he’d thought Kate was delicate. He felt as if he’d glanced into a room, expecting to see a china tea set, and found instead an intricate mass of gears, silently running the clock tower to which every man set his watch.

“My wife,” Ned said, “will handle the eggs.”

Lady Harcroft raised her chin. “Tell Kate thank you, then. This was as good as eggs for breakfast.”

THE MILES BACK to Berkswift blurred in Ned’s mind, dust and the scent of burning leaves commingling into a confusion in his mind. The slow trot of his horse seemed to drum the important points into his mind.

Lady Harcroft had escaped her husband.

Kate had helped. And she’d not said a word of it to Ned—or, as far as Ned could tell, to anyone else.

She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust anyone, so far as he could tell. And it was probably partially Ned’s own fault.

Whatever their marriage might have been, he’d destroyed those nascent seeds of hope when he had left. Their marriage had been a convenience, an accident. It had only seemed polite to leave her alone, to not inflict on her the worst of his faults. He hadn’t wanted to burden her.

But now he wanted to be more than a burden.

It was in this mood that he arrived at home and handed his horse off to Plum. He headed round to Champion’s pasture, armed with a bag of peppermints. Easier, perhaps, to talk to a horse than to carry on a conversation with his wife. Anything he could imagine saying to her came out in his mind as a confrontation. And the last thing he wanted to do at this point was engage in recriminations.

But it was not Kate who found him as he leaned against the railing. It was Harcroft. Ned had not had time to sort his thoughts about his wife into place. He wasn’t ready to think of Harcroft. He strode through the thick grass, his boots gleaming as if even the cow shards made way before his shining magnificence.

He walked up to Ned and stared through the fence rails. “That’s the most flea-bitten, mange-ridden, hollow-chested mongrel of a horse I’ve ever seen. Why was it never gelded?”

“His name,” Ned said in abstraction, “is Champion.”

Harcroft sighed. “You always did have an odd sense of humor, Carhart.” He spoke those words as if he were hurling insults.

Ned shrugged. “You always didn’t.”

Once, Harcroft’s epithets might have stung Ned, along with the implication that Ned was too frivolous, too ready to make a joke. If Ned had just pledged himself to knighthood, Harcroft was his enemy. He was the dark knight across the field.

He didn’t look much like a villain.

A pause.

“Any luck?” Harcroft finally asked.

“Nothing.” Ned had gone on to visit Mrs. Alcot after he saw Lady Harcroft. “Just an ancient widow, who insisted on talking my ear off. She was delighted to answer my questions—and to tell me about the health of her pigs, her ducks and Kevin.”

Harcroft frowned in puzzlement. “Her grandson?”

A point to Ned. He smiled grimly. “Her rooster.”

“Ah.” Harcroft’s lip curled. “Women. Always talking. Naming things.”

Harcroft’s wife had surely kept her silence long enough. Years and years. And all this time, Ned had known the man and never guessed. It made him feel queasy.

What he finally said was, “And your day?”

Harcroft didn’t answer. “Where did you get this horse?”

“I bought him for ten pounds.” If Ned were a knight in rusted armor, Champion—mangy, distrustful Champion—might have made an appropriate steed.

“So the story I heard today was true. You happened upon a carter struggling to control a vicious animal, and you intervened to save the brute from a beating.”

Ned nodded. “Talking about that in the village, are they?”

“You always were too soft-hearted.” Harcroft spoke in smoldering disdain.

“It’s true. I’m funny and modest. I really shouldn’t be kind, too—it makes life difficult for the rest of you fellows, who never will measure up.”

Harcroft’s eyes narrowed, and his face scrunched up. He peered at Ned in confusion. Slowly his expression cleared. “Oh,” he said flatly. “You’re joking again.”

Go ahead and believe that. “We’ll talk tonight,” Ned said. “I’m more than willing to help you continue the search. The faster we work, the less likely that any trail will grow cold. I want to make sure you finish what needs to be done here, as quickly as possible.” And that last was no joke.

Harcroft stared at Champion one last time. Finally he shook his head. “Was Lady Kathleen with you when you purchased this beast?”

Ned put his head to one side, unsure how to respond. The truth seemed innocent enough, though, and if he were caught in a lie, Harcroft might begin to suspect that Ned knew something. “Yes,” he finally said.

“Thought so. Trying to impress her?” He snorted. “Women. They’ll make you weak, Carhart, if you allow them to sway your actions. Be careful of her.”

“And here I thought she did nothing but shop.”

Harcroft shrugged. “Well, there’s that wager about her. You might have heard. Whoever seduces her, and produces one of her undergarments as proof, will win five thousand pounds.”