Trial by Desire (Carhart #2)

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.”

Ned felt his sense of humor rapidly evaporating. “Nobody’s collected.”

“Where there’s smoke…” Harcroft trailed off, spreading his hands suggestively.

“Where there’s smoke, there’s arson.” Ned’s hands gripped the rail. “And arsonists will be dealt with. Let me assure you, Harcroft—for all my humor and kindness, I’m not weak. Just slow to anger. I won’t brook any insults. Not even from you.”

Especially not from you.

Harcroft paused thoughtfully. “Well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. And you know the old saying. Speak of the devil…”

Ned glanced toward the house. Kate was picking her way across the field. She could see that he was talking to Harcroft, and Ned felt a sudden urge to push the man away and disclaim all knowledge of him. Harcroft had made no effort to modulate his tone; she might even have heard him. But her expression did not change, not even in the slightest, and Ned was struck again by what an exquisite, complicated thing she had accomplished. To have had Lady Harcroft brought here, with only a hint of a whisper of talk—and even that, evanescent—was a tremendous thing. To not show her natural revulsion—to welcome Harcroft into her home with so little reaction…Well. She was playing a tremendous role indeed.

Behind that seemingly fragile femininity stood something strong and indomitable.

She walked toward them, sure-footed through the ankle-high grass. She was wearing a sober high-necked walking dress, in a purple so bruised she could have been in half-mourning. The fabric shone subtly in the afternoon sun; the lower hem was darkened with dew.

Ned reached into his bag and pulled out a handful of candies.

“Peppermint, Harcroft?” The man stared at the white blob. His nose wrinkled and he took one, popping it into his mouth.

“Lady Kathleen?”

His wife glanced at him distrustfully, and then reached out and took the candy. She tossed it back and forth, from gloved hand to gloved hand. Then, without once looking at Harcroft, who crunched his treat noisily, she said, “I assume Champion’s licked the peppermints in this batch, as well?”

All crunching stopped. Harcroft froze, a pained expression on his face. Too polite to spit; too fastidious to swallow. Instead, he turned bright red and choked.

Ned swallowed a delighted chortle. Champion hadn’t come close enough to Ned to lick anything, but the look on the earl’s face was too precious to interrupt.

Kate threw her peppermint into the field.

“Excuse me,” Harcroft choked out, his words garbled around the candy in his mouth. “I have to—I have to—” He pointed vaguely, desperately, in the direction of the house.