One More Kiss

CHAPTER Thirty-three





THIS IS DECIDEDLY odd, Destry thought as he turned to see exactly where Cecilia was. Right behind him, but definitely moving at a pace that kept her there when he was moving at the perfect pace for her to pass him.

If she was in front of him he could admire her seat, how beautiful she looked in the dark blue habit, and daydream about spending every morning riding the land with her after spending every night together in bed. Instead he was trying to devise a way to lose without falling off his horse.

They had truly raced for the first half, neck and neck the whole way. He could have gone faster but did not want to endanger her. Or himself, to be honest. Destry knew every time she glanced his way, as she knew when he looked at her. Occasionally they looked at the same time, which made them both grin and push their mounts a little more.

At the ford, which she reached first, she let loose a triumphant laugh even as they both slowed to cross safely. Back on land they moved on barely at a canter, her golden hair no longer streaming behind her, now barely stirred by the afternoon breeze, which looked to be bringing rain their way.

Cecilia was acting as though she did not want to win.

Which was impossible.

Winning was as important to her as it was to him.

Destry slowed his horse a little more and Cecilia did the same. Totally confused by her behavior, he slowed even more, settling into a walk. She came up beside him but did not pass him.

“What are you doing?” Because of the sidesaddle she had to look over her shoulder at him even though they were side by side.

“What are you doing?”

“Move a little ahead of me, my lord, so I do not have to twist so far to see you,” she ordered.

“No, you come around to the other side and move a little ahead.” Two could play this game.

“Do you want me to win this race?”

“No more than you want me to win.” Genius, he thought. That was the perfect non-answer.

“That makes no sense. What do you mean?”

“The same thing you mean.” That sounded more evasive than clever.

“Oh, stop, Destry. This is not some verbal puzzle. Answer my question.”

“Only if you will answer mine.”

“All right,” she said with such vehemence that he thought she was barely hanging on to her patience. “Are you letting me win? That is, are you trying to let me win?”

“Yes,” he said, amazed at how hard it was to admit it.

“You are willing to lose deliberately to make me …” Her voice trailed off. “To make me do what?” she finished, confusion evident.

“That is two questions. I should be allowed one of mine first. Are you trying to let me win?”

“Yes,” she bit out and then asked again, “Why do you want me to win?”

“So you can see that you have everything it takes to be a duchess.” He wanted to ask his next question but waited to see how she would react to that declaration.

“I do not see how winning a horse race is proof of that. It’s hardly one of the more practical aspects of what a duchess does.”

“But it does represent who a duchess is. That is, someone who is capable and excels.”

She had nothing to say to that but considered his words. Their horses were barely moving now.

“Cecilia,” he began, grabbing what he hoped was the advantage. “There is nothing that separates you from me other than the obvious man-versus-woman difference, and thanks be to God for that.

“You are as equal to the task of being a duchess as I am equal to the task of being a duke. I thought that if you won the race it would go one more step toward proving that.”

Her anger disappeared. Her expression softened to a slight smile. “I do question your logic, my lord.”

He leaned closer. “I would prefer you call me Des, or even William.”

She shook her head.

“Come a little closer.”

“Why?” she asked.

“So I can kiss you without falling off this damn horse.”

Startled, she drew back.

You idiot, now you have scared her off. But she did not race away so he asked her a question of his own.

“Why did you want me to win?”

“Because winning at everything is the way you prove yourself worthy and winning in a horse race is the most important win of all. I did not want to compromise your confidence.”

He was struck by her understanding of him but she was not completely right. “Cecilia, winning this race, any race, is no longer the most important win. Not anymore.”

“And what is?”

“Winning you.”

The smile blinked out and she looked away from him, down the path ahead. “My lord?”

Did she not understand him? He’d thought it was rather romantic, and entirely unplanned.

Her horse moved ahead a few steps and it struck him that Cecilia Brent was sincerely not interested in him, whether he be duke or Dutchman.

“William,” she said. “What is that? On the path. Up ahead.”

“The banqueting platform.”

“No, not that,” she said, cutting him off and pointing. “That lump in the road. It looks like, uhm, a person.”

They both urged their horses into more than a walk and Des moved ahead of Cecilia, wanting to spare her sensibilities if blood was involved. Concern warred with alarm when he saw it was a person, a man, though the body’s back was turned to them, hiding the man’s identity.

Destry slid off the horse and ran to the still form, turning the body over as soon as he reached it.

“Crenshaw!” Cecilia gasped. She was still seated on her horse and Destry hoped she could not see how awkwardly Crenshaw’s head sat on his shoulders.

Though his body was still warm, there was no doubt that he was dead. No one could be alive with his neck at that angle.

“He’s dead, isn’t he, William?”

Destry could hear no tremor in Cecilia’s voice but ran over to her in case she should feel faint. He jumped up on a fallen log nearby. “Do not faint before you dismount, Cecilia.”

“I am not going to faint, my lord. Not at a time like this.” She slid off the horse and into his arms. She was very pale but her eyes were clear.

“Do not look at him again.”

She nodded, swallowing hard.

“One of us must go for help, Cecilia.”

“I will,” she volunteered promptly. “I can ride faster in sidesaddle than you can. Will you be all right, here alone with the,” she paused, apparently unable to say “dead body,” and then went on, “with Lord Crenshaw?”

“Yes,” he said.

She nodded again as she remounted her horse. “Do you think you will be safe here?” she asked with a wavering voice. “What if he was murdered and his killer comes after you?”

“He probably just fell from his horse.” Though her suggestion did give him pause.

Cecilia pointed to the banqueting platform, which had a broken railing. “I don’t think so, William.”

“All the more reason for you to go for help right away. I can defend myself, if necessary.” He showed her the pistol he always carried, tucked into the waist of his pants.

“All right.” Cecilia urged her mount on. “I will be back as soon as I can. With help.”

“Do not come back yourself. There is no need for you to see this again.”

She raised a hand in understanding.

“Cecilia!” Destry called. She stopped and looked his way. “One more thing. There is one thought that keeps running through my head. I know it is the wrong time and place but I am still going to say it.”

She waited, still watching him.

“I love you.”

Cecilia’s expression of disbelief was not the response he had been hoping for.

Idiot. It was beyond the wrong time and place to make such a pronouncement. It was bizarre. But as he looked at Crenshaw, his face even now losing color and any tinge of life, he knew that if his world were to end in the next five minutes, telling Cecilia he loved her was the one thing he would regret leaving undone.

He stood up and scanned the surrounding area. No sounds came to him. Even the birds were quiet. His horse was grazing a few yards away and Jupiter’s lack of concern convinced him as surely as anything that he was safe.

What had happened? Obviously Crenshaw had fallen from the banqueting platform. He walked to the steps and was debating going up when he heard a horse, or was it two, coming toward him. Jess. He hoped it was Jess. Come to think of it, where had he been? As Belmont and Michael Garrett rode into sight, Destry took another look at the stairs and wondered where Jess had spent the last hour.


TIME PASSED IN a haze for Cecilia. She did everything she could to be helpful, refusing to allow herself to be unwell or to cry. All the while she tried to balance the truth with what she wished was the truth.

She expected to see Crenshaw come walking up the path to the finish line where she waited with the others and was shocked to the point of nausea when he went by in the back of a wagon, inelegantly posed on a pile of burlap. According to the land steward, Destry was in charge at the scene with Mr. Garrett and Lord Belmont assisting him.

Cecilia had decided that the most she could do to help now would be to stay out of the way. She was sitting on the ground against the base of a tree waiting, feeling stupidly female. Tears filled her eyes and she remembered why she’d experienced a moment of déjà vu when she had first seen Crenshaw.

Nora Kendrick came to sit next to her, patting her hand, a gesture for which Cecilia would be eternally grateful.

“I have seen someone dead with a broken neck before,” Cecilia tried to explain, her eyes closing as she spoke. “Our brother. He died after falling from a horse.”

“My dear, that would be upsetting.” Nora continued to pat her hand. “However were you able to handle yourself so well today?”

“I did what had to be done.” Cecilia opened her eyes. “A hysterical woman would have been no help at all. But I must admit that now I am feeling less than capable.”

“It happens that way sometimes. We are fine in the emergency and then are overwhelmed by the shock. Just stay here and soon someone will bring a conveyance for you.”

“What is happening? Do you know anything?”

“I can go and see, if you do not mind being alone.”

“I will be fine alone, and would rather know than sit here and wonder.” And surely Beatrice would be along shortly.

With a final pat, Nora Kendrick stood and headed down the path to the scene of Lord Crenshaw’s accident. That’s what it was. An accident. Cecilia was sure of it now that she’d had some time to think about what had happened. Gentlemen were not murdered at country house parties. He’d had too much to drink and had fallen off the platform. She did not try to answer the question as to why he had been up there in the first place.

With that explanation in place she concentrated on the other event that had taken her by surprise.

William had said, “I love you.” That was part of the reason she was upset. How could it be true? How could he know so soon?

He was too impulsive. Even the countess had warned her of that. Beatrice would sometimes act without much forethought and it was almost always amusing, but Cecilia did not feel the same about Destry’s spontaneous declaration.

Might he decide he did not love her with equal impulse?

After they were married?

Nora Kendrick came back before Cecilia thought herself into a bout of crying.

“The countess is still out on the property somewhere with your father. The land steward has sent for the coroner.”

“But why the coroner?”

“The coroner will determine whether or not it was an accident.”

“Lord Belmont could do that, could he not?”

“Yes, but Destry says there should be an official investigation.” Nora shrugged. “I have no idea why. It was clearly an accident.”

“Do you think so, too?” Cecilia wanted it to be an accident quite desperately. The alternative was too terrible to contemplate.

“Who would want him dead?” she asked, as if that were answer enough.

Lord Jess, Cecilia thought, but kept the horrible thought to herself. Nora Kendrick did not know the truth behind Crenshaw’s divorce, nor had she heard Jess’s threat the other night. The one Beatrice had told her about.

The wind gusted through the trees and Cecilia felt a rush of cooler air.

“I think it is about to rain,” Nora said, pulling her shawl closer to her body. “Are you well enough to walk to the house? I would hate for you to be rained upon. It would not do you any good after such a shock.”

“I think I am better.” Cecilia stood up and felt much restored. The freshening wind was at their back and together they hurried across the lawn to the house. Beatrice met them just as they arrived at the steps to the terrace.

“Did you win?” Beatrice asked, all smiles, until she took in their somber faces. “Is everything all right? Is the marquis all right?”

“William is fine, but Lord Crenshaw is dead,” Cecilia said bluntly. She explained how the baron had been found and that the men were still at the scene. It began to rain as she finished her story. She ended with, “The coroner has been sent for,” as they all hurried to the side door.

“Why the coroner? He only comes if it is thought to be other than an accident,” Beatrice said, concern more than curiosity coloring her words.

“The marquis sent for him,” Mrs. Kendrick said, which really did not answer the question.

“The men are still at the banqueting platform? Is Jess with them, too?” Beatrice asked, pressing her lips together.

“I don’t know. I have not seen him at all today,” Ceci said. “Have you, Mrs. Kendrick?”

“He was with the other gentlemen. Lord Destry said he came walking up from the river.”

They fell silent as the footman opened the door for them.

“What can we do? What should we do?” Beatrice asked.

“I’m sure Mr. Garrett has some experience with this sort of thing.” Mrs. Kendrick spoke with a conviction that surprised Cecilia.

“He has known people who have been murdered?” Beatrice asked, amazed at the idea.

“He was not always a vicar,” Mrs. Kendrick explained. “He fought Napoleon, and not in the conventional way.”

Is everyone but me extraordinary in some way? Cecilia wondered.

The housekeeper met them in the passage and urged them into one of the small salons. A fire had been lit, and Cecilia warmed her hands in front of it, surprised at how cold they were despite the relative warmth of the August day.

One of the maids bustled in with tea and sweets. There was a bottle of brandy on the tray and Mrs. Kendrick insisted on adding a drop to Cecilia’s tea. “She is upset. Finding Lord Crenshaw reminded her of your brother.”

“Of course it did.” Beatrice sat on the sofa next to her sister and hugged her.

After holding herself together all day, Cecilia at last began to cry. “Lord Crenshaw was not a very nice man, but I did not wish him dead. And what if it was murder? Who would want to kill him?” Her words were compromised by tears, but she felt her sister stiffen beside her.

Beatrice stood up. “Can you stay with her, Mrs. Kendrick? I need to find Jess. I will be back as soon as I can.”

“He’s with the other gentlemen and it’s raining, Beatrice.”

“I will take an umbrella.” She shook out her skirts and made for the door.

“Beatrice, this is carrying your curiosity entirely too far,” Cecilia insisted. “It is not seemly for you—” There was no point in even finishing the sentence—Beatrice was already gone.