Liliana smiled in return, assessing the other man. Geoffrey had called him a friend and fellow soldier. Might the stable hand be a source of information, should Geoffrey prove difficult to crack?
“Tom here will have Amira saddled for you each morning, and any other time you wish to ride,” Geoffrey said. “Just send him a message with your intentions and he’ll see to it you have everything you need.”
Liliana kept her smile in place, but she inwardly cringed. Either Geoffrey was being considerate or Tom was his way of keeping abreast of her activities. Regardless, it would certainly be harder to sneak off to the village again.
“Shall we?” Geoffrey led her to Amira and assisted her onto the already saddled mare. Heat emanated from his hand, even through Liliana’s buttery soft gloves. She glanced up, startled, and was certain she saw that same heat flash in his eyes. But then she was up, and he was mounting his Gringolet.
As Geoffrey straightened in the saddle, Liliana’s breath hitched and she was forced to draw air through her nose to calm her rioting senses. His chin lifted, his shoulders settled back and his gaze looked out through the stable entrance as if anticipating the day’s adventure. He exuded such easy confidence that it made her want to follow him anywhere. Foolish, yet she saw for a moment why his fellow soldiers had nicknamed him Sir Gawain. Geoffrey carried himself like she imagined the knight of old would. Gawain was purported not only to be noble, but also to be the very spirit of chivalry and loyalty. Was it possible Geoffrey was equally honorable?
That was the question of the day, wasn’t it? From what she’d observed of him over the past week, he didn’t seem the sort to be able to commit murder—well, other than when she’d taunted him during the tournament. He’d looked quite capable of strangling her then. But to rule him out completely, she must find out where Geoffrey had been when her father was killed.
“I thought we might ride some of the estate today,” Geoffrey said as she brought Amira up beside him. “I do try to survey as much as I can on my trips home.”
Liliana nodded. “Lead on.” She briefly closed her eyes as he pulled just slightly ahead. Now was the time to take control of the conversation…he’d given her the perfect opening. “You must enjoy being back in England. How long were you away?”
His shoulders rose a tad, as if he’d tightened at her question. She watched him closely. She realized, of course, he might not tell her the truth, but she had to try and hope she’d be able to tell if he were lying.
“I left home the nineteenth of May 1803,” he said, his voice light and steady, giving Liliana no reason to suspect he spoke anything but the truth. “The day after we declared war on France.”
The rhythmic clop of hooves rose from the earth as they skirted the lake. Liliana waited, giving Geoffrey time to elaborate, but it seemed all he would say on the subject.
Just knowing he’d left England seven months before her father was killed made her breathe easier for some odd reason.
With a start, Liliana realized she didn’t want Geoffrey to have been involved. Nor, in fact, to have any knowledge of it…which was silly, really, because she needed answers, and how could he reveal what he didn’t know?
Pushing her contrary thoughts aside, she pulled even to him and pressed on. She had to establish his whereabouts on and around the twenty-first of December of that year. “It must have been difficult,” she ventured, “leaving home so young. Were you able to visit much that first year? Maybe around Christmastime?”
He slanted his eyes to her and gave her a bemused smile. “I was not much younger than you are now, I imagine,” he said, sidestepping her question entirely. “How many years have you? Two and twenty?”
“Four,” she replied.
He swept her with his eyes, lingering for a moment in the vicinity of her hips, which she knew the boys’ togs accentuated rather than hid. The appraising nature of his look set off a twittering in her stomach. But then he turned his focus on the park ahead.
“Yes, well, I was just a week past twenty and anxious to prove my mettle fighting for my country.” A wry note crept into his voice, and his gaze took on a faraway quality. Something in his manner—in the contemplative, troubled look that crossed his face—told Liliana that he was a man living with regrets. She had an absurd urge to reach out to him, to…do what? Offer him comfort? She frowned and tried to focus on his meaning.
What, exactly, did he regret? Things he’d done for his country? Or something altogether worse?
Liliana tapped her fingers against her thigh. He’d yet to answer her. She thought a moment on how to rephrase her inquiry. “I’d like to hear more of your early days in the service,” she tried.
Geoffrey laughed, the cloud lifting from his features. He looked over at her. “ ’Twas nothing exciting, I assure you. Besides, enough about me. I should like to hear more about your experiments.”
Any other time, she would have loved to expound on her work, but not when he was so effectively evading her questions. She narrowed her eyes before she caught herself. “They’re nothing exciting, either.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” he said. “You stated yesterday that riding astride was more practical in the ‘brambles and bogs’ you frequent. That sounds quite stimulating.”
Did he intend the entendre she heard in his tone?
She flushed, either way.
“I’ve an idea. Grin, here, is used to a more invigorating pace of a morning,” Geoffrey said, patting the horse’s neck. “And Shropshire is known for its lush marshlands. What say we race to the western edge of my property, where I can promise you any number of bogs that might interest you? Then you can give me a firsthand introduction to your passion.”
Liliana felt the ensuing blush heat more than just her cheeks. Truly—he must see how her face had pinkened. Thankfully, her clothes covered other places that had warmed at his words. Yet his innocent expression gave no hint of innuendo.
His charger’s ears had perked at the word race, however. Gringolet’s energy seemed to have transferred to Amira, as well. Liliana could feel a new tension in her mare, a current that seemed to run through her own body, too. The sun had risen behind them, illuminating the park for a safe run. What harm could there be? A brisk breeze might cool her, while a hard ride might relieve some of her frustration at being thus far thwarted.
“How can we race when I’ve no idea where we’re going?” she asked.
Geoffrey grinned, and her heart tripped.
“What makes you think you would ever be in the lead?” he asked, digging his heels into Gringolet’s side.
Cresting a flat-topped summit, Geoffrey bent low over Gringolet’s neck, exhilaration singing in his veins. In a few hundred yards, the pasture would give way to a heavily wooded valley and then finally to the marshlands below. Geoffrey gave the horse his head.
He was ten kinds of fool to be out with Liliana unescorted, yet it seemed as if he had no sense of self-preservation when it came to her. In fact, as embarrassing as it was to admit, he’d raced to the stable well before dawn, buzzing with anticipation. When Liliana had arrived, he’d felt like a damned lad of fifteen, keen to impress a pretty young maiden. Ridiculous for a man of his age and experience, and more so given how fundamentally wrong for him a woman like Liliana would be, not only in the political realm but also in his personal one. She made him feel things, and that was perilous to a man who had decided never to love.