The Secret Pearl(116)

“But to be fair,” she said, smiling, “he is not letting me do anything or stopping me from doing anything. He has no right.”

“And you are going?” he said.

“Yes.”

Her horse was snorting and tossing its head and pawing the ground, impatient to be on its way.

“Has he had a gallop this morning?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “But I was about to give him one.”

“Come along, then,” he said, and he led the way through the beech trees that lined the driveway to open tree-dotted parkland. He looked back to Fleur, who had followed him. “Perhaps you can keep up this time, since you have had your choice of horse and I do not have Hannibal with me.”

She smiled at him and gave her horse the signal it had been waiting for.

He should not have done it, the duke thought. He should not have grabbed for himself this one final half-hour of sheer pleasure with her. And sheer pleasure it was, as it had been the last time they rode together. Fleur Bradshaw, it seemed, came fully alive when on horseback. She laughed across at him as her horse overtook his own, and was smiling when he passed her again as they circled up behind the stables and the house.

He should have said good-bye to her when they were on the driveway, and continued on his way. On his way out of her life.

He should not even have come. He should have sent Houghton. He should not be feeding a forbidden love.

But he would never see her again. Soon he would be gone, and he would not think of her or pine for her. He had a life to get on with and other people whose happiness to look to even if he could not expect any great happiness for himself.

One final half-hour. Surely he could be excused for stealing that much for himself.

Fleur overtook him once more and gradually reduced her horse’s speed and turned it in the direction of home.

“That should satisfy you,” she said, leaning forward to pat her horse’s neck.

The duke dismounted and handed his reins to a waiting groom. He stretched up his arms to lift Fleur to the ground, and waited while the groom led both horses away. His hands were still at her waist.

“You are leaving for Dorsetshire now?” she asked.

“London first,” he said. “I have some business to do there before returning home.”

“Yes,” she said. “Will you give my love to Lady Pamela and tell her that I miss her?”

“Yes,” he said. Her hands were on his arms. “Fleur.”

She smiled at his neckcloth. “Good-bye,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”

I love you, he wanted to tell her. I’ll always love you, though I must leave you.

“I’m coming to Wroxford with you,” he said. “If we leave within the hour, we can probably reach there by tonight. Tomorrow you can see what you wish to see and we can be back here by tomorrow night. I’ll return to the village for my carriage.”

“No,” she said. She was looking full into his eyes, her own wide and startled. “We could not do that, your grace, you and I alone.”

“And you cannot do it alone, either,” he said. “There are such people as highwaymen out on our roads. And you must stop for meals and take a room for the night. It is out of the question for you to do those things alone.”

She stared at him. Her hands were still on his arms, his at her waist. “Why?” she almost whispered, leaning toward him. “You have a home and a wife and a daughter to go back to. Why delay on my account?”

“Fleur …” he said. But he stopped and broke eye contact with her. He looked over her head to the stables, where the groom who had taken their horses was trying to look engrossed in his task of removing her sidesaddle. “I am coming with you. Go and change and pack a bag. I shall be here in one hour’s time or less.”

She said nothing else, but watched him as he strode away from her, untethered his horse, and swung himself into the saddle.

“One hour,” he said to her as he took his horse past her and turned its head for the driveway.

He had stolen half an hour and convinced himself that it was no serious sin against his responsibilities to his family and dependents.

Now he was stealing two days. He was not so sure he would be able to quiet his conscience this time.

Except that she needed him. For some reason that only she could understand fully, she needed to see the grave of the man she had accidentally killed. That grave was thirty miles away. She needed his escort.

And except that he loved her.


IT WAS A VERY comfortable carriage, Fleur thought, relaxing back against soft green cushions and noticing that the springs made a mockery of the rough roads over which they passed. What a difference from the journey she had made by the stage just a few days before.