Mistress of Scandal (Greentree Sisters 3)

Sebastian nodded. “Fair enough.” He left Hal struggling to lift one of his restive mount’s hind legs and set off again. He was watching the dark silhouette of the horseman atop the crags—if it was a trap, then he wanted to be ready. He was so busy observing the horseman’s every move that it was a moment before he realized the danger did not come from there. It came from below.

The ground beneath him had begun to shake and quiver in a most alarming way.

Sebastian drew up with a shout, trying to turn his horse around, but the ground was sucking at the animal’s hooves like quicksand. That was when he remembered some passing comment he had heard at the inn. Something about a mire or a bog, where the unwary wanderer could be swallowed whole and never seen again.

I must get out of this, he thought frantically, but the horse was in a total panic and reared up and threw him. As he lay, stunned and winded, he heard it struggling to find a footing, and then galloping off triumphantly.

His horse had escaped but it was too late for Sebastian. He was sinking. He tried to scramble out, shouting to Hal to help him. The other man was already running toward him. “Get me out of here!” Sebastian called.

But Hal stopped at the very edge of the mire, and the expression in his eyes was unmistakable. “Can’t do that, sir.”

It is a trap then, he thought bleakly. But he was not beaten yet. “You want your money, don’t you?” he cried angrily. “It’s not much good to you if I sink to the bottom.”

“Some things are more important than money,” Hal replied forebodingly, and crouched down on his haunches, watching closely as Sebastian sank up to his waist. “You don’t want t’struggle too hard, Mr. Thorne,” he said helpfully. “Makes you go under quicker. Stay nice and still and you’ll live longer.”

“You mean I won’t sink if I don’t struggle?”

“No, you’ll still sink.”

Sebastian gave a breathless, bitter laugh.

“I’m sorry about this, sir,” Hal added surprisingly.

Sebastian tried to read the irony in his face but there was none. Hal was telling the truth; he was genuinely repentant. “But you’re not going to save me, are you?” he snarled.

“I can’t do that. As I told you, I have to be true to my principles, see. My family comes first. You’re a threat to them, sir.” He nodded toward the tor, which was now empty. “We had no choice but to stop you. I reckon you’d do the same.”

“Spare me your homespun philosophies and get me out. Whatever you’re being paid, I’ll double it.”

“It isn’t owt to do with money,” Hal said sincerely. “If it was I’d pull you out, for I’ve got nowt against you, sir. Believe me, this isn’t personal. I have to do as I’m told or my life is in danger. These people…they’re serious folk. Dangerous folk.” Abruptly he straightened up and took a step backward. “Good-bye, Mr. Thorne,” he called out. “I won’t stay to watch you die. I hope for your sake t’end is quick.”

Shaking with fury, Sebastian watched as Hal walked back to his horse and rode away, leaving him to die.

It didn’t seem real, but the cold mud and sour smell of rotting vegetation were real enough. No matter how still he tried to be, he was sinking, slowly but surely. There was something truly horrible in the thought of dying in such an inevitable manner. To have so much time to think about his own end. This was far, far worse than the quick death he’d dreamed of—a dark alleyway, a knife in the back.

He turned his head, seeking help that wasn’t there, and caught sight of something nearby, poking up out of the mire. It was a dead branch, rising up like a spear…or an outstretched hand. He reached out, his fingers trembling, and touched the wood, wrapped his hand around it. The branch was still strong enough for him to grasp it and use it to drag himself closer. He threw one arm over it, half expecting to hear it snap, but it didn’t. He hung on, wriggling upward every time he started to sink again, trying to keep his head and chest above the mire.

Sebastian drew a shaken breath. He was certain there was no Gypsy camp over the hill—Hal would not leave him within reach of help—but he shouted anyway, as loud as he could for as long as he could. He shouted until he was hoarse. But no one came.

It would be night soon, and he was alone. And although Sebastian Thorne was a man who was used to his own company, this was different. He didn’t want to die here all by himself. There were questions in his head clamoring for answers, questions he rarely asked himself. Did he really deserve such an ignominious end? Sebastian wasn’t the sort to give in easily, and he wasn’t going to let Hal and his masters rid themselves of him without a fight. He told himself that he would escape, and after he had dealt with them, he’d complete his assignment for Aphrodite, and then…perhaps he’d go home.

Home. The ramshackle manor house in the New Forest, his brother’s pained expression when he left. A longing that he hadn’t felt for years rose up within him. He stifled it. He couldn’t go home; he could never go home.

As the darkness began to fall, and freezing night closed over him like a fist, he found his mind drifting. Suffering from exhaustion and cold, Sebastian clung to the branch, and sometimes he slipped into a doze through sheer exhaustion. But the sinking motion that followed always brought him to his senses again, sending him struggling up through the mud, terrified his face would go under.

Then he began to feel as if he was being watched. He’d peer into the night and think he could see shadows, darker than the rest, one moment there, the next gone. He knew it was his mind playing tricks on him, but as the long hours dragged by, it gave him something to think about other than his own death.

It was a woman, he decided, the woman of his dreams. She had fine, straight red hair, and blue eyes, and a well-bred nose, and lips as ripe and red as cherries. Those lips looked sweet, too, and when she smiled at him…He smiled back, although it was more like a grimace, his teeth white in his muddy face. He’d had plenty of women, from serving girls to society ladies, but it all meant nothing, because none of them had touched his heart.

As the long night continued, Sebastian wondered if his dream woman was out there somewhere, and if she was, whether he would ever find her.

The ground was spongy underfoot. It could be treacherous, but Francesca knew the ways of these wild and desolate moors. She had lived here all her life; the country was a part of her. Only here could she truly be herself.

Climbing onto higher ground, her steps firm and sure, Francesca paused to look about her. Her cloak flapped in the cold wind, and the hood fell back from her curling dark hair. A gust of rain-filled wind stung her cheeks, and she narrowed her dark eyes against it.

Wolf, her lurcher, began to bark. Francesca murmured reassurance to him, her gaze upon the horizon. There were clouds coming in, but she had time enough before the weather closed down. She had already walked a long way this morning, and really she should be turning back. There was packing to be done. Lady Greentree, or Mrs. Jardine as she now was, would be worrying and wondering where she was. Her adoptive mother was soon to embark upon a journey to London…

And Francesca was going with her.