She had accidentally beaten him at his own game.
A guttural breath, and Mr. Harrow demanded, “Who spoke such a tale to you?”
Despite his rage, Arabella felt oddly calm. “Not a soul, the term simply suited your character.”
“Is that so...” He leaned closer to the woman, holding out the hairpins. When she made no move to take them, he grabbed a stiff arm off her lap, and turned her fist toward the ceiling. Prying her fingers open, he pushed the hairpins into her grasp, closing her fist around the small metal pins.
When he let her go, Arabella felt her hand fall to her lap like a weight of lead. “Is that why you ruined that man over dice?”
“He ruined himself... I only had to wait and revel in the years of his demise.”
From his tone alone, Arabella understood whatever Mr. Harrow had done had been far worse than stripping that man of his money. “What did you do to him?”
A vicious smile paired nicely with his vehemence. “I secured his land in payment for his substantial debts—all of which I acquired legally—and drove him off of it.?
??
She breathed the question, “Why?”
“Because, I am a bastard. It's a station in life that leads one towards more interesting methods to get what one wants.”
“You strike me as a man who could have everything and would still be unsatisfied,” Arabella said, her voice flat. “Have you found joy in your petty revenges?”
A broad smile accompanied the affirmation. “A deep abiding satisfaction.”
Arabella dismissed him and her eyes traveled back to the window.
“No need to play coy, Imp.” The mass of his body shifted closer, making sure he had complete access to her expression. “Did you not feel gratified at the death of your late husband?”
“No.” Her voice felt distant, as if she were stepping away from herself back into the imaginings of the ghostly White Woman.
With the moonlight on her face, Harrow could see her fine features settled calmly, yet he knew a lie when he saw one. “Then how did you feel when the man whose mention made you publicly cringe perished?”
“I felt... terrified I would wake up and find him watching me in the dark... laughing.” Once spoken, Arabella wished with all her being she had not voiced such a thing aloud.
Harrow settled into his seat. “The dead do not come back.”
Chapter 6
R acing forward on Mamioro, laughing as her mount outpaced the two riders in her wake, Arabella turned to find Edmund Jenkins sullen in the chase.
She slowed her beast.
“You mustn’t ride so recklessly, your ladyship.” Once his charger caught pace, Edmund added, “It is dangerous.”
Arabella snorted... if only he knew how she would be riding if alone. As if in agreement, Mamioro clenched a flank, chafing at the uncomfortable sidesaddle.
Coming up on her far slower pony, Lizzy smiled, so very happy. “Do be quiet, Edmund. Lady Iliffe is grand on horseback.”
Arabella dipped her chin. “Thank you, Miss Lizzy.” She glanced at their escort and offered reassurance to the troubled older brother. “Perhaps we should return?”
Edmund, running a hand over the windblown hair, looked to the glowing redhead and changed his expression to one of contrition. “Yes, I do believe our mother will be expecting us shortly.”
Stonewall Grove was an impressive estate, far finer than Crescent Barrows. It boasted a large staff to see to its keeping. There were gardens and orchards, beautiful old trees and multitudes of flowers. Yet it lacked the wild grandeur of the surrounding country, acting as an oasis of civility necessary for the timid things that lived there.
There was no question. Arabella preferred her dreary old stones to the light drenched rooms and artfully arranged furniture.
Their ride marked her second visit in the month of June. Unlike her first call, she had not arrived by carriage. She’d trotted up dressed in a deep green riding habit, proud on her mount. Mrs. Jenkins had been wide-eyed, her son stoic and confused, Lilly disgusted, and Lizzy absolutely envious. Their mixed expressions at finding her atop her great black beast with no groom in attendance were laughable.