The scrunch of steps on the gravel had her opening her eyes to see Frederick—his gaze on her—approaching.
She smiled, letting all she felt at the sight of him infuse her expression. “Hello.” She glanced around as the clop of hooves on the cobbles heralded Bristow, the mare, and the gig. She straightened from the fence and waved at the gig. “I was just about to drive out and visit some of the farms.”
Frederick returned her smile with a lazy one of his own, then joined her, and together, they walked to where Bristow had halted the gig. “I came hoping to catch you before you left. I’ve nothing I need to do this afternoon—do you mind if I accompany you?”
He had any number of business and estate matters sitting on his desk, but he was very certain that keeping her within his protective reach ranked much higher in terms of his peace of mind.
Her smile brightened. “I would be delighted to have your company, my lord.”
He took her gloved hand and helped her to the seat, then rounded the gig and climbed in beside her.
She’d already picked up the reins and looped them through her fingers. Then she paused and looked at him. “Would you prefer to take the reins?”
Smiling contentedly, he shook his head. “No. I know you’re more than competent, and with you driving, I can sit back and admire the view.”
As his gaze rested appreciatively on her as he said the words, she read his meaning accurately. She arched a brow in a gesture intended to be quelling, which only made him grin unrepentantly, then, lips lifting, she faced forward, shook the reins and clucked at the mare, and set the horse trotting out of the stable yard and onto the track that wound through the wood at the rear of the Hall, eventually leading to a lane that would take them to three of the estate’s farms.
Frederick relaxed against the seat. He stretched out one arm along the seat’s back behind her and did as he’d said and watched her as she managed the horse, drinking in the picture she presented in a lightweight, pale-lemon carriage gown with a froth of gauze rising from the upstanding collar. She looked fresh and delightfully summery against the green of the trees and bushes they drove past.
He glanced ahead as she steered the horse around the last bend before they met the lane.
His gaze fell on the rocks strewn across the track.
The mare was going too fast to halt.
He didn’t think—he just reacted, gave himself wholly over to his instincts, half rose, seized Stacie, and as the mare danced over the rocks and the gig’s wheels hit the first line of small boulders, flung them both out of the carriage onto the rising verge.
He twisted and landed mostly on his back, holding her against him, as a sharp crack shattered the bucolic peace, followed by an ominous splintering sound. The landing jarred him, but the bank was inches thick in leaf mold and, thankfully, free of sharp objects.
Stacie lifted her head from Frederick’s chest and searched his face. “Are you all right?” The most important thing.
He nodded. As she watched, his lips and the lines of his face settled into a grim mask. His eyes met hers. “You?”
“No damage.” She slipped from his hold, sat up, and looked at the gig. “The same cannot be said for the gig.”
The small carriage was a wreck. The axle had broken in two, and one wheel had shattered to shards. The seat sat tipped at a skewed, drunken angle, while the other wheel had wedged tight between two rocks.
The mare had halted just beyond the bed of stones and, with the shafts at an odd angle and the harness dragging at her, stood looking about her uncertainly.
Frederick had also sat up and looked. Now, he pushed to his feet. “The mare looks to be unharmed.”
He walked to the horse, ran assessing hands down her legs, then rapidly unbuckled the traces.
Stacie got to her feet and stood staring at the remains of the gig. Then she looked at the rocks and frowned. “These have been deliberately placed. They aren’t part of a rockslide or anything like that.”
“Indeed.” Frederick walked the mare around the rocks and the wreckage.
Still frowning, Stacie waved at the rocks. “Who would do such a thing? And why?”
“I don’t know.” Frederick halted beside her. His only thought was to get her back to the safety of the house; the fear behind the thought grew claws and pricked at him. “Regardless, we need to return to the Hall.”
He didn’t want to spend even a minute more in the vicinity of a trap that might or might not have killed her; he had no idea if whoever had set it had lingered, waiting to ensure the outcome. To his ears, his voice sounded as if it came from a long way away; his senses were elsewhere, scanning the area around them for the slightest hint of threat. “I’ll send out some stable boys to retrieve the wreckage and clear the track.”
He’d shortened the traces and offered them to her; the mare couldn’t carry them both. “You ride. I’ll walk.”
Stacie looked at him, then shook her head. “I’d rather walk as well.”
He wasn’t going to argue. He offered her his free arm, and she looped hers in it, and they set off.