Tessa's Touch (11 page)

"We don't know," he replied.
"Neither he nor the horse has returned."

* *
*

CHAPTER 7

All color drained from Miss Seaton's face and
Anthony stepped forward to put a hand on her shoulder, lest she collapse.
"I'm sorry —I didn't mean to frighten you," he said. "But I was
hoping, as you seem to know the horse better than anyone, that you might be
willing to help me find them."

She took a deep breath, then nodded. "Yes.
Yes, of course. I just need—" She put a hand to her head for a moment—
"I need to let my father know I'm going out. Wait here."

With another steadying breath, she squared her
shoulders, then headed up the stairs. Anthony watched her go, his appreciation
for her well-shaped backside muted by his concern for his friend. He never
should have left Killer this morning. He should have picked up on the clues in
Killer's manner, should have—

But self-recrimination would get him no closer
to finding Killer, as he'd reminded himself frequently over the past two hours.
Besides, if he was going to throw blame around, surely Miss Seaton deserved a
fair share of it. That thought had driven him here, a desire to see her acknowledge
her wrongdoing. Only when he reached the house had he realized that it in fact
made perfect sense to ask for her help.

He was still trying to sort through his
conflicting feelings when she returned, tripping lightly down the stairs, her
brows still knit in a frown of concern.

"Let's go," she said. "I sent to
the stables to have Cinnamon brought round, as Nimbus always seemed more
comfortable with her than with any of our other horses."

"Cinnamon. The roan you rode
yesterday?" Anthony asked.

She nodded, and Anthony realized that must be
why Mr. Mercer had ridden that particular horse in the first hunt, on Monday.
The mare, as well as Miss Seaton herself, had a calming influence on the
ill-mannered Nimbus.

"How long ago did Lord Killerby ride
out?" she asked as they waited on the front steps for her mount to arrive.

"According to his groom, he left about
noon— which means he's been gone more than four hours." Anthony's anxiety,
momentarily pushed aside by other thoughts —and her presence —returned full
force. "He would have returned by now if he were able."

She put a comforting hand on his sleeve.
"No doubt, but we needn't assume the worst. He could have been thrown, far
from home, and is having to make his way back on foot. He could be perfectly
well, but that would still take some time."

"I suppose so," he admitted,
realizing he had indeed assumed the worst from the moment he'd learned what
Killer had done. Her explanation seemed no more rational, however, and he was
suddenly irritated by her soothing tone —so similar to the one he'd heard her
use on horses. He would not let her uncanny gift— magic, or whatever it was—
divert him from his purpose or his responsibility to his friend.

"He should never have gone out on that
brute in the first place," he said sharply, moving a step away from her
distracting nearness. "He wouldn't have, if you hadn't misled him about
Nimbus's tractability."

Her hand dropped to her side and he saw shock
and hurt in her eyes, but only for an instant, for anger quickly took their
place. "Lord Killerby is a grown man," she snapped, "and, one
might
assume
, able to draw
his own conclusions and make his own decisions. I said nothing to him about
Nimbus, as I recall, good or bad."

"You didn't have to," he retorted.
"But did you honestly think—" He broke off as a stable lad
approached, leading the roan mare, Cinnamon.

"Mr. Emery thought there might be some
mistake," the boy said when he reached them, his gaze frankly curious.
"Didn't you just come back from riding that new chestnut gelding, Miss
Seaton?"

She nodded. "Yes, Billy, but I need to go
out again. I don't suppose Nimbus has shown up at the stables?"

The lad shook his head, eyes wide. "Should
he have?"

"No, never mind," she said. "You
may tell Mr. Emery that I've been invited to dinner at a neighbor's, if he
demands some sort of explanation of you."

"Aye, Miss," the lad responded,
handing her the reins.

"I told father I was invited to dine with
the Hilltops," she said to Anthony once the stable lad was out of earshot.
"I didn't want him to worry."

"And young Mr. Emery? Does he keep track
of your movements as well?" He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

She shrugged. "It seemed prudent to give
him the same explanation I gave Papa, to lessen the chance he might let slip
the truth. Besides—" she broke off.

"He might try to stop you, if he knew you
were going out alone with me?"

"He might," she confessed. "He
and Uncle Mercer seem to think it their place to protect me, though I've told
them time and again that I can look out for myself perfectly well."

Anthony suspected there was more to it than
simple concern for her welfare, but didn't say so. "Shall we go,
then?" he asked, recalled to the urgency of their mission.

With a quick nod, she used the step as a
mounting block to leap into the sidesaddle, then deftly arranged her worn brown
skirts. "It's as well Papa didn't get a good look at me when I went
upstairs," she commented, "or he'd never have believed I was going
out socially. I suspect he was so delighted to think one of the neighbors might
extend such an invitation that he didn't ask for details."

Anthony waited until they were cantering down
the drive to ask, with studied casualness, "Do you often deceive your
father, Miss Seaton?"

"Of course not!" she exclaimed. Then,
after a moment's silence, "At least, not without good cause, to spare him
anxiety, which could undermine his health."

Partly to himself, to mitigate his growing
attraction to her, he commented, "It would appear that honesty is not one
of your more prominent, ah, virtues." Honesty was a quality he'd always
regarded highly. He'd be wise to remember that.

"What an ungallant thing to say." Her
voice was prim, but lacked conviction. "You scarcely know me, after
all."

A light mist began to fall as they turned down
the road toward Ivy Lodge. "I know that you ride out in breeches and don't
want your father to know it. I know that you and your uncle have conspired to
sell at least one horse, and very probably more, at inflated prices. And I
suspect that you are keeping Sir George ignorant of the true state of
Wheatstone by keeping up only those portions he can reach in his chair."

She slowed her mare to a walk to stare at him,
obviously stricken. "You haven't said any of this to my father, have
you?"

"Of course not," he said, matching
her pace. "In fact, I have only now puzzled it all out."

"And . . . and you won't tell him? It
really would upset him dreadfully to know that the estate —and the Seaton name
—is not what it once was."

Against his will, he felt a stab of sympathy
for her, for the trials she must have endured and still be enduring in her
efforts to preserve her father's sense of pride. Slowly, he shook his head.
"No, I won't tell him. But I think you should."

"But—"

"Let's continue this later, shall we?
Killer— Lord Killerby —is still out there somewhere." He kicked Cinder
back into a canter and she followed suit, though from what he could see of her
averted face, she was still upset.

They rode in silence until they reached the
stables at Ivy Lodge, Anthony busy with his thoughts, and Miss Seaton no doubt
busy with her own. Thinking over what he'd said? He hoped so.

"No word yet?" Anthony asked Carter,
Killer's groom, who was waiting outside the stables.

The man shook his head. "I did try to stop
'im, m'lord, I told you. But—"

Anthony reached down to put a hand on the man's
shoulder. "I know you did, Carter. It's not your fault. Lord Killerby has
always been stubborn. Miss Seaton here has agreed to help me find him, as she
knows that horse well."

The groom squinted up at her. "Does she,
then? You must be the lady my master spoke of, what rode Nimbus so well in the
hunt. What's your secret, Miss?"

She shifted uncomfortably in her sidesaddle.
"I'm just good with horses," she told him, as she'd told Anthony that
first night they'd met. "I understand them, and seem able to get them to
understand me. I . . . I wish I could explain it better."

Carter nodded sagely. "I've heard tell of
such a thing. My grandpa told me about a lady could do summat like that, ride
horses no one else could. Back in Ireland, that was."

Miss Seaton started, seemed about to say
something, but then apparently changed her mind. "We'd best start looking,
hadn't we?" she said to Anthony instead.

He nodded. "Carter said Killer took this
path." He nudged Cinder toward the track. "It goes straight for
almost a mile, then forks. The right fork links up with the main road, while
the left heads into a wooded area. I followed the left fork for some way, and
Lord Rushford followed the right, but neither of us saw any sign of man or
horse."

"Where did you go from there?"

"We came back here— then I thought to seek
you out." Telling her his original reason for doing so wouldn't help
matters now, so he kept that to himself.

"Let's hurry on to the fork, then,"
she suggested.

Again they cantered, which brought them to the
fork in just a few minutes. Once there, Miss Seaton pulled to a halt to look
first to the right, then the left, through the gathering twilight.

"We'll have a three-quarter moon tonight,
if the clouds break," he commented as she hesitated. "We can't very
well wait for that, though."

"No," she agreed. "Not if
there's a chance Lord Killerby or Nimbus may be hurt." Instead of choosing
a direction, however, she leaned forward to stroke her mare's neck and whisper
into her ear. Anthony tried to catch her murmured words, but only heard the
name "Nimbus." Then, she let the mare's reins go slack and waited.

"What are you—?" he started to ask,
but she held up a hand to silence him.

"I just want to try something," she
said softly. "Give her a moment."

The mare put her head down, and at first
Anthony thought she was grazing on the withered grass at the edge of the path,
but then she swung her head the other way, as though searching for something on
the ground. He tensed, waiting. Surely, Miss Seaton couldn't think—

Suddenly Cinnamon gave a soft whicker, then
raised her head and took a few steps down the right-hand path.

"This way," Miss Seaton said to him,
an edge of excitement in her voice. "Come, Cinnamon, let's hurry."

Torn between hope and disbelief, Anthony urged
Cinder to match the mare's trot. "Do you really think they went this
way?" he couldn't help asking.

"Cinnamon seems to think so," she
replied with a delicate shrug, her eyes on the path ahead.

"She's a horse, not a hound. Surely you
don't think she's sniffed out his trail?"

She spared him a sidelong look. "Horses
have excellent senses of smell. They are capable of more than most people give
them credit for."

"Yes, yes, I agree —to a point. Certainly,
I have great respect for horses, for I rode Cavalry in the Army, but I also
know their limitations. How can you trust this mare to track Killer? You said
you haven't even owned her for very long."

"No, but I've come to know her fairly
well. And she knows Nimbus." The quiet confidence in her voice was oddly
compelling.

An instinct for self-preservation prompted him
to say, "You knew Nimbus, too. You had to know no one else would be able
to ride him the way you did on Monday."

She was silent for a long moment, then said,
"My uncle tells me many breeders hire excellent riders to show their
horses to best advantage before auctioning them for sale."

"That's true," Anthony admitted,
trying to put his finger on why this bothered him more. "But your skill
with horses seems to go beyond that of even the best riders I've seen— myself
included. And because you are a woman, some men will be easily fooled into
believing they can do as well, or better."

"So now I am to apologize for my gender?
Or perhaps my uncle should tell potential buyers to disregard it before he will
consider their bids?" she asked archly. "
Caveat emptor
."

He had no ready argument for that. Perhaps she
was right. Perhaps it was simply the fact that she was female that made this
seem different from what so many others did.

Still, he tried one more time to articulate his
objection. "It seems disingenuous to use one's natural skills to that sort
of advantage, I suppose."

"You use your own skill at riding to be
first in at the kill," she pointed out. "Most of the others on the
field have not had the advantage of years in the Cavalry. Is that so
different?"

Before he could answer, her mount abruptly
stopped. "What is it, Cinnamon?" she asked the mare. "Oh! Lord
Anthony, did you know that there is another path here? Look."