Chapter 1

Raymonde stared into the grass-pale eyes of the gentleman who stood opposite her. She felt her heart thump, but schooled her face swiftly to neutral, ignoring her body’s instant reaction to him.

Stop it, Raymonde! Why would he even remember who you are?

She bit her lip. Osburne, her brother the Duke of Maverly, would have told her she was just being stupid. Why would a gentleman remember her after a whole year’s passing? She was nobody. Not beautiful like Cousin Vee or accomplished like Stella. She was just herself.

She recalled Osburne’s words with something like a physical pain in her heart. You’re just plain and drab. No wonder you’re a wallflower.

That, she thought sadly as she glanced down at her white muslin day-gown, was one of the reasons she never usually attended society events. She had nothing to contribute, and no desire to have that pointed out by everybody there. Osburne had always said that nobody liked her.

She drew a breath. “Good afternoon, sir,” she said, dropping a low curtsey. She watched his reaction through half-lowered lids. She expected him to look bored, or drunk. Why else was he here, with her, when there was a whole roomful of people to talk to? He did neither of those things. His strong-jawed face registered surprise, and then he bowed, too.

“Enchanted, My Lady,” he said gently.

Her eyes drifted from broad shoulders to a narrow waist. He was a fine fellow, she thought. She felt her face flush. She seemed to recall he’d been in the army at some point of his life. She vaguely remembered him from Luke’s last year. He wasn’t the sort of gentleman who’d be interested in her, she was sure.

I’d be lucky if anyone was.

Again, Osburne’s words seemed to speak inside her mind. She shut her eyes a moment, wishing she could keep them out. She had wished it so many times in her life.

She was a little girl, standing at the bottom of the steps at her father’s house. The smell of dust was around her, mixed with the beeswax lineament used to clean the banisters. She was standing on a step below her brother. His tall form loomed over her. His face was stern.

“Beanpole!” he teased. “Who’d want to teach you to dance, anyway? You won’t need to.”

“How so?” she’d asked. She was thirteen, and he was sixteen. She still thought he knew something more than she did. He was already attending parties, and she was still a child and she waited for him to pass on whatever truth he had to tell.

“Nobody would ever want to dance with anyone like you.”

She’d burst into tears and ran to her room, but she hadn’t the silence and privacy to herself for long. Her maid, Mrs. Partlow, came in to clean. She told her to grow up and forget it.

“You’re a young lady, Lady Raymonde. You’ll hear worse from people, and you must learn to steel yourself.”

“Yes, Mrs. Partlow,” she’d agreed softly. She tried to shut the words out.

She would have, she thought sadly, if she could. But Osburne never apologized and never stopped. He’d teased her horribly about her pale skin, her gangly height, her clumsiness, and she’d wished both then and now that she could find some way to drown out the words Osburne had planted in her mind. Somehow, they seemed to stick there and grow, until now, even though he wasn’t here anymore. She was still afraid to come out into public.

They’ll see what he sees: a graceless, wheaten-faced wallflower.

“My Lady… Might I interest you in some cordial?” the officer in front of her said politely.

She frowned, surprised he was staying on to chat with her. Most people tended to exchange a few sentences out of politeness. Osburne said it was only the Ton’s manners that made anybody bother.

She looked at him suspiciously. “Are you going to fetch more for yourself?” she asked frankly. “I had thought there was enough to drink at the card-table.”

It was a challenge, of sorts. If he was just one of the drunken louts who tended to flock to Luke’s house for food and cards, then he could leave her alone.

He smiled, and she felt her heart leap. He had a plain face – squarish, with a high forehead and a slim, elegant nose – but when he smiled, he transformed. His green eyes sparkled, and his grin was like a flash of brightness. It struck all of the way to her heart and she found herself looking at him with fresh interest.

“What?” she asked. “Did I say something that amused you, good sir?”

“I don’t play cards. Not unless persuaded.”

“Oh?” She felt a smile twist her lips, too. She had either not noticed that or forgotten. “Why is that?”

A strange look came over his face and she wondered what it was. She turned away, feeling embarrassed. He clearly didn’t want to answer. That was it, then. Just like Osburne always said, people would tire of her quickly. She had nothing to offer, not even sparkling conversation like Claudine.

“Did you ride this morning?” he asked politely, changing the subject.

She turned around and fixed him with a look.  “I don’t go riding,” she said smoothly. “Not unless persuaded.”

He laughed.

She felt a bubble of joy rise in her, hearing his infectious chuckle. She felt her lips lift in a grin. She had hoped to quash his polite interest and found instead that he was a companion able to do more than just exchange pleasantries or talk about the weather.

“Well said.” he chuckled.

“Thank you, sir.”

He bowed again, and Raymonde felt a flicker of brightness in her heart. He really was a handsome man, and charming, too, in his own way. “I don’t know if you remember me. I am Lieutenant Cutler Wingate. Lieutenant in the Norfolk Regiment of Foot,” he introduced himself to her again.

“I see.” Raymonde curtseyed. She noticed, along with his name, an absence of any form of title. It was obvious in a room where earls, marquesses and other titles were commonplace. She found it refreshing. Life with the Ton, even with Luke and Emilia, could be extremely stifling. “I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir.”

“Well, it isn’t making, so much as renewing,” he said, and she thought she saw a hopeful look in his eyes.

She tensed. What was he up to? Osburne had said gentlemen were either polite or lustful, and they had no other reason for talking to her. “Well, that’s nice, sir…”

He cleared his throat. “I was here last summer, if you recall?” he interrupted effectively blocking her attempt to extract herself. She turned back to him, listening to him.

She nodded slowly. “I do, yes.”

He had been a guest of Luke’s a year ago, like she had. And she did remember, rather well. She remembered his fall off a horse, and what he’d said when he woke.

He looked glad. “I’m pleased you remember, because…” he paused, looking down. “I wanted to give you something.”

“What do you have to give me?” Raymonde frowned, feeling concerned as he reached into his pocket, hunting around for something. What was he looking for in there? She scanned the room, looking to see if Emilia was near, but her friend was on the chaise-lounge, laughing at something Hestony had said. She knew she couldn’t rely on rescue from that quarter. She focused bravely on the gentleman in front of her, waiting nervously for whatever he produced from his pocket.

“This,” he said. He passed her a square of linen, edged with soft lace. She stared, and recognition slowly filtered into her mind. Suddenly, she remembered. The scene flashed into her mind, as bright as if it were happening in front of her all over again.

It was a summer’s day, the sun slanting down through the branches of a tall conifer. The air smelled of grass and hay, newly-harvested. She was dressed in a red riding-habit, the stays tight against her waist, a bonnet over her hair. She was kneeling on warm earth, her eyes squinting against the sunshine as she watched over a wounded gentleman.

He sat up awkwardly and blinked at her.  “Auntie?”

“Are you alright?” she asked, biting her lip to stop a smile at his confused face. “I’m Lady Raymonde. Can I help you?”

He smiled back, a grin that reached out and touched her heart. “I hope so,” he said.

He had blood on his chin and it ran down his face, staining his necktie. She reached into her reticule and drew out a handkerchief.

“Here,” she said. Without even thinking, she dabbed at the blood on his chin. “You poor thing.”

She handed the bloodstained cloth to him as he lifted his arm. His fingers brushed hers. She tensed, as the feeling shivered down her arm and into her belly like fire down a fuse.

“Thank you,” he said. His voice was resonant and made fires burn inside her.

“It’s nothing.”

His green eyes, flecked with brown and sunlight, looked into hers.

“My Lady,” a voice said, interrupting her daydreaming. Raymonde blushed.

“Yes?” She looked at Lieutenant Wingate, hoping he hadn’t noticed her inattentiveness and marked her as odd. People already thought she was mad. She should know that. “I was elsewhere. My apologies.”

“Not at all,” the lieutenant said, his grin broader this time. “If I had a coin for every hour I whiled away in my head, I would be much richer than I am now.”

She laughed. She thought he was probably joking, but when she glanced down at his velvet suit, which was a little worn at the knee, she had a feeling he was serious. That, in itself, was refreshingly-honest.

“I would have thought you spent very little time in your head,” she said gently.

“Even if I did – every penny helps.” He grinned.

She giggled again. There was something so straightforward about him, so honest, that she couldn’t help letting her own guard fall just a little. She never thought to meet anybody who wasn’t stuffed with etiquette and manners, just like the rest of the Ton. Just like Osburne.

“Well, then,” she said gently. “If I bet you a coin that you still can’t outrace me, I might help your cause a little.”

“How so?” He grinned at her, eyes sparkling.

“By giving you a coin when you win, of course.”

He smiled wider, and she felt her tummy tingle as his green eyes met and held hers. “I’ll take the wager, but the coin is already yours, My Lady. I warrant you’re as fine a rider now as you were last year.”

Raymonde smiled. “I hope we’ve both improved after a whole season’s practice.”

He raised a brow. “We’ll find out,” he said.

She grinned, feeling restless. “When?”

“How about now,” he offered. “Why not?”

Raymonde stared at him in surprise. It was a shocking idea, after all. Not only were they here for the recital, but there was also the fact that she was a society lady, who shouldn’t be going anywhere unchaperoned.

What would people think of her?

She winced, recalling something else. Nobody could think anything worse. She was ruined in society because her brother’s flight from London —following allegations of embezzlement and other criminal activities. It had broken her reputation beyond repair. She looked at Lieutenant Wingate. Then she looked wistfully around the room.

The drawing room was lively, a place of groans and mirth from the card-table, and crystal tinkling and laughter from the chaise-lounge. The firelight bathed the scene, making up for the darkness creeping in as the sun set over the lawns outside. They, Lieutenant Wingate and she, were alone in one corner. Emilia, Hestony, and some of the other ladies were sitting on the chaise-lounge by the fire, giggling and sipping cordials. Luke, Lord Canmure, and two other men she did not remember, had taken drinks to another corner and were sitting, heads nodding or frowning, involved at the card-table.

She and Lieutenant Wingate were two souls adrift on an island of silence. Neither of them fit here.

I have had far too much of the Ton, and I think he was never included.

When she looked back at the officer, he was also staring out across the drawing-room, a faraway look on his face. She frowned, and he cleared his throat.

“I don’t think they’ll notice, if we go,” he said. His voice was a little sad.

Raymonde nodded. “I suppose not.”

He looked into her eyes and in that moment, it felt as if, just for a second, something in him, his soul, perhaps, touched hers. She swallowed hard.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go riding.”

Chapter 2

Raymonde felt the wind tug at the strings of her bonnet as she rode at a brisk trot. She felt alive up here, riding through the wild Yorkshire countryside.

She risked a twist in the saddle, looking back over her right shoulder to see Lieutenant Wingate, making halting progress. His top-hat cast odd shadows as he raced through the sunlight, trotting swiftly on the back of a bay, thoroughbred horse.  She held her breath as she watched him.

Tall and straight he sat, his posture perfect for riding. She felt a sweet tingle inside her and she turned her attention to something else, a deliberate distraction. Tall, muscled and with a perpetually wary expression, the horse he chose was quite frightening. Raymonde gave it a healthy berth whenever she had to visit the stables. She recalled the same horse being Lieutenant Wingate’s last year. She wondered if he’d brought him from Spain with him.

Don’t be silly. He was a foot-soldier.

That, in itself, was odd. A gentleman – and he must at least be from a reasonable family for Luke to know of him – would usually never serve in infantry-regiments. Gentlemen rode. They never marched with the infantry. She tucked the thought away, wanting to ask him about it.

“Wait a moment!” he called out as he rode up behind her. “Whew! You’re fast.”

She grinned and stopped her horse. He leaned on the saddle, his breath heaving. She hid her amusement as he looked up at her. He drew up alongside her and stopped. His cheeks were pale, and she could see he was straining to breathe.

“Having a good day?” she asked innocently.

He scowled at her. “I arrived yesterday in the rain. I spent most of last night restless and tossing. Then we spent the morning letting Canmure tell us about his holiday on the Continent. What do you think?” His gaze was challenging.

Raymonde chuckled. Most ladies, she thought, would be shocked at such frank talk. Herself, she found it refreshing. A life lived with Osburne’s reinterpreting the tiniest nuance of what anyone said to her, made frank talk a blessing. “I suppose not.”

He chuckled. “You suppose correctly.”

He glanced at her and she felt a flush of color in her cheeks. His look was assessing, and she felt a mix of affront and pride. What was he staring at?

He looked away again. “You rode fast.”

She nodded. “I love riding.” She looked out over the countryside surrounding them. The Yorkshire dales were, she thought personally, the most beautiful scenery in the whole country. They sat atop a hill, surrounded by oak-trees. She could just glimpse through the branches the scene in the valley below, where golden grass stretched out over the moors, as far as the eye could see. In the distance, rugged hills broke the skyline. The clouds were a fluffy line on the cerulean horizon.

“You’re happy here.” It was a statement. Not a question.

“Um, yes,” Raymonde said, surprised again by his frankness. “I love the Yorkshire landscape.”

“And I hate Town,” he commented.

Raymonde laughed. “Oh, sir! That’s a fine reason to love it up here. Town is hateful, for certain; but don’t you think this place has something else to distinguish it?”

He looked out over the valley, as if he was considering what she’d said. She looked into his green eyes and thought he was making a show of indifference, but he had a softness about his gaze that told her he loved it.

“It has its charms,” he said. He looked back at her.

Again, Raymonde felt that strange mixture of being pleased and annoyed. What was he playing at, levelling that comment at her like that?

If he likes me, he might use some of that legendary straightforwardness of his. And if he’s being polite, he isn’t exactly skilled in it.

She turned back towards him, face stiff. “You call our trip up here a race? Or should we bet the coin on the downhill ride?”

He laughed, a little disbelievingly. “My Lady! You really want to race?”

“It’s why I came out,” she said levelly. “You challenged me to a race. I will race.”

He laughed. “My Lady, I surrender! You beat me on the uphill ride, which is more skilled. I have no yearning to see myself beaten hollow on the downhill charge.”

She thought his smile was easily the loveliest thing she’d seen. She felt her heart melt a little and smiled too. “Well, then. I think our debt is settled.”

“I owe you a coin, My Lady.” His eyes held hers and she felt herself a little breathless.

“No,” she said, when it looked as if he might actually give her the money. “Or at least wait until we’re back at the house.” She truly couldn’t accept money from somebody who was hard on their luck.

He shook his head. “No, I insist. Let me give it to you now. I have my reasons.”

“Why is that?” she asked, feeling her heart beat a little faster. In spite of herself, she found him interesting.

Beaming, he reached into his coat-pocket. “Because we never agreed as to the denomination. And a half penny is all that I have with me.”

She felt a laugh escape her throat and stifled it with a gloved hand. He was also laughing, bent over on the saddle, shoulders lifting with chuckling. She looked down at him, feeling a wild happiness fill her to see such unguarded joy. He looked up and his eyes held hers.

They were fell silent. In that moment, the world disappeared. All that existed – all that she saw – was pale green eyes, flecked with copper highlights. He stared at her and she felt her heart start to thud.

He coughed and she felt something shift as he looked away. She broke eye-contact, staring at her gloves.

“My Lady,” he said softly. “We should go back.”

“Yes,” she murmured. She didn’t want to risk looking at him, feeling her cheeks flare with blushing. He would notice and wonder what was wrong with her.

“I suppose we’re going to miss the recital,” he said.

Raymonde risked a glance at him, to gauge his mood. He was grinning.

“Yes,” she said, in between gales of giggles. “Quite so. How will we live without it?”

“It’s going to be very difficult, but maybe we can manage.”

They were both still laughing as they rode side-by-side downhill.

The day was cooler here, the side of the hill already shadowed as the sun set. The wind ruffled the grass, which was vivid orange in the intense sunset. Trees stretched their gray shadows all the way into a dark horizon. Raymonde shivered.

“I suppose we really will be late. I hope it doesn’t take too long to get back.” The thought of being stuck out here on the moor when the sun went down was not appealing. She started to feel afraid. Even on Luke’s own estate, nothing was assured of being safe.

“We can race on the way back?” Lieutenant Wingate said with a grin “And then when we arrive, I’ll give you the coin. A more-valuable one. From my wallet.”

She laughed. “I have a shilling in my purse,” she said, feeling the light weight of her velvet draw-string reticule, looped still around one wrist as she rode. “It’ll be yours when you beat me.”

“Wager accepted.”

He set his weight forward and he shot off. Raymonde, surprised and breathless, shot off after him. She felt her own horse, Whisper, gallup under her, muscles flowing smoothly. She patted her neck to encourage her onward.

“Yes, girl,” she breathed excitedly. “We can catch that silly fellow, what say you?”

Her horse snorted and set off at a canter. Raymonde, riding side-saddle, gripped the reins and felt the breeze tug her hair. She wished she could take her bonnet off and ride with her hair flowing in the breeze, like she did on the estate as a little girl, before Osburne saw her do it.

“Go! Go!” Lieutenant Wingate was yelling encouragement to his mount as she caught up. She laughed and slowed down beside him, giving him a fond smile.

“Having a good day?” she asked politely. It was a reminder of their earlier conversation.

He laughed. “Not much better than it was, strangely enough.” He gestured to the manor. “I’d give a lot to be in there, with Lord Canmure cataloguing the contents of the manor where he stayed in Geneva.”

She started laughing and he grinned and again, she felt that sensation, as if he was touching her soul.

She tipped her head to one side. “Ready to continue?” she asked recklessly. “It is a race to the house, after all.”

“I think Theodosius here has had a good rest,” he said, indicating his horse. “So, we can proceed, though I warn you, I only have a farthing.”

“I think you’ll be getting my shilling at the end of it,” Raymonde replied, laughing.

“Don’t be too sure,” he warned, and, grinning, held up a hand to indicate when they should continue.

“And… Go!” Raymonde shouted it gleefully as they set off. “Are you going to gallop?” she called back, feeling a little concerned as the day had darkened and she couldn’t see the path. It was a foolish-enough time to be racing, she thought worriedly, without risking death.

“No!” he called back. “I promise I won’t cheat.”

“I trust you!” she shouted back, as he cantered on ahead. She meant it.

As she rode, taking care to keep an eye out for branches in the pathway, she realized that it was true, what she had said. She trusted him, more than she had ever trusted anyone before.

It was a remarkable feeling.

The sound of horse’s hooves rang out, catching Raymonde’s ear. She tensed, alert to the sound. They weren’t the sound of Lieutenant Wingate approaching, since he was riding behind her. Whoever this was, rode up from ahead, and there was more than one of them.

“A hunting party, out at this time?” Raymonde asked aloud. At this time of day, it seemed very odd.

She leaned back in the saddle, slowed her horse to a trot, and continued. At that moment, she caught sight of the group: maybe six horses, moving swiftly up the path towards her.

“Raymonde! Move!”

Before she could gather her thoughts, she felt somebody cannon into her from behind. A hand, outstretched, grabbed her bridle and hauled her horse to the right, sharply, off the path. Her horse neighed and reared and she screamed as she was thrown back.

The riding-party shot past, the six horses almost on top of her.

“Girl, no!” Raymonde screamed, as her horse reared again, throwing herself back in a buck that made her sick. If her horse decided to bolt, she might be thrown and killed. If she rolled, she’d be crushed.

Another horse neighed nearby as Raymonde’s mount came down from the spine-jarring buck.

Her horse reared, then shuddered and stood still. She dismounted, sliding down from the saddle. She stared up at her assailant. Tears of fright ran down her cheeks. Whoever had pulled her off the path like that, they could have killed her.

“Lieutenant?” she whispered, not believing who she faced. “What did you do that for?”

She stared up at Lieutenant Wingate.

He didn’t seem to be aware of her presence. He was leaning with his hands on the horn of the saddle, his eyes wide and vacant. He was white as paper, she noticed, and a fine tremor ran through his fingers.

“Lieutenant?” she said loudly. What was wrong with the man? She felt her stomach twist in alarm, his manner frightening her. Was he taking leave of his senses? His action was certainly that of somebody not in possession of his sense. “Lieutenant?”

His head snapped up. He looked around.

“Lady Raymonde?” His eyes focused on her face. She saw recognition dawn there, and his expression changed from shock to horror. He slid down off the saddle and came to stand beside her. He rested a hand on her shoulder which she shook it off.

“Lady Raymonde?” he said again. “Please. I’m sorry. When the riders came along, I thought… I… I don’t know what I thought. Forgive me,” he added softly. He hung his head.

“If my horse had bolted, you could have killed me,” Raymonde said. Her jaw was tight, and the words came out tonelessly. She felt beyond anger, beyond reproach. He – by dint of insanity, or wanton cruelty – had almost ended her life.

And to think I trusted him.

She felt her stomach clench and wanted, suddenly, to be sick. Holding her hand to her lips, she ran into the brush. Her stomach heaved, and she retched. She’d eaten nothing since luncheon, so there was very little to expel. She dabbed at her lips with her handkerchief, feeling exhausted. She heard a twig crack behind her as she stood up again.

“I’m so sorry,” Lieutenant Wingate whispered. “I am so, so sorry.”

Raymonde just looked at him. He, too, looked as if he might like to be sick. He was deathly-pale, his eyes wide. She looked at his hands to see if they shook, still, but he’d clasped the fingers together and was holding them rigidly still.

Wonderful, she thought with a wry smile. The only man I ever meet whom I can trust, and he turns out to be wandering in the wits.

She looked down. She had no idea what to say. She was beyond anger, even. All she wanted was to get back to the house.

“We should go back. It’s getting dark.” She tried to infuse her voice with a brisk tone, but it came out sounding flat and emotionless. She was too tired to think. All she wanted to do was get on her horse and ride back and never see anybody again.

“Yes,” he whispered. “You’re right. I’m so sorry, Lady Raymonde. I didn’t mean it. I don’t know what I was thinking!”

“No,” she said, with a touch of asperity in her voice as she took her horse’s reins in her hand and led her around to a tree-stump, so that she could mount up. “I don’t suppose you did. No harm done,” she added, turning to face him. She had one foot in the stirrups, her hand holding the reins. Her horse looked around at her warily, as if aware that she’d shocked her.

“It could have been so much worse,” he whispered. “Please. Let me help you,” he added, walking forward, reaching for the reins of her horse.

“I think you’ve done quite enough for one day, Lieutenant,” Raymonde said lightly, swinging her foot up and settling herself in the saddle. She had control of her voice now, and she tried to keep it neutral, though inside she was shaking with fury. “Let’s go back to the house.”

She turned away and carried on down the path, her back straight. Her horse’s mood was rather subdued, and she patted her neck gently, trying to encourage her. It wasn’t her fault, after all.

She heard Lieutenant Wingate mount up and start to ride down the path behind her, but she didn’t turn around.

“My Lady, I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

“That’s all very well,” she said lightly.

He could say sorry until the day ended, she thought sadly. It wasn’t going to undo what he’d done, or rebuild her trust in him.

Her head held high, Raymonde rode down the path towards the house through the darkening woods. It was time to get back to the house and put Lieutenant Wingate and whatever malaise or cruelty affected him, far out of her mind. She wasn’t about to meet another Osburne – not when she’d only just seen the departure of the first one.

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