Page 8 of My Lord, My Rogue
Refusing to look in their direction, she squeezed her horse, urging her to run. Honora was unwilling to face the prospect of being seen by her neighbors.How could I have been so careless?
Because your parents are here and you have been starved for any sense of normalcy in your life, she answered herself.
Without glancing back, she maintained her speed and hoped Randall would follow. The last thing she needed was for her groomsman to find himself stopped and questioned. The groves were close. She would cut through them. A strong sense of foreboding told her she needed to lose those men.
A few minutes later, she and her horse passed into the grove where she realized the concealment she had hoped for from the trees was scant. The trees had lost not only their fruit, but their leaves as well. Biscuit knew the way and moved swiftly through the trees until she exited the grove out over the hill that flanked it. As much as she wanted to turn to see if Randall was being followed, she resisted. Instead, she took a shortcut through a wooded area toward the manor house, hoping Randall would not lose her. She wanted to stop and wait but dared not take the chance.
Sensing her horse tiring, she slowed once they were well into the wooded area and turned to make sure Randall had seen her departure from the main road. The groomsman came up quickly. “They turned back, my lady.”
“How do you know?” she persisted.
“They lost you in the grove and turned back, my lady. I took a different path around the grove and they followed. However, when I checked a second time, they were heading in the opposite direction. I believe you evaded them, my lady.”
“I hesitate to ask you this, but did you recognize who they were?” She held her breath.
“Yes, my lady. I believe I recognized the young Lord Willington and His Grace, the Duke of Lancaster,” the groomsman responded carefully.
Damn! That had been close. Visibly shaken, she turned her horse and continued along the path through the tall pines and hardwoods. The black and white mare warily picked her way through overhanging brush. Honora made a mental note to send the gardener through this path to cut the dangerous broken limbs and low-hanging branches.
As they rounded a turn marked by a large boulder off to the right, she noticed a smaller, less-used path off to her left and remembered another time.She had taken the path, enjoying the covered trail that circled the wider end of the pond from her property, when she had heard laughter coming from the water. Tying her horse to a low-hanging branch, she had crouched down and watched. The now-Marquis of Willington and his friend had been swimming—nude!Fearing being caught staring at their naked swimming, she had quickly mounted her horse and retraced the path back to the manor. The two properties were connected by a large sturdy wooden bridge that cut across the lower end of the pond, near one stream that fed into it. It was a shorter route, but she had not dared go that way, lest she be discovered.
“That was the Duke of Lancaster with Lord Willington then, too,” she said aloud with startling clarity. She had not considered the second swimmer had been Adam Hunter, her former betrothed, until now. Honora had been used to seeing him at their home in Lancashire—never here.
The trail grew brighter, and she recognized the path’s end was near.Good! Almost home.The pink-brick manor house surrounded by well-placed hardwood and flowering trees stood on a hill in the distance, and the sight of it shook her from her reverie and renewed her sense of urgency, fearing Papa would come looking for her.
“Good job, Biscuit!” she leaned down and rubbed her neck affectionately. Her horse answered with an up-and-down motion to her head and a short whinny. It had always been thus between them—Honora had convinced herself that the animal understood English.
Finally, emerging from the path, she stopped to take a rejuvenating breath, hoping for a more measured pace back to the stables. “You have earned these carrots, girl,” she said, touching the pocket containing them.
Two men on horseback emerged from the side, startling both Honora and her horse. She pulled back on the reigns out of habit and her horse nickered and slowed to a stop.
“Hello, Honora,” a familiar voice said.
Chapter 4
Lancaster had ridden like a man possessed, and Benjamin could not dissuade the pursuit. Admittedly, he too, had been curious but had hoped there was another way to resolve the mystery—other than confrontation.
Indeed, it had looked like Lady Aster.Too much like her.How could this be possible? If it was, why on earth was she still in hiding?They followed from the groves into the forested area, their speeds were much slower.The trail prohibited riding alongside each other, and the dead limbs and overgrowth caused them to plod along at a much slower pace than they otherwise would have.
The footman slowed down and turned to face him from his mount, appearing to protect her ladyship. Benjamin slowed his own mount in anticipationof what, he was not sure. He could not say with any reasonable certainty that the woman was Lady Honora Aster. After all, she had been dead almost three years.
Lancaster trotted up closer. “I remember another way. If this is who I think it is, we should easily overtake her. They will think we have lost interest. Follow me,” the duke called out, turning his horse and backtracking.
They were soon out of the footman’s sight and the duke recognized the path, recalling the last time the two of them had taken it. They had been spied upon swimming in the pond by a young woman and sought her out. Luckily, moral sense had prevailed, and it had become a tale embellished over firelight with drink during the war. This time, the duke showed no sign of exiting the chase. This would not end well.
Taking the path over the lower bridge, the two men came up from the lower end of the pond in time to see her ladyship and her footman emerge from the wooded path.
His Grace urged his horse closer. “Hello, Honora.”
A startled mount and rider pulled up short.It was her—and she appeared to be flesh and blood. Benjamin looked at his friend, unable to speak.
Her face said it all as her lips moved to form words. The footman moved in between them, appearing to help her.
Benjamin could only stare.
“’Tis fine, Randall. They mean us no harm,” the woman said, nodding toward an area off to the side. The groomsman helped her from her horse. Taking Biscuit’s reins, Randall walked the black and white horse about ten yards away to give them privacy. The black and white horse whinnied in her mistress’ direction.
Honora worried her bottom lip as she watched in the direction of her horse. Once the animal appeared settled, she spoke. “I owe you an explanation.
