Page 22 of Escaping the Earl
“Rafe, there you are. Rutland just arrived. I thought the three of us could oversee the preparation of the croquet wickets.” When Mr. Russell caught sight of Sabrina, he offered a formal bow. “Good afternoon, Miss Talleyrand.”
“Mr. Russell.” She nodded at him, then held her arms open for Isla. Rafe settled Isla on her lap as he got up to join Mr. Russell.
“Would you ladies like to join us?” Mr. Russell offered to her and the child. “The weather is fine, and I imagine you would enjoy the sunshine.”
“Yes, that sounds lovely.”
Sabrina followed her employer and Mr. Russell into the hall, where they were speaking to another man. She drew closer, then jerked to a stop as she recognized him. Mr. Ashby, the man who had rescued her beloved horse and had given her such an enjoyable morning. Only a short time ago she’d been alone with him, discussing literature in a cozy little cottage. He was just as gorgeous as she’d believed a few hours ago. She licked her lips as she suddenly realized she was parched. His tawny eyes flicked to hers, widening in shock, then flaring in pleasure as he spoke.
“Sabrina?”
Her mind spun with excitement and then panic as she realized he’d called her by her Christian name in front of her employer.
“Mr. Ashby...” She tried desperately to put a barrier between them since her employer was now staring between the two of them.
“You know my governess, Peregrine?” Rafe asked in surprise.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “I met her this morning.”
“This is the man I told you about, sir. The man who saved Celeste from the mud bog,” Sabrina supplied quickly.
Rafe’s glance moved swiftly between her and Mr. Ashby. She could almost see him putting pieces together.
“But I thought you said that the man who aided you was a land steward. Ashby is no steward. He’s theEarlof Rutland.”
For a second she didn’t understand what Rafe had said, and then his words sank in and she hastily sought to cover her sudden shock. He must have concealed his title for a reason, and while she was upset at his deception, she would not call him out on it in front of the others.
“I... I must’ve been mistaken,” she said. She felt Isla press against her side, her tiny hand tightening around Sabrina’s.
Sabrina shifted on her feet uneasily. All she wanted right then was to avoid scandal in whatever form it came in. Mr. Ashby—Lord Rutland, for that was how she must think of him now—had lied, but she wasn’t sure why, and she was in no position to demand the truth from him. She dug the nails of her free hand into her palm, the slight pain bringing her some much-needed focus.
“The fault is mine,” Rutland said at last. “I did not introduce myself properly.”
Properly?The word echoed in Sabrina’s head as her confusion began to turn to anger. He hadliedto her about who he was, and he was not explaining why. He had told her that he was a steward, that heworkedfor the earl. Yet here he was, the Earl of Rutland. Why had he lied to her, and why was hestilllying in front of Rafe and Mr. Russell?
For a moment, she and Rutland stared at each other. Rafe coughed, and she broke off her gaze, looking to the floor.
“Well, now you’ve met properly,” Rafe said. “Shall we go?”
Lord Rutland was still staring at her, a strange expression on his face.
“Come along, Peregrine. We have to see to the wickets.” Rafe nudged the earl none too gently in the ribs. Rutland blinked, as though dragging himself out of his thoughts, and then shot Rafe a scowl.
Sabrina and Isla stayed a good distance behind the three gentlemen as they strode ahead. When they reached a grassy lawn, two footmen were waiting with a dozen wickets in their hands.
“Let’s sit and watch,” Sabrina told Isla as they paused before a bench. She helped the child sit down on the bench beside her so they could observe the men. From the start, it was clear Lord Rutland and Mr. Russell wanted a fair game, but Rafe was determined to arrange the wickets so it would be nearly impossible in several places to strike a ball through them. A fairly energetic argument broke out, and suddenly the three men were throwing wickets at each other and running about shouting like wild boys. Sabrina laughed at the immature sight.
Zehra Russell came to stand beside Sabrina and Isla’s bench. “Heavens, they never truly grow up, do they?”
“No, they never do.” Sabrina moved over on the bench and set Isla on her lap so Zehra could sit down beside them. Lawrence Russell’s wife was beautiful and had an interesting past. Rafe had told her that Zehra’s father was a Persian prince and her mother the daughter of an English duke. With exotic eyes and the dark-gold tint of her skin, Zehra was blooming here in the Cotswolds.
“How are you settling in, Sabrina?” she asked.
“Quite well. I cannot thank you and your husband enough for letting me stay here.”
“Of course.” Zehra smiled at her before looking back at the men.
“Zehra... what do you know of Lord Rutland?”
