Page 54 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
Chapter 11
Afew deepbreaths restored Paulette’s good sense. With Mr. Gibson along, she would be safe from his lordship. And with his lordship along, she would be safe from Mr. Gibson.
And she must know whether he’d found her mother’s ring.
She lifted her hand in a greeting.
“Excellent,” Lord Hackwell cried. “Youdoride, Miss Heardwyn. You there, where are our mounts?”
Johnny doffed his cap and trotted into the stable.
“I need a word with Miss Heardwyn,” Mr. Gibson said.
His lordship looked from him to her, laughed, and walked in after Johnny.
Mr. Gibson patted her horse’s neck. “It wasn’t there.”
Her skin buzzed at his nearness and she tried to steady her voice. “Thank you. I heard about what happened last night.”
“Yes, well, the valet was below stairs, and the coast was clear, as they say.” He frowned and seemed to study the horse’s mane.
“We do not need to go riding today if there is business with the legal authorities.”
“He insists we both go. Were you told where we are going?”
“Only a ride around the estate, I thought.”
He lifted his gaze and she saw humor there under layers of fatigue. The poor man had been up half the night and had already had a morning of hard riding. “An infernal, managing busybody is Lord Hackwell. He insists we visit Little Norwick.”
A tremble passed through her. Little Norwick was the cottage bequeathed to the proposed Mr. and Mrs. Gibson. The croft that was to be her prison.
Panic threatened to bloom. Perhaps they would lock her up there today. She had no means of escape—a horse she didn’t really know how to ride, no money and no loyal servants with her. She might be stuck there, as she’d been at Ferndale Cottage.
His large hand engulfed hers. “We will visit and come back. Do not be afraid. No one will force your hand, least of all Hackwell. His lady would thrash him senseless if he tried.”
She gulped air and tried to calm herself. “Of course. It’s…it’s so near here?”
“A few miles as the crow flies. Quite a bit farther by roads. We’ll be crossing fields, which is why we’re not going by carriage.”
“Have you been there?”
“I’ve seen the edge of the property but never the house.”
A short while later, her worry had been replaced by exhilaration. Thomas rode alongside her at times, and at others, while they carefully skirted around crops soon to be harvested, behind her, the two men ahead, with Mr. Gibson leading the way through gates.
They pulled up in an overgrown field. “The house should be up there,” Mr. Gibson pointed. “That hedge was the property line and this is the back approach. These fields should have been let.” He frowned.
“Your brother was negligent,” Lord Hackwell said.
“More like his father had the run of it and didn’t bother with such details.” Mr. Gibson prodded his mount and rode off.
“You mean your father,” Lord Hackwell called, laughing.
Mr. Gibson’s back went straighter and he kept going.
“There’s only trees,” Thomas said.
And a tangle of them at that. The house must be small indeed.
