As he turned the corner of the building, he stopped. Charlotte was in the center of the stable yard, perched on her horse, her high crowned hat shadowing her eyes as she bent down to say something to one of the grooms. The poor man stood near a mounting block he’d obviously brought for Charlotte’ use, and he leaned forward, his manner ridiculously eager.
Marco tried not to scowl at the groom but failed. Truly, he couldn’t fault the poor man. Charlotte looked especially beautiful today. Her hand rested gracefully on the pommel, her heart-shaped face softened by her smiles. She was indeed a goddess, Marco decided, too tired to stop himself. She was Diana of the hunt, and he wished he could carve a statue of her right then and there.
She said farewell to the groom, and then turned Angelica toward the fence surrounding the stable yard. With a gentle motion, she set the horse to a canter straight toward the fence, her skirts streaming alongside the horse’s flanks.
Marco took a step forward. Good God, she’d going to jump that damned fence! What in the hell is she thinking? Not only was she riding a brute of a house, but she was riding side saddle, which he’d never trusted.
Before his horrified gaze, the horse sped up as they approached the fence.
Heart pounding, Marco held his breath, his hands clenched at his sides, but he needn’t have worried. With the ease of long practice, she gathered the horse beneath her and together they sailed over the fence, landing smoothly on the other side. Without a break in stride, they continued on, cantering easily toward the trail that circled the lake.
Marco exchanged a shocked look with the groom who still stood in the middle of the stable yard. “Does she normally do that?” Marco demanded
“She used to, but she hasn’t since her sister’s accident.” The groom’s gloomy expression took on a hint of sadness. “A lovely girl, was Miss Caroline. Although it’s anyone’s guess what she was doing riding a horse she barely knew, and in the dark, too.”
“So that’s what happened.”
“The horse threw her, and she hit her head. She was never comfortable around horses.” He shook his head. “I never thought her one to ride off alone, especially after dark.”
“Where was she going?”
“Aye, that’s the question, isn’t it? No one knows. If you ask me, it’s Balesboro Wood as did her in.” The groom gestured glumly toward the woods. “There are evil spirits lurking there. Pixies, and more. I’d not ride there alone, myself, and I’m a darn sight bigger and stronger than Miss Caroline ever was.”
“I don’t trust those woods, either. I know my way around trails, but those were impossibly difficult to follow.”
“’Tis the pixies. They find it funny to lead people astray, evil creatures.” Davis gave Marco a measuring look and thrust out a hand. “I’m Davis.”
Marco shook the man’s hand. “I’m di Rossi.”
Davis grinned, revealing a missing tooth. “I know who you are. We all do.”
“There are no secrets in the servants’ quarters, are there?”
“None. Well, I guess I’d better take this mounting block back inside. If you need anything, let me know.”
“Thank you. I will do that.”
Marco watched as Davis disappeared back into the stables before he turned back to where Charlotte was just turning Angelica from the lake path into the golden fields beyond. So that is what happened to your sister. He couldn’t imagine how horrible that must have been, to have lost a sister at such a young age, and in such a way. If Davis was to be believed, there was still a mystery attached to the death, too. That would make it all the harder to accept.
He waited until she was out of sight, and then returned to his workshop, glad Davis hadn’t reappeared to witness Marco staring after Charlotte like a lovesick fool. Once he reached his workshop, he threw his wet shirt over a bench, found a towel and dried his hair. With each tousle of the towel, his energy seeped away, his fatigue returned.
He had to sleep. He gave the pillars a final look, and then went into his room where he stripped out of his wet breeches and fell into bed, falling instantly into a dark, dreamless sleep.
Chapter 9
The next day, Charlotte rode Angelica deep in Balesboro Wood, taking random paths, some made for horses, some little more than trails fashioned by wild animals. The going was slow, but neither she nor Angelica cared. Overhead, the sun filtered through the branches and splashing onto leaves until they shone emerald, and mint, and every shade in between.
It was a luscious day, the sky a bright blue, the scent of summer heavy in the air and on the skin. She took a deep breath, sucking in the freshness of it, the calmness of her beloved Balesboro.
She loved these woods. She never felt safer than when she was here. It was both ironic and tragic that Caroline had died on one of these paths.
She shook away the thought, refusing to think about anything sad. She’d had a productive few days since she’d talked to Aunt Verity in the sitting room, and each day brought Charlotte closer to where she was before the tragedy that had changed her life. Each day she felt stronger and far surer of herself, and less as if she were walking on the egg shells of the expectations of others.
With that came a peace she hadn’t felt in months.
Angelica whickered softly, and then abruptly turned onto a path Charlotte had never seen before. She allowed the horse to take the lead, for no animal knew the woods better, and sure enough, the pathway widened, the sound of rushing water lifting over the rustle of leaves. A few moments later, they entered a small clearing by a stream that was so picturesque that Charlotte pulled Angelica to a halt.
Charlotte patted the horse’s wide neck. “Good girl.”
Angelica whickered in return.
Before them, a wide stream bubbled over silvery moss that waved across copper colored stones. Clumps of blue and purple flowers grew entwined with emerald green grass. Overhead a gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, the sound merging with the rushing water. Even after all of these years, Balesboro still had some surprises.
Charlotte was charmed. She glanced up at the sun and wondered if she had time to stop. She was due back at Nimway in an hour, for the vicar’s wife was visiting and Aunt Verity had begged Charlotte to be there. If there was one thing Aunt Verity hated more than expending herself, it was exchanging small talk with a pious woman given to denouncing the very sins Aunt Verity enjoyed the most.
Charlotte grinned and then kicked the stirrups free. An hour would be better than nothing. With a lithe move, she slid off Angelica’s back and looped the reins over a tree branch near a thick patch of grass. The horse munched contentedly as Charlotte hung her hat on a shrub, and then went to the stream. A large outcropping of rock hung over a quiet pool, the stone surface invitingly smooth.
She sat down, pleased to find the stone warm. She tugged off her boots and tossed them aside and then peeled off her stockings. She tossed them over her shoulder so they would be well away from the damp stream. Barefoot at last, she sat on the rock, pulled her skirts up over her knees, and dangled her bare feet into the quiet pool.
Cool, fresh water rushed over her feet and she wiggled her toes happily. She only wished she had time to undo the cumbersome skirts of her riding habit and swim in the quiet pool. But the memory of Aunt Verity’s horrified expression when Charlotte had mentioned their tea guest killed the thought. Another day then, if Angelica can be bribed into finding this place again.
Humming to herself, Charlotte planted her hands behind her and tilted her face to the sun filtering through the branches. It had been three days since she’d had her conversation with Aunt Verity. Three days of solitary rides while she decided who she was, what she wanted, and all the reasons she shouldn’t think about Marco di Rossi.
She wasn’t sure what she should do about him. Her life was at a crossroads, and she was ready for something to happen. Something exciting. Something wonderful. Something like him.
But it couldn’t be him. She knew the price he
’d have to pay if he ‘crossed the line,’ as he put it. And, knowing her mother, there would be a price. Mama was loving and kind, but she always, always put family first. Charlotte had no illusions how her mother would see a flirtation between her daughter and the sculptor commissioned to make an unforgettable fireplace for the family home.
There was no winning this one. If she pursued him, or he her, which was a thrilling thought indeed, they both stood to lose. He could lose his reputation and career, and she would have hurt her mother’s feelings in a way that might never heal, especially after the harm caused by Caroline’s death.
She sighed and closed her eyes, letting the sun warm her face. It was a problem, this attraction she had for Marco, but she couldn’t seem to give up. Not yet. There had to be a way around their problems, a way that would free to them to at least explore the attraction between them.
She kicked at the water and watched it arc into a line of splashes, each smaller than the first. Caroline would have known what to do. There was nothing she’d like better than a puzzle. If only—
Angelica lifted her head and snorted loudly, prancing nervously.
Charlotte lifted up on one arm. Somewhere close by, and coming closer, a large animal crashed through the shrubs. She started to rise, but the noise was instantly followed by a muttered curse in a deep voice she recognized far too quickly. She didn’t have time to do more than sit up and push her skirts over her knees before Marco burst from a dense patch of shrubs. His face was dark with irritation, a small branch was caught in the torn shoulder of his shirt, a smattering of leaves tangled in his long, dark hair, a red scratch bright on one cheek.
His gaze found hers and surprise replaced his irritation. His gaze moved over her, taking in her tossed aside hat, her bunched skirts, and her bared feet dangling in the pool of water.
She waved. “Hello.” It was a weak greeting, but she was too startled to do else.
He scowled, swiping at his hair, leaves showering down. “This cursed wood will be the death of me. If I find that damned owl, I’m going to throttle it, have it stuffed, and make a hat of it.” With a disgusted look, he yanked the twig from the tear in his shirt.
“What owl?”
“The one I was chasing.”
“You were chasing an owl.” She tried to keep from laughing, she really did.
His lips thinned. “The damned thing stole one of my sketches and flew off into the wood and then just dropped it, as if he’d seen enough.” Marco bent to dust his pants, pausing to yank a torn vine which had wound itself around his knee. “It wasn’t very far inside the woods. A few yards, at most. But after I reached the tree where he’d dropped the paper, it wasn’t there.” He straightened, his brow lowered. “I don’t understand how that could be. I saw it on the ground, but . . . Damn. I don’t know.”
Fascinated, she prodded him on. “What happened then?”
“I started to go back, but the damned thing hooted at me again. When I looked up, there he was, ten or so more yards into the woods, and he was holding my sketch.”
“How did he get it from—”
“Woman, how would I know?”
She bit her lip at his roar. When she could keep the giggle from her voice, she said, “You wouldn’t, of course.”
“You’re damned right I wouldn’t. It makes no sense, but there he was. So I ran at him as fast as I could and grabbed at the sketch. My fingers closed over it, but—” He shook his head. “He flew off. It was like he knew just when to take flight.”
“So you chased him some more. And tried to grab your paper some more.”
“And every time I reached him, he’d show up somewhere else, hooting at me, and I— Eventually, he stopped hooting, but it was too late for I was good and lost by then. I’ve been wandering in these woods for nigh on two hours now and—Good God, woman, will you stop laughing!”
“Sorry.” She gulped back another chuckle.
He put his fingertips to the cut on his cheek. “I’m glad I found you. You do know how to get back to Nimway?”
“Yes, and so does Angelica.”
“Thank God for that, at least. That owl . . . Dio, I sound crazed, even to my own ears.”
“No, you don’t. Anyone who knows Balesboro would know you’re not crazed.”
Marco thought he detected real sympathy in Charlotte’s voice, which was infinitely better than the laughter that she’d so far showered him with. “Thank you.” I think.
She turned back to the pool and gently slapped her feet on the water, smiling at the noise. “Balesboro is an odd wood. The villagers swear there’s magic here. I’ve seen a few things that have made me believe it, too.”
He took a step closer to the stream, looking around him for the first time. He was struck by the beauty of the place, although as beautiful as the water and trees and moss were, none compared to the vision in blue who even now was wiggling her toes in the still pool.
It was so idyllic here, and yet he’d sworn he would stay away from her. But he was hot and tired, and the stream – and she – looked so comfortable and idyllic that he wandered closer. “What magic have you seen in Balesboro?”
“Nothing any odder than an owl luring you ever deeper into the woods, but even that—” She pursed her lips, and he couldn’t help but admire the fullness of them. “When Caroline and I were young, we played all through Balesboro and we saw many inexplicable things. Lights that flickered, music playing where there were no instruments, and odd shadows that would flitter at the edge of your eyesight making you think you’d seen something impossible.”
“If I saw or heard any of those things, I would run all the way back to Italy and never return.”
She smiled and patted the rock on which she sat, her blue riding habit tucked around her. “Come and sit.”
He shouldn’t sit. He should go home and get back to work. But his cheek stung from the cut, and one knee had been sadly wrenched when he’d landed from his last leap at that blasted owl, so he came and took his place on the warm rock, close to her, but not too much so.
Instantly, the world seemed . . . better. It was the oddest thing, but all of his irritation, all of his fury, all of his worries about his work, his tormented feelings for Charlotte, and everything else seemed to seep out of him and into the warm rock. He patted it absently as he looked around. “This is nice.”
She smiled. “It is, isn’t it?”
“No. I mean it’s really nice. And nice isn’t even a strong enough word.” He considered it for a moment and then announced, “This is blissful.”
“It is. You should take off your boots. The water feels wonderful.”
“I’m fine just sitting, thank you.” He tried not to look at her bared legs, and failed miserably, and could only be happy when she didn’t notice.
They were silent a moment, the sound of rushing water and the buzzing of bees harmonizing around them.
Marco looked up at the green trees swaying overhead. “People always talk about how green England is. I never understood that until I came here.” He looked back at Charlotte, thinking that she looked as if she belonged here, a wood nymph with hair the color of the sunset and eyes like the deepest night sky.
He leaned her way the slightest bit, his shoulder brushing hers. When she didn’t move, he hid a smile. “So . . . you’ve never been lost in these woods?”
“Never. My mother says Balesboro knows those of us from Nimway and protects us.”
“Yes, well, it tortures those who are not.” He showed her one of his hands, which was streaked with scratches from brambles that seemed to grow out of nowhere as he’d lurched through what had seemed like a hundred walls of thorns.
She winced at the sight of his scratched hands. “Oh dear.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a kerchief, and then bent down to dip it in the water.
“There’s no need for that. I’ll be f—"
She placed the wet kerchief on his hand, the pain instantly easing.
Well
. That was something. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She looked back at her feet where they were dipped into the water and she wiggled her toes. “One time, when I was a child, I got in an argument with Papa and was so angry with him that I ran away. I packed a clean chemise and a pillow in a hatbox, stole an apple from the larder, and left.”
“How old were you?”
“Six.”
“And you came into these woods alone?”
She laughed softly. “I had the wild idea that I would live here until winter. By that time, my Papa would have decided he was very, very sorry for having been so stern with me.”
“One apple wouldn’t have lasted that long.”
“Oh, it didn’t last the hour, for I hadn’t had my breakfast yet. But the Wood seemed to know I wasn’t yet ready to return home. I found berries and nuts, and I spent the whole day here, chasing butterflies, and red song birds. I found a heart shaped rock that’s still on my dressing table. Oh, and two bright blue feathers.”
“I’m surprised you bothered to go home.”
A soft smile touched her mouth. “I might not have, but Caroline came. I don’t know how she found me, but she did.”
“Did you argue with her about returning home? It sounds as if you were having a wonderful time.”
“I didn’t argue. She said it was time to go back, so I went.”
“And was your Papa cured of his irritation by then?”
“He was very happy to see me, but not as happy as I was to see him.” She kicked at the water, the droplets flashing a faint rainbow over the green hazed rocks.
God, but he would love to sculpt her as she was now, her prim habit covering her to her neck, her rumpled skirts pulled up to reveal her delicate ankles and lush calves. He would call it Propriety In The Wild, he decided, drinking her with his gaze. “Why did you come today? Are you angry with someone this time, too?”