High on the slope beyond the bridge Jack Holland reined in and put his hand to his eyes to shield them from a shaft of sunlight which pierced the web of trees. He stared down the hillside toward the pair on the bridge. Slowly he took off his top hat and ran his fingers through his burnished hair, his fingers pausing in their movement as the frightened struggles of the girl became more obvious. Perhaps Stratford’s daughter was not playing the coquette with Jameson after all. Jack replaced his top hat and reached inside his dark blue coat.
Terror infused Sarah’s struggles now and she beat her fists against Ralph helplessly. Tears almost blinded her and she could not speak, for her voice seemed paralyzed. Her efforts to escape seemed only to spur him on still more.
A shot rang out and a bullet whined against the parapet, striking splinters in all directions. Ralph released her instantly, cursing and staring up toward the solitary figure on the bay. “Holland! I recognize that red-headed devil even from this distance!”
But he spoke to the empty air for she had seized her chance and was running toward her mount, which seemed completely unaffected by the pistol shot. But Ralph’s stallion was gone, its frightened hooves drumming on the mossy ground, its ears flat and its tail flying. It is no easy matter to run for your life on soft ground wearing riding boots, but somehow Ralph accomplished the impossible as he saw Jack begin to descend the slope.
Sarah’s shoes sank into the soft, sucking mud at the water’s edge where the placid mare drank with irritating calm. The mud was slippery and she lost her foothold. With a cry she toppled over into the ice-cold water. The pins which held her hair were dislodged and the black tresses tumbled down over her face. Her silly hat with its ostrich feathers was snatched away and bobbed like a tiny boat upon the stream, vanishing beneath the span of the bridge. Her dismay was complete and she sat in the water, weeping bitterly.
Jack’s horse carried him swiftly to the stream and he was soon reaching out to help her, but she sat there crying. He had no intention of stepping into the water in his excellent boots, and sighed as he wondered how to dispel her tears.
“Miss Stratford, do you intend to remain there all day?” He spoke to no avail, for she continued to sit looking very foolish but unable to help herself.
His sharp gray eyes caught a new movement high on the hill, a figure in a bright purple riding habit and wearing a hat of the same vivid color. Lady Hermione Stratford! What was Edward’s fearsome mother doing here? No doubt looking for the missing heiress, as he himself had been. His thin lips curved into a cold smile and he looked back at Sarah.
“Madam, if you wish to be discovered thus by Lady Hermione, then by all means do so, but I’d advise you to come out now and save appearances all you can.”
His bantering tone penetrated at last. She struggled to her feet, her heart thundering with still more dismay, and her skirts clinging to every curve of her body. Jack stared at her. She thought nothing of his gaze; she could think only of the imminence of Lady Hermione, the one person who had done more than anyone else to make her life at Rook House a misery. She reached out to take Jack’s hand, her teeth chattering and her sobs gradually subsiding.
He removed his coat and placed it around her shivering shoulders, glancing up the hillside to see that Hermione’s mount was coming down toward the bridge. Sarah’s eyes bore a haunted look as she saw the splash of purple moving relentlessly nearer.
This was the end of her then. She would have to return to Longwicke—to the advances of Squire Eldon, who had made no secret of his intentions. There was nowhere else in the world for her to go except whence she had come. She swallowed. The tale of today’s exploits would be the delighted talk of the drawing room this afternoon, and would be whispered about over dinner. She had by her actions made her father look foolish, a laughingstock, and had played straight into the hands of Lady Hermione and cousin Edward.
Edward would make his protests loudly, and with justification, and her father would almost certainly be forced to pay attention. Unexpectedly she smiled, wiping her face with a muddy hand which left a streak across her white cheek. Well, she certainly was a poor judge of character, for she could hardly have been more wrong about Ralph Jameson.
Lady Hermione drew her mount to a standstill, her little eyes fixed on Sarah’s odd appearance. This was all very interesting. How wise she had been to come looking for Stratford’s brat. And here she was—with Jack Holland, of all men! What had been going on? She noticed the resignation on Sarah’s face, making her look like a whipped dog. It seemed too good to be true. Hermione leaned forward.
“Whatever has happened, Mr. Holland?”
“Miss Stratford had rather a nasty fall from her horse. It was fortunate that I saw her and hurried to help.”
Sarah blinked, her lips parting. He was not going to tell anything! Her dull eyes brightened and hope struggled back into her. She loathed the prospect of marriage with her cousin Edward, but she was frightened by the thought of returning to her previous life. She wished desperately that she had never come to meet Ralph, and now it seemed that Mr. Holland was giving her a second chance. Jack felt her back straighten a little and saw her raise her head. A little of her former self reemerged and he liked what he saw.
Hermione, meanwhile, was gaping at the gray mare. A fall? From that? One might as well tumble off a sofa! She sniffed, her mouth sliding sideways disbelievingly. There must be more to it.
Jack maneuvered Sarah toward the mare. “Pray continue with your plans, Lady Hermione. I’ll accompany Miss Stratford back to the house.”
He spoke politely, but Hermione realized she was being dismissed. Her eyes hardened. She had never liked him, for she had never been able to get the better of him. He rode so high in the land, had so much influence at court and was so close to the Regent. He was accepted by all the best clubs and his yellow phaeton was one of the finest sights in Hyde Park.
He was everywhere, did everything, and knew everyone who was anyone. He had vanquished Edward at the gaming tables, and had beaten him too in a horse race of some importance the previous season—and what was more he chose to remind everyone of the fact by bringing that cursed bay stallion with him to Rook House.
And why, after all this time, had he suddenly decided to accept an invitation here? Bitterly, Hermione thought of her brother-in-law’s delight at discovering that the great Jack Holland was at long last honoring Rook House with his presence. She cursed the all-consuming ambition of Stratford to be one of the inner circle of gentlemen surrounding the Prince Regent.
Stratford was one of the richest men in England, so why had there to be a need to bother with people like Holland? Hermione felt as if her mouth was filled with vinegar as she stared at Jack. Only his influence at court gave him any consequence, she thought furiously, for he was a man of little true breeding. Her blue blood was all she had left to flaunt before him, and she did so, often. But now she decided prudently to leave, because for her purposes it was better that Sarah should return to the house with Holland, alone, and in such a state of disarray!
Hermione turned her horse and smiled unpleasantly; very well, she would go back to join the hunt—and spread the tale of what she had come upon in the woods. The smile became feline. Aye, she would spread the scandal thickly, with perhaps the merest soupçon of a raised eyebrow. All was fair in love and war, and Hermione considered herself most definitely at war with Sarah—and with Jack Holland.
Jack recognized the expression on her face. Ah well, there was little he could do to prevent what she now intended, but he would do all in his power to keep the real truth from the sour old harridan and her avaricious son. He lifted Sarah on to the broad back of her mare and then mounted himself, leading both horses slowly away from the bridge.
Hermione watched until they were out of sight before riding back to join her companions who still hunted noisily over the surrounding countryside. In her mind she turned over what she had seen, drawing from it every tiny vestige of scandal, and choosing carefully what she would say. She must take care with this, for Stratford was perverse enough to take his daughter’s side, especially if Holland’s name was mentioned. And that would never do. Deep in her schemings, Hermione rode back up the slope.
* * *
For a long while Sarah did not speak as she looked ahead at Jack’s straight back. She owed him much, for he had not only saved her from Ralph’s advances, but also from Lady Hermione’s spite. Why had he bothered with her? He had hardly spoken to her until this day.
They reached the edge of the woods and were looking up toward Rook House with its mellow stone walls and square towers. The reeds of the moat swayed, although the water itself was invisible from where they were. The rooks which gave the house its name wheeled above the roofs, excited by the hunt.
“Mr. Holland.” Her voice was husky with the cold so she cleared her throat and repeated, “Mr. Holland.”
He turned to look at her. Would nothing dim her beauty? Even the fall into the stream had done little to spoil her loveliness. Her hazel eyes were large as she spoke again. “Mr. Holland, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Sarah, I think I’d so much prefer to hear my first name upon your lips. ‘Mr. Holland’ sounds so stiff and formal. Please call me Jack.”
Wariness crept into her eyes. After her experience with Ralph she trusted no one.
He smiled then. “Don’t look like that, for I mean you no harm. It’s just that I abhor being called ‘Mr. Holland’ by one whom I admire and like.”
“Until this moment you have shown no inclination to either liking or admiring me, Mr. Holland. I’m deeply in your debt and the feeling is very uncomfortable.” There was an edge to her voice.
“That’s the spirit, Sarah. Trust no one in this life and you’ll do well enough.” His voice bore a wealth of feeling.
She shivered, her teeth beginning to chatter again. He kicked his heel and the horses moved off toward the house.