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Authors: Deb Marlowe
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what troubled her.
He shook it off. Breathing deep, Stephen stepped forward. He called out to her before he could change his mind. ‘Mae? Good morning.’
She turned and he nearly stopped in his tracks. The wary distrust on her face was such a shocking contrast to the enthusiasm with which she had greeted him all of their lives. He pushed on, but that look gave him pause in a way that all of his reservations had not. He summoned the image of Fincote’s empty courses, her hopeful people, and he spoke again. ‘Would you mind if I joined you? I was hoping for a chance to speak with you today.’
She sighed. ‘I thought we had agreed to keep away from each other, Stephen?’
‘We did. But I believe I owe you an apology for the harshness of my words last night. I. You caught me by surprise.’ He’d reached the curved bench. He gestured, silently asking permission to sit.
With bad grace she moved aside. She fixed a sterneye on him and shuffled a little farther away as he took his seat. ‘It
was
unexpected, but I should have been prepared.’ She turned her gaze away from him, looking up at the treetops. ‘I think our first instincts were correct. It seems we both have work to do here. Why don’t we just leave each other to it?’
Stephen bit back a bitter laugh. It was almost reassuring, really, to see that nothing had changed. This was Mae—and she wasn’t going to make this easy on him. ‘I can only wish you better luck with your mission than I am having with mine,’ he said with all seriousness.
She didn’t answer right away, just tore a piece from her crusty loaf. As if it had been a signal, the air grew abruptly heavy with excited chirping and the flurry of wings. In an instant a veritable swarm of sparrows, finches and swallows swooped down from the trees.
Not even Stephen could hold on to his sobriety at the sight of them, preening and pecking, squabbling like fishwives over food that hadn’t even been thrown yet. He chuckled. She held her silence and he did too, sure her innate curiosity would take the conversation where he needed it to go.
‘I heard talk of your racecourse last night,’ she said eventually. ‘I’m sorry to hear that you’ve already hit a snag.’
He sighed. ‘A wall is a more apt description, after that contretemps with Ryeton.’
She glanced in his direction, then quickly looked away. ‘I hope you are not regretting your actions last night? You gave that horrid man just the set-down he deserved.’
Her approbation warmed him—and gave birth to atiny thread of hope. ‘I will never regret defending Matthew. I’d do it again, a thousand times over. But I do regret the necessity of it,’ he admitted. ‘Ryeton’s good will was essential to my plans.’
She said nothing, just cocked an inquisitive brow at him. But something in the set of her shoulders told him that she didn’t expect him to explain.
Stephen drew a measured breath. This was where he had to step carefully. Mae was bright, inquisitive—and relentless. Worse, she saw far more than most others ever did. It was what made her so dangerous, and him so wary. It was what had ultimately led to their last, disastrous confrontation.
Yet Stephen knew he owed her more than glib words and skilful evasion. The answer he would have given anyone else, that is. She deserved the truth—both the facts and the gut-felt emotion that went with it.
He looked away. ‘If you don’t throw some of that bread, we’re going to be besieged.’ And then he forced himself to meet her gaze square on. ‘Perhaps I should start at the beginning?’
Her eyes widened in surprise and she nodded.
He drew a deep breath—and found himself unable to do it. Not even with Mae, perhaps
especially
not with Mae, could he lay bare the devastation he had discovered at Fincote, and the equal damage it had wrought upon him. So he deliberately skipped those details and concentrated instead on the birth of his plans.
She watched him, all the
He shook it off. Breathing deep, Stephen stepped forward. He called out to her before he could change his mind. ‘Mae? Good morning.’
She turned and he nearly stopped in his tracks. The wary distrust on her face was such a shocking contrast to the enthusiasm with which she had greeted him all of their lives. He pushed on, but that look gave him pause in a way that all of his reservations had not. He summoned the image of Fincote’s empty courses, her hopeful people, and he spoke again. ‘Would you mind if I joined you? I was hoping for a chance to speak with you today.’
She sighed. ‘I thought we had agreed to keep away from each other, Stephen?’
‘We did. But I believe I owe you an apology for the harshness of my words last night. I. You caught me by surprise.’ He’d reached the curved bench. He gestured, silently asking permission to sit.
With bad grace she moved aside. She fixed a sterneye on him and shuffled a little farther away as he took his seat. ‘It
was
unexpected, but I should have been prepared.’ She turned her gaze away from him, looking up at the treetops. ‘I think our first instincts were correct. It seems we both have work to do here. Why don’t we just leave each other to it?’
Stephen bit back a bitter laugh. It was almost reassuring, really, to see that nothing had changed. This was Mae—and she wasn’t going to make this easy on him. ‘I can only wish you better luck with your mission than I am having with mine,’ he said with all seriousness.
She didn’t answer right away, just tore a piece from her crusty loaf. As if it had been a signal, the air grew abruptly heavy with excited chirping and the flurry of wings. In an instant a veritable swarm of sparrows, finches and swallows swooped down from the trees.
Not even Stephen could hold on to his sobriety at the sight of them, preening and pecking, squabbling like fishwives over food that hadn’t even been thrown yet. He chuckled. She held her silence and he did too, sure her innate curiosity would take the conversation where he needed it to go.
‘I heard talk of your racecourse last night,’ she said eventually. ‘I’m sorry to hear that you’ve already hit a snag.’
He sighed. ‘A wall is a more apt description, after that contretemps with Ryeton.’
She glanced in his direction, then quickly looked away. ‘I hope you are not regretting your actions last night? You gave that horrid man just the set-down he deserved.’
Her approbation warmed him—and gave birth to atiny thread of hope. ‘I will never regret defending Matthew. I’d do it again, a thousand times over. But I do regret the necessity of it,’ he admitted. ‘Ryeton’s good will was essential to my plans.’
She said nothing, just cocked an inquisitive brow at him. But something in the set of her shoulders told him that she didn’t expect him to explain.
Stephen drew a measured breath. This was where he had to step carefully. Mae was bright, inquisitive—and relentless. Worse, she saw far more than most others ever did. It was what made her so dangerous, and him so wary. It was what had ultimately led to their last, disastrous confrontation.
Yet Stephen knew he owed her more than glib words and skilful evasion. The answer he would have given anyone else, that is. She deserved the truth—both the facts and the gut-felt emotion that went with it.
He looked away. ‘If you don’t throw some of that bread, we’re going to be besieged.’ And then he forced himself to meet her gaze square on. ‘Perhaps I should start at the beginning?’
Her eyes widened in surprise and she nodded.
He drew a deep breath—and found himself unable to do it. Not even with Mae, perhaps
especially
not with Mae, could he lay bare the devastation he had discovered at Fincote, and the equal damage it had wrought upon him. So he deliberately skipped those details and concentrated instead on the birth of his plans.
She watched him, all the
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