CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Felicity had grown more and more uncomfortable the longer they had stayed on the beach. She had wanted to enjoy the beauty and magnificence of the place, but the men had all become more boisterous and showed less and less restraint, Mr. Ratley included.
When they had all gotten back on their horses, she was relieved, but she dreaded having to deal with her horse again. She’d never been very good with horses, and though this one seemed fairly gentle, she also startled at every little thing.
She explained the situation to Lady Blackstone, who kindly positioned her horse on Miss Mayson’s left, while Mr. Ratley’s horse was on her right. Riding between the two, her mare would have little choice but to stay on course.
But as they started on their way, Mr. Ratley reached out and touched the back of Felicity’s neck. She flinched and leaned away from him. Heat rose inside her at the inappropriateness of his action. He was grinning.
“Please do not do that, Mr. Ratley.”
“What do you mean?”
A moment later, she felt his hand on her neck again.
She jerked away from him, and he laughed, a throaty sound. Just then, Mr. Ratley’s stallion used his head to nudge her mare’s neck. Her mare snorted and tossed her head, edging closer to Lady Blackstone’s horse. Felicity did her best to pull the horse back to the center of the trail.
Mr. Ratley’s horse nudged Felicity’s horse again, this time more aggressively. Felicity’s horse reared, her front hooves lifting off the ground.
Felicity leaned forward, terrified she’d slide right off the sidesaddle. She scrambled to hang on, and the reins slipped from her fingers. The horse dropped back to all fours, jarring Felicity’s teeth together so hard her vision went black for a moment.
As soon as the mare’s front hooves were back on the ground, she bolted.
Felicity grabbed the horse’s mane, holding on as tight as she could. The pommel of the saddle stabbed her stomach, making it hard to breathe.
She managed to glance to her left and saw blue ocean instead of green grass. At any moment the horse’s hooves could slip right off, sending them both to their death.
Darkness started closing in on all sides. She was about to faint.
Something tightened around her ribs, a steel band, or perhaps someone’s arm. She felt herself being lifted. She floated above the ground as everything went black.
Philip snatched Miss Mayson off her horse and let his own horse slow and stop. He was holding Miss Mayson’s limp body rather awkwardly, so he pulled her upright in front of him, seating her in the front of his saddle and letting her upper body slump against his chest.
Thanks be to God, he had reached her in time. Her head rested on his shoulder, as she was obviously in a dead faint. Her horse had slowed her frantic run as soon as Philip had taken Miss Mayson off the mare’s back, and the horse now stood fifty yards ahead, calmly grazing.
After carrying Miss Mayson into her room after she fainted, and holding her up after she nearly fell into the printing press, it was the third time Philip had held a woman in his arms. He had no sisters and no other experiences to compare it to, but holding Miss Mayson made him want to hold her forever.
“Oh, good heavens, Mr. Merrick.” Lady Blackstone rode up beside him. Several more horses galloped up behind her.
Mr. Ratley galloped up, stopping his horse short, sending rocks and dust flying.
Miss Mayson began to rouse, her head lolling on his shoulder. He held her firmly to him so she wouldn’t fall, but everyone was gathering around them now, staring.
“You are quite the heroic rider.” Lady Blackstone looked almost amused. “What do you say, Mr. Ratley?” she called. “Mr. Merrick has saved your fiancée from falling over a cliff to her death.”
Mr. Ratley scowled at Philip. “She would not have fallen over the cliff. Her horse is over there.”
“Rather ungallant of you, Mr. Ratley,” Lady Blackstone said, “not to at least thank him.”
Ratley’s drunken face was flushed, and he scowled and barely glanced at Miss Mayson.
Miss Mayson made a sound like a deep sigh, then said in a groggy voice, “What happened?” She lifted her head off his shoulder. “Did the horse fall?”
“No, my dear,” Lady Blackstone said. “It is a miracle she did not, and that Mr. Merrick was able to rescue you.”
“I could have rescued her,” Mr. Ratley said loudly.
Several of the men laughed long and hard. Ratley glared all around.
Philip said softly, “Are you hurt, Miss Mayson?”
“No, I don’t think so.” She looked him in the eye. In her disheveled state—strands of hair falling against her cheeks—she was so pretty it took his breath away. “You saved me, didn’t you?” Her voice was so soft, he barely heard her.
“I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“I am very grateful.”
And he was grateful too. Even though his chance of sneaking away was probably gone now, saving her had been worth it.
Felicity was comfortable sitting across Mr. Merrick’s saddle, leaning against his chest. But then she realized how many people were staring at them.
“Mr. Ratley,” Lady Blackstone snapped, “get over here and help your fiancée down from Mr. Merrick’s horse.”
Mr. Ratley appeared below her and reached out his arms.
Would her legs hold her? If only she could stay with Mr. Merrick. If only he were her fiancé instead of Mr. Ratley.
But she did not have the luxury of such a thought.
She placed her hands on Mr. Ratley’s shoulders and let him help her down. Her knees wobbled, but they held.
“Miss Mayson,” Lady Blackstone said, loudly enough for the entire party to hear, “are you capable of riding back to Doverton Hall, or should we hire you a carriage?”
The thought of getting back on the mare that had careened out of control and nearly killed her sent a shudder through her body. But she bit her lip. Everyone was watching her. No one else seemed to care that she was frightened, and somehow she could not bear to let them see her looking anything other than strong and brave. She squared her shoulders and clenched her fists as she neared the grazing mare.
“I am well enough to ride.”
Steeling herself, she took hold of the saddle pommel and placed her foot in the stirrup as Mr. Ratley leaned down to help boost her up. But when he leaned, he stumbled and kept stumbling until he bumped into her horse’s flank.
“I’m all right,” he said, a smile on his face. He came near Felicity again, and the smell of brandy on his breath made her cough and lean away from him. He didn’t seem to notice and stooped again, offering his hands as a stirrup. Felicity placed her foot in them and pulled herself into the saddle.
“Thank you, Mr. Ratley,” she said, but he was already walking away, swaying as he went.
Lady Blackstone and Mr. Merrick had come alongside her with their own horses, and she heard Mr. Merrick address Lady Blackstone.
“Since it was Mr. Ratley’s stallion that nipped Miss Mayson’s horse, causing her to bolt, might I suggest that someone else ride beside Miss Mayson?”
“Mr. Ratley,” Lady Blackstone called.
“One moment, please.” Mr. Ratley was still trying to mount his horse, which was refusing to stand still.
A scowl crossed Lady Blackstone’s face. She muttered, “A man who can’t control his own horse and doesn’t know when to stop drinking . . .” She raised her voice. “Mr. Ratley, Mr. Merrick will take your place beside Miss Mayson. You are not to ride behind her either. Her horse is too skittish to be anywhere near that beast of yours. You may ride at the rear. Now come along. I wish to get home before sunset.”
Lady Blackstone set her horse into motion, and they were on their way once again.
Felicity’s hands still trembled, but she was determined to make her horse mind her. She would not be timid this time.
Mr. Merrick sat very tall in his saddle, looking straight ahead, and Lady Blackstone was doing the same, but all Felicity could think was that she’d almost died ten minutes earlier, and everyone was so calm. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She instead put her mind on Aunt Agnes. What might she be doing today? Undoubtedly, she had already finished reading Mr. Birtwistle’s book.
A memory flashed before her eyes of the blue sea below her as her horse had skidded inches from the edge of the white chalk cliff. Her heart started to pound, so she pushed the memory away and replaced it with the image of Mr. Birtwistle talking with Aunt Agnes, the way his eyes fastened on Auntie’s, and the way she smiled at him. Felicity had been so surprised to witness her aunt flirting.
But her mind kept switching back to her terrifying ordeal. How foolish had she looked, clutching her horse’s neck after stupidly dropping the reins? And why did she have to faint again? Her face tingled in embarrassment. Once again, Mr. Merrick had saved her. The poor man. He knew he’d have to risk his life to infiltrate a gang of revolutionaries, but he could not have known he’d have to risk his life to save a girl who couldn’t seem to stop fainting at the worst possible moments.
Tears rushed back into her eyes. She had to stop these thoughts.
She longed to start a conversation to take her mind off herself, but Lady Blackstone’s expression was stony, and she probably should not attract attention to Mr. Merrick by speaking with him. He would not wish it, certainly.
But she couldn’t help remembering the deep resonance of his whispered words, Are you hurt, Miss Mayson? And later, I hope I didn’t hurt you. Her heart thumped hard against her chest. He must care about her, at least as much as any kindhearted man would. He’d even drawn attention to himself by suggesting to Lady Blackstone that he, instead of her fiancé, should ride beside Felicity. And how grateful she was to him for that! It was Mr. Ratley’s uncontrolled stallion that had caused her mare to bolt, and Mr. Ratley was too full of brandy to save her. If she actually intended to marry the man, she would feel humiliated at his behavior.
But with Mr. Merrick beside her, she felt safe, even on her skittish mare.
Thank you, God, for Mr. Merrick. She couldn’t help glancing over at him. How handsome and strong he was. He must have plucked her right out of the saddle of the galloping horse.
A bawdy drinking song broke out behind them. Mr. Merrick met her eye for the first time since they had remounted their horses. He gave her a sympathetic smile, then looked at the trail again.
Lady Blackstone’s scowl deepened. She turned to Felicity. “Men are just overgrown boys. We have to be their mothers, even when they’re grown and married. I hope you will take Mr. Ratley’s brandy away from him when he starts drinking too much. You should take a firm hand with him, Felicity. He requires it.”
“Yes, my lady. That sounds very wise.” But she had no intention of taking any kind of hand with him, firm or otherwise. She was getting out of this nightmare, the sooner the better, and she would have to trust Providence to help her.
Philip sat down at the dinner table, the stiff folded papers jabbing his side.
It was the evening after their ride to the seaside, and the men were either still drunk or already feeling the effects from the morning’s drinking. But Lady Blackstone insisted on dinner protocol, so they gathered and ate and talked. Most of them were quite subdued.
The men’s headaches should work in Philip’s favor. He could sneak out of the house after everyone had gone to bed, saddle his horse, and ride to London to deliver his evidence. The Home Office could arrest all the leaders before Lady Blackstone could warn them, and the revolution would be ended before it began. The public might never know how close they had come to being taken over by this band of would-be assassins and usurpers.
“Felicity,” Lady Blackstone said rather loudly. “I still have not seen any of your letters in the outgoing post.”
“Oh, I am not much of a correspondent, I’m afraid. My mother doesn’t mind. She has so many children, she cannot write to me very often, so she doesn’t expect many letters from me.”
Philip wondered how much of it was true. But he could not fault her for not writing her mother, given their situation.
How might he and Miss Mayson have got on if they had not both had to practice so much deception? He might have danced with her at a ball and would have certainly found her very beautiful and alluring. He would have admired her smile and her easy way of conversing, her delicate laugh and the modesty in her expressions. He might have asked her for a second dance and even a third. He might have called upon her the next day.
No. Unfortunately, he probably wouldn’t have. Miss Mayson possessed no fortune and neither did he. What did he have to offer her? He lived at his parents’ town house in London and went to work every day at the Home Office at the Horse Guards in Whitehall. On the contrary, he would not have shown her undue attention. He was too much of a gentleman to sport with any girl’s affections. But Miss Mayson . . . she made him hope . . . that he might make his fortune somehow, and that she might like him as himself, Philip McDowell, not Philip Merrick, the spy.
“Mr. Merrick, now that everyone is present, I have something to say.”
The two footmen at the end of the room moved closer to the table, and two more footmen suddenly entered the room and stood by the two exits.
Every muscle in his body tensed.