A wayward lock of hair tickled Clover’s nose and she absently pushed it off her face as she studied the lists spread out on the bedcovers in front of her. She had carefully itemized and priced everything in the house they had decided to sell, even though she knew the prices would be negotiable. It had kept her very busy in the week since her wedding. Because not every potential buyer would have cash to spare, she had also made up a list of items they would accept in barter. Except for tidily copying each list over five times so that there would be enough for buyers to peruse and the sellers to refer to, she felt she was ready for the sale they would hold today.

She glanced at her new husband and decided she would not pester him to look over her lists. He deserved a good sleep. For the last three days he, Shelton, and Lambert had worked very hard. In addition to the horse trading and buying of supplies they needed to complete before they began the trip back to Kentucky, they had helped her get everything that needed to be sold arranged in the downstairs rooms. She resisted the urge to smooth her hand over Ballard’s broad back or burrow her fingers in his thick raven hair, and turned her attention back to her lists. A moment later a long dark hand appeared on her nightshift-clad thigh, which was exposed by her crosslegged position on the bed.

“I thought you were asleep,” she murmured, glancing at him again.

“I just thought I would wait until ye were done ogling me,” Ballard drawled.

“I was not ogling you,” she said haughtily as he rose, naked, and disappeared into the small privy chamber.

“Admiring me then,” he called back, and shut the door.

“What vanity,” she scolded, but smiled.

Clover shook her head and chuckled. So far their hasty marriage was working out well. She knew it was far too soon to tell whether it would be a success, but she did not think it was foolish to see their good beginning as an encouraging sign. A great deal of the awkwardness which might have come between them, simply because they were comparative strangers, did not seem to exist.

Several things about Ballard were already apparent despite their short acquaintance. He was a very clean man, and although rough in his manner, he was far more of a gentleman than many who had been born and bred to be one.

When Ballard returned to the room and walked to their bed, Clover stared blindly at her lists. It occurred to her that Ballard could do with a touch more modesty. She was not sure she would ever get used to seeing so much man stride around unclothed.

Ballard smiled and Clover blushed as he sat down behind her. He draped his arms around her and stretched out his long legs, trapping her between them. As he nuzzled her neck, she felt both contented and aroused.

“What do ye have there, love?” he asked.

She found it difficult to think clearly when he was gently caressing her bare arms and kissing her nape, but managed to reply in a faintly unsteady voice, “I have been making up some lists. One is what we have to sell and one is what we might take in trade if a buyer does not have the necessary coin. Sadly, that is the situation for many people.”

“Have ye got things such as sugar and flour on that barter list?”

“Yes, right here,” she said with a touch of confusion, for he could see the lists for himself. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Ballard, can you read?”

“A wee bit. I ken enough to see what jar holds the poison.”

“Well, I can teach you.” She turned to face him, unable to hide her eagerness.

“Can ye now?”

“Yes. It will be something I can give you. I mean, you have given me so much, I should like to repay that somehow.”

Ballard flopped back onto the pillows and tugged her down so that she was sprawled atop him. “Ye are already giving me plenty, lass.”

“Well, I was not, er, counting that sort of thing,” she murmured as he took away the lists she still held and placed them on a small table by the bed.

“That sort of thing counts very high with a mon.” He slid his hands up under her shift to cup her slender backside.

“Ballard, ‘tis morning!” she whispered in shock.

“What a clever wee darlin’ ye are.” He laughed softly as he kissed her throat.

“Ballard, I am going to hit you.” She smiled faintly, for her husky voice, thickened with the desire he was stirring inside her, completely undermined her threat.

“Mmm. Later, sweeting. Ah, lass, ye are a fine mix of lady and wanton. There ye are, blushing and looking so prettily innocent. Yet I ken that if I do this”—he slid his hands over her backside and pressed her body against his—“it starts your blood running hot and then ye meet my passion with all the fire any mon could ask for.”

Clover knew she was blushing even redder. She wanted to scold him for speaking so plainly, but then he slid his big callused hands up her sides and covered her breasts. As he kissed her, she decided to reprimand him later.

When Ballard rose from their bed once again, he stretched with pure male satisfaction. Clover roused herself from her sated lethargy enough to give his taut backside a sharp slap. She giggled when he yelped, more from surprise than from pain. He whirled to look at her and she smiled sweetly.

“I told you I would hit you.”

He tugged on his drawers and regarded her with mock sternness. “If I didnae have work to do, ye would pay for that impudence, lass.” He continued to dress as he asked, “Ye didnae put the mattresses and pillows on that list, did ye?”

Clover bit back a smile and shook her head. Ballard, Shelton, and Lambert had been possessive of the bedding from the very beginning. The feather mattress and pillows, fine linen sheets, and warm coverlets were a great luxury, and worth paying extra to ship them down the Ohio River. Ballard was determined to take every piece of bedding, having stated firmly that there would undoubtedly be a need for spare bedding. It was an attitude that contrasted sharply with the extreme care he had taken in selecting the other things they would take with them to Kentucky.

As soon as Ballard left the room, Clover hurried to get dressed. Her thoughts were fixed on what her husband was allowing them to take to Kentucky. Although he had been relatively lenient, he had made it clear that usefulness and necessity were the criteria for any choice. He took all the bedding, but not all the beds, for he felt something just as good could be bought or made in Kentucky. Clover shared some of her mother’s sorrow at parting with so many of their possessions, but she believed Ballard was being not only practical but also fair.

She pushed aside her musings as she finished pinning up her hair and quickly went downstairs. Despite Molly’s dire warnings that she would get stomach pains, Clover rushed through her breakfast. She was not sure how she could have moved any faster, but she had only just finished making copies of her lists when people began to arrive to see what was being offered for sale.

The morning sped by and was already over before Clover found a moment simply to stand back and take a few relaxing breaths. She thought briefly of her sister Alice, who had marched in at the very start of the sale. Alice had picked up the little table she had coveted, slapped the money for it into Clover’s hand, and left. Clover had pocketed the money and sworn that she would not allow her sister’s pettiness to ruin the day. The pleasure she felt over the success of the sale faded abruptly when she finally located her husband. Sarah Marsten was standing much too close to Ballard as far as Clover was concerned and the woman did not seem especially interested in the oak sideboard beside which they stood. Clover told herself not to be jealous, but little good that did.

Ballard frowned down at the fulsome Sarah pressing embarrassingly close to him. He had the distinct feeling that she was playing some sort of game, but he was not sure what it was. Clearly, despite her claims, she was not really interested in buying any of the goods Clover was offering for sale.

“We are willing to take something in trade,” he said, stepping back from her. “Ye dinnae have to pay in coin.”

Sarah stepped closer and stroked his arm with one gloved hand. “Now, what could I possibly have that you might want?”

When she subtly rubbed her breasts against his arm, Ballard lost all doubt about what she was up to. For just a moment he was flattered, then he grew angry. The woman had not wanted him when he had been available. Now that he was married and could never be more than a lover, she was eager to have him. He might not be good enough for marriage, but he would suffice for stud service. Sarah felt safe in playing her games with him now, for she knew he would not trouble her with expectations of permanence.

He stepped away from her again. “‘Tis clear that ye have nae quite made up your mind, Miss Sarah. Ye just give me a holler when ye do decide.”

He walked away, shaking his head. Did Sarah really think he was that dumb? Even if he was stupid enough to want to indulge in an affair with her, he certainly would not start one with his wife, her kin, and half the town of Langleyville watching!

Clover breathed a sigh of relief as she watched Ballard leave Sarah. She admitted she had been both worried and frightened by what had appeared to be happening between the pair. The way Ballard had marched away, a deep scowl on his face, eased her concern.

She decided she would puzzle over her feelings later and turned all her attention back to the sale. By the time the last customer had left in the late afternoon, Clover heartily wished she had made some attempt to keep an eye on Ballard and Sarah. Both were gone. As she asked the others if they had seen her husband, it became painfully clear that the last anyone had seen of him, he had been helping Sarah Marsten’s groom carry the sideboard outside, with Sarah following close behind.

With a muttered curse, Ballard helped set the sideboard down and watched Sarah’s groom nearly run out of her dining room. Sarah then ordered her timid aunt to leave and Ballard wondered how Sarah’s parents could have thought the old woman a proper chaperone while they jaunted all around Europe. He then looked at Sarah, who smiled sweetly and urged him to come into the parlor for a cool drink before he returned home. It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse, but he nodded curtly. It was about time he set Miss Sarah Marsten straight about a few things. There was only a little time remaining before he left for Kentucky and he did not want the woman stirring up trouble.

Once Sarah had served tall glasses of chilled lemonade, she insisted on sitting as close to him as possible on her ornate settee.

“There, is this not just like before?” Sarah asked, pressing her side against his.

“Nay, it isnae, Miss Sarah. I am a wedded mon now,” Ballard replied.

“Oh, Ballard dearest, whyever did you do it? Surely you did not take that insignificant little episode with Thomas to heart? ‘Twas just a little flirtation.”

“I have never been partial to games. I am not partial to the one ye are playing now either. I am not a free mon.” He set his empty glass aside and turned toward her to say good-bye.

All at once Sarah flung herself into his arms. “How can you prefer that scrawny child to me? I can give you all a man needs.”

Ballard suddenly realized that Sarah was probably not boasting, that this fine lady he had seriously considered marrying was well-versed in the bedroom arts. The way she moved her hands over his body was proof of that. Sarah’s parents had obviously left the woman alone far too often. To his shame, when she rubbed her hand over the front of his breeches, desire hardened him. Ballard shoved her away and stood up.

“I am not interested, lass,” he snapped.

“Not interested? You prefer that fleshless Sherwood girl to me?”

“I do, for all my fool body perks up in interest at a skilled touch. Ye cannae be giving me anything I cannae get at home. I dinnae lie in a bed so cold I have to look elsewhere for some loving.” He gave her a brief smile. “I willnae deny that ye could probably give me one fine roll in the heather, but it isnae worth losing what I have now. Ye just are nae worth that much.”

“You bastard!” screeched Sarah as she leaped to her feet and swung at him.

Ballard easily caught her wrist. “I wouldnae do that, miss. I am not one of your fine gents who will just stand here and take it. Ye hit me and I just might hit ye back.” He tossed her hand aside. “Now, I believe I will amble back to my wife.”

“Go ahead. Enjoy what little time you will have with her.”

“We are wed. We have a lifetime ahead of us,” Ballard said as he paused in the doorway to look back at her.

“You are from two different worlds. Clover is desperate now and will grasp at any chance she can to save herself and her pathetic little family from utter destitution. But you cannot give her the life she is accustomed to. One day she will wake up, look at you, and wonder why, in God’s sweet name, she is with you.”

Sarah’s words aroused all the fears Ballard thought he had subdued, and he glared at her. “Nay. Clover Sherwood isnae like that.”

She laughed. “Fool. Clover comes from people who would barely consider you suitable to clean out their stables. You have reached far above yourself, Scotsman, and your fall will be hard.”

There was nothing Ballard could think to say. Her words cut too close to the bone. He gave her a curt bow and walked from the room.

Sarah’s words pounded in his head as he left her house. He struggled to banish them as he walked down her front steps. He was so deep in thought that he bumped into Mr. Grendall. As he muttered an apology, he noticed how agitated the man was and frowned.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Grendall?” he asked.

“The stallion you sold me has fallen ill. I do not believe it will survive the afternoon.” Grendall took a large white handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped the sweat from his round face.

“I didnae sell ye a sick horse,” Ballard protested, yet he did not believe the man was questioning his integrity.

“Of course not. I beg your forgiveness if I led you to believe that. I sought you out because I hoped you might have some knowledge of what ails the beast. You raise such fine animals, I thought you must have some skill with them.”

“A horse doctor might be better.”

“We have none. Never have, really. Can you come with me and have a look at the animal?”

“Aye.”

As Ballard followed Grendall, he briefly considered stopping to tell Clover where he was going, but the frantic man waved him along. He shrugged and climbed into Grendall’s carriage. The sale would continue for a few more hours and he would be back before Clover noticed he was missing.

By the time they reached Grendall’s large farm, Ballard had a strong suspicion about what ailed the stallion he had sold to Grendall. It had been poisoned. Yet that made no sense to Ballard. Grendall knew enough about horses not to have done it accidentally and would never have done it intentionally. Although Ballard had not been in the area long, he had not noticed any plants that might be dangerous to a grazing horse. If he was right and the horse had been poisoned, they had to find out who had done it, and why.

Once Ballard saw the horse, he stripped to his breeches and set to work trying to save the animal. He covered the animal with blankets and led it out into the paddock. It was necessary to keep the animal on its feet and moving so that it could sweat out the poisons. Ballard and Grendall also dosed the animal with diuretics and laxatives to purge its system. It took a long time and was hot, messy work. With Grendall’s help the stallion began to show signs of improvement by late afternoon. Confident the animal would continue to recover, Ballard joined Grendall in washing up and partook of a strong drink of brandy in his elegant parlor. Although Ballard felt out of place on the delicately carved settee and feared he might break the expensive brandy snifter he held, the stallion’s illness was his overriding concern.

“I have nae seen anything, but mayhap there be a disagreeable plant about that he ate. Everything growing out of the ground doesnae suit the animals,” Ballard said as he gingerly set the brandy snifter down on a small table.

“If so, I would have had trouble with my other horses, and I have had none.” Grendall stopped pacing the room to lean against the marble fireplace. “I have a sick feeling I know what happened.” He sighed, shook his head, and took a long sip of his brandy.

“What do ye suspect?” Ballard pressed when the man said no more.

“Dillingsworth was not pleased that I got the horse he wanted.”

“Ye think Dillingsworth tried to kill the animal?” Ballard exclaimed, then realized he was not really surprised. He too had wondered if Dillingsworth would stoop to such an act.

Grendall nodded and shrugged. “Someone gave the animal whatever made him ill, and Dillingsworth did threaten us.”

“True, but killing the beast doesnae make any sense.”

“No? He wanted it but could not have it. He tried to make sure I could not have it either. That has often been Dillingsworth’s way. He can be dangerously spiteful. You should keep that in mind. After all, you now have something he wanted—little Clover Sherwood.”

“But he ended their engagement.” Ballard’s agitation made him want to pace the room, but he forced himself to remain still, for he feared accidentally breaking some of the delicate furniture cluttering Grendall’s front parlor.

“He did end their engagement, but he still planned to keep her. A lot of us figured that out when he got his greedy hands on Miller’s old cottage just outside of town.”

“Yet none of ye thought to warn Clover.”

“We had no proof, only a strong suspicion. Dillingsworth is a power to be reckoned with around here. No one dares make idle accusations. Hellfire, a lot of us owe Dillingsworth money. He could break many a family in Langleyville just by demanding payment of all debts.”

Ballard stood up. “I understand, yet sitting back and doing naught only gives the man more power. Such hesitation is why he continues to do as he pleases. The man kens that ye are all too afraid to stop him.”

“I know. Well, he failed to get me this time. Perhaps that will be the end of it.”

“I hope ye are right,” Ballard said, and shook the man’s hand. “I will be here one or two more days. Call on me if ye need to. I best get back to my wife.”

Grendall stood upright and stared at Ballard. “You did not tell her where you were going?”

“Nay. Ye were in a wee bit of a hurry if ye recall.”

“Of course. I am sorry. Let us hope Clover is understanding. If you need to smooth some troubled waters, call on me.”

“Clover will understand.”

“Ah, the bliss of the newlywed.”

Grendall chuckled as he led Ballard to the door and ordered the carriage brought around for him. Ballard was tempted to ask what the man found so amusing, but hesitated. He did not want to appear ignorant about married life. Still resisting the urge to question Grendall, Ballard said good-bye and got into the carriage.

He forgot all about Grendall’s remarks when he spotted Aaron Spaulding outside the Sly Dog. The man had indicated a strong interest in horse dealing after seeing the stallion Grendall had bought. Ballard stopped the carriage, tipped the driver, and hurried after Spaulding, hoping to get some stronger commitment from the man.

It was dark before Ballard left the Sly Dog with several ales under his belt and a promise from Spaulding to buy another stallion and three mares if Ballard could provide them within a year. He paused near a shadowed alley to try and put some order to his clothes. A grunt of surprise escaped him when he was suddenly grabbed from behind and dragged into the alley.

Caught completely off-guard, his head a little clouded by drink, Ballard was unable to recover from his surprise in time to win the fight. He got in a few good blows to his two attackers, however, before he was brought down. As he lay in the filthy alley, one man kicked him in the ribs and the head. Ballard clung desperately to consciousness. He knew that without it, he would be ready prey for any ruffian who happened along. When the other man found only a few coins in his pocket and kicked him again, Ballard tried fruitlessly to grab the man by the boot and trip him.

“He ain’t dead, Jake,” grumbled the heavier of the two men. “Dillingsworth said he wanted him dead.”

“I ain’t risking my neck for that fop,” grumbled Jake as he pocketed Ballard’s money.

“Maybe you oughta worry about what Dillingsworth’ll do if’n he finds out we didn’t kill this feller.”

“Ain’t worried about that neither, ‘cause we ain’t gonna be here.”

“We ain’t?”

“No, Tim, me boy, we ain’t. Dillingsworth was fool enough to pay us after we done as he wanted. He was just so mad that horse didn’t die, I reckon he weren’t thinking too straight. Fine by me. I’m taking my share of the money and getting outta here. Maybe to one of them big cities. Oughta be lots of work there. You’d be smart to come with me.”

“Yeh, think I will at that. What about this feller?”

“Leave him. I will sorely miss seeing Dillingsworth’s face when this rogue comes back from the dead. The fool’s in for a powerful surprise when he trots over to comfort the grieving widow on the morrow.”

Both men laughed, delivered one more kick to Ballard’s ribs, and hurried away. Ballard cursed as he fought the waves of pain washing over him and waited to be sure both men were gone. Then he tried to stagger to his feet. It took several tries before he had the strength to make his way home.

As he stumbled along the street to Clover’s house, he wondered what to do about Dillingsworth—if there was anything he could do. He knew from Grendall that no one stood against Dillingsworth. There was little chance a rough backwoodsman would be heeded if he accused the man. All Ballard knew was that he had to get back to Clover, had to get himself patched up and ready to face Thomas Dillingsworth in the morning. It was going to be a pleasure to thwart the man once again. He also planned to get Clover out of Langleyville before Dillingsworth could try anything else. A man who would poison a horse and pay to have him murdered was capable of anything.

Ballard realized he was deeply afraid for Clover.

Clover sprawled on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. The last thing she felt like doing was sleeping. She had come to her room to escape all the sympathetic looks of her kin, old and new, and their weak excuses for Ballard’s continued absence. Now only her own thoughts and feelings tormented her. She decided that was enough for anyone.

She was a little surprised to discover that Ballard’s defection hurt far more than being jilted by Thomas had. The explanation she gave herself, that she had been intimate with Ballard, did not really satisfy her. She did not really want to look much deeper for an answer, however, especially not since he had chosen Sarah Marsten over her. There could be no other explanation for Ballard’s long disappearance with Sarah.

As Clover clenched her hands into fists where they lay on top of the coverlet, she fought the urge to cry. She refused to let this betrayal break her. If this chance for security for her family was gone, she would find another one. She would have to be strong to do that. It would be a great folly to allow self-pity and hurt pride to rule her.

“Oh, Ballard, you great oaf of a Scotsman, where the hell are you? Please, please, do not do this to me.”

She turned onto her side and clutched the pillow. The deep breath she took to steady herself filled her nose with the clean, male scent of him, and tears blurred her eyes. She quickly reached for the anger inside her and used it to push the other feelings aside. When and if Ballard returned, she preferred to meet him with righteous fury rather than weak tears.

Ballard slumped against one of the short pillars that framed the stairs leading to Clover’s home and gathered the strength to climb them. He was pleased to see that no one appeared to be visiting the family. That meant that his absence was probably not public yet and that Thomas had not already come to claim the prize he thought he had won. I will be waiting for the bastard when he does show, Ballard thought grimly as he made his painful way up the steps and into the house.

“Where the bloody hell have ye been?” demanded Shelton the minute Ballard entered the parlor.

Stopping inches inside the room, Ballard stared at his young brother in some surprise. Shelton and Lambert stood glaring at him in a way that made him feel like an errant youth. If the situation were not so serious, he would have found the reversal of roles highly amusing.

“Where is Clover?” Ballard asked after a quick look around the room revealed that she was not present.

“‘Tis a fine time to be worrying about her now. Ye should have given a thought or two to her before ye ran off with that slut Sarah Marsten. Curse it, Ballard, aside from it being all wrong, how could ye put me and Lambert into such an awkward position? What did ye expect us to tell Clover?”

At that moment Agnes rose from her chair and walked over to him. Ballard eyed her a bit warily, then began to relax. The expression of disappointment and disgust she had worn when he had first entered the room had been replaced by one of confusion and concern.

“You are bleeding, Ballard.” She gingerly touched the drying streak of blood by his ear.

Shelton, with Lambert close on his heels, edged closer to Ballard. “Have ye been in a fight?”

“Ye could say that.” He gave them a succinct summary of what had happened to him and watched their expressions of disbelief change to outrage.

“Lord Almighty and His mother,” muttered Shelton. “Is Dillingsworth all right in his head?”

“I dinnae think he is too sane and, Shelton, ye shouldnae be swearing in front of Mrs. Sherwood.”

Agnes smiled briefly at a blushing Shelton. “In such a situation cursing is easily forgiven. Come, Ballard, let me tend to your injuries.”

“Nay, but thank ye, ma’am. It occurred to me as I stumbled here that no one has seen or heard from me since I left with Miss Marsten. I reckon I can guess what folk began to think. I have a wild tale to tell Clover, and these wounds may help to make her believe it. Where is she?”

“She went to bed.” Agnes sighed and shook her head. “We all tried to reassure her, but I think we only made matters worse. I am sorry, Ballard, but when you did not return, we all began to believe the worst.”

“There is no need to apologize, ma’am. Ye all ken that I was sniffing ‘round Miss Marsten and ye only thought what anyone would think. I should have stopped to tell ye I was going with Grendall, but I reckon I am not used to having to answer to anyone. Now Dillingsworth thinks his men have killed me, so I suspect that cur will be here bright and early in the morning, wanting to soothe my poor grieving widow. If I am not here to greet him, dinnae let him ken that I have returned. Just come and tell me he is here.”

“Ye dinnae think he will discover ye have escaped before then?” asked Shelton.

“Nay, I doubt it. Those two men were nae eager to have Dillingsworth discover that they didnae do what he had paid them to do. They are probably halfway to Philadelphia by now. Nay, Dillingsworth will be here to try and take advantage of Clover.”

“Perhaps Shelton and I ought to keep an eye out, just in case Dillingsworth cannot wait until morning or discovers you are not dead and decides to hire someone to do the job right this time,” suggested Lambert.

“It cannae hurt. Aye. Just be sure he doesnae see ye, as that could warn him that we ken his games. If Dillingsworth thinks that, he may turn on the two of ye. I have enough to fret o’er. He may also take it into his head to flee and hide away until I have returned to Kentucky, and I dinnae want him slipping out of my reach. I want a chance to confront that slinking dog.”

“Dinnae worry, Ballard,” Shelton assured him.

“We will do our best to make sure you have that chance,” Lambert said.

“I just find this all so very hard to understand,” Agnes said as Shelton and Lambert left.

“Dillingsworth wants it all, ma’am. ‘Tis that simple. And he doesnae much like that it was a mon like me who got Clover. He also didnae like being beaten by me. That means he has lost to me twice. There are some men who just cannae abide losing. In truth, I suspect Dillingsworth wasnae too stable before I came on the scene. Grendall implied a lot of people know what Dillingsworth is like but are too afraid to stand against him. Dillingsworth has stepped right o’er the edge now, though.”

“Yes, he must be mad. Well, you go and speak to Clover, and I wish you luck.”

“Thank ye, ma’am. I will need it.”

Ballard started on his way to their bedchamber. He ached all over, but it was not that pain which slowed his pace as he drew nearer. Convincing Clover to believe him was not going to be easy.

As Ballard closed his hand around the door latch, he prayed that she would at least hear him out.