Page 40 of Their Wildest Dreams

“Preventing an unnecessary scene.” Selby looked past her at the coachman. “He will not be harmed if he ceases struggling.”

“You have stopped my carriage upon a public road and assaulted my servants. There is no version of this which does not become a scene,” she snapped.

Selby smiled. It was the same smile she had seen at the church, stripped now of the distance which had permitted her to question its meaning. “You continue to speak as though your indignation carries some authority. It does not.”

Harriet seized the handle behind her and flung open the other door.

She jumped before anyone could circle the carriage to stop her. Her boots struck the rutted edge of the lane. She gathered her skirts and ran toward the open field.

Selby shouted. Harriet did not look back. The field had been plowed after harvest, and the uneven ground dragged at her shoes. She stumbled, recovered and kept running. If she could reach the hedgerow at the far side, she might find a gap and conceal herself among the trees beyond it.

Footsteps pounded behind her.

A hand caught the back of her cloak and jerked her to a halt. The fastening tightened painfully across her throat. Harriet twisted, driving one elbow backward. It struck Selby somewhere near the ribs. He cursed and seized her arm.

“Release me!” She kicked at him, no longer caring where the blow landed. “Benedict will have you hanged for this.”

“Benedict is not here.” Selby tightened his grip. “And whether he has any right to call himself your husband remains to be seen.”

Harriet stopped fighting for one stunned second. “What are you talking about?”

“You know precisely what I mean. Denham’s precious heir visits your chamber and then creeps back to his own bed. A curious arrangement for a bridegroom.” His gaze moved over her with an insolence that made her feel unclean. “Unless, of course, you are not truly his wife at all.”

Fear struck harder than his hand. He knew. Somehow, Selby knew enough of their private arrangement to use it against them.

“You are mad.” Harriet wrenched at her arm. “Whatever occurs between my husband and myself is none of your concern.”

“It became my concern when your father used a fraudulent marriage to deprive me of land which was lawfully pledged.” Selby dragged her nearer. “There is a simple means of determining whether the marriage is genuine. Once a physician has examined you, we will know which of us is correct.”

For an instant, Harriet could not comprehend him. Then the meaning of the words became clear.

Revulsion overwhelmed fear. She struck him across the face with her free hand. Selby’s head snapped to one side. His grip loosened, and Harriet tore herself away.

She managed three steps.

Selby caught her about the waist. Harriet twisted violently, clawing at the arm locked around her. Her heel slipped in the loose earth. The force of their struggle carried them both toward the stony edge of the field.

The hard earth seemed to rise up to meet her.

The side of her head, just above her temple, struck something hard. Pain burst through her skull, bright and terrible, and the gray sky wheeled above her.

Selby’s face appeared over her, blurred at the edges. Then there was nothing.

Chapter

Twenty

Selby stared down at Harriet. She had fallen near the edge of the field where the earth grew rough and rocky just before it gave way to the tree line. One arm was trapped beneath her. The other lay outstretched, her fingers curled loosely against the mud. Blood seeped from a wound near her temple and disappeared into her hair. More blood still dotted the stone she had struck her head upon. He had not meant to kill her, but intent would not alter what had happened or persuade anyone that her death was an unfortunate accident. The coachman and groom had seen him stop the carriage. His own men had watched him chase her across the field. If she died here, there would be four witnesses who could place him at the scene.

Selby crouched beside her. Harriet did not move. He watched her back, looking for some indication that she breathed, but her cloak made it impossible to tell. He might have touched her throat or held his hand before her mouth. He did neither.

One of the men shouted from the lane. “Mr. Selby?” Selby rose quickly and turned. The carriage remained where they had stopped it. Harriet’s coachman was bound inside, and the groom lay near the rear wheel with his hands tied behind him. Selby’s two servants stood watching from the road. They had all seen too much.

The coachman and groom might be silenced. They were injured, bound and in no position to defend themselves. But then Selby would have to contend with the two men he had brought with him. He had paid them for their assistance, not for their loyalty, and payment would not hold them if they found themselves questioned by a magistrate.

He could not kill four men. Not here. Not alone. Even if he managed it, there would be no plausible explanation for five bodies scattered along a public lane and the adjoining field. Servants at his own house knew who had ridden out with him. Someone would have seen them upon the road. And Selby had no desire to hang because Harriet Aldridge had lacked the sense to watch where she was running. He attempted to have a conversation with Harriet, who, as per usual, was being unreasonable, and ran away. That was all anyone need know.

He looked at her once more. Dusk had already begun to settle. Her gown was wet and muddied, and while her cloak might have been sufficient had she been riding in a carriage, it was not fit for the current weather. If the blow to her head did not prove fatal, a night upon the damp ground might accomplish the same end. If she died, then the only witnesses would be two servants who would hardly be believed over someone of his position.