12 Days at Bleakly Manor by Michelle Griep

Author:Michelle Griep [Griep, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-68322-515-7
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2017-10-19T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The wagon bumped over the same route to the woods Ben had taken four days earlier with Clara. This time, however, he wouldn’t offer his coat to his companion, even though the inspector’s big nose was reddened by the wind. With a “Walk on!” and a snap of the reins, Ben urged the horses forward. The best he would do for Mr. Pocket was get them to the break of the trees more quickly.

Hunching into his coat, the inspector pulled down his hat brim. “I’ve noticed you and Miss Chapman are well acquainted.”

The next gust of wind hit him as sideways as the question, and he turned his face from it. Not an indictment from the man, just an innocent observation—laced with innuendo. But why? Of all the topics the inspector could’ve brought up, he’d chosen Clara?

Ben shifted on the seat. “You could say that.”

“I believe I just did.” Pocket sniffed, his nose growing redder by the minute. “She’s been promised quite a sum if she remains the duration. Is her situation dire without those funds?”

Ben measured his words and his tone. No sense offering the man more than should be his. “Perhaps you should ask the lady yourself.”

“I would, if I could ever get a word with her alone. You always seem to be nearby. Which makes me wonder …” Pocket turned to him, his head peeking out from his greatcoat like a turtle from its shell. “What do you stand to gain?”

A direct question, but still a covert attack—one that he wasn’t quite sure how to parry. “Sorry?” he asked.

“Were you to marry the lady, why then, whatever is hers rightfully becomes yours. Don’t tell me the thought hasn’t crossed your mind.”

Marry? The word bounced as pell-mell through his skull as the wheels juddering on the frozen ground. It had been simple once, straightforward, but now all the ifs of marriage tangled into a big snarl. If all his correspondence was answered, if he regained his freedom as promised, and if his family estate was restored, would Clara still have him? A branded convict?

He snapped the reins again, driving the horses much too fast toward the wood’s edge. Pocket’s head jerked up and down from the pace, and Ben set his jaw, staring straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with the inspector. The rage burning up his neck and spreading like wildfire over his face would clearly be seen. Whoever had done this to him and Clara would pay dearly.

Shaving minutes off his last trek to the woods, he yanked the horses to a stop and set the brake. He hopped down and turned into the wind, brisk air stinging his skin. He drank it in like sweet, sweet nectar.

Rummaging at the back of the wagon, Pocket retrieved two axes, then walked to Ben’s side and handed one over. “Here you go, Lane.”

He grabbed the handle by the throat and hefted the blade over his shoulder, smirking at the irony. Only a week ago he’d have

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