How to Lose a Lord in 10 Days or Less: An Opposites Attract Sumptuous Regency Romance (Tricks of the Ton, 3) - Softcover

One

September 10, 1818

Andrew rounded a bend in the road and urged his mount into a small patch of woods. Damn the open terrain of the moors. He'd realized he was being followed an hour ago, but could do nothing about it, only push ahead in the dense fog. Pulling his knife from the scabbard strapped beneath his coat, he slid from his horse's back and waited.

Shadow's Light pawed the ground and exhaled a puff of exasperation. "Shh," Andrew breathed into the mist. "You'll have us found within the minute with all that snorting." He reached over his shoulder and gave the horse a pat on the cheek, pulling him deeper into the shadows of the trees.

For once he was thankful for the heavy fog covering the moors. There might be a terrible lack of trees this far north, but a mist could always be counted on to sweep in overnight. He'd spent the past two years cursing it for dampening his clothes every morning, the fierce Scottish winds chilling him to the bone. He was further south now, however, back on English soil and back to fleeing-or so it seemed.

Once upon a time he'd been Andrew Clifton, Lord Amberstall, famous horse breeder, gentleman of the ton, and all-around dashing fellow. Now... He shook his head, his over-long hair falling into his eyes. If society saw him in his current state, would they know him? Part of him hoped not. He'd pulled himself together the best he could for the journey, but this was by no means his former standard of dress.

He ground his jaw and gave his horse another affectionate pat as he led him to the thickest grouping of trees he could find-which wasn't terribly thick, considering the circumstances. Andrew sighed and wrapped his hand around the tree before him, watching. With any luck they wouldn't be seen between the tree trunks. Shadow was ready to be gone from this place, Andrew could tell. Shadow never liked standing still for long.

Andrew's gaze sharpened as two men came into focus. They'd been trailing him since he crossed the Scottish border last night. He'd thought he'd lost them when he circled back to the inn where he had spent the night. Apparently he'd been mistaken. The soft clip of horses' hooves grew louder.

"He's headed back south. Must've come this way," a deep voice rumbled. Ruffians.

Andrew had caught sight of them at first light this morning, then again just after he stopped to eat lunch. Between wisps of fog, he'd seen the men growing closer. They had the look of common highwaymen, as evidenced by their worn, ill-fitting clothes and the larger one's ruddy complexion. Andrew had increased his pace, but they'd found him in spite of his speed.

"Could've taken a different road," the smaller man replied.

"There isn't another road, you idiot," the larger man spat out, near enough for Andrew to hear the panting of their horses and smell of wood smoke that lingered about them.

Andrew pulled his dark coat tighter around his chest, thankful for the fog that surrounded him, even as it chilled to the bone. It would be raining soon. Perhaps these men would move on, seek shelter. But, even as he thought it, he knew they weren't the sort to be deterred by the weather.

The larger ruffian slowed and turned his head, staring into the woods where Andrew waited in silence, shielded from view by only a few sparse scrub bushes and scraggly trees. He worked to control his breathing. Between the fog and the stubble of dark beard shrouding the man's face, Andrew could see only the steel of his dark eyes sweeping the forest. Shadow's Light stilled, thankfully as aware as Andrew of the danger that lurked nearby. A long-held breath later, the man turned his attention back to the road.

"What's to stop him from going through farms and such?" the smaller man asked as he looked across a field on the opposite side of the road.

"Sheep? Fences and walls? Unknown lands?"

"I'm rather fond of sheep, meself."

"That, Smarth, I would believe," the large man replied as they guided their horses down the road. "Let's find this fancy lord so we can return home."

"Bet he has some coin on him to sweeten the pie," Smarth mused.

"For once, I like the way you think."

Andrew breathed deeper as the men drew farther away. "Sweeten the pie" made it seem as if robbing him wasn't their primary focus. But they were highwaymen. It made no sense. All they could want were his pocket money and any jewels he had on his person. If they found him, they would be rather disappointed, since he only possessed enough funds to get home without incident. The few items he'd kept over the last two years he'd been away were left behind at Lord Steelings' Scottish cottage, and the rest of his life was contained in a stable on his estate far south of here.

What more could they possibly desire from him? He reached up and felt his pocket, his mother's letter still folded inside.

His eyes narrowed on the two men disappearing into the fog. Was it possible that this trouble was related to her difficulties on the estate? Surely not. Her issues could all be traced back to one fact: she didn't know the first thing about running an estate. Had he learned no lesson from his father on the subject of trusting women?

"Clearly you're just as daft as he was, Andrew," he mumbled. Leaving everything he'd built to her care had been foolish, even under the circumstances. His horses were the family's only source of income, after all.

Her letter hadn't explained the root of the trouble, only that two horses had gone missing, and then some cryptic talk about their neighbor. One thing he did know for certain was he didn't want to be dodging these ruffians all the way to his home outside London.

He swung up onto Shadow's Light's back, giving him a nudge with his heel and a soft click of his tongue. A moment later, there was a spray of mud and a blast of cold autumn air as the fog bit at his cheeks. Leaning over the horse's mane, Andrew urged him forward. This afternoon, the hunted would become the hunter. He squinted into the mist.

They couldn't be far ahead. The thunder of hooves hitting solid ground sounded in his ears until he could see two dark forms on the road.

Fighting highwaymen wasn't how he normally spent his day, but he knew what must be done. He held the blade tight in his grasp as he urged his horse closer to his enemies. Drawing up between them before they could react, he slammed the butt of the knife down hard on the larger man's head, watching as he slipped sideways in his saddle and tipped toward the ground.

Andrew turned in a heartbeat, grabbing the smaller man's wrinkled shirt. He lifted the slight weight of the man from his horse, allowing the knife in his other hand to scrape against man's throat. Shadow's Light had matched his movements to the horse beside them without the need of reins as if he knew Andrew's mind. The man's drink-reddened eyes grew wide in his thin face as his gaze took in the ferocity in Andrew's gaze.

"You've been following me. I don't like to be followed," Andrew growled. His deep voice sounded rusted and tight from lack of use.

"I can see that, guv." Smarth twitched as he tried to reach for his saddlebag and was lifted higher in the air.

"Feel this?" Andrew twisted the knife so it dug ever so slightly into the ruffian's throat. "You will return to the gutter from which you crawled and remain there, far from me. Do you understand?"

Smarth gave a slight nod above the blade.

"Dismount," Andrew commanded before shooting a quick glance over his shoulder to check the other man's location. He was getting up from the road and beginning to lumber in their direction. Andrew didn't have much time.

He watched with his blade still drawn as Smarth slid to the ground with his hands raised. "Don't want no trouble, m'lord. Doin' as I was told is all."

"Do as you're told now. Leave me be." With a slap to the hindquarters of the man's horse, Andrew paused long enough to watch it sail across a wall into a pasture and disappear into the white of the fog. The other man's horse lingered behind him on the road. Andrew turned in the saddle in time to see that the large man had almost caught up with his mount.

Andrew was a sizable man and had a blade clutched in his hand, yet he knew he was outmatched when he saw the barrel of a gun rise in his direction. He spun back to the road ahead of him. His best chance was to flee-something in which he should be well versed by now. He groaned and called out a loud "Ya!" as his legs tightened around his horse.

The lone patch of woods sped by with wisps of fog chilling his skin and clinging to his clothes. He could scarcely see where he was going, but he could now hear the pounding hoofbeats of the large highwayman at his back. He sailed around a corner, urging Shadow's Light faster as he passed a small cottage, then another.

He must be entering a hamlet. If he could make it to the center of the cluster of dwellings, he might be able to lose the man among the buildings. Perhaps if he doubled back again, he could be rid of him for good. He'd never heard of such a persistent highwayman. Wasn't there someone else to rob out here? Once again, he wondered if he was being pursued for some other reason. But he wasn't about to slow his pace to search for answers to the quandary. Instead, he flew into the unknown.

Shrouded in white, a village appeared around him, rooftops climbing free of the fog and stretching up into the clear afternoon air. If he could reach the far side of the village unnoticed, he could swing back behind the buildings.

He was almost there. Faster. He leaned closer over Shadow's dark mane.

As he rounded a corner, a tall hedgerow came into view. It was high, but Shadow had jumped higher. Andrew blinked away a memory of the exhibition two years ago-his last day at his home. This time would be different. With a last-minute tug on the reins, he was sailing with Shadow over the row of bushes and, with any luck, to safety.

***

Her hands slid over the mass of clay on the wheel before her. Today was the day. Today she would create a bowl. Katie pounded the clay twice with her fist, paused to consider it, and pounded it again for good measure. Or perhaps today was yet another day when she would create a lumpy plate. Judging by the fading afternoon light that peeked through the thick clouds every few minutes, she had only a few hours before she needed to rinse the mud from her hands and go inside for dinner.

The lawn around her grandmother's old pottery wheel had turned a muted gray with the mud from a week's worth of efforts in bowl making. Katie sat on the far edge of the field nearest her cottage with her back to a large hedgerow, shielding her from view on the road. It was her favorite place to sit at Ormesby Place. The scent of the grass at her feet mixed with the dust of the gravel on the road. She had a lovely view of the moors where they rolled off into the distance, and most important, she could not be farther from the stables. That was one place she never went-not anymore.

Now she had her other interests to keep her company. She slid her fingers over the clay. There was no risk in pottery. No flying across fields. No jumping over fences. And a clay bowl wouldn't leave her injured on the ground while the world crumbled around her. Katie sank her fist into the lump of mud with determination, wishing she'd remembered to bring the shaping instrument she'd almost understood how to use yesterday afternoon.

"That's my difficulty with pottery-I never seem to have the proper tool when I require it," she mused, glancing around for something that might suit her needs.

A pounding of hooves on the road made her turn, startled, even though the thick hedgerow blocked all view. The thunderous sound still made her heart race, even after over a year of silence. Then the noise grew louder. The rider must be just behind her. She took a shallow breath. He would pass, whoever he was. He would continue riding. There was no need to panic. It wasn't as if the horse was going to come near her. The sound of hooves grew closer still as she waited. Then there was silence. She'd scarcely had time to register what was happening when the shadow of something large sailed over her head.

"Blast it all!" Katie fairly screamed as she dove for cover, the cool, wet grass slipping beneath her fingers as the horse twisted in the air above her. She crouched lower in an effort to shrink away from danger. With her hands wrapped over her head, she waited. Would it land on her? Would she be hurt once again? It wasn't until she heard the thud of the horse hitting the ground beside her that she dared to look up.

At that moment something-or rather someone-crashed into her pottery wheel.

She scrambled backward across the grass with frantic movements. Seeing the horse, she shifted farther from him. She needed to get away. The horse was lying down and apparently dazed, but that wouldn't last long. However, every move she made away from the horse brought her that much closer to the rider he'd thrown.

He was a lord. He must be, judging by his dress, yet he didn't belong to a neighboring estate. His blond hair was longer than was respectable and fell into his face, yet everything else about the man seemed at odds with that small rebellion. From his starched and perfectly knotted cravat to the underlying shine on his mud-splattered Hessians, the sum of his parts could be assembled into a single word: fastidious. Well, perhaps two words: fastidious and handsome.

"Who are you?" she asked, briefly distracted from her fear.

"Someone with terrible luck, it would seem," he groaned, pulling a piece of wood from beneath his back.

Her gaze fell to the ground beneath him. Splinters of wood and a heap of clay were all that was left of her newest endeavor. "My pottery wheel."

"Was an unfortunate place to land? I quite agree," the man grumbled as he rolled fully to his back, still lying amid the broken pieces of her wheel.

Before she could demand answers, however, she heard another rider approaching. Turning away from the man and his horse, she picked up her walking stick and took a step forward, brushing the grass from her breeches.

No one ever visited Ormesby Place, and now she had two men here within minutes of one another. She ducked through a hole in the hedge. Her eyes narrowed on the man rounding the corner into view. He didn't look to be the friendly sort; that was certain.

The man didn't live in the area. In fact, he looked to be one of the men her brother had warned her about when she'd last gone to London-a ruffian.

"M'lady," he offered in greeting as he drew his horse to a stop. "Did you see a man ride through here?"

She took half a step back from the horse and the man looming over her. "Yes, and riding far too dangerously, if you ask me."

"Which way did he go?" he asked, indicating the crossroads just ahead.

She could tell him the truth, but something in the ruffian's eyes told her he meant the man harm. The blond man may have smashed her pottery wheel and almost killed her, but he didn't deserve to die for the crime. "Left. W...