“You know my governess, Peregrine?” Rafe asked in surprise.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “I met her this morning.”
“This is the man I told you about, sir. The man who saved Celeste from the mud bog,” Sabrina supplied quickly.
Rafe’s glance moved swiftly between her and Mr. Ashby. She could almost see him putting pieces together.
“But I thought you said that the man who aided you was a land steward. Ashby is no steward. He’s the Earl of Rutland.”
For a second she didn’t understand what Rafe had said, and then his words sank in and she hastily sought to cover her sudden shock. He must have concealed his title for a reason, and while she was upset at his deception, she would not call him out on it in front of the others.
“I . . . I must’ve been mistaken,” she said. She felt Isla press against her side, her tiny hand tightening around Sabrina’s.
Sabrina shifted on her feet uneasily. All she wanted right then was to avoid scandal in whatever form it came in. Mr. Ashby—Lord Rutland, for that was how she must think of him now—had lied, but she wasn’t sure why, and she was in no position to demand the truth from him. She dug the nails of her free hand into her palm, the slight pain bringing her some much-needed focus.
“The fault is mine,” Rutland said at last. “I did not introduce myself properly.”
Properly? The word echoed in Sabrina’s head as her confusion began to turn to anger. He had lied to her about who he was, and he was not explaining why. He had told her that he was a steward, that he worked for the earl. Yet here he was, the Earl of Rutland. Why had he lied to her, and why was he still lying in front of Rafe and Mr. Russell?
For a moment, she and Rutland stared at each other. Rafe coughed, and she broke off her gaze, looking to the floor.
“Well, now you’ve met properly,” Rafe said. “Shall we go?”
Lord Rutland was still staring at her, a strange expression on his face.
“Come along, Peregrine. We have to see to the wickets.” Rafe nudged the earl none too gently in the ribs. Rutland blinked, as though dragging himself out of his thoughts, and then shot Rafe a scowl.
Sabrina and Isla stayed a good distance behind the three gentlemen as they strode ahead. When they reached a grassy lawn, two footmen were waiting with a dozen wickets in their hands.
“Let’s sit and watch,” Sabrina told Isla as they paused before a bench. She helped the child sit down on the bench beside her so they could observe the men. From the start, it was clear Lord Rutland and Mr. Russell wanted a fair game, but Rafe was determined to arrange the wickets so it would be nearly impossible in several places to strike a ball through them. A fairly energetic argument broke out, and suddenly the three men were throwing wickets at each other and running about shouting like wild boys. Sabrina laughed at the immature sight.
Zehra Russell came to stand beside Sabrina and Isla’s bench. “Heavens, they never truly grow up, do they?”
“No, they never do.” Sabrina moved over on the bench and set Isla on her lap so Zehra could sit down beside them. Lawrence Russell’s wife was beautiful and had an interesting past. Rafe had told her that Zehra’s father was a Persian prince and her mother the daughter of an English duke. With exotic eyes and the dark-gold tint of her skin, Zehra was blooming here in the Cotswolds.
“How are you settling in, Sabrina?” she asked.
“Quite well. I cannot thank you and your husband enough for letting me stay here.”
“Of course.” Zehra smiled at her before looking back at the men.
“Zehra . . . what do you know of Lord Rutland?”
It was a risk to ask such a probing question, but she felt deep in her bones that she could trust Zehra with any inquiries that might reveal her interest in the earl.
“Not much, I’m afraid. He is a friend of Rafe’s. I believe he’s only been an earl since last fall.” Zehra covered her laugh with a hand as Mr. Russell grabbed Rafe, one arm around the back of his neck, so that Rafe was trapped beneath Russell’s armpit as he tried to wrestle him to the ground.
“Have Rafe and Mr. Russell known each other a long time?” Sabrina asked.
Zehra nodded. “Since they were young men. Their older brothers became acquainted at university and, well, the rest is history.”
“History?”
“Yes, you know, the League of Rogues. Their brothers are both members,” Zehra explained, but then her eyes widened in shock. “You don’t know who they are?”
Sabrina shook her head. “Are they famous?”
Zehra smiled. “More like infamous. There were five of them, originally—a duke, an earl, a baron, a marquess, and a viscount. They were all notorious bachelors until they made one mistake.”
“What was that?” Sabrina was already drawn into her story.
“They kidnapped a woman named Emily. It was revenge, you see, because her uncle had stolen from the duke, but that’s what started it all. That one woman brought the five men to their knees, and now they are all happily married. Now it seems it is starting to trickle down to their brothers. I believe Lawrence never knew how lonely he was until Lucien got married. Men are far more social creatures than they dare ever admit.” Zehra gave her a soft smile. “And they can be unbearably romantic and sweet too.”
Sabrina thought of her masked stranger and how they had made love beneath the stars. He could have so easily gotten up and returned to the ball after satisfying his own lust, but he’d stayed and reached for her hand and held it as they watched the sky. That had been romantic. He would never know what that had meant to her, to hold on to her when she’d been so at risk of drifting away.
“My dear, Rafe’s face is turning blue. Best to let him breathe!” Zehra called out, snapping Sabrina out of the memory. Mr. Russell released Rafe, who promptly walloped him in the stomach. The Earl of Rutland watched this boyish play unfold with a bemused grin. Then he turned away and came toward her, Zehra, and Isla.
Zehra stood and held out her hands to the little girl. “Isla, come with me, my darling. Why don’t we go tackle your papa to the ground?”
Isla squealed in delight and rushed at her father. Rafe fell to the ground and begged for mercy as his daughter climbed all over him. Zehra stood by her husband, watching Rafe and Isla with a fondness that made Sabrina’s heart swell.
“May I sit?” Rutland asked.
“Of course, my lord.” She didn’t want to look at this handsome man, even when he spoke. She was still angry. Yet she couldn’t deny that her body buzzed with him sitting so close. He rested his hand on the bench, the edge of his palm just grazing the fabric of her gown. She tried stubbornly to ignore him. They were two people sitting on a bench. That was all. They did not need to say a thing to each other.
“I’m sorry I did not tell you who I really was. I was unprepared to share my title. I’ve seen far too many women change around an unmarried man with a title, money, and lands.” He sighed, the sound heavy.
She’d been so determined not to look at him, but that sound was one she recognized. She understood that weariness that weighed upon a person’s soul. But she wouldn’t create excuses for him.
“Are you boasting about yourself, my lord, or are you insulting me?” she asked quietly, raising her chin as she pinned him with what she hoped was a regal glare.