“You don’t know that. I’ve never seen you behave recklessly.”
Cassie chanced a look at him. “Haven’t you? I’m not known for my sedentary riding skills.”
“You aren’t any worse than I or your brother. You push the limits for your sex, but you are not inherently careless or dangerous with your horse.”
She swallowed. “I still have nightmares…sometimes. I can hear him scream.”
“Him?”
Cassie stared off into the distance and tensed. “Old Bill. He’s buried right there.”
The cart slowed to a stop, and Cassie found she couldn’t breathe. “What are you doing?”
“We should pay our respects to Old Bill.”
“I—haven’t—I can’t.”
He looped the reins around his hand and twisted to face her. “Have you been back since the accident?”
Cassie shook her head.
“Why, may I ask?”
Cassie tangled her fingers in her lap and stared down at her lined kid gloves, but she felt cold, numb to her toes. Despite the man beside her who set her on fire. And she couldn’t bear to look at him, even though she knew he was not judging her. She still felt weak, and in all her life, she’d never felt so ashamed of her cowardly state. She couldn’t drive a cart like her brother wanted. She couldn’t…get over it.
“I can’t.”
“I think you can.”
The quiet strength in his voice gave her the courage to lift her head. Their gazes locked and held, and like always, something invisible, a string, a tether, connected them. Did he feel it? His strength flowed to her. Did he know what he did to her? For her?
Could she face one of her greatest fears by his side?
“Sidney—I mean, Lord Reardon, you don’t have to do this.”
“You can call me by my given name. We’ve known each other long enough. At least in private.”
Cassie nodded. He’d said as much before. But it was so personal, an intimacy she was afraid to give herself.
He pulled the parking brake, and her heart pounded as he jumped down and secured the reins to the cart, then came to her side. He offered his hand. “Come.”
She could not resist him. Cassie placed her hand in his, and he helped her down. The hill was not very steep or long. Farmer Walter had repaired the fence immediately after the accident, and there on the other side was a simple cross. Cassie had insisted. They halted at the railing.
“I remember him. He was a stout old horse,” Sidney said.
“He was eight and twenty but so strong. His muzzle was nearly white, and he only ate oats and apples or fresh cut hay. He had no patience for the colts, but he liked to pull the cart and go to the village. Father said he was seeing the sights and greeting friends.”
“He sounds like quite the character.”
“He was.”
“It’s not your fault. None of it. Sometimes, terrible things happen.”
“If I’d been more careful—”
“You don’t know. You can’t know if there was anything you could have done differently.”
Something in his voice sounded pained.
“You speak from experience?”
Their gazes met, and a thread of past regrets connected them.
“Will you tell me?”
“I can’t,” he said.
The thread snapped.
Cassie leaned on the fence for support as tears pooled in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I was sworn to secrecy, or I’d tell you.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Old Bill harbors no ill will toward you.”
“You can’t know that,” Cassie returned.
“Neither can you. Do you assume Old Bill is in the horse hereafter harboring ill will against you?”
Cassie sniffed. “No.”
“Then give yourself permission to accept something terrible happened. It wasn’t the way you wished him to go, but it’s how it happened. It’s no one’s fault.”
“And then what? I drive the cart back?”
“No, don’t ever drive the cart again if you don’t wish to. But don’t blame yourself any longer.”
“Do you blame yourself for whatever happened that you can’t share?”
Chapter 3
The question stunned Sidney. Did he?
He carried the burden of Tristan’s wound. The terror of the unknown, the what if. They could have both died, or just he, or just Tristan. Tristan had brushed it off. One of their few scraps he didn’t brag about at the card tables. Tristan had said his mother and father would have worried and made a big fuss. Cassie would have been frightened. It was better to keep it to themselves. The only other person who knew was Tristan’s valet, who’d been bribed handsomely for his silence. It all had ended well. The only time Sidney saw the scar was when they boxed at Gentlemen Jackson’s Club.
But the sight of it always stunned Sidney, enough for Tristan to land a blow to his chin and win the match. Was it guilt he felt? He’d never drank to excess again after that night. He always insisted they take a hackney cab to their next location late at night. Tristan was like a brother, and he’d been confronted with losing him.
He sighed. Tristan had risked his life to save Sidney, and that was a heavy debt to carry.
“I don’t blame myself, but I’ll never let it happen again. I took a risk, and someone else got hurt. That doesn’t sit well with me, but my answer is to move on and not let it happen again.”
“How?”
He turned to face her. “By staying in control. I changed my ways. If your answer is not to drive the cart again to prevent another tragedy, then don’t. You are in control of that decision at least.”
Her eyes glittered with emotion. “Thank you.”
Sidney nodded.
They stared at that tilted wooden cross for another moment. He took peeks at her, but she seemed engrossed in her thoughts. After a time, they returned to the cart, and though they remained silent, the silence was comfortable. For the first time, they had shared real thoughts and feelings. This was not part of his plan, but it had just happened. He meant to maintain distance from her, but her hurt and fear had been palpable, and he’d acted before thinking. But he couldn’t regret it. He hoped he’d helped her in some way. He wanted to do more, take her hand, hold her if she needed it, but he remained rooted to his place, hands on the splintered fence, gaze forward.
Tonight would be his last chance to dance with her, to touch her, no matter how innocently. To see her dressed in all her finery, dazzling her young suitors.
He’d be dazzled too, but he had to hide it. To protect them both, he had to pretend he didn’t want her.
As Cassie stared at Old Bill’s aged cross, she spoke from her heart but not out loud, expressing her regret and her hurt. Quite possibly she did feel a little better. Sidney stood by her side for as long as she needed, a quiet pillar of strength. She wanted to reach out to him, to take his hand, to be folded in his arms and surrounded by his steady energy. He proved just how perfect he was for her, accepting her weakness, not judging her, but lending her strength.