by Olivia Drake
“Help! What do I do now?”
“Pull back,” Raymond shouted.
Reluctant to let the metal bit hurt the animal’s mouth, she gave a tiny tug on the reins. The mare kept up a jarring trot, circling the paddock while Kate fought to maintain the awkward seat.
Raymond waved his cap. “Harder, miss. Pull harder!”
This time, when she hauled on the reins, the mare came to an abrupt stop. Momentum sent Kate sliding from the sidesaddle, her feet striking the hard-packed earth. Staggering, she only just managed to hold herself upright.
Like a faithful hound, Raymond came loping toward her. “Criminy! Are ye hurt, miss?”
“No, I’m fine. Just a bit shaken.” And her muscles ached already.
Hanging his head, the groom shifted from one hobnailed shoe to the other. “Mayhap ye’d like Lord Gabriel t’give ye lessons, instead. What with him bein’ in charge of ye, and all.”
Kate stiffened. “Who told you that?”
Raymond held his cap to his scrawny chest. “’Tis the talk o’ the servants’ hall, miss. Beggin’ yer pardon for speakin’ of me betters, that is.”
“You’ve every right to speak. And while you’re doing so, you may inform the staff that Miss Talisford has no master.”
A peal of laughter rang out. “Well spoken,” said a feminine voice with the hint of a musical lilt.
Kate turned to see Vivien, Lady Stokeford, leaning on the white fence, her small, bare feet perched on the lowest slat. Other than her lack of shoes—an odd habit of hers— she was dressed as a fine lady in a leaf-green gown with matching ribbons in her black hair. Jumping down from the fence, she opened the gate. As she approached, the bangles at her wrist chimed faintly in the breeze.
Mortified that Gabriel’s sister-in-law had witnessed her tirade, Kate sketched a curtsy. “My lady. I—I didn’t know you were watching.”
“Please, you must call me Vivien,” the marchioness said with a warm smile. “I don’t mean to intrude, but perhaps you’ll let me help with your riding lessons?”
“You? But surely you have more important things to do.”
Vivien shook her head. “Little Will is napping, and Amy is at her lessons with the governess. So for the moment, I’m at loose ends.” Turning to the groom, she said, “You may return to your duties, Raymond.”
“Aye, milady.” Bowing, he doffed his cap one last time and then trotted away to the stables.
Vivien stroked the mare’s nose. “Develesa! These side-saddles are a nuisance, aren’t they? I don’t doubt they were invented by a man to torture us.”
Kate laughed, wishing she dared rub her sore bottom. “Then it wasn’t my inexperience?”
“Absolutely not.” Her brown eyes sparkling, Vivien leaned closer. “If you wish to feel more comfortable on a horse, there’s an easier way to learn to ride.”
“What do you mean?”
“First, you must befriend the creature.”
She whistled softly, and the mare came trotting up to nuzzle her hands as if looking for a treat. Vivien bent her dark head and crooned to the horse, and Kate marveled at the uncanny sense that they were communicating on some mysterious level. Vivien motioned Kate closer, encouraging her to rub the velvety muzzle and stroke the silken mane. Kate found herself curious about the marchioness. Not for the first time, she wondered how a Gypsy woman had come to wed one of the richest, most powerful lords in England.
It would be rude to inquire, so she phrased another question. “Did you learn to ride from the Gypsies?”
“Yes, though I confess, the women are forbidden to touch the horses. I had to sneak out during the night while the men were sleeping.” Vivien smiled impishly. “Alas, my adventures ended when miro dado caught me returning one morning at dawn.”
“Miro...dado?"
“My father. My Romany father.” A wistful warmth shone on her dusky features. “I can see that you are burning to know my story. My natural father was a nobleman who had a love affair with the governess to Michael and his brothers.”
Kate hardly knew what to say. “But how did you... ?”
“How did I come to live with the Rom? My gorgio father gave me away as an infant.” With a wry smile, Vivien held up her hand. “Don’t look so horrified. I never knew him, so it doesn’t matter. And I love miro dado and miro dye—my mother. They doted on me like the best of parents, and I couldn’t have had a happier childhood. In truth, I was so devoted to them that I even fought against falling in love with a gorgio lord.”
The softness on her face made it clear that she adored her husband, Michael. Kate grew aware of a loneliness inside herself, a yearning to know such happiness. Perhaps some men made good husbands. But how was a woman to know if she could trust her chosen mate? It was a question Kate couldn’t answer. Even her quiet, honorable Papa had been lured into leaving his family. Lured by Gabriel’s offer of funding for the expedition.
“Now,” Vivien said briskly, “we’ve one more task before you can ride. We’ll discard this horrid contraption.” To Kate’s astonishment, the marchioness reached beneath the mare and unbuckled the cinch. In a matter of moments, she tugged off the heavy saddle, and Kate rushed to help her carry it outside the gate of the paddock.
Vivien clapped the dust from her hands. “There. Now it’s time for your lesson.”
“But ... I’ll need a saddle.”
“It’s far easier to learn to ride without one. You’ll control the mare with your knees. Come, I’ll show you.”
In short order, Kate found herself mounted astride the horse with only the blanket to cushion her. The fact that her stocking-clad calves were exposed bothered her for only a moment. There was no one else around to witness the impropriety. And how much more gloriously free she felt.
Taking the bridle, Vivien led the mare around the paddock while Kate accustomed herself to the novel position. She could feel the mare’s muscles bunch and release with each step, which gave her a greater sense of control. She still had the reins to give the animal guidance. After a few rounds, Vivien instructed Kate to crouch low over the long neck and hug the mare’s body with her knees. Then Vivien lightly tapped the horse on the rump even as she stepped back.
The mare launched into a trot. This time, to Kate’s delight, she no longer bounced. Instead, she felt at one with the mare. She could sense the animal’s eagerness to run, and without quite intending to, she slapped the reins and the mare increased the gait to a canter. Watching from the center of the ring, Vivien smiled her approval.
In the cool breeze, several curls sprang loose, fluttering in Kate’s face. The ride became even smoother, and she sat up straight, enjoying the glorious sensation of the wind and sun on her face, and the feel of the sleek gray animal beneath her. The equine scents mingled with the freshness of the air. All her life, she hadn’t even known what she’d been missing. It was an indescribable joy to experience such speed, to watch the world flashing by. She could see outside the paddock to the magnificent grounds, the rustling green trees, the tall white cupola of the stables beyond the hedgerow—
Then she spied him. In the stable yard, a man swung onto a black horse. He sat tall and imposing, the sunlight glinting off his burnished brown hair.
Alarm jolted her. “He’s leaving,” she cried out. “Hurry, open the gate so I can stop him.”
“Who?” Vivien asked as she hastened to unlatch the gate. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Gabriel. He’s going to Cornwall without me.” Kate caught one last look at the marchioness’s baffled expression; then she urged the mare out of the paddock. As if sensing Kate’s impatience, the horse cantered down the path to the stable yard. To her surprise, she saw her sister standing near a great oak tree, talking to Gabriel. Seated on the gelding, he glanced up into the spreading branches.
At the sound of hoofbeats, he turned his head. His smile vanished and his eyes widened. He looked utterly flummoxed to see Kate riding a horse. The most exquisite feeling of triumph eddied
through her, a balm to past indignities.
The next few moments happened in a blur. As Kate drew on the reins and the mare slowed its pace, movement flashed in the branches of the oak directly above her. A familiar simian face peered down from the leaves. Half a second later, hairy arms latched onto a limb and a sturdy little body swung back and forth.
Jabbar dropped out of the tree and landed on her back.
The impact knocked the wind out of her. It was all she could do to keep her seat. Squealing at the unfamiliar scent of the chimpanzee, the mare reared.
Instinctively, Kate squeezed her knees and clutched the reins. She heard Gabriel’s shout and saw Meg scramble to safety. Her heart thudding madly, she struggled to suck air into her empty lungs. It didn’t help that Jabbar had a death grip on her neck. The chimp hooted as if in great enjoyment. Several grooms dashed around, adding to the confusion.
Gabriel angled his mount closer and made a grab for her bridle. But the mare danced away, bucking and snorting.
“Give him to me,” he called out, controlling the gelding with one hand and holding out the other to Kate.
She would, if only Jabbar would cooperate.
The mare reared again, startling Gabriel’s mount. The gelding’s front legs pawed the air. At that precise moment, the chimp took a flying leap at Gabriel.
To Kate’s horror, both man and monkey went tumbling to the hard-packed earth.
Demons danced in his skull. A devil’s pitchfork prodded his tailbone. Burning in hell, he felt something cool and soothing touch his brow, but he shoved it away, seeking the darkness of oblivion.
A foul scent seared his nostrils.
Gabe turned his head, but the odor followed and the fumes made him cough. Forcing his eyes open, he saw the double image of a woman. He squinted, and the images converged into an angel with green eyes and a profusion of corkscrew curls framing her prim face.
No, not an angel. A virago named Kate Talisford.
“What the deuce is that?” he snapped, swatting away her hand from beneath his nose. “Get it away from me.”
She set the small brown bottle on a table. “It’s hartshorn. And since you’re awake, it has accomplished its purpose.”
“Bloody damned stuff nearly killed me.”
Grandmama’s face swam into view. Her finely etched features were drawn with worry. “My dear boy, don’t curse. It’s nothing compared to that nasty fall you suffered. You gave us all quite a start.”
Memory flooded him. Kate. Jabbar. The horses.
Only then did he notice his surroundings. He lay on a gilded chaise by the fireplace in the huge drawing room, his head propped on a tasseled pillow. The crackling blaze on the hearth sent off waves of heat that made him sweat.
His brother came forward, his arm around Vivien. Behind them stood Uncle Nathaniel and the Rosebuds, the old biddies clucking sympathetically.
Vivien frowned in obvious concern. “You’ve quite a bump on your head,” she said. “I saw you fall, but I was too late to help you.”
Michael quirked a chiding eyebrow. “The last time you lost control of a horse, brother, you were ten.”
Gabe gingerly probed the tenderness at the side of his head. No wonder he had the Lucifer of all headaches. “I didn’t lose control,” he said tersely. “Jabbar threw me off balance. Where is the scamp, by the way?”
“Right here with Meg,” Kate said.
Her sister ventured forward, hugging the chimp in her arms. They wore comically identical looks of abashment. “I’m sorry, my lord,” she said in a small voice. “It’s my fault for not watching him properly. You won’t take him away from me, will you?”
“Huh,” Gabe muttered. “You’re welcome to him.”
“Thank heavens Jabbar wasn’t harmed,” Kate said, pressing an ice-cold cloth to the throbbing lump. “You must have cushioned him as you fell.”
Gabe pushed her hand away. Shavings of ice embedded with sawdust from the icehouse rained onto him, a welcome relief from the heat of the fire. “How long was I out?”
“Nearly an hour,” she said, retrieving the ice and the cloth. “However, that’s no excuse for behaving like a child.”
This time, she held the makeshift bag in place with her palm. He almost thrust her arm away again, then reconsidered. Despite her thin-lipped glare, the gentleness of her touch and the chill of the ice felt soothing. He rather enjoyed the notion of her fussing over him. Perhaps he could finagle a transfer to his chambers and request her as his nurse.
“A groom went to fetch the physician,” Grandmama said. “Ah, there’s Dr. Lygon now.”
A tall, lanky man bustled into the drawing room. In his plain black suit and carrying a leather satchel, he looked more like a mortician than a healer. “Is this our patient?” he said brightly. “I see he’s awake now.”
Disgruntled, Gabe pushed himself up into a sitting position. His tailbone hurt like the devil. He saw double again and blinked to focus his vision. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “I don’t need a doctor.”
Her face drawn with anxiety, his grandmother hovered over him. “You’ve had a dreadful crack on the head, my dear. I shan’t rest until I know you’re all right.”
“I am. So don’t fuss.”
“Nevertheless, you’ll be examined,” Michael stated. He aimed a steely glare at his brother. “Everyone, please leave us.”
Muttering a curse, Gabe sank back down as the doctor opened his case of instruments and tonics. He shuddered at the sight. It galled him to admit it, but he’d worried Grandmama enough.
Kate dropped the bag of ice into his hand. “Here, you can do this yourself. At least now you won’t be going anywhere.” With one last, saucy glare, she marched toward the arched doorway, following the others as they left the drawing room.
His gaze went to the feminine sway of her hips, and Gabe remembered how she’d looked riding toward him, her wild hair flying in the wind and her slim, stockinged legs hugging her mount. To his chagrin, he felt an undeniable stirring in his loins.
That fall must have damaged his sanity, he thought sourly. Only a cork-brain would want Kate Talisford in his bed. She had to be the most vexatious female he’d ever met.
A Dangerous Woman
That evening, Kate carried a cup of tea into the drawing room with its Gothic arches and gold-striped furniture. Gabriel reclined on a chaise, his expression brooding as he watched Michael and Vivien play with their children. Lord Stokeford held the infant William in the crook of his arm. Five-year-old Amy was sprawled on the floor, doodling in a notebook.
At a nearby table, the Rosebuds and Uncle Nathaniel were engaged in a rollicking game of cards. Bathed by the glow of candles, they chatted and laughed as merrily as youngsters.
Kate’s gaze fixed on Gabriel. The lump on his head was barely visible in the dark thickness of his hair. Yet she couldn’t help noticing how drawn and pale he looked. Nor could she forget the awful, aching knot in her breast when she’d seen him sprawled unconscious in the stable yard. She’d slid off the mare and dashed to his side, her panic easing only a trifle when she’d felt the reassuring throb of his pulse. The grip of fear hadn’t dissolved until he’d opened his eyes nearly an hour later and scowled at her.
Of course, any person of sensibility would have been concerned, she told herself. Under the circumstances, her intense reaction had been natural. Just as now, she felt an intrinsic compassion for him.
Even a lout deserved mercy when he’d been vanquished.
Gliding forward, she offered the cup to him. Those blue eyes pinned her with his customary, caustic charm.
“What’s this?” he asked. “Poison?”
“Tea with sugar.”
“How do you know I like sweetened tea?”
Drawing a footstool to the chaise, she sat down, aware that her muscles felt stiff from the riding lesson. “You forget. You lived with us for a time.”
His eyelids lowered a little, giving him the hooded look of a hawk. “I haven’t f
orgotten.”
Their fingers brushed as he took the cup and saucer. A tingling awareness sped over her skin, sparking a peculiar tension in her bosom. Was he too remembering the time she’d come to his chamber and offered herself to him? Was he recalling how stupid and naïve she’d been?
Then she wondered if he’d ever regretted turning her down.
Kate pressed her fingers together in her lap. Foolish thought. Of course he had no regrets. As always, he’d done as he’d pleased. The following morning, he’d taken Papa on a grand African adventure, and now her father was dead.
“How is your head?” she asked briskly.
“Fine.” His brusqueness suggested otherwise. His narrowed eyes studied her as he took a drink of tea. “But I thought you were fibbing when you said you could ride.”
“Vivien gave me a lesson. The Gypsy way.”
“So that’s why you were sitting astride.” His gaze slid downward in an intensely masculine perusal. “Nice legs. A pity they’re covered now.”
In defiance of her willpower, a blush heated her throat and cheeks. “You oughtn’t have gawked.”
“You oughtn’t have behaved like a hoyden.”
“I had to stop you from leaving without me.”
“Leaving?”
“For Cornwall.”
He burst out laughing, then winced, rubbing his temples. “I was riding to a neighbor’s house to invite him to dinner.”
“You’d say that, of course.”
He shrugged. “If you don’t believe me, ask Michael.”
From a grouping of chaises a short distance away, his brother looked up from the infant cradled against him. “I trust you two aren’t gossiping about me.”
At his side, Vivien made a move to rise. “If you are, I should like to join in.”
Catching her wrist, Michael drew her back down. “You’ll stay right here, vestacha. Where you belong.”
A profoundly personal look passed between them. Even from across the room, their tangible aura of love startled Kate, awakening the secret longing in herself to feel that closeness. She had never belonged to anyone, at least not like that.
