by Farr, Diane
She tilted her face up to the sky, closing her eyes and smiling. “Oh, it’s glorious,” she murmured. “Spring is nearly here.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Another few days of this weather, and the roads will be decent again. How soon will your mother whisk you off to London?”
She lowered her chin and opened her eyes. It seemed his words had brought her back to an unwelcome reality. “Not too soon, I hope.”
“Amen to that.”
“I don’t believe she can.” A slight smile disturbed her gravity once more. “I haven’t won Mr. Ellsworth’s heart yet. At least, not as far as I know.”
“Well, well, don’t despair. Still waters run deep. Perhaps he’s carrying a torch for you in secret.”
She laughed out loud at that, throwing her head back with delight. It warmed Derek’s heart to see her laugh so unabashedly. He grinned at her. “What’s so funny?” he demanded. “Why shouldn’t a chap carry a secret torch for you? I did, for years.”
“And yet, you know, not everyone does.” Her voice quivered with amusement. “Difficult as that may be for you to believe.”
“Dashed difficult,” he agreed.
She smiled at him in a way that made it hard for him to breathe. “When Hannah told me—oh, dear.” She covered her mouth with one hand for a moment, catching herself as she nearly spilled a secret.
“Never mind. I already guessed, you know. When Hannah told you what? That she fancies Mr. Ellsworth?”
Cynthia nodded, apparently resigned to her breach of confidence. “Yes. When she told me that, I thought she had run quite mad—since I knew she was acquainted with you.”
Derek puzzled over that for a moment while Cynthia’s cheeks grew visibly pinker. Then, realizing what she meant, he laughed, shaking his head. “By Jove. That’s the best compliment I’ve ever received.”
“Take care it doesn’t go to your head.”
They smiled at each other in perfect accord. Derek felt a besotted urge to blurt out another marriage proposal, but sternly quelled it. Any mention of marriage would send them into another rehashing of all the obstacles in their path, and he was determined that nothing so lowering would be allowed to intrude upon this day. They would have one day—or at least one morning—of unalloyed happiness together. He thought they might need the memory of this blissful ride on the moor to sustain them during whatever battles lay ahead. Dragons, he knew, lurked round the next bend.
“View halloo.” He pointed. “Is that your hat?”
“Oh, excellent! It is indeed.” She turned her mare so skillfully that the creature seemed to move as an extension of Cynthia, scrambling down a steep little incline to where the bright splash of cranberry red lay against the brown and green of the moor. It was caught on a prickly bush, the feather that adorned it fluttering like a trapped bird.
He followed her into the shallow ravine and swung out of the saddle. Max stood quietly while he took Cynthia’s reins. She bit her lip as she looked down at him, her face alight with mischief. “I shouldn’t permit you to hand me down. I should ask you to simply give me my hat.”
He extended his hand in invitation. “Come down off that horse, Lady Cynthia,” he said, a purr in his voice. “And I will help you with your hat.”
She gave a soft little laugh and placed her hand in his. He pulled her off the mare and she slid, deliciously, down the length of his body. She landed, as they both had known she would, in his arms. The ravine protected them from the wind and gave the illusion of privacy—and the horses wouldn’t tell. So he kissed her, taking his time and savoring the precious, stolen moment. And she, bless her, relaxed against his arms and kissed him back, with a wanton disregard for the possibility that they might be discovered.
“I think I’ll pull a few more pins out of your hair,” he murmured eventually.
“Don’t you dare.” She didn’t seem very worried. She nuzzled his chin, eyes closed.
“I’d love to know how it looks unbound. Even more, how it feels.” He played with a few escaped tresses, trying to imagine what it would be like to run his hands through that mass of warm, sun-shot silk.
She opened her eyes then and leaned languidly back, studying his face with sleepy amusement. “It feels like baby hair, if you must know. Very soft. Too soft! We haven’t been able to do anything about the fine texture, unfortunately, and it will never have the natural curl that yours has, but Mama and I have worked diligently to improve whatever we could. I brush it one hundred strokes every night.”
Now, there was a picture to make a man’s mouth water. Derek growled and held her tighter. “Someday,” he vowed, “I want to take over that task.” A shadow seemed to cross her face at his words. He hastened to change the subject before she could remind him that they had no future together. “I imagine it’s hard work, being one of London’s accredited beauties.”
That made her laugh, as he had hoped it would. “You’ve no idea,” she assured him, with mock earnestness. “The constant application of Denmark lotion alone is exhausting. And the expense! Shocking. I am forced to consume it by the quart.”
He pretended to study her features. “You will never convince me,” he said softly, “that you owe this face to Denmark lotion.”
He bent to kiss her again, but she tossed her head, laughing. “If it’s not the Denmark lotion, it must be the strawberries.”
“Strawberries?”
“Crushed,” she said primly, “and applied to the face, to brighten the complexion. With cucumber slices laid on the eyelids to prevent puffiness. Oh, and oil of cacao for the hands—why, you could feed an army on the wasted foodstuffs I have slathered on my skin.”
“Let me see if it worked,” Derek suggested, tugging on her gloves. They were buttoned securely at her wrists or he would have had them off of her before she could object. The buttons delayed him sufficiently to let her laugh and exclaim, pulling her hands back, and a brief tussle ensued. At the end of it her hands were pinned behind her back and Derek and Cynthia were pressed tightly together, chest to chest.
Her eyes were wide with laughter and apprehension. “What are you doing?”
“Teaching you something worth knowing.” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at her. “Sometimes, my lady, it’s fun to lose a tug-of-war.” She started to make a laughing protest, but he stifled it with a kiss. It was gratifying to witness how easily she was distracted. Within seconds, her body softened against his as she gave herself up to pleasure. She was a fast learner, however, on how to win a tussle. He kissed her so hungrily that he dropped his guard, relaxing his grip on her hands, and she immediately pulled neatly out of his grasp. He lifted his face from hers, growling in mock anger, and she laughed and swatted at him until he captured her hands again. Her playfulness warmed his heart; he suspected that it was a side of her few others had seen. But he was soon forced to admit that it was time he fulfilled his promise to help her with her hat.
He retrieved it from the bush, grumbling comically about the prickles he endured during this exercise, and presented the hat to her with a flourish. She turned it about in her hands, examining it, lips pursed. “Hm. I don’t suppose you have a mirror.”
“Sorry, no. Shall I act as lady’s maid?”
She eyed him with misgiving. “Entrust you with my hat pins? You must think me a simpleton.”
In the end, however, she had to trust him with them. Derek drove the wicked-looking hat pins through her coiled hair with great relish. Cynthia then tried, in vain, to tuck her hair back up under the reanchored hat. It was too small and fashionable to serve any useful purpose and she had to give it up, letting the escaped strands continue to blow free. Derek assured her that she looked charming—and although she pulled a face and laughed at this assertion, she truly did.
And then it was time to go. Derek laced his fingers and prepared to accept her boot, to toss her back up into the saddle. It was Cynthia who hesitated. She tugged insistently at his arm and he straightened, gladly, to take her b
ack in his arms for one more kiss.
When the kiss ended she sighed, a mournful sound that tugged on his heartstrings. “Don’t be sad, Cynthia,” he whispered. “This will not be our last kiss. I promise you that.”
She looked up at him, sorrow in her eyes. “I wish I could be as certain of that as you are.”
“That’s easily accomplished.” He lifted her wrist to his mouth and planted a kiss on the tiny space of skin between her glove and her sleeve. She shivered at the contact, closing her eyes as if in pain. “Let me speak to your mother,” he urged softly. “Let me, sweetheart. Today.”
A tiny crease appeared between her brows. She shook her head. “No.”
“Cynthia—”
“No!” She opened her eyes. “I need time, Derek. Please.”
“For what?” Exasperation sharpened his voice. “There’s nothing to wait for. We love each other. That can’t be changed; it’s too late. At some point, my darling heart, your parents are going to have to face it—as we have done. You can’t keep what’s between us a secret.”
She did not immediately reply. Her gaze seemed to be fastened on his cravat, as if she were afraid to meet his eyes. She clutched the lapels of his coat, a gesture that simultaneously clung to him and held him at bay. When she answered him her voice wavered slightly, and the color drained from her cheeks as she spoke. “Derek, I don’t know what to do.” Her expression was anguished. “I would give you an answer if I could. I can’t. And until I can, there is no point in your approaching Mama. You must accept that. It is progress, you know—of a sort.” She tried to smile. “Only yesterday, I was quite certain that I would never marry you. Now... I don’t know.”
His mouth turned down with disgust. “I am tempted,” he muttered, “to make the decision for you.”
She gave a shaky little laugh. “Everyone wants to make my decisions for me, it seems.”
“Yes,” he said wryly. “That is what stops me. I’ve a strong aversion to replacing your parents’ tyranny with my own.”
Cynthia smiled with relief. “Thank you. I know how difficult this must be for you. It’s torture for me, as well. I suppose you will say I have the power to end it,” she added hastily, seeing the spark of irony in his eyes. “But I dare not rush things. I am not accustomed to making my own decisions. And I can’t afford to make the wrong one.”
There was a hint of grimness in his expression. “You realize, I hope, that I am unlikely to take ‘no’ for an answer.”
She looked drawn and pale. “What do you mean?”
He cupped her chin in his fingers and held her eyes with his. “You have already tried to deny me, Cynthia,” he reminded her. His voice was soft, but merciless. “You have bade me farewell more than once—yet here we are. You cannot banish me, my love, because you cannot convince me that you truly want me to go. I will acknowledge defeat on the day you wed another man, and not one day sooner.”
Her expression was a strange mixture of fear and exultation. “At this moment,” she whispered, “I am glad of it. Whatever the future may hold, I will be glad I had these few days with you.”
He frowned. “You will have a lifetime with me.”
Sadness flitted across her face. She pulled herself out of his arms and forced an unconvincing little smile. “I hope you are right.”
“Never doubt it,” said Derek steadily, but the words suddenly sounded hollow.
They had to go back at some point, so there was nothing necessarily sinister about Cynthia’s abrupt withdrawal. Still, it bothered him. He had the distinct impression that she had brought the conversation to a close because she could not bear to disappoint him—but the sadness in her face told him that she felt she had merely postponed, not ruled out, disappointing him. Which meant that, despite everything, she anticipated handing him some very bad news one day soon.
He helped her onto her horse and she disposed her skirts while he swung back up onto Max’s broad back. “Now take off that Friday face, my lady, or Ellsworth will think I have abused you,” he said, with mock sternness. This sally won him a wan smile, but Cynthia’s gaiety had vanished.
It did not take long to come upon Lady Hannah and Mr. Ellsworth, still riding tamely along the bridle path. As they approached, Lady Hannah’s eyes widened in innocent surprise. “How wind-blown you are, Cynthia! What kept you so long?”
“I lost my hat, and we spent some time retracing our race to find it.”
Her poise was amazing. Derek looked sideways at her, wondering how she did it. Despite the straggling hair, she looked as cool and collected as if she and he had spent the past half hour cantering side by side and making small talk.
Hannah looked envious. “I wish I could ride well enough to race.”
“You ride very well,” lied Mr. Ellsworth manfully. “A very graceful seat, by Jove.”
Hannah looked so pleased that Derek bit back the jocular rejoinder that occurred to him. She bent her shy smile on Derek and said gratefully, “It was Mr. Whittaker who taught me. I had always been afraid of horses before. You know, John.”
“Oh, aye, I remember.” He chuckled. “Plough horse came and snatched an apple from her hand one day. One of those Clydesdale brutes, you know, seventeen or eighteen hands high. Enormous. Lady Hannah was just a wee bit of a thing, younger than Sarah is now. Nearly frightened the wits out of her.”
“Fancy you remembering that!” exclaimed Hannah. “Why, I barely recall it myself.”
“Made an impression. Never saw you run so fast, before or since. And my word, what a screech you let out!” He chuckled again, shaking his head.
Hannah looked embarrassed. Cynthia smoothly intervened, saying, in her calm way, “At any rate, Hannah, you are not afraid of horses now. I think you deserve great credit. It takes courage to overcome a long-held fear.”
Derek slanted a glance at Cynthia. She appeared serenely unaware of his scrutiny, but he was not fooled by her show of indifference. “The prejudices we pick up in childhood are often the most difficult to unlearn,” he said urbanely, as if agreeing with her. “And sometimes adults make it their business to instill fears in children—fears that may protect us while we are small, but must eventually be outgrown.”
Hannah wrinkled her nose. “What do you mean? Fear of the dark, and things like that?”
“That, and other things. For their own safety, children must learn to obey adults, for example. But sometimes the adults in a child’s life instill such a rigid regard for authority—”
“That’s so. I had a tutor once who caned me,” Mr. Ellsworth remarked, interrupting. “He was a frightful old screw. Drank, too, as I recall. Tsk! He didn’t last long.”
So much for communicating with Cynthia obliquely. Mr. Ellsworth and Lady Hannah fell into a reminiscent mood, chatting and laughing about their old tutors and governesses. Since neither Cynthia nor Derek had been acquainted with any of these persons, they were unable to contribute further to the conversation and fell silent.
It was difficult for the foursome to stay together. Lady Hannah was mounted on a fat little slug of a mare, an animal that dawdled along in a way that plainly irritated Max. He tossed his head and snorted, trying to communicate to Derek that a morning on the moor should not be wasted. Derek tended to agree. He leaned over to address Cynthia, who was riding along beside him. “Care for another gallop?” he murmured provocatively. “You said you’d like a rematch.”
Cynthia ducked her head, smiling, and looked up at him through her lashes. “I said I wanted a rematch at Ballymere. But I’ll give you one here as well, if you like.”
Unfortunately, Hannah had overheard. “Oh, no!” she cried, in patent dismay. “Do not go off without us again. And besides, shouldn’t we turn back? We’ve been riding for simply ages.”
“Very well.” Derek straightened and pulled Max to a halt. The others reined in around him. “We’ll turn round, and race back to the top of the last rise. Who’s with me?”
“I am,” said Cynthia staunchly, a
s he had guessed she would. But to his surprise, Mr. Ellsworth chimed in.
“Let us all do it,” he suggested. “Hannah, you said you wanted to try, did you not? Daresay we can’t give these two much of a race, but you and I could race each other.”
Hannah shrank with alarm—but she did look tempted, even so. “Oh, dear me. I couldn’t, could I? Do you think I could?”
“Be good for you,” opined Mr. Ellsworth. “Give you a bit of fresh air.”
“I don’t think Lady will toss me,” said Hannah brightly. “She’s very gentle.”
Derek had to hide his laugh in his sleeve. It seemed unlikely, to him, that Lady would be coaxed into anything faster than a trot. “She won’t have time, between here and the rise. It can’t be more than a quarter of a mile.”
The rules were quickly decided and the foursome took their places on the narrow bridle path, Derek and Cynthia in front and John and Hannah well behind—to avoid, Mr. Ellsworth jocularly said, having to eat too much of Derek and Cynthia’s dust. When she actually had to turn her mount and face a racetrack, of sorts, Hannah was visibly nervous. She gamely said nothing, however, and prepared to urge Lady into the closest approximation of a gallop that the placid animal would give. Hannah was allowed to give the signal, and when she cried, “Now!” everyone sprang into action. Derek and Cynthia flew toward the rise as one, low over their horses’ necks and laughingly urging their mounts to greater and greater speed. The wind in their faces and the pounding hooves beneath them masked whatever sounds emanated from the other couple. It was only when they pulled to a stop at the top of the rise and turned, laughing, to beg Mr. Ellsworth and Lady Hannah for a verdict on who had won the race, that they saw what had happened behind them. Cynthia’s eyes made sense of it before Derek’s did. With a startled exclamation, she headed her horse back to where Hannah lay in the dust beside the path, with Mr. Ellsworth hovering helplessly over her.
