More panic flashed through her expressive eyes. “Not at the moment,” she admitted, clutching her reticule. “But I’m entirely capable of procuring that amount. I’ll just need a bit of time.”
Ewan shook his head and took a step toward the door. He’d entertained this nonsense long enough. If Anthony Ballard or his father were willing to pay anything close to the amount she was offering, Ewan would have lost the auction. Double was a ludicrous amount of money. Furthermore, Lady Theodora obviously wasn’t a skilled negotiator if she was starting her bid at double. The last thing Ewan wanted to do was to take advantage of his neighbor Lord Blackstone’s daughter. “I’m afraid not, my lady. Though I do appreciate your eye for horseflesh. The horse is not for sale at any price. Too bad I cannot take you with me the next time I go to the auction house. I honestly wouldn’t want to bid against you.” He opened the door wide and gestured for her to walk through it. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a busy afternoon. I’ll have Humbolt show you out.” Ewan turned to leave, but had only taken one step when her loud voice stopped him.
“Are you mad?”
He stopped and turned back to face her. “My lady?”
“You’d refuse twice the purchase price?” Her chest was heaving, and her eyes were flashing gray fire at him. She was quite magnificent really. Too bad she was maddening.
Ewan reminded himself to take a long deep breath. He was used to being in heated negotiations in Parliament and he’d learned long ago that the coolest head usually prevailed. Why this young woman made him lose his infamous cool was anyone’s guess.
He lifted both brows and regarded her down the length of his nose. “I am not mad, my lady,” he replied. “Some things are simply not for sale.”
“Fine.” She was nearly shaking with rage, but she managed to say in a relatively calm voice, “May I at least see the Arabian, my lord?”
Ewan eyed her for a few seconds before the word slipped from his lips. Simple. Calm. Unheated. “No.”
“No?” Her eyes went round with surprise. Her mouth was tight. More fire flashed in her steely eyes as they narrowed on him. Her nostrils flared again. “May I ask why?”
“You may ask,” Ewan replied, “but I fear you may not like the answer.”
“Try me, my lord.” Her arms were tightly crossed over her chest once more.
“Very well, Lady Theodora. The truth is that I have the distinct impression that you’ve never heard the word ‘no’ before in your life. And I am of the belief that you would do well to hear it for once.” He said every word calmly, without raising his voice, but by the end of his diatribe, he was most certainly trembling with anger.
Lady Theodora bent her head and she stared at the floor silently for what felt like minutes but what was probably no more than a few seconds. For one awful moment, he wondered if he’d gone too far. He was a gentleman after all, and she was a young, unmarried lady, his neighbor. The chit’s rudeness had taken him off guard, but had he been too ungentlemanly? Had he said too much? Was the young woman about to burst into tears in his drawing room? Was she already crying? Lady Lydia had burst into tears once over something he’d said that had been far less direct. It seemed to him that young ladies were often wont to burst into tears over simple matters.
Ewan watched Lady Theodora warily. She lifted her head, drew up her shoulders, pursed her lips, and grabbed up her skirts. Her eyes were quite devoid of any tears as she said, “Very well. If we are going to tell each other what we believe the other needs to hear …” Venom dripped from her voice as she strode past him toward the door and pushed it wide so violently it cracked against the far wall in the corridor. She turned to face him, “You, Viscount Clayton, are the very definition of an ass.”
Then, she turned sharply on her heel. The clip of her boots on the marble floor rang out as she made her way across the foyer and to the front door, which Humbolt had already deftly opened for her.
Ewan watched her go with a half-bemused smile on his lips. How in the devil’s name had it come to this? In Parliament, he was known for his friendliness and diplomacy, but he’d certainly just made a solid enemy in Lady Theodora Ballard. He shook his head. Not that the chit had given him much of a choice. The girl was beautiful and presumably well-bred, but she was a complete shrew if her performance in his drawing room just now was anything to judge her behavior on. Any flicker of guilt he felt for refusing to allow her to see the horse was quickly replaced by anger when he thought of some of the outrageous things she’d said to him. The girl was clearly selfish. She might be good-looking, but beauty meant little when paired with a waspish temper.
First, she’d written him, then she’d come to visit without an invitation. Ewan turned and sauntered back toward the study to resume his discussion with Forrester, but all the while he couldn’t dismiss the feeling that he hadn’t seen the last of Lady Theodora Ballard.
Chapter Six
“That no good, lecherous, old goat!” Thea nearly shouted as the door to her father’s coach shut behind her. One of Viscount Clayton’s footmen had just helped her inside the conveyance from the gravel drive in front of the house.
Maggie, who sat on the opposite seat, let her needlework drop into her lap. She winced. “Oh, no. That must mean it didn’t go well.”
“It did not,” Thea allowed. She was still breathing so heavily through her nostrils she was practically snorting. She distracted herself by arranging her skirts upon the burgundy velvet-tufted seat while the coachman set the vehicle into motion back toward her father’s estate.
“He’s hideous,” Thea added, pulling her reticule from her wrist and tossing it upon the seat next to her. “He’s contemptible. Odious.”
“You mentioned he’s a lecherous old goat,” Maggie said in an entirely even tone. The maid had already gathered up her needlework and was back at it. “Was he quite elderly, then?” she asked casually.
“No, actually,” Thea unhappily allowed. She scrunched up her face and glared out the window. “He was much younger than Father had led me to believe. Couldn’t have been much past thirty years old.”
“Is that so?” Maggie replied, not even glancing up from her needlework. Maggie had been through a score of dramas with Thea and had learned to take them all in stride. Clearly her friend didn’t realize how very serious this drama was. “Was he handsome?”
Thea’s jaw dropped. “Handsome? Why, I just told you how odious he is. Why would you ask if he’s handsome?” she grumbled.
Maggie shrugged. “I assumed you meant he’s odious because he refused to sell you the horse, not because of his countenance.”
“He did refuse to sell me the horse. The man is hideous!” Thea declared, absently smoothing her hands over her skirts.
“Hideous or odious?” Maggie asked as she pulled the needle through the cloth.
Thea snorted again. “Both!”
“Very well, but was he handsome or not?” Maggie prodded.
Thea crossed her gloved arms sharply across her chest and glared at her friend for a moment while she contemplated the question. It made her even more angry to admit even to herself, but the fact was that the man was handsome, blast it all. When he’d first entered the room, she’d assumed he was a steward or some other servant sent to send her away, but when she’d realized he was Viscount Clayton himself, she’d been somewhat taken aback by his looks. Of course she hadn’t allowed herself to show it, as she’d been entirely distracted by the fight she was primed to have with him, but the man was tall, blond, and slim with the most heavenly lidded blue eyes she’d ever seen. They’d looked at her as if they’d known all her secrets and they carried a shrewd wisdom that told her that her normal theatrics were not about to work on him. She’d tried them at any rate. Tried and failed.
“What does it matter if he’s handsome or not?” Thea shot back, thoroughly annoyed with Maggie for even asking something as inconsequential as the man’s looks.
A sly smile spread across Maggie’s face. “Oh, t
hat means he is handsome.” The maid nodded knowingly.
Blast it. Maggie knew her too well. The maid could tell by Thea’s refusal to answer that the answer was yes. “Being handsome doesn’t negate the fact that he’s odious,” Thea insisted, lifting her nose into the air. She stared out the coach’s window into the brightly colored autumn trees as the carriage rumbled further and further away from her beloved Alabaster.
“Very well,” Maggie replied, still attending to her needlework. “What did the odious man say?”
Thea took a deep breath. “Not only did he refuse to sell him to me, he refused even to allow me to see him.”
Maggie lifted her brows. “Well, that does seem odious of him. What did you say to him to make him so set against you?”
Thea pressed her lips together and wrinkled up her nose. “Why do you think this is my fault? Perhaps he’s just odious.”
Maggie glanced up from her needlework long enough to give Thea a highly skeptical look. “Shall I remind you that I know you well enough to know that whatever words were exchanged between yourself and Viscount Clayton, yours had to be provoking. Provoking enough to see you expelled from the house without so much as a visit to the horse.”
Thea shifted uncomfortably in her seat. As usual, Mag was right. Thea had to unhappily admit to herself that she was to blame for angering the man to the point that he’d refused to allow her access to Alabaster. Why had she allowed the viscount’s callous refusal to negotiate to make her lose her temper?
“Never in my life have I experienced such a vehement dislike of someone upon first meeting him,” Thea declared.
Maggie sighed. “You still haven’t answered my question. What did you say to him to make him so angry?”
Thea frowned, but there was no use lying to Mag. “Very well. I may have asked him if he were mad.”
Maggie’s jaw dropped open. “You didn’t!”
“He was being entirely unreasonable,” Thea retorted. “I have every reason to believe he’s insane.”
Maggie closed her mouth and shook her head. “Because he didn’t want to sell you a horse he purchased fairly at auction? That is his prerogative.”
“But I offered him double,” Thea replied, as if that bit of news should explain away the entire ordeal.
Maggie’s eyes went wide as moons. “Double? Double what?”
“Double the price he paid at auction.” Thea turned her head away. She couldn’t watch the judgement in Maggie’s eyes as she admitted her folly.
Maggie’s voice was an incredulous whisper. “You don’t have that sort of money.”
Thea traced a finger along the bottom of the window. “I know that, but he doesn’t. What sort of a madman would refuse that amount of money?” She dared a glance at the maid.
Maggie pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes as if she were experiencing a headache. “So, you called him mad, and he asked you to leave?”
Thea nodded slowly. “I called him mad and then asked to see Alabaster and then he asked me to leave. But not before displaying the unmitigated gall to tell me that he believed I’d never heard the word ‘no,’ before and I was sorely in need of it.”
A bark of laughter escaped Maggie’s lips and she clapped a gloved hand over her mouth. “He didn’t,” she said in an amazed half-whisper.
Thea rolled her eyes. “Yes. He did.”
Maggie moved closer to the edge of her seat. “What did you say in reply? I can only imagine how pert it was.”
Thea winced and shrugged. “I called him an ass and then I left.”
Maggie’s hand flew to her mouth again, this time in obvious shock. “Oh, good heavens. Of course you did.”
“He is an ass,” Thea maintained, her leg bouncing up and down beneath her skirts.
“Perhaps, but you know you should not have allowed him to rile you so much that you called him that, Thea.” Maggie’s gaze captured hers.
Thea winced. Maggie rarely called her by her first name. She was being rebuked indeed. And she deserved it. She knew. Thea wasn’t proud of the fact that she’d allowed Viscount Clayton to make her so angry she’d reacted in such an unladylike manner. The look Maggie was giving her didn’t require additional words. Thea and her friend were both thinking the same thing, Thea’s mother would never have approved of her only daughter behaving in such a wild manner. It didn’t even matter that she’d behaved that way in front of a neighbor and a peer. Mama wouldn’t have countenanced Thea behaving in that manner in front of the lowliest servant either. She hadn’t raised her daughter to be a rude termagant. Thea closed her eyes as shame washed over her.
“You’d better hope the viscount doesn’t pay your father a visit and tell him about your behavior,” Maggie added.
Thea slumped down in her seat and crossed her arms tightly over her middle, contemplating the whole awful situation. She may have behaved like a petulant schoolgirl, but she still wanted to see Alabaster. Desperately.
“I hadn’t contemplated that,” Thea replied, misery washing over her.
“Don’t fret over it too much,” Maggie replied, leaning over and patting Thea on the knee. “I suspect Lord Clayton is merely happy to be rid of you.”
“He’s not rid of me yet,” Thea replied.
“What? What do you mean?” Maggie gave her an extraordinarily wary look.
“I don’t care whether Lord Clayton refused to allow me to see Alabaster. He’s my horse and I’m not about to let that man stop me from at least paying him a visit.”
Maggie was shaking her head. “What do you intend to do?”
“I intend to … I intend to …” Thea glanced out the window of the carriage and saw a stableboy running up a nearby lane. An idea flashed through her mind. A mad idea. But one that just might work. “I intend to ask you to make me boy’s clothes. I’ll need breeches and a neckcloth and—”
“Breeches?” Maggie’s eyes widened until they looked like moons. “And a boy’s shirt?”
“Yes,” Thea replied with a decided nod. “I’ll need both. Oh, and a cap too. To hide my hair.”
Maggie closed her eyes and swallowed. “I certain sure know I’ll be regretting this, milady, but why exactly do you need such clothing?”
Thea turned and gave her friend a half-wild smile. She could pass for a boy, at least temporarily. “Because I intend to become a lad, Maggie. At least long enough to see my horse.”
Chapter Seven
Ewan’s slight knock on the bedchamber door was met by silence. It was always met by silence. He waited a few moments before turning the handle and pushing it open.
The maid had come in as she did each morning to open the curtains and allow light to stream through the large glass windows that covered the wall on the far side of the room.
Ewan allowed his eyes to adjust to the brightness for a few moments before his gaze fell on his friend, sitting in a chair in the corner, facing the opposite wall.
Phillip’s location around the room each day often varied, but the fact that he sat in silence, did not.
“Good morning,” Ewan offered as he closed the door behind himself and moved farther into the room.
More silence met his ears.
“A beautiful day today,” Ewan continued. Outside the window the trees were filled with beautiful bright autumn colors. The entire landscape looked as if it was set ablaze. It was one of Ewan’s favorite times of year. Phillip rarely looked out the window.
“How are you feeling?” Ewan asked. He asked the same question every morning even though he knew he would receive no answer.
“I’ve seen to my books after an early meeting with my solicitor and this afternoon I intend to go riding,” Ewan continued, talking only to himself.
It was awkward, carrying on a one-sided conversation, but that is what the doctors had told him to do. Act as if nothing is different, my lord. When he is ready, he will reply.
Ewan hoped they were correct. But with every passing day, with no response from Phillip, a bi
t of hope faded.
They’d been friends since they were lads. Their fathers had been as close as brothers. They’d done everything together. Learned to ride, learned to hunt, learned to swim. It had been during a swimming expedition when they were but seven years old that Phillip had shown himself to be the most loyal of friends.
They’d begun the day fishing in a lake on Phillip’s father’s property. The fishing expedition had turned into an afternoon of swimming under the hot sun. Ewan and Phillip had each been diving and holding their breath. Even as a child Ewan’s competitive nature had got the best of him. He had to be the one to hold his breath the longest and win. Only he’d dived too deep in an effort to stay under longer and ended up getting his clothing stuck on the branch of a tree that had fallen in the water.
Apparently, Phillip had realized that his friend had been underwater too long and had come after Ewan, ripping at the branch, his own hands bloody and torn by the time it was over. Ewan didn’t remember much after.
Phillip had grabbed him beneath the arm and swam him back to shore where he pushed water out of Ewan’s lungs. Ewan was coughing up the last of it and regaining consciousness when their fathers had ridden up on horseback, alerted by Phillip’s shouts.
His friend had saved his life that day and Ewan had vowed to return the favor if ever he were called upon. Only Ewan hadn’t gone to war as Phillip had. As viscount, Ewan wasn’t in the Army. Instead, he did what he could for the cause of the war and the soldiers from his place in Parliament. Phillip didn’t have a title. He took a position as an officer in the Army and was sent to the Continent.
He’d been wounded in the war, shot in the shoulder and fallen from his horse. They’d found him still alive when combing a battlefield days after the battle. He’d been taken back to a medical camp and eventually returned to England.
Save a Horse, Ride a Viscount Page 4
