“As for me, during the duke’s visits I had to live under his rule. A crueler, more self-centered man could not be found in England.”
Hugh’s vehemence alarmed her. “What did he do to you?”
“He tried to do unspeakable things. Things behind closed doors. Things that would make your skin crawl and your mind go mad.”
“Did your mother do nothing to protect you?”
Hugh didn’t look at Ellie anymore. His eyes were fixed on the past and glittering with hatred.
“She knew,” he said. “She found us one bright sunny day when the birds were singing, the roses were in bloom, and his lordship had me tied to the bedpost.”
Ellie gripped her throat. “What happened?”
“She sent me the next day to the most horrific public school in England. I didn’t see her for two years. I was eight when she packed me off.”
“But the duke is gone now?”
“He’s gone,” said Hugh, giving the bars to the stall a hard shake. Manifesto backed into the far corner, eyes white-rimmed with alarm. “So now she’s pursuing Captain Chase Hart, a rakehell half her age. Bugger her and her marriage plans for me.”
Ellie didn’t know what to say. She looked at Hugh’s handsome face twisted with rage and hatred. Gently, she stroked his scarred cheek. “And this?” she asked.
“Another ambitious chit, but that’s a story for another day.”
Ellie lifted the curls from his brow. “I’m so sorry you suffered,” she said. She pushed a stray hair back from his temple, and with her thumb, cleared a speck of dust from the corner of his lip. He needed her, and what could be the harm in experimenting a little as Toby? She kissed his fine lips. Nuzzled at the pain that held his mouth taught.
With eyes that looked at her as if he were at the bottom of a pit, he pulled her to him, and sought her lips. Slowly the hardness in him softened. He covered her face with fast, fervent kisses, then held her cheeks in his hands and buried her mouth with soul-rending passion. Ellie longed to take all of his pain into her. If he would give it, she would dispose of it — send it out to sea, bury it deep in the Exeter graveyard. He held her, running his hands up and down her back, as if searching for a grip that would never let her go. His fingers tangled in her hair, knocking off the floppy hat. She moaned as he pushed her against the Dutch door to Manifesto’s stall.
The image of Hugh with the Mortimers’ maid flashed through Ellie’s mind. And then it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the hot darkness welling within her. Toby wouldn’t control her desire, she told herself. Toby is free to love with all her heart. I am Toby. I am Toby.
Hugh pulled her jacket off her shoulders, trapping her hands at her sides. He ran his fingers over her breasts. She swooned from the rich feeling on her nipples — better, better by far than her earlier imaginings. Liquid poured to the delicious itch between her legs. She wrapped a leg around his waist and kissed him as if she would suck his mouth dry.
Hugh grunted. He lifted her other leg and wrapped it around his waist, then carried her to the ladder leading to the haymow. A part of her mind wanted to break free, wished a stable hand would walk in, but the majority of her longed for him. He put her down at the ladder. A hand on the small of her back pushed her toward the first rung. Wanting him, she climbed the ladder, dismissing all thoughts of consequences, of Toby, of Ellie, of who should love whom.
In the loft, he lowered her onto the hay, then straddled her, his knees on each side, pinning her there. His hands took the sides of her homespun shirt and with a ferocious tug, he ripped it open. Buttons fell like hail on her stomach.
The violence frightened and thrilled her. She clutched the tattered sides of her shirt and pulled them away, revealing herself fully to him, letting the shock of exposure ripple through her. Bathed in the rush of cool air, it felt like victory.
Hugh’s breath came hard. “Sweet Toby,” he rumbled. He kissed her neck, nuzzled her hair, sniffed her. His eyes blazed with lust and in a glorious flood, she understood what he saw — her magnificence, her ripe sensuality.
She arched her back and pressed her hips into him. He was extended and hard. Of their own accord, her legs spread and her knees came up. She grabbed his belt and pulled him between her thighs.
He rubbed his manhood against her, sending zings of pleasure to her core. They rolled, bodies locked, her mind heady with the scent of him and the aroma of sweet dried grass.
Nuzzling, his lips soft, his chin rough, he moved down her neck, her chest, until he found her breast — locked on, sucked, then bit — holding her nipple gently between his teeth. Ellie undulated beneath him, her body eager and heavy with desire.
Somewhere in the commotion of senses, she detected sounds; the whickering of horses, the barn door sliding open, and then, the voices of men.
She went rigid. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered. She pushed Hugh from her. As if his body had been a suit of pride, shame at her nakedness replaced his heat. She yanked the ripped remnants of her shirt over herself. A lump filled her throat.
“It’s all right, Toby,” Hugh whispered, caressing her face. “I’ll get rid of them and bring you another shirt.”
He disappeared down the ladder.
“Eh, your lordship,” she heard one of the men say, “takin’ a little tryst in the haymow, are ye?”
“You know how it is, Eddie.”
“Which one ya got up there?” said the other groom.
“You’d never believe it,” Hugh replied.
“One o’ them society chits as you got in the big house?”
“Gad, no! You know me better than that. But listen, boys, do me a favor, go distract yourselves in the broodmare barn while I clear the chit out.”
“Oh aye, your lordship,” one of the men responded. “Our eyes is blind and our lips is sealed.”
“You’re both capital fellows, you two,” Hugh said.
Ellie heard coin clinking. Then the sound of Hugh’s footsteps as he left the barn in search of a shirt for her. She burrowed deep in the hay, overcome by disgust and revulsion. This mow probably played mattress to his last wench, she thought. What’s happened to my will? It will be my life if he gets me with child, and he hates high-born women. A hint of my identity and I’m lost. No love, no Manifesto, no farm, no future for my family.
She gripped her head in her hands and rocked back and forth as sharp stems of hay pricked through the tattered shirt. A picture formed in Ellie’s mind — a path to salvation. Toby must never know Hugh’s lips again, she vowed. From now on, his passion must belong to Ellie alone.
If she understood one thing from the tip of her toes to the top of her head, it was that she had to get away before Hugh came back. Leave before he persuaded her to stay. She buttoned her ragged, hay-speckled vest and jacket over the torn shirt, and climbed down the ladder. Hastily, she saddled Manifesto, mounted, and took off at a gallop to the practice grounds.
By the time Hugh caught up to her, Ellie had worked Manifesto over the Gold Cup course twice.
“Where were you?” he called.
“He was high on the double oxer,” she hollered as he approached on Valaire, “but the second time I took him over, he jumped it like gold.”
Before he could come near her, Ellie turned Manifesto, kicked him into a gallop, and thundered back toward the barn.
“Toby!” Hugh cried, but she decided not to hear him.
The instant she had Manifesto’s saddle and bridle off, she bolted for the woods and the shed where she changed clothes.
Trouble, trouble, trouble, she mused. I have put myself in a world of trouble.
Terrified that Hugh might search for Toby and find Ellie in the gardener’s shed, she threw her dress on over her breeches, wrapped the shawl around her shoulders, and raced for the house.
Clai
re and Flavian were walking Sport. The dog obviously wasn’t going to produce the pearls or he would have days before, but Claire clearly enjoyed Flavian Monroe’s company.
“Good morning, early bird!” Claire sang. “Not a pearly cloud in the sky. It’s going to be a clear day.”
“Yes, lovely,” said Ellie tersely.
“My, you’re an early riser,” Flavian observed.
“Morning constitutional,” Ellie told him. “Simply have to have it. See you at breakfast.” She dashed toward the house, and ran to the bedroom. All she wanted was to feel safe again.
• • •
Hours later, Ellie and Hugh walked the path to the barn in silence. It took all her concentration to see through the infernal glasses and appear bright and attractive as she seethed inside.
“Would you like to visit Manifesto?” Hugh said. “We’re taking excellent care of him. I’d just need a minute to bring him out.”
She slowed her gait. “You’re able to handle him then?” Hugh blanched a little, which brightened Ellie’s mood. “How extraordinary, because there was only one groom at home who Manifesto tolerated.” Focusing all her pent up anger into what she was sure was a dazzling smile, she added, “Why yes, I’d love to see the horse. I’ll wait right here while you fetch him.”
Hugh looked as stricken as a hound ordered off the fresh laundry. She could see he was mulling over the promise he’d made to Toby that the stable hand would never have to see Ellie. He walked backward toward the stallion barn as if mesmerized by the smile Ellie kept glued to her face. At the entrance he halted, turned away, then turned back. “We have a … man here that Manifesto’s taken a liking to, but that … man is away just now. You could visit the horse in his stall.”
Ellie’s bravura crumpled. If Manifesto nuzzled her Hugh would surely see through her flimsy disguise. With a shrug of her shoulders, she headed toward the mare barn. “I’ll see the horse another time. For now, I’m interested in securing a colt for my Aunt May.”
“Before we discuss the sale of one of my horses,” he said, catching up to her, “could you tell me why your father is divesting your stock?”
Ellie hoisted the hem of her skirt to avoid a mound of manure and kept her eyes averted. “He’s not terribly interested in horses, and with the price of grain hitting such exorbitant rates … ”
Hugh huffed. “Grain has never been cheaper.”
She halted dead in her tracks. “You say grain is cheap?”
“With Napoleon out of the way the European ports are open to England again. Grain has dropped to less than seventy shillings for eight bushels.”
“I see,” she said, her brain churning. Hadn’t Lank told her father grain cost too much to raise horses?
Hugh escorted her into the broodmare barn. They walked in silence along the rows of stalls. At each one, the horses put their heads over the doors and nickered at him. Little broom-tailed foals frisked next to their dams. Though his face held nothing but disdain for her, the horses cracked the corners of his lips and warmed the depths of his brown eyes.
Ellie’s outrage at being left in the haymow dissolved completely in the presence of so many snuffling muzzles, so many curious pairs of equine eyes. A large filly took a bite of carrot Ellie offered, then bolted behind her mama to chew. “She’s older than the rest,” Ellie observed. “Was she a winter foal?”
“She was,” Hugh replied, the ice in his voice melting with the topic. “We nearly lost her during a frost.”
The little horse peered timidly from behind her mama’s rump. “Shy thing,” Ellie murmured. “Have you always had that lantern outside the mare’s stall?”
“I would guess so.”
“And is it lit during the winter months?”
“The grooms keep it on after dark. The days are so short in winter.”
“Perhaps you should move the mare,” she said. “Sometimes a dam goes into heat in winter because of artificial light. She might be sensitive to it.”
“How unusual.”
“It does happen.”
“Where did you learn that?”
“Oh, my Uncle Sebastian taught me all sorts of un-ladylike things: how to swim, how to curse, how to skin a squirrel, or make a hammock out of grapevine. I could survive for weeks in the wilderness. But my uncle’s favorite activity was to gather all the children on the estate and give us ‘horse lessons.’ Girls and boys, we all learned how to feed, groom, ride, and do just about anything with horses.
“Yet he left no legitimate heir.”
She laughed. “That is a nice way of referring to his many, many illegitimate progeny.”
Hugh rubbed his chin. “Mother used to rail about the ‘morally bankrupt’ Sebastian Albright. She conspired to ban him from London’s best salons. It drove her to distraction that, despite her best efforts, Sebastian didn’t seem to notice. He was just as jolly as ever.”
“I think she had a bit of a longing for him.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, but Uncle Sebastian was distracted by his one great love, Celia Coopersmith. She was as charming as she was beautiful.”
“Coopersmith?” Hugh said, excitement in his voice. “Did your uncle have a child with her?”
Ellie’s heart banged in her chest. “One. A boy named Toby.” From the corner of her bespectacled eye, she watched Hugh carefully.
“A boy?” He sounded perplexed.
“Yes. A boy.”
He seemed to mull the information over. “Where is Toby’s mother? Still at Fairland?”
“Oh dear, I thought everyone in Devon knew.”
“Knew what? I was on a grand tour after graduation.”
“Celia Coopersmith was murdered.”
“My God! Who did it, do you know?”
“I shouldn’t say murdered, I suppose. She was wounded and robbed by a soldier. Her father was a doctor. They took her to her him instead of my sister Claire. The wound festered and killed her.
“What a terrible ordeal for Toby.”
“Indeed, terrible for us all. Celia Coopersmith was a wonder.”
Having reached the last stall in the barn, Ellie stepped into the bright light of the stable yard. Even through the lenses’ distortion, she could see a fat brown nag wearing a sidesaddle at the hitching post. Her heart stopped. “Oh, I usually ride … with a different sort of sidesaddle.”
Hugh looked confused. “Really? Not the old-fashioned kind with the step and you have to be led by a man, I hope?”
A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “Good heavens, no. It doesn’t matter. This saddle will do just fine.”
Stepping onto the mounting block, she studied the contrivance. The saddle had a single pommel, a stirrup that looked like a closed-toe slipper, and a chair rail securing the far side of the seat. She had no idea how to get into it.
Bored, the nag snapped at a fly on its flank, cocked a hind hoof, and shifted its weight.
The huge, beefy groom, who’d manned the gate when Ellie tamed Old Nell, led Valaire into the stable yard. Hugh swung gracefully into the saddle, and looked at her expectantly.
Another groom holding Ellie’s horse grinned at her. Time stood still. “Well, here we go.” She put her left foot in the slipper-stirrup. The groom gave her a swift boost. He lifted too high, she overshot her mark, and at the same time, the nag shifted its weight away from her. The momentum and the horse’s sloping haunches sent her flying backward over the chair rail. She landed with a sickening thump, a cloud of dust billowing from beneath her navy blue riding habit. As the hem floated down, it came to rest on her upper thighs, leaving her legs in full view. “Gad, are you all right?” Hugh said, leaping from Valaire and yanking her skirt down.
Ellie couldn’t breathe. A searing pain flamed through the ankle of her left leg, and she was
n’t sure if the glasses were still on. Panicked, she felt for the tortoise shell frames, which were skewed across her face, and pressed them over her eye sockets.
“She’s been hurt,” said Hugh. “One of you, go fetch a doctor.”
Both grooms stayed where they were.
“Eddie,” Hugh barked. “Get on a bloody horse and get the doctor now!”
“Yes, my lord,” Eddie said. “But might I have a few shillings in case of expenses on the road?”
“Good God.” Hugh fished coins from his pocket. “I’m not asking you to run to Scotland, just get Dr. Goddard immediately!”
Eddie gave the beefy groom a sly smile and raced for the barn to fetch a horse.
“I can’t breathe,” Ellie rasped. Hugh unbuttoned the gold frogs on her fitted jacket.
“Is that better?”
“My leg’s been scratched, I think.”
Hugh lifted her out of the dust and into a sitting position. “You’re bleeding.” He examined the back of her ankle, just above the boot. “You must have hit a rock.” Pealing her jacket off, he handed it to the groom.
“Let me know if I hurt you.” He gathered her into his arms and carried her toward the barn. His kindness filled her eyes. She longed to put her face against his shoulder. The pain in her leg made her tremble, but the wound didn’t compare to the agony of pretending to be someone she wasn’t — of loving Hugh when he didn’t love her.
Inside a tack room, Hugh put her down on a wooden chest and sat beside her. A sob shook her.
“Miss Ellie,” he said. “You’re quite shattered.”
“It’s not that bad,” she told him. “I don’t know why I’m crying so. It’s not like me.”
He dragged a crumpled handkerchief from the bottom of his pocket. “It’s clean,” he said handing it to her. “My valet scolds me to keep it folded, but that never seems to work out.”
Time After Time Page 13
