“I … no, of course not.” His heart had recommenced its pounding, but this time for a reason that had nothing to do with alarm. Now he was the one who was breathless. It was as if this beautiful young creature had cast some sort of spell over him. Dammit, man, pull yourself together.
She extended her hand. “Help me up?”
When she was on her feet again, he could not fail to notice that concealed beneath her prim black riding habit were a tiny waist, finely curved hips, and firm, full breasts. She was taller than most, although because of his own great height, the top of her head came only a touch above his chin.
She bent, busying herself brushing bits of grass from her skirt. When she raised up, she asked, “And who are you?”
“I am Robert Stormont.”
“Lord Stormont?” The friendliness in her eyes vanished. “The one who stole Hollyridge Manor from Lord Westerlynn?”
“The very same,” he said, ardently wishing he could deny the fact. “But see here, I didn’t steal Hollyridge, I won it. There’s a difference.”
“Not to me.” She looked at him as if she’d just discovered him slithering out from under a rock. She backed a step away, an unconscious response, he supposed, yet a clear indication of her hostility. Coolly she said, “I had planned to visit Sara Sophia this morning. I must be on my way.”
“Very well.” He watched as she retrieved her hat from beneath a bush and set it firmly atop her head. She walked to her horse, which stood quietly and made no fuss when she gathered up the reins, then patted him on the nose and whispered something no doubt soothing into his ear.
“May I help you up?” he inquired pleasantly. Not for the world would he let her know he had taken note of her incivility.
She hesitated. He knew exactly what was going through her mind. It was clear she did not want him to help her, but if she didn’t, he, a complete stranger, would be witness to what would have to be, at best, a most unladylike leap. He hid a chuckle. Surely her parents were not aware she rode astride.
So what is to be, Lady Clarinda? Will you leap, skirts flying, onto your horse, as you would like to do, and usually do, or will you…?”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said, her pert little nose high in the air, “I should like a boost.”
“My pleasure,” he said, and walked to the horse where she stood, ready to mount.
“When I first saw you, you were riding astride,” he said. “Is that how — ?”
“You are mistaken, sir,” she replied without mirth. “A lady always rides sidesaddle.”
“Really?” He took a long, leisurely look at the Irish Hunter’s bare back. “Then if you are riding sidesaddle, would it not be a good idea to put a sidesaddle on the horse?”
A frown line appeared between her golden brows. “Could you kindly put your hands together?” she tartly requested. “No doubt you are as anxious as I to be on your way.”
“Quite so.” If she expected him to form a loop with his hands that she could step into, she was sadly mistaken. “Bend your knee.”
Startled, she asked, “What are you — ?”
“Bend your knee,” he commanded again in his no-nonsense voice, the one reserved for the occasional bullheaded servant. Without another word, she did so. He bent down, placed his large hands beneath her skirt, and firmly grasped her ankle, directly above her boot.
“Up you go!” With consummate ease he gave her a boost. She, instantly cooperating, lifted herself up, perching atop the horse in a movement both fluid and graceful. For an extra long moment, his hands refused to let go, and their contact with the smooth skin of her slender ankle caused that sudden heat within to flare again. Finally he let go, though sorely tempted not to. She looked down, gravely regarding him. Their eyes locked. He could swear she knew what he was thinking. He backed off a step, keeping his face inscrutable, observing how she was sitting, both legs dangling on one side. “Well?” he inquired. “Surely you’re not planning to ride sidesaddle without the saddle.”
She was silent a moment, as if gravely considering the question he had posed. “No, I am not,” she said, and with a short kick and a whirl of skirts, slung a leg to the other side. Triumphantly she looked down upon him. With a perfectly straight face she said, “In case you were not aware, sir, there are times when even a lady does not keep her legs together.”
Why, the little minx! It was all he could do to keep from bursting into laughter, but he kept his face a blank. “But if she does not keep her legs together, then perhaps she is no lady.”
She regarded him solemnly, although he would swear he caught a slight gleam of amusement in her eye. “I do believe we have exhausted that topic, m’lord. Good day.”
Before he could say a word, the chestnut gelding began a skittish dance. With an expert nudge of her knees, and with a firm hold on the reins, the girl whispered, “Let us be off, Donegal.”
Robert watched as the horse sprang away. At full gallop, he and his beautiful rider fair flew across the meadow and disappeared into the trees toward Hollyridge Manor.
Lady Clarinda Capelle. An unwelcome surge of excitement ran through him as he stared after horse and rider. But this will not do. If there was anything he did not need right now it was an attachment to a young chit like this one. His life was complete, unshakeably so. What more could he want than his thoroughbred hunters, an occasional trip to London to gamble, and, of course, an occasional visit with his current lady bird?
And yet … there was something different about this girl. She did not appear to be the simpering, bubble-headed belle he was accustomed to in London. Clearly she was no Dresden doll. This girl loved horses, that was clear…
Robert laughed to himself, remembering her saucy, most unladylike remark about ladies and their legs. He also remembered her hostile pose when she discovered he was the villain who had stolen Hollyridge from old Lord Westerlynn.
That girl does not like me, Robert mused. But all things considered, that was for the best, and hardly worth worrying about. In a few days he would be leaving, soon as he’d stripped Hollyridge of what he most wanted — those magnificent horses — and arranged for the sale of the estate. Never would he return.
So why even bother to think about her? Chances were he would never see her again.
*
Clarinda held Donegal to a gallop until she was sure she was well into the trees, out of Stormont’s sight. Relieved, she slowed Donegal to a walk. Although she’d been loathe to admit it, the fall had jarred her considerably. She was sure no bones were broken, but various parts of her body already ached, and would probably get worse.
She patted Donegal. “It was not your fault,” she said aloud.
When she reached the stables at Hollyridge, she was relieved to see Sara Sophia in the courtyard, saddling one of the thoroughbreds. “I can’t have Sham this morning,” she called wistfully. “Lord Stormont has taken a liking to him.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Clarinda said as she slid from her horse. “Wait ‘til you hear what happened…”
She related every detail of her early morning encounter with Lord Stormont, from the attack of his dog to that extra long moment when Stormont had boldly gripped her ankle while helping her back onto her horse.
You’re not hurt?” Sara Sophia asked after Clarinda had finished her tale.
“Only my pride. What do you think of him?”
“He seems quite civil.”
“You wouldn’t think badly of anyone,” Clarinda said thoughtfully. “You know as well as I, he practically stole Hollyridge. The man’s a villain.”
“But a very handsome villain.”
“True, he’s not bad looking by half,” Clarinda grudgingly admitted.
“By half? The man is devilishly handsome. He must spend much of his time out of doors in order to have acquired that tanned skin.”
Clarinda wrinkled up her nose. “It’s not the least fashionable.”
Sara Sophia laughed. “That sounds like something Rissa w
ould say. Admit it. The man is most attractive.”
Especially when he smiles that rakish smile, thought Clarinda, and shows those straight, strikingly white teeth contrasted against his dark skin. “It was extremely brazen of him to grab my leg as he did. He held it extra long, and was not a gentleman. Papa would throw a fit if he found out.”
“There’s a conundrum!” Sara Sophia exclaimed. “You might wish to tell your father, but if you do, he’ll doubtless discover you were riding without a saddle.”
A new thought struck Clarinda. “Do you suppose Stormont was aware of that?”
“Probably. I find him exceedingly bright, and quite perceptive.” Sara Sophia’s eyes twinkled. “And I suspect he has a bit of the devil in him, too.”
“Now that I think of it, of course he knew. No doubt he felt quite safe in allowing his hands to linger that extra moment on my leg.” Strange, how she did not feel the least bit indignant. She supposed she should express her disapproval, though. “That rogue!” How limp that sounded. No doubt Sara Sophia would see right through her pitiful attempt at indignation.
“I can see your anger knows no bounds,” commented her wise friend with a slight raise of her eyebrow.
I was right. “Well, I can’t fool you, can I? I suppose I found him somewhat attractive. In fact” — she hesitated to make such an intimate confession, but Sara Sophia was never shocked by much of anything — “if you must know, I can still feel the warm spot where he clasped me. And I remember, too, there was a fleeting moment when I was lying there on the ground, and he was bending over me, only inches away, and…” Where were the words to explain such a sensual experience?
“Do go on,” Sara Sophia said gently. “What good is a friend if you can’t confide in her?”
“I was suddenly aware of him as a man. He was holding me in his arms. For a moment, all I could think was — now don’t be shocked — I wanted him to kiss me.”
Sara Sophia’s expression grew tender. “I’m not shocked in the least. I think it’s wonderful, and I wish that someday I might feel that way.”
Clarinda continued, “Yesterday at Mama’s tea that silly Agatha was describing him. She said, ‘He positively radiates his masculinity … if you know what I mean’. Well, Agatha knew whereof she spoke. Now I know exactly what she meant.”
“Then you like him.”
“I do, and then I don’t. When all is said and done, he is a dreadful man.”
Sara Sophia looked puzzled. “Why so harsh? I have found him to be most courteous and kind, although” — she heaved a sigh — “I would have wished he hadn’t ridden off on Sham today.”
“Don’t you see that’s part of it?” Clarinda’s expression clouded with anger. “What incredible greed, to take advantage of a defenseless old man well into his dotage. Stormont is no better than a thief, and we had better remember that. At least he has not been invited to the — ” She stopped abruptly, but too late.
“To the ball tonight?” softly asked Sara Sophia. “Why do you blush? How could you think I didn’t know there’s a ball at Graystone Hall tonight when it’s the talk of the countryside?”
“It’s not fair. I did everything in the world to get Mama to invite you, but she simply would not.”
“Say no more.” Sara Sophia regarded her with those clear, observant eyes. “You needn’t fear I’ll be upset, or hurt, because I am not. Long ago, I learned my station in life. Rest assured, I am content.”
Clarinda regarded her skeptically. “You’re just saying that.”
“No, I’m not. Don’t you understand? I am not the least impressed with your Leisure World. It bothers me not one wit that I don’t belong. Oh, of course, I love a good time, but I’m certainly not hurt, nor do I care that I’m ignored and not invited.”
“Still, it’s deucedly unfair, said Clarinda, her cheeks flushed with anger.
“I’m only happy I have a friend like you, and I have Sham to ride — at least I did, and I’ve been able to live at this beautiful estate, run-down though it may be.” Sara Sophia clasped Clarinda’s hand. “I so admire you, Clarinda — your high spirits — your passion for living. I’m so grateful you’re my friend. I find it a true miracle that for some reason you want to spend more time with me than with your twin.”
“My twin,” Clarinda repeated with a disdainful toss of her head. “You wonder why I don’t spend more time with Rissa?”
“I can guess, but you’ve never said.”
“I stay away from Rissa because she’s selfish. No, beyond selfish. Because Rissa always gets her way.”
“But you’re so strong-willed and independent. Why can’t you stand up to her?”
“It’s simple. According to my parents, Rissa is the good twin and I’m the bad.”
“But we know that’s not true!”
Clarinda set her chin in a stubborn line. “Let them think what they wish. I gave up trying to change their minds long ago.”
Riding home, Clarinda kept seeing Lord Stormont’s anxious face as he bent over her. But enough! she told herself. She would put him out of her mind — think of the ball tonight.
Larimore. Her heart sank at the thought. She wished she didn’t have to see him. Why didn’t she break her skull when she fell off Donegal? Or an arm, or leg, or at the very least, sprained an ankle? Then she wouldn’t have to attend the ball tonight.
Alas, she hadn’t been that lucky.
*
When Clarinda arrived home, she found Mama and the seamstress in Rissa’s bed chamber. They were putting final touches on Rissa’s ball gown as she stood admiring herself before her full length gilt mirror.
“Where have you been, Clarinda?” asked Lady Capelle.
Mama knew full well where she’d been. “Out riding, Mama, as I do every morning.”
Mama glanced at her suspiciously. “I trust you didn’t visit Sara Sophia.”
Before she could answer, Rissa inadvertently saved her. “Oh, Clarinda! You’ve a scratch on your forehead, up near your hairline.”
“Damnation, I forgot. She should have checked herself in the mirror first. “‘Tis nothing. I just had a little tumble from my horse.”
Mama scowled, a not uncommon reaction at any mention of Clarinda’s passion for riding. “Did Donegal stumble?”
“Donegal never stumbles. It was Lord Stormont’s hunter who ran across the meadow and — “
“Lord Stormont!” Mama’s eyes instantly lit with interest. “Do you mean to say he’s here?”
“He’s come to inspect his new property. Such a horrid man. I cannot abide the way he stole Hollyridge from Lord Westerlynn.”
“Horrid?” Mama stared at her aghast. “No man is horrid who’s unmarried, titled, and has an income in excess of twenty thousand pounds per year.”
Rissa, who had been intent on regarding herself in the mirror, clasped her hands. “How exciting! We must invite him to the ball.”
Mama nodded. “Indeed, we shall. Stormont has twice the fortune of the Suftons.”
Estelle spoke up. “He’s brought a friend along, m’lady. Lucius, Lord Wentridge.”
“Uncanny, how the servants know everything first,” acidly observed Lady Capelle. “Then we shall invite Lord Wentridge, too.”
Clarinda was disgusted with herself. Why did she have to mention Lord Stormont? Now he was invited to the ball. That made two men, each in his own way detestable, that she must deal with tonight.
Chapter 5
“You look splendid, Robert. The ladies will swoon at the sight of you.”
“Let us hope not, Lucius,” Robert answered fervently. The invitation to the ball at Graystone Hall had arrived. It was fortunate his valet had seen fit to bring along his double-breasted wool frock coat with the claw-hammer tails, silk twill breeches, waistcoat and shirt with chitterlings, and a stock. In the entry hall of Hollyridge Manor, Robert pulled on buff kid gloves and offhandedly remarked, “Stay as late as you like, but I expect I’ll be bored by ten o’clock and shall slip
out early.”
“Such enthusiasm,” remarked Lucius, equally resplendent in a blue coat decorated with flat gilt buttons and black velvet collar. “Rustic, these country balls, yet they can be quite amusing.”
“Lady Capelle’s invitation was hardly one I could refuse,” answered Robert, “but I lost my enthusiasm for balls long ago, whether city, country, or otherwise.”
Robert expected his contentious friend to continue their sparring, but it appeared Lucius had another subject on his mind. Looking perplexed, he remarked, “I cannot understand why Sara Sophia was not invited.”
Robert shrugged. “That’s easy, she’s not one of the ton.”
Lucius let out a snort. “Those stiff-rumps in London won’t settle for less than society’s finest. But here? The guest lists at these country balls are not nearly as rigid.”
“Hmm … I do believe you’ve taken a liking to the little wren.”
Lucius immediately bristled. “Don’t be absurd. I hardly know the girl, although we did engage in a pleasant chat this afternoon.”
“A chat?” Robert asked skeptically. “You spent almost the entire day with her, and don’t tell me otherwise.”
Lucius seemed about to deny the accusation, then thought better of it. “Though she may look it, Sara Sophia is not an insignificant little wren,” he replied with feeling. “Never have I met a more perceptive, intelligent woman. Her interests know no bounds. Not only that, she has a sense of herself and her place in this universe. I’d wager she’s smarter by half than most of these country bumpkins.”
Robert gave him a look. “All London knows your penchant for intelligent women, Lucius. Flirtatious eyes and creamy white bosoms mean nothing to a high-minded gentleman such as you.”
“Laugh if you wish, Robert, I — ” Lucius suddenly bit his lip and looked away, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
Robert was surprised to see his cynical friend, a master at covering his feelings, reveal such deep concern over anything besides his own well-being. “I see it’s not a laughing matter. But you know as well as I, a chit like Sara Sophia could not possibly — “
The Rebellious Twin Page 6
