by Lara Temple
He sighed and guided the horses around the village green where workmen were already busy preparing for the upcoming fête, which was the highlight of the breeders’ fair.
‘Hopefully the fair will go well. I don’t know how your father does it, honestly. I would swear our stock is as good as his, but... Anyway, let’s talk about happier things. Your engagement, for example. When is the wedding?’
Nell’s heart gave a great big thump and then settled into a rapid tattoo in rhythm with the horses’ hooves.
‘We haven’t settled on a date yet. After all, we have just become engaged.’
‘But we understood from your father this was a long-standing arrangement?’
Trying to convey availability while not revealing that Hunter had no interest in anything other than her inheritance was a stretch of Nell’s flirtation skills. What would Lady Melkinson do?
‘It is, but I was very young at the time. I’m afraid I still don’t know my own mind.’
Oh, dear, that sounded dreadfully missish. Anna would probably start giggling at this point. Hunter would probably say something unrepeatable.
‘I see. You deserve better, Nell.’ Charles’s hand squeezed hers briefly and she flushed in a mixture of excitement at the gesture and shame at her perfidy. It wasn’t that far from the truth.
She looked at his perfect profile, at the soft line of his cheek and the way his wheat-gold hair curled over his forehead. The memory of that day he had defended her came back sharply and she spoke before she could think.
‘I always wanted to thank you, Charles, for that day you defended me against Papa. I know it was years ago, but it meant a great deal to me.’
‘I did?’ He looked surprised.
‘Oh, it was years ago, at the jumping course. I think I must have been fourteen at most.’
His frown cleared after a moment.
‘Goodness, I remember that. He was ranting about you cramming your horse. No offence, but he was always foul-tempered. I remembered we had Lord Davenport there to look at some stallions and your father was embarrassing everyone. Luckily Davenport didn’t shy off; bought Jade Dragon that year, which was a good sale. Your father should have known better than to put you on the course at that age in the first place. Why, you were nothing but a child.’
Nell watched him flick his whip at the horses as he urged them up the incline turning into the drive and felt as if the leather had stung her as well. It made no difference, she told herself. Of course that moment had meant more to her than it had to him; there was no reason for her to feel so let down. It was a miracle he remembered it at all. It was her own stupidity for even mentioning it. This was Charles, here and now, with her, listening to her with that gentle smile. She should be grateful, not disappointed. Still, she was relieved as they approached the house. Make one last effort, Nell, she admonished herself. She tried out the smile she had practised on Hunter last night, up and half through her lashes.
‘Nevertheless, it was very kind of you, Charles.’
The only problem was that he was watching the horses. She held the smile resolutely as he pulled the horses to a halt and finally he turned to her. Apparently it was not a bad effort because his cheeks tinged with colour and his sky-blue eyes settled on her mouth. The sheer absurdity of what she was doing made her smile falter and she looked down at her gloves.
‘Thank you for inviting me.’
‘I’m glad you came, Nell. Good morning, Lord Hunter.’
Nell swivelled in her seat to meet Hunter’s gaze where he stood by the curricle, waiting to hand her down. She had been so focused on Charles she hadn’t even noticed the curricle standing by the stairs. He had probably seen her laughable attempt at being seductive.
‘Good morning, Welbeck. You have timed your arrival well; I was just looking for Miss Tilney. Shall we go look at the filly Lord Welbeck mentioned, Nell?’
Nell nodded as he helped her alight, trying to read his expression, but he was giving nothing away. There wasn’t even the cynical but tolerant amusement she was becoming used to—still, her shoulders tightened with unease and her face heated under the force of his golden-brown eyes. This was ridiculous—she was mounting a defence and she didn’t even know if she was under attack.
* * *
Hunter watched Welbeck reluctantly climb the stairs as the groom drove the curricle to the stables. He knew drivers like Welbeck—he had raced their type often enough—they were skilled but commonly lost in the end because they wore their horses out too soon. It gave him a little satisfaction, but not enough to counter the effect of the sunny smile on Nell’s face as she had sat staring at her prince or the intent look in Welbeck’s eyes, as he finally began seeing her clearly. He was tempted to tell her what he thought of such a blatant display of juvenile adoration, but he was aware it would not only put up her back, but smack of jealousy, which was ludicrous. He wasn’t going to marry the girl, so there was no need to play dog-in-the-manger.
‘Do those bays drive as well as they look?’ he asked, searching for a neutral opening. She looked at him and he grimaced in annoyance as her smile sparked the increasingly familiar kick of lust.
‘They really are beautiful steppers, though the wheeler is just a little short in the shoulders, so it’s not a perfect match. Did you see?’
Hunter felt his antagonism melt at her obvious excitement about the horses.
‘Don’t tell Meech that. He doesn’t have your discerning eye and he’ll be devastated.’
‘Still and all, the lady’s right,’ Hidgins assented behind them. ‘Just a little short. Fine forward action, though. I’d like to see their paces up a hill.’
‘Charles took them over the rise once you pass the village and they took it, crest and all, as if it was a walk.’ She glanced over at Hunter. ‘Your team is just as evenly paced and perhaps have a little more staying power, though.’
Hunter resisted the urge to smile, barely, and some more of his tension faded. ‘Are you placating me, by any chance? Precisely how old do you think I am?’
‘Ancient,’ she replied promptly and with all seriousness and Hidgins gave a snort of laughter, hastily subdued. ‘I wasn’t trying to placate you. It was just that you looked a little annoyed just now. I know it’s never easy to see a team you know is just as good as your own.’
‘I would debate that they are quite their equal, but in the end it is also the driver that wins the race, not merely the team.’
She clasped her hands in front of her and nodded, eyes wide.
‘What the devil does that expression signify?’ he asked, trying to hold on to his annoyance.
‘That’s how I look when Elkins, our head groom, tries to teach me something about horses that is painfully obvious, but I don’t want to offend him. It is supposed to convey interested attention.’
‘Well, you just look like a dyspeptic owl.’
She laughed and walked over to Hidgins and stroked the lead horse’s sleek neck.
‘I was going to tell you Charles mentioned that Meecham is bringing a stallion here for sale, too. A grey. I saw him when he was just a foal and he’s probably a beauty now.’
‘Meecham?’ Hunter enquired politely and her smile glinted at him over the horse’s neck.
‘Meecham is a darling, but I don’t think anyone would call him a beauty. My point is that I remembered you mentioned you were looking for a horse up to your weight and he stands over sixteen hands.’
Hunter came to stand on the other side of the leader. She had taken off her gloves when she approached the horse and he watched as her hand moved with calm rhythm down the horse’s neck.
Hers weren’t the plump pampered hands of a society miss, nor the carefully soignée, white hands of someone like Lady Felton. They were warmed to a pale honey and looked strong, and when she brushed her fingers a
long the horse’s mane he saw the pucker of calluses on her palm.
He pulled off his own gloves and placed his palm on the firm muscled neck between them. The short hair was warm and vibrated with the blood and life beneath. It was ridiculous to be envious of a horse simply because a young woman was petting it. To be reduced to stroking the same horse simply to approach her was a tactic he would have thought had gone the way of his schoolboy days.
‘Are you making fun of my size again, by any chance?’
That won him another teasing smile which gave him far too much satisfaction.
‘I’m not one to say anything about being too big, unfortunately. But it is worth looking at him. Apparently his name is Courage, which is a bit pompous, but he’s too old to change it, I would think. Or perhaps you could call him Coleridge, which is close enough, no?’
‘There is no possible way I would name a horse after a poet.’
‘What’s wrong with Courage?’ Hidgins asked. ‘Fine name for a stallion. We have a good strapping gelding named Valiant, don’t we, sir?’
‘Don’t give her grist for her mill, Hidgins. There is only so much abuse I can take before noon.’
‘Valiant is a very charming name,’ Nell said, her tone blatantly propitiating. ‘I’m sure many medieval knights named their steeds Valiant and Intrepid and...and Fearless.’
‘How about Impudent? Or Shameless?’ Hunter replied, edging Hidgins out of the way. She was getting all too comfortable poking fun at him and that came at a price. Hidgins, good man that he was, took the hint and moved towards the curricle. Hunter completed the manoeuvre, boxing Nell in between the horses. She glanced up in surprise and tried to pass him, but he didn’t move.
‘Don’t run away just yet. You did ask me to flirt with you, didn’t you? And I presume Welbeck won’t be able to resist taking a peek on our progress from the windows. Besides, all this talk about medieval knights and steeds makes one want to do a little marauding. You might think,’ he continued, stroking the horse’s neck and stopping just short of where her hand rested, ‘that it isn’t easy to maraud in broad daylight in full view of the front door of a country home, wouldn’t you?’
She did the same thing with her lips, that faint lick and tug, but though this time it was completely unconscious, the gesture and the coral-coloured flush, that winter sun–coloured hair between him and those lovely, firm little breasts...
‘I would have thought it is close to impossible,’ she murmured as the silence stretched.
He slid his other hand down this time so that his thumb just came to rest against her wrist, then very slowly slid under it until he could feel her pulse, warm and fast, against the pad of his thumb.
‘Be you ever so close to impossible, you remain in the realm of possibility.’
‘Who said that?’ she asked, her voice husky. She raised her wrist almost imperceptibly, so that his fingers could slide under into the warm cavern between her wrist and the horse. He found it hard to believe she had no idea what she was doing. In anyone else he would have considered this behaviour to be a blatant invitation to take this flirtation to its natural conclusion. If she were anyone else he would do just that.
‘I did.’
‘It sounds impressive. Rather like a heraldic motto. Ours is Qui edere vult nucleum, frangat nucem.’
He frowned, momentarily distracted.
‘“If you want to eat his centre, break his nuts”?’
‘Dear me, you would have failed my Latin class. It means “he who wants the kernel must crack the nut”.’
‘I would have failed your Latin class because I would have found it very hard to concentrate. On the other hand, if you taught anatomy...’
He slid his hand between hers and the horse, his fingers tracing the dip at the heart of her palm up to the rasp of the calluses at the base of her fingers and then on until his hand laced with hers. She still didn’t pull back. He almost wanted her to because he was beginning to feel very much like that schoolboy he had described. He knew she was enjoying this exploration of what he suspected was a very passionate nature, but it was also obvious she trusted him to set the boundaries and keep her safe. She was here to learn theory, not practise. And he...
A distinct throat-clearing from Hidgins made them both turn their heads. Just as a day earlier, a group of men were coming around the house and Hunter moved back. Impossibility had won this time. She looked suddenly much younger and quite shy, reminding him precisely what she was. He placed her hand on his arm and he led her away from the horses.
‘Porridge,’ he said decisively and she looked up in surprise. ‘Sounds just as much like Courage as Coleridge does, no?’
‘Porridge?’ Her voice shook with laughter and the shyness faded. ‘You would never call a horse Porridge.’
‘I’d sooner call him suet pudding than Coleridge, darling. Now we’ll let Hidgins take the horses to the stables and we can go see this filly Lord Welbeck mentioned yesterday. Unless you would like to ask young Welbeck to take you?’
She actually had the audacity to consider his question for a moment.
‘No... I don’t think I should seek him out again so soon. I prefer that he sue a little for my attention. Is that awful of me?’
‘It is in the finest of feminine traditions, at least.’ He tried to keep the edge out of his voice.
‘I don’t think you are in a position to accuse anyone else of being flirtatious. Certainly not me. This is my first real taste of it.’
‘Then you are an extremely precocious pupil.’
‘Some credit must go to my teacher, then,’ she conceded gallantly. ‘Is it terrible to admit I enjoy it?’
‘Appalling. Up there with necromancy and slave trading.’
‘I just knew I was a hopeless case,’ Nell said with relish and he couldn’t help laughing. It might not be very comfortable, but he could surely survive a little misplaced attraction, and it appeared to be doing her a great deal of good, so it was churlish to resent her artless enjoyment.
The path separated a collection of buildings that surrounded the stables from the paddocks and they had just come to the last of the buildings when a snort and the sharp strike of hoof against wood made Hunter turn abruptly.
‘That’s probably Griffin,’ Nell said. ‘They keep him in the small stable away from the other stallions. He’s a beauty, but he’s the most ill-tempered horse I’ve ever seen. He’s just not meant to be domesticated.’ She paused. ‘You’re curious, now, aren’t you?’
Hunter laughed, not surprised she had seen through him so clearly.
‘A little. Let’s go take a look.’
The stable was a small one, with just four large loose stalls, all of which were empty but the last. The moment they stepped in, a large bay head surged over the stall door which squeaked in protest as the stallion’s body hit it with a thump. Hunter took a step forward, but stopped as Nell grabbed his arm. He closed his hand on hers reassuringly, rather pleased she was concerned for his safety.
‘Don’t worry; I won’t go too close.’
The stall door creaked again as Griffin pushed against it, tossing his head up, ears flat and eyes wide. Then his meaty lips pulled back, displaying very large teeth, and he surged forward again, his teeth closing with a sharp snap on the air.
‘Well, that answers that question. We’re definitely not welcome here.’
‘I’m afraid it might be too late to help him. Some people are like that, too. There was a girl at school who enjoyed hurting other girls. Nothing we tried made the slightest difference. I was very glad when she left.’
‘Did she hurt you?’
She looked up at the tension he hadn’t even realised had entered his voice and her brows drew together.
‘No, not me. She was quite little and she went after smaller girls. She did tr
y to bully my best friend Anna once, but that earned her a nosebleed. Anna has six sisters, you see.’
‘That would teach anyone survival skills. Anna is your best friend?’
‘Since we were ten. She lives near Windermere and I spent all my holidays with her family. Her parents even have me call them Uncle Arthur and Aunt Ginnie. They are more family to me than my own.’
‘They sound nice.’
Again the careful glance at him.
‘You would probably like Anna. She’s small and quite as lovely as Lady Melkinson, but she has black hair and eyes. All the boys always fall in love with her.’
‘Are you jealous of her?’
He expected a denial, but she just sighed.
‘That’s awful of me, isn’t it? I love her dearly, but I can’t help wishing I was also tiny and dark and her hair has a lovely natural curl. It really bounces. Not very nice of me, is it?’
He took her hand, turning her towards him. They had reached the folly, a small brick tower around which a copse of old oaks created an intimate and private cavern.
‘It’s honest, but misplaced. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was envious of you.’
Nell shook her head.
‘She did say she wished she was tall and pale, but she was just being nice. She is like that.’
Her full lower lip was curved in a soft smile and it occurred to him that this strange girl had made a completely new life for herself away from her cold and damaging home. She spoke of her schoolteacher and friends with more warmth and protectiveness, and even with the expectation of being loved in return, than most people he knew spoke of their own families.
Her insecurity always centred on her height and looks, which was nothing short of baffling. It was true that at seventeen, aside from her performance on the horses, she had shown all the gawkiness of a girl grown too much too fast. But the woman who stood before him, because she was definitely a woman, might not be conventionally pretty like the petite china-doll girls she admired, but she was far more attractive and exciting than someone as transparent as a Lady Melkinson. It was clear she had no idea of the damage she could do with her elegant body and quicksilver eyes. Part of him wanted to teach her, but another part didn’t want to give her any more help in her aggravating plan to capture Welbeck.
