Gayle was frowning, as if he, too, were puzzled.
“I am not.” She got to her feet. “I was not.” Again he let her wander the room while he watched her out of curious green eyes. Deene shared Westhaven’s build—tall, a shade more muscular than lanky—but Westhaven had hair of a dark chestnut in contrast to Deene’s blond, blue-eyed good looks.
“I assumed I wasn’t capable,” she eventually clarified. “He proved me wrong, and I have never been happier to be wrong, it’s just… why him?”
“Does it matter? You enjoyed an outing and learned something wonderful about yourself.”
As usual, the man’s logic was unassailable.
“They’re a lovely team, his geldings. Marquis and Duke. His stud colt is King William.” She felt sheepish recounting these details, almost as if she were confessing to Deene taking her hand or kissing her cheek.
“I’ve met His Highness, and if he’s brought along properly, I agree with Deene he’s a one-in-a-million horse. St. Just was quite taken with him as well.”
“Devlin is taken with anything sporting a mane and a tail.”
And then, with breathtaking precision, Westhaven made his point. “You were once too.”
Rotten man. Rotten, honest, brilliant, brave man. How did Anna stand being married to such a fellow?
Eve sank onto the settee but did not meet her brother’s gaze for some time. His four little true words were underscoring something Eve had long since stopped allowing herself to acknowledge: by eschewing her passion for all things equestrian, she’d firmly closed an unfortunate chapter of her life and minimized the possibility of any more severe injuries to her person.
She’d also given up one of her greatest joys and told herself it was for the best.
“I made a small misstep in my enthusiasm to take the reins,” she said.
Gayle waited. He was an infernally patient man.
“I did not want to be in Deene’s debt, so I agreed to assist him in separating the sheep and goats among the Season’s offerings on the marriage market. He has no sisters…” She fell silent rather than further justify her actions. She wasn’t sure they could be justified, except on the odd abacus that had taken up residence between her and the Marquis of Deene.
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate your aid in this regard, Evie.”
There was something ironic in Westhaven’s comment, but not mean. Westhaven would never be mean to his siblings—probably not to anybody—but he could be quite stern and serious.
He got up, crossed the room, and paused to kiss Eve’s forehead before he left for his appointment with the duke.
A good man, a wonderful brother, and even a dear friend.
And still, Eve hadn’t told him she’d agreed to another outing with Deene. Hadn’t told her sisters either.
* * *
Deene bit into a pastry only to pull the thing from his mouth and stare at it.
Stale as hardtack, not just inadvertently left sitting out for an hour.
“Something amiss, Cousin?” Anthony lounged at the foot of the table, the Times at his elbow and a steaming plate of eggs, kippers, and toast before him.
“Nothing that a few helpings of omelet won’t set to rights.” Deene dug in, wondering vaguely why the Times wasn’t sitting at his own elbow.
Anthony glanced up from the paper. “You’re off to Surrey today?”
“I am, and in the company of three lovely ladies. Envy me.”
“Three? I’d heard you occasionally entertained two at once, but three is ambitious even for you.” Anthony topped off his teacup from the pot near his other elbow.
“My record is four, if you must know, Denning pride being what it is. And they all four had red hair. Pass the pot, would you?”
What an asinine waste of a night that had been, too. Five people hardly fit in a very large bed, for God’s sake, even when stacked in various gymnastic combinations.
“Why ever would you attempt to please four women at once?” Anthony sounded genuinely intrigued as he slid the pot down the table.
“The idea was for them to please me—which they rather did—and to prove false a certain allegation regarding that dread condition known as whiskey dick in relation to a certain courtesy earl in the Deene succession.”
“I am agog at the lengths you’ve been forced to go to defend the family honor, Lucas.”
Anthony went back to his paper, in case his ironic tone hadn’t underscored the point clearly enough. Just when Deene might have helped himself to more eggs, Anthony looked up again. “Which three ladies will you entertain today?”
“Louisa, Countess of Kesmore, as well as Genevieve and Eve Windham. We’re paying a call on King William, and I am escorting them, not entertaining them.”
“A pretty trio, but two of them are perilously unmarried, need I remind you.”
“As am I, need I remind you. When do you think you can have some figures ready for me, Anthony?”
Anthony peered at the paper and turned the pages over. “Which figures would those be?”
“The ones relating to our cash, our blunt, our coin of the realm.”
Anthony went still in a way that indicated he was not even trying to look like he was reading, but was instead merely staring at the paper while he formulated a polite reply. He sat back and frowned at his empty plate.
“You’re determined on this? You really want to wade through years’ worth of musty ledgers and obscure accountings? I’d commend you for your zeal, but it’s a complicated, lengthy undertaking, and it truly won’t yield you any better sense of things than you have now.”
“I want to know where I stand, Anthony.”
He needed to know, in fact, though he was hardly going to admit that to Anthony, cousin or not.
“Don’t worry.” Anthony’s smile was sardonic. “We’ve the blunt to keep you in red-haired whores for as long as you’re able to enjoy them four at a time.”
Deene dispatched the last of his eggs and rose. “Perhaps we can start on that accounting after breakfast tomorrow.” He’d phrased it as a suggestion between cousins, though Anthony ought to have heard it as something closer to an order from his employer.
Anthony lifted his teacup in a little salute. “Your servant. Enjoy the ladies—but not too much.”
Whatever that meant.
The day was fair, though not quite warm. In a fit of optimism, Deene had the horses put to the landau. The vehicle had been imported just before the old marquis’s death and was the best appointed of the town coaches. Deene elected to drive the thing rather than endure unnecessary miles sitting backward and trying to make small talk with the Windham sisters.
When he got to the Windham townhouse, he found Lady Eve waiting for him in the family parlor, dressed for an outing but sporting a mulish expression.
“You’re here.”
Her inauspicious greeting indicated they were about to spar. He kept his expression politely neutral, despite the temptation to smile. “Was I supposed to be somewhere else?”
“No, you were not.” She crossed the room in a swish of skirts. “My sisters are supposed to be here as well, ready to depart with us, but no, Louisa has begged off, and Jenny just sent Hammet to tell me she is also utterly, immediately, and incurably indisposed for the day.”
Eve was piqued. It was on the tip of Deene’s tongue to say they could simply reschedule—or better still, cancel altogether—but something in her expression stopped him.
“Would you be disappointed to miss this outing, Lady Eve?”
She swished over to the window and stood facing the back gardens. “Disappointed? Merely to miss a few hours in the country, stepping around the odoriferous evidence of livestock? Of course not.”
She was an endearingly bad liar. He came up behind her and put both hands on her shoulders to prevent any more of this swishing about, and spoke very quietly near her ear.
“You would so be disappointed.” He could feel it quivering through her, an indignation that her siblings
would desert her like this.
She turned, forcing him to drop his hands. He did not step back.
“The weather bids fair to be a lovely day, my lord. I haven’t seen the countryside since we spent the holidays at Morelands, and I have every confidence Mr. Trottenham intends to speak to Papa this very afternoon.”
She was not about to admit she’d been panting to make the acquaintance of his horse, but Deene was almost certain this was her true motive. By the end of the day, he vowed he would make her admit her objective honestly.
“Come with me anyway, Lady Eve. I brought the landau, the staff at The Downs is expecting our party, and once the Season gets underway, we’ll neither of us have time for an outing.”
She was wavering. He could see her wavering in the way she almost worried a nail between her teeth but recalled at the last moment she was wearing gloves.
“Or don’t come with me.” He slapped his gloves against his thigh. “I’ll get a great deal more accomplished if I’m not forced to play host to somebody reluctant to make even such an innocuous outing with an old family friend.”
Her fists went to her hips. “Forced, Deene? Did I force this invitation from you? Did I force you to boast about the capabilities of a mere colt such as I might see on any of a dozen racecourses? Did I tell you to bring an open carriage when the weather this time of year is anything but certain?”
He stepped closer but kept his voice down in contrast to Eve’s rising tones. “You will never see the like of this colt on any racecourse, unless King William is in the field. Never. This horse has more heart, more bottom, and more sheer, blazing—”
“Excuse me.” Esther, Duchess of Moreland, stood in the doorway, her expression puzzled. “Eve, I thought you would have left by now. One doesn’t get days this promising very often so early in spring. Deene, good morning.”
“Your Grace.” He bowed to the appropriate depth and wondered if Her Grace had heard him exchanging pleasantries with Eve.
“I am not inclined to go without Jenny and Louisa, Mama. They would be disappointed to miss such an excursion.”
Her Grace’s expression shifted to a smile more determined than gracious. “Nonsense. If they want to indulge in some extra rest, that’s no reason to deprive yourself of fresh air, or of the company of such an amiable gentleman as Deene. He’s practically family. Be off with you both, and, Deene, bring her home at a reasonable hour, or you will deal with me.”
Said in perfectly cordial tones, but Deene did not mistake the warning.
“Of course, Your Grace.” He winged his elbow at Eve—arguing before the duchess was not in his schedule—and was relieved when Eve wrapped a gloved hand around his arm.
“Have a pleasant time, my dears.”
As Deene ushered Eve through the door, he caught the duchess giving him a look. When their gazes collided, she must have gotten something in her eye, because it appeared for all the world as if Her Grace had winked at him.
Three
Damn and blast Lucas Denning for needling her, for that’s exactly what he’d done. Eve drew up sharply in the mews and dropped her escort’s arm.
“Deene, where are your footmen, where is your driver?”
“Probably enjoying a merry pint or two despite the hour of the day.”
He started toward the landau while Eve resisted the urge to clobber him with her parasol. When he turned back to her a few paces away, he wore a smile that could only be described as taunting.
“Eve Windham, I am competent to drive you the less than two hours it will take to get to The Downs. For that matter, you are competent to drive me as well. You know this team, they’re perfect gentlemen, and it’s a calm day. Get into the carriage.”
The gleam in his blue eyes suggested he knew exactly what manner of challenge he’d just posed, both in referring to her driving skill and in ordering her into the carriage.
She walked up to Duke. “Good morning, Your Grace. You’re looking very handsome today.” She took a bag of sliced apples from her reticule and fed the beast a treat. This was bad manners on her part—one never fed another’s cattle treats without permission. The horse’s bit would be particularly sticky and slimy now too.
She moved around to Marquis and offered him the same attention, taking an extra moment to scratch the gelding’s neck.
“Loosen the check reins, Lucas. These horses are going to stretch their legs when we leave Town, and your grooms have fitted the harness with a greater eye toward appearances than the animals’ comfort.”
He blinked, which was a supremely satisfying response to the use of the imperative on a man too handsome and self-assured for his own good.
While Deene tended to the harness, Eve climbed onto the driver’s bench at the front of the vehicle. She was not going to sit back in the passengers’ seats all by herself, shouting at Deene to make conversation for the next two hours.
Though apparently, that would not have been his intent. Eve had been telling herself for some miles that it was exhilarating to be behind such a spanking—and not the least bit frightening—team when Deene finally spoke.
“Did you or did you not wear a very fetching brown ensemble just so you might also wear brown gloves, the better to be petting horses?”
She had. That he would divine such a thing was disconcerting.
“The ensemble, as you note, my lord, is attractive, and the skirt cut for a walking length so I might move about your stables without concern for my hems. Then too, I’ve been told brown flatters my blond hair.”
He glanced over at her with such a fulminating look that Eve realized she’d brought them to the point of departure for another argument, which had not been her intent. She was driving out for the second time in a week with somebody besides family, and it was a pretty day.
“Tell me about The Downs, Lucas. St. Just said you inherited the property when you were a boy.”
“I did. What would you like to know about it?”
He was going to make her work for it, but she was a duke’s daughter. If she couldn’t make polite conversation with a familiar acquaintance, she didn’t deserve her title.
“What draws you to it? You’ve many properties, and yet this is the one you take the greatest interest in.”
He looked for a moment like he’d quibble with even that, but then his shoulders relaxed. “My cousin Anthony is the Deene estate steward for all intents and purposes, and he does a marvelous job at a large and thankless task. Each property has a steward, some have both house and land stewards, and they all answer to him. The Downs is my own…”
He fell silent while the horses clip-clopped along.
“I have a little property,” Eve said, not wanting the silence to stretch any further. “It’s a dear little place not three miles from Morelands, part of Mama’s settlements.”
“Is this Lavender Corner?”
“It is. I’ve fitted out the household to my taste, and some days I just go there to enjoy the place.”
“To be alone?”
He was aiming another look at her while she tried to formulate an answer that was honest but not combative, when something—a hare, a shadow, a deer moving in the woods to the side of the road—gave the horses a fright.
Between one moment and the next, Eve went from a relatively innocuous chat with her escort to blind panic. As the vehicle surged forward, she clutched the rail and resisted the urge to jump to safety.
Except it wasn’t safety, not when the horses could bolt off at a dead gallop over uneven terrain. As the trees flew by in a blur, she was reminded yet again that nowhere in the vicinity of a horse could she ever be truly safe.
“Ho, you silly buggers.” Deene’s voice was calm over the clatter of the carriage. “That’s enough of this. It was a damned rabbit, you idiots, and you’re not getting any more treats if this is how you comport yourselves before a lady.”
His scold was lazy, almost affectionate, and to Eve’s vast, enormous, profound relief, the horses slowe
d to a canter, then a trot.
“Lucas, I’m going to be sick.” When had she gotten her hand wrapped around his arm?
“You are not going to be sick. If I pull them over now, they’ll understand that a queer start earns them a rest and possibly a snack. We’ll let them blow in another mile or two when their little horsey brains have forgotten all about this frolic and detour.”
Eve closed her eyes, and in sheer misery, rested her forehead on Deene’s muscular shoulder. A mile was forever, and yet what he said made perfect sense—to a competent horseman.
“I want to walk back to Town, Lucas. Right now, I want to walk back to Town.”
She felt him chuckle, damn and blast him. If he hadn’t been the one holding the reins, she would have walloped him.
“I’ve seen you ride through much worse misbehavior than that little contretemps, Eve Windham, and you did it with a smile. There’s a pretty view coming up. I typically let the team rest there.”
While Eve breathed in the lavender and cedar scent of Deene’s jacket—a cure-all for not just megrims, apparently, but a nervous stomach as well—she considered that she might possibly, in some very small regard, be overreacting.
She raised her head but kept her arm linked with Deene’s.
“You were going to tell me about The Downs.”
“You were going to tell me about Lavender Corner.”
Or they could argue about who was going to tell whom about which property. Despite her lingering upset, despite the looming challenge of the drive back to Town, Eve smiled.
Though she still did not turn loose of Deene’s arm.
* * *
From time immemorial, the horses who stayed alive were the ones who galloped off at the first sign of possible danger, and then, two miles later, paused to consider the wisdom of their flight—or to get back to swishing their tails at flies and grazing.
Deene wasn’t upset with his team for having a lively sense of self-preservation, though he was out of charity with them for scaring Eve Windham. He forgave them their lapse of composure when he realized Eve’s unease was keeping her glued to his side, a petite, warm, female bundle of nerves, trying to decide whether to resume arguing with him or treat him to another round of polite discourse.
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