The Society Catch (Harlequin Historical)

by Allen, Louise

  And not just his personality. Joanna had never felt so aware of a man before—even the thrilling sensation of being held in his arms as they waltzed paled beside the effect of being so close to him daily. She was getting to know the tiniest details: the impatient way he pushed his hair off his forehead, the black flecks in his grey eyes that turned them dark when he was angry, the way he would tug at one earlobe when he was thinking, the way he would throw his head back and laugh, the scent of Russian Leather cologne…

  She had fallen in love with an heroic ideal of a man, now she was in love with the real thing. And not just in love: she wanted him, she realised with a sudden shock, which sent the colour flooding into her cheeks. Wanted his kisses, wanted to be held in his arms.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Miss, I’ve kept you waiting in this warm room,’ the maid said apologetically. ‘You’re quite flushed, Miss.’

  Joanna cast a harried glance at the mirror and tugged down the veil on her hat. ‘It will soon pass, thank you.’ She took the gloves the girl handed her and ran downstairs to where Giles was patiently waiting in the hallway, talking to Mrs Geddings. ‘I am sorry to have kept you,’ she apologised. ‘The hem needed a few stitches.’

  The mare had been saddled up and was standing quietly in the little paddock that opened off the stable yard, a groom at her head. A short man in a buff coat was talking to the head groom, but broke off when he saw Mrs Gedding and her guests. Introductions were made and Giles and he ducked under the rails to look at the mare.

  Joanna watched as Giles ran his hands down her legs, checked her teeth, lifted a hoof, which the animal allowed without fuss, and asked the groom to remove the saddle. He ran his hands down her back, making her withers twitch, but otherwise provoking no reaction. Then he vaulted neatly on to her back and gathered up the reins.

  He was far too big a man for the mare, but she walked on obediently, stopping when commanded, and standing like a rock even when Giles dropped the reins on to her neck and clapped his hands loudly. One dark grey ear swivelled back, but that was all.

  He swung down and led her back to Joanna, who was leaning on the fence. ‘She seems steady enough, if you would care to try her. The question is, will she prove too steady? I’m not looking for an armchair ride. I want to breed a line with spirit.’

  Joanna smiled as the mare pushed her soft muzzle into her hands, looking for caresses and tidbits. ‘Oh, no, you must earn your apples! What is her name, Mr Pike?’

  ‘Moonstone, ma’am,’ he replied, looking embarrassed. ‘That’s what my youngest daughter called her when she was foaled. Seems a bit fancy-like.’

  ‘It suits her. No, stop it, there is nothing for you in my pockets!’ She gathered up the reins and glanced round. ‘Please will you give me a leg up, Mr Pike?’

  He cupped his hand for her booted foot and tossed her up into the saddle. Joanna concentrated on adjusting her skirts and the reins, not looking at Giles. She wanted, very badly, to impress him with her riding and it was making her nervous.

  Moonstone responded promptly to the pressure of her heel and Joanna circled the paddock once at a walk, then at the trot and finally shortened the reins and urged the mare into a canter. She responded willingly and Joanna soon forgot she had an audience. The paddock was dull riding though, but at one end the fence bordered a larger meadow and as she cantered past Joanna could see no sign of a ditch or other obstacle. When they reached the far side she wheeled the horse and set her direct across the field towards the fence.

  The mare’s ears pricked forward and she lengthened her stride, anticipating the jump. There was a shout behind them, which Joanna ignored, and then the mare was bunching the muscles of her hindquarters and leaping smoothly over the rails, Joanna balanced lightly on her back. They landed safely and Joanna let her have her head.

  The exhilaration of galloping was wonderful. At the end of the meadow she turned the mare, took her back at the same pace, only collecting her up before the jump, and returned to the waiting onlookers with face flushed and veil all awry.

  ‘She is a beautiful ride, Mr Pike!’ Joanna pushed back her veil and saw that although Mrs Gedding was looking pleased at her performance, Giles’s expression was positively thunderous. He stalked into the paddock to her side and she leaned down and whispered, ‘I am so sorry! Was I sounding too enthusiastic? I should not have done so before you had agreed a price—but she is a lovely ride, such even paces and so willing.’

  ‘It is not that at all,’ he ground out. ‘Are you completely careless of your safety? There might have been a ditch, a fallen tree, goodness knows what on the other side of that fence and to jump a good five foot before even trying her at a smaller obstacle—what folly!’

  ‘Of course I looked first,’ Joanna said pacifically. It was wonderful to realise that he was so anxious for her. ‘And I think I ride well enough to manage such a jump, do you not agree?’

  Giles looked up at her, the anger fading out of his face. ‘You ride extremely well,’ he conceded. ‘But I was having visions of explaining to your mama just how you had come to break your neck while in my care.’

  Mr Pike walked out to take Moonstone’s head while Joanna let Giles lift her down. His hands fastened firmly on her waist, but the moment her feet touched the ground he let go and she was left chiding herself for being so immodest as to want his hold to linger.

  The two men strolled away, the mare following behind. Joanna went to join Mrs Gedding, who was fulsome in her praises. ‘What a good seat you have, my dear! I was never in the slightest fear for you, although you should have heard the Colonel’s language when you took that jump!’ She chuckled. ‘On second thoughts, perhaps it was best that you did not. I believe he had no notion he was swearing until I laughed.’ She regarded Joanna, who was carefully gathering up her skirts to keep them out of the long grass. ‘Would you care to keep that habit, my dear? It is an excellent fit and my Jennie will never get into it again, not after two babies. I am sure you have far finer at home, but perhaps the Colonel will let you ride while you are here.’

  ‘Why, thank you, ma’am, that is most kind, I would be very grateful if you are sure your daughter would not mind. Oh, look, they appear to have reached agreement.’ The men were shaking hands and Mr Pike ducked back under the fence to remount his hack.

  ‘Good day, Mrs Gedding, ma’am! My compliments to the Squire.’

  ‘Good day to you, Mr Pike! You and Mrs Pike must dine with us soon.’

  Giles rejoined them, looking pleased. ‘A good morning’s work, I believe. Would you like to take her out on to the roads for a while, Joanna? I’ll have the gelding the Squire has loaned me saddled up and we can explore a little.’

  ‘If you do not need me, ma’am?’ Joanna tried not to look too enthusiastic, but could not help her wide smile when Mrs Gedding shook her head.

  ‘No, dear, thank you. Off you go and get some fresh air, it will do you good.’

  Joanna had never seen Giles on horseback and could not help watching from under her lashes as he rode out of the yard on the raking bay the Squire had found for him. For a big man he rode lightly, his hands relaxed on the reins, but Joanna could tell that the gelding knew exactly who was in command and that at the slightest sign of trouble those long, well-muscled legs would close and quell it.

  The enclosures of recent years had left long, wide grass verges bordering the quiet roads and the two riders found plenty of opportunities to canter and many ditches to hop over. Giles made no comment about her riding, but Joanna was aware that he was watching her. A pheasant erupted from under Moonstone’s nose sending her skittering across the road, but he made no effort to catch her rein, merely steadying the gelding until she had soothed the mare and brought her back alongside him.

  ‘What will you do when you get home?’ he asked after they had reined in from a long canter and were walking the horses up a slight incline.

  ‘I doubt I will have much say in it,’ Joanna responded ruefully. ‘Go to Bath as Mama says,
I suppose. I would prefer that we all went to Brighton, which was what was planned, but if Papa’s gout is bad, I have no idea what will be decided. In any case, that might be regarded as too much of a treat after my behaviour.’

  ‘Could you go to Hebe?’

  ‘Of course, under normal circumstances. But the baby is due, and Alex will be cross with me for worrying Hebe and making all this to-do, and I expect I would find myself looking after little Hugh the whole time. And,’ she added gloomily, ‘no doubt there would be all sorts of gossip about why I’m not in Brighton with the family.’

  ‘Chicken pox?’ Giles suggested half-seriously and received a reproachful look.

  ‘Where will you go?’ Joanna thought it was a reasonable question in response to his and one unlikely to make him suspicious of her motives for asking.

  ‘Well, unless there is a message saying that the prodigal is forgiven and I’m to hasten home, then my campaign of dissipation will best be advanced in Brighton, I imagine.’ He reined in and pulled his pocket watch out. ‘I thought so, we had better turn and make our way back or we will be late for luncheon and I promised the Squire some more help at the Thoroughgoods’ house this afternoon.’

  ‘There must be a lot of paperwork,’ Joanna commented.

  ‘Yes. We believed we had it all, but I thought it worth checking the panels in the study and, sure enough, we found a concealed cupboard with another stack of ledgers and letters.’

  Joanna rode in silence for a while, firmly biting back the question on the tip of her tongue. Finally it got the better of her. ‘Will Lady Suzanne not be in Brighton? I should imagine that might restrict your efforts to create a mild scandal. Your father will hardly believe you have plunged into a life of dissipation if he hears that you are squiring her about in Brighton.’

  ‘Indeed it would, and I have absolutely no desire to end up with another argument with Papa over Suzy and my intentions in that quarter! No, fortunately Lord Olney disapproves of Brighton. He will probably be taking the whole family up to stay with his mother in Harrogate.’

  ‘And what,’ Joanna said tartly, ‘will Lady Suzanne say when she hears about your activities in Brighton?’

  ‘Darling Suzy will no doubt tease me unmercifully.’ He grinned. ‘That young woman understands me very well indeed. Come on, let’s canter or we will be late.’

  Darling Suzy! Joanna dug her heel into Moonstone’s flank and gave the mare her head. Giles was so relaxed about Lady Suzanne, so confident about her reactions. His voice when he spoke about her was warm, affectionate, caressing. What she would not give to have him speak to her in that way. She closed her eyes for a moment against the tears that stung her lids and followed the big bay hunter.

  Chapter Nine

  After luncheon Joanna spent the rest of the day with the rose petals she had collected for the pot-pourri, separating them and spreading them on muslin to dry in the stillroom.

  It was a pleasant occupation in the cool, scented room, but one which gave her far too much time to think. Would her parents allow her to go to Brighton? And if they did and Giles was there, was that better or worse than being separated from him entirely? And what about Lord Clifton? Was he going to persist in his suit?

  Her thoughts went round and round like a dog in a turnspit. She had run away, wanting time to think. But now, when she had it, it seemed she was no further forward in planning her life.

  Dinner time passed with no sign of the men, only a note from the Squire saying that they had decided to work on and finish all there was to do that day. They had sent out to the nearest inn for food, he assured his wife, and he thought he would probably go direct to Peterborough that evening to ensure that all the evidence was safely delivered, so she was not to expect him home that night.

  By ten Giles had still not returned and Joanna found she was restless and quite certain that if she went to bed she would not sleep. The ladies had retired to the sitting room with its big window on to the garden and the scents of the sun-warmed flowers still drifted in through the open casement, mingling with the song of the nightingale in the long hedge.

  ‘May I sit up, ma’am?’ Joanna asked as Mrs Gedding put down her sewing at last, got to her feet and announced that she was for her bed. ‘I am not tired and I am sure the Colonel will lock up if you want to send the servants to bed.’

  ‘Very well, my dear. Everything will be secure except for this window and the front door, if you will be so good as to ask him to attend to those and to make sure all the candles are out. The decanters are there, on the sideboard—I am sure the Colonel will welcome a drink when he returns.’

  She hesitated, drawing her shawl around her shoulders. ‘Or should we close the window now? It is just becoming a little cool.’

  ‘May I leave it? I am quite warm and the evening is so lovely. Or…’ Joanna glanced at the grate with its fire basket full of pine cones ‘…might I light the fire? It will just keep the chill off.’

  ‘Of course. The tapers are on the mantel shelf. Just make sure the embers are raked right out before you go to bed, dear. Goodnight.’

  Joanna found some old papers in the log basket and after one false start managed to light a small fire. She heaped on pine cones, enjoying the crackle and the bright blue light they produced. The fire was not so much a source of warmth as of company and she sat on the floor, leaning against the arm of one of the wing chairs, close enough to the hearth to toss on cones as they burned up.

  The longcase clock in the hall chimed eleven and then the quarter before she heard hoofbeats on the carriage drive. She got up and put the front door ajar, leaving the sitting-room door open as well, and set the tray of decanters and a glass on the side table next to the wing chair. The candle on the mantelshelf was guttering so she trimmed it and lit another. With the firelight they cast a soft glow in the room and a few moths blundered in from the garden.

  When she heard his step she called, ‘Giles! Will you lock the front door, please? Everyone has gone to bed.’

  There was the sound of the lock and of bolts being shot, then Giles appeared in the doorway. ‘Joanna! Still up?’ Even in the dim light she could see how tired he looked.

  ‘Come in and let me take your coat,’ she urged. ‘See, the decanters are here. Sit down and have a drink—you look too tired just to go to sleep.’

  Obediently he shrugged out of his riding coat, stretching with a sigh as he did so. Joanna took it and hung it carefully over the back of a chair, smoothing out the creases with a hand that lingered on the cloth, warm from his body.

  When she turned back to him he was standing, a tall figure in his shirtsleeves, by the window where the moonlight was just beginning to spill on to the boards. ‘God! Those nightingales! Heartbreakingly beautiful, isn’t it? They would sing on the battlefields, you know. Some of the soldiers were superstitious about them, said they were Death’s bird.’

  Joanna shivered at the thought. ‘Come and sit down. Have you and the Squire finished now?’

  He sank into the wing chair and lifted the brandy decanter, stretching long booted legs out in front of him. ‘Yes, all complete, thank goodness. I fancy we have cooked the Thoroughgoods’ goose for them.’ He splashed some spirits into the glass and raised it to his lips. ‘Ah! That is good. What are you doing up at this hour with everyone else in bed?’

  Joanna came and sat down again in her place by the hearth, leaned against the arm of his chair and tossed a handful of pine cones into the blaze. ‘I wasn’t tired and the scents and the sounds from the garden are so lovely I stayed up.’

  Giles did not seem to want to talk, and Joanna was too content just sitting with him in the firelight to disturb the mood. Gradually she relaxed until her head rested against the chair and after a few minutes she was conscious of a light touch on her hair which she had twisted into a crown on the top of her head. Giles seemed to be stroking it gently as he might a cat that had settled in his lap and she realised that he was probably quite unaware he was doing it.
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br />   Unlike the cat, which would have stretched and curled tighter to his caressing hand, Joanna kept as still as she could, willing him to continue.

  ‘That smell of burning pine cones,’ he said, almost to himself, his voice deep and quiet. ‘It reminds me of campfires when we were in the foothills of the Pyrenees.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ she said softly, as though speaking to a sleepwalker.

  ‘Memory is a strange thing: the bad times, the nights when it was raining or snowing, or when the enemy was close and no one could relax or sleep, the nights when we were all hungry and cold or wet and the wolves were howling and the wounded moaning—all those nights seem to blur into one nightmare. But the good times, the nights when it was dry and warm and there was no alert, I can remember almost every one quite clearly. It was best in the foothills; we had clean water and there was plenty of wood to burn and trees to shelter amongst.

  ‘The men set the tents out in lines, each with its fire in front. It was like a village, people wandering up and down, the women gossiping, sitting in front of the tents in the firelight mending or cooking, the smell of the burning wood and the pine cones, someone singing, a sleepy child crying.’

  Joanna could tell from his voice that Giles was smiling at the memory. The caressing fingers in her hair had found the pins and one after another they fell out on to the floor or into her lap until the mass of black hair fell softly around her shoulders.