by Gayle Callen
“Have you ridden since you moved in?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’ve only ridden twice in my life,” she confessed, a reluctant smile forming.
David glanced at her in surprise. “Twice?”
She shielded her eyes from the sun and stared up at him. “Do you remember why?”
For a moment there was something between them, a ghost of words from long ago. He tried to remember the boy he’d been, the eager way he’d looked forward to reading everything—anything she’d written. That boy was so innocent, so un-comprehending of the realities of life. David couldn’t remember what it felt like to be that boy, when the world was still fresh.
“No, I don’t remember,” he said.
He could see her brief disappointment. Her every thought was always laid out for him to read on her face. She never held anything back, as far as he could tell. That showed a kind of trust he wasn’t used to.
She gave a dramatic sigh. “I guess it wasn’t very memorable, then, though you teased me about it for months afterward.”
“Now you have to remind me,” he said with a smile.
“My father’s head groom was in charge of my training. I was ten, and my sisters eight and six, so it was up to me to set a good example. Naturally, they wanted to be there for my first lesson, which made me very nervous.”
“I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to learn to ride sidesaddle.”
“Now you see my predicament. I constantly felt like I was going to fall off. And that’s what I did.”
“I don’t remember you being seriously hurt,” he said with a frown.
She tilted her head, eyebrows raised. “I thought you didn’t remember much at all.”
“Sometimes things come back to me,” he said gruffly.
“Well, I fell off, all right, but my fall was cushioned.” She grimaced. “By a pile of manure.”
His laugh was sudden and spontaneous, and soon he was bent over with a stitch in his side. Victoria put her hands on her hips and gave him an arch look, but there was definitely a smile flirting with the corners of her mouth.
“I seem to recall you having this same reaction,” she said dryly, “although you spelled your laughter out for many lines.”
“And that made you quit riding?” he asked, trying to catch his breath. “Surely we’ve all fallen into horse shi—manure.”
“I did not quit. My sisters hounded me so terribly about how foolish I looked covered in…manure that I was determined to try again.”
“More manure?” he asked with amused sympathy.
“This time I slid right into a water trough. Louisa swore that several horses had just spit into it, so I promptly relieved myself of lunch right into the water.”
He groaned.
“So I was covered in horse spit and vomit. Meriel teased me for weeks, saying that the horses wouldn’t use that trough anymore.”
He grinned. “I’m sure they would have rather gone thirsty.”
“That’s exactly what you wrote to me!” She laughed until she wiped tears from the corners of her eyes.
He watched her, enjoying her mirth. It made him feel peaceful. Slowly his smile died.
When they reached the stables, some strange emotion passed over her face as she looked up at the wooden building, wiping out all the laughter. Worry? Sadness?
David went into the dim stables to saddle his horse Apollo, knowing that Victoria followed him. Several horses leaned out their stalls to look at her.
He opened the gate to Apollo’s stall, and the large horse tried to push past him.
“He wants you to pet him,” David said over his shoulder.
She reached and ran her fingers down the white strip that bisected Apollo’s face.
“He’s beautiful,” she breathed, smiling.
“Do you want me to teach you to ride?”
It was like the sun bursting through the dawn, the way her face lit up. He felt almost embarrassed to be seeing such emotion—unworthy of it. He turned back to his horse.
“I’ve always wanted to try again,” she said. “Thank you so much—David.”
Outwardly, he ignored the way she’d used his Christian name, as if he expected no less. But inside he couldn’t hide from his feeling of relief. If she could use his name, maybe she was on her way to forgiving him the mistakes of his childhood.
Chapter 13
David.
Victoria had said his name quite deliberately, listening to the sound of it on her tongue. It was a good name, solid and steady as he seemed to be.
Now if only she could overcome the wave of sadness that had swept over her when she entered the stables, which so closely resembled her own. Though she tried to forget the image, she still thought she could see a dark body in the shadows, swinging overhead. Her stomach roiled with a twist of nausea, and she put her hand there as if she could press it all back inside her. She would learn to ride for her husband, and banish from this place the memory of her secret.
She countered that terrible memory with the thought of her husband’s laughter. She’d never heard so wonderful a sound. Had he ever been so relaxed with her, without the railways or their families between them?
“Can we begin the riding lessons today?” she asked. “I know I don’t have a riding habit but there is no one here to see me.”
“I have some time before I must be at the Members’ Lobby. I’ll saddle a gentler horse for you.”
Somehow she had equated “gentle” with “small,” and that wasn’t true. She remained outside the stall while David saddled a mare who kept nudging his shoulder as he did so. She saw him smile and nudge the animal back.
He was a good man, to relate to a horse so. Then he led the mare past her, and she stepped back as that great head turned to look at her.
David was a patient teacher, discussing a horse’s temperament and the way to approach a strange animal. She did her best to concentrate on everything he said, because she wanted to prove worthy of his time. And because it made her forget her sorrows. Soon it was so difficult to look at his hands and not remember how he’d touched her face last night, gentling her as if she were a wild animal who might flee. And sometimes she felt like that. Did he know it?
He showed her to the mounting block and how to get into a lady’s sidesaddle, once used by his mother. He ended up helping her because she was too short. His hands at her waist made her feel delicate, light as he lifted her easily into the saddle. The ground looked very far away, and she held his hands for a moment, keeping them at her waist.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She certainly didn’t want to inspire his impatience, so she nodded and let go, and tried to remember climbing into the willow tree in her father’s garden, and how high she’d once gone. She’d been a child then, and she was an adult now. A horse’s back was not so very far above the earth.
He took the horse’s reins and began to lead her about the yard, while she held the pommel and tried to get used to the rhythm.
She was finally beginning to relax, to look about her and feel a bit more confident, when she noticed that David was leading her dangerously near to a water trough.
Her grip tightened on the pommel.
He glanced up at her and smiled. “I won’t let you fall, Victoria. I’ll catch you.”
“Oh no, I’m far too heavy. If you could just lead us over that way—”
“Heavy?” he said, his tone full of disbelief.
And then he scooped her right off the horse, as if she weighed nothing at all. His arms were behind her back and beneath her knees, and it felt wonderful to be held so close to him.
“My, you’re very strong.”
“Thank you.”
She stared up into his face, so very near to hers. “But you should be careful. I’m cursed where horses are concerned.”
His foot seemed to slip out from beneath him, and she cried out and flung her arms around his neck. That left their cheeks pressed tog
ether, and she could smell the scent of his hair, feel its soft texture.
“I did that deliberately,” he murmured.
She felt the vibration of his voice in his chest.
“I guess that wasn’t very nice of me,” he continued.
“I didn’t mind,” she whispered.
She wanted him to turn his face, to kiss her. But he suddenly seemed uncomfortable with their playful behavior, because he set her on her feet and stepped back.
“I should be going,” he said. “We’ll get you on a horse again soon.”
“Thank you, David.”
The moment ended awkwardly, but Victoria was buoyed on a feeling of hope.
That afternoon, Mrs. Wayneflete informed Victoria in a hushed voice that the earl had had a spell of breathing problems, but was now resting comfortably in bed. Victoria went to his suite, and Nurse Carter let her in.
Lord Banstead lay in his enormous bed, looking thin and even small. His chest rose and fell reassuringly.
“How is he?” Victoria asked in a soft voice.
Before the nurse could answer, the earl said, “The hearing hasn’t gone yet.”
Victoria gave a little jump, and Nurse Carter shrugged apologetically.
“Speak to me and not the servants,” the earl continued.
“Of course, my lord.” Victoria walked to the bed. “And how are you feeling?”
“None of your business.” He turned his head away from her and kept his eyes closed. “You can leave now. Go back to that piano—you never seem to tire of it.”
“You can hear me play, my lord?”
“The music room is right over my head, you silly girl.”
She never had been good at understanding the layout of a house. “Forgive me, my lord. I won’t bother you like that again.”
He opened one eye and looked at her. “Never said it was a bother. Tried for years to get my son to play.”
She subdued her eagerness as she took the chair beside his bed. “I saw all those instruments in the music room. Lord Thurlow didn’t enjoy it?”
“He was terrible. At every instrument. Never much for giving it a decent try. Did far too much writing than was good for a boy.”
Writing? she thought, feeling gooseflesh prickle across her arms. Writing to her?
“But you play quite naturally,” the earl said.
Victoria could only stare at him in shock. He was positively chatty today, and after suffering a dangerous attack.
“Thank you, my lord.”
He gave a heavy sigh as he turned his body stiffly. She bit her lip and waited, knowing he would hate an offer of help.
She spotted a book on his bed table. “Shall I read to you, my lord? When I can’t sleep, it passes the time.”
He ignored her, so she took that as reluctant approval. She read a chapter of Dickens’s latest novel, until the nurse assured her that he was finally sleeping.
Just as Victoria was opening the door to leave, the earl surprised her again.
He cleared his throat. “Tell your mother to stay on our grounds.”
“Pardon me?”
“I saw her walk into your old gardens. My steward informs me that your cousin is quite bothered that you live next door—worried you’ll want to visit him too much, the fool. He might not take kindly to your mother’s intrusions.”
“Thank you for the warning, my lord. I’ll speak to my mother. And if I’d known you were still awake, I’d have kept reading.”
“The book won’t go anywhere,” he mumbled, then rolled away from her and pulled the blanket up to his neck.
It was midnight when David returned to the town house. Wilfred the footman was asleep in the foyer propped on a chair, but he stumbled to his feet to take David’s hat and cloak. David sent him off to bed and walked up through the silent house alone. There was still a lamp burning in the drawing room, and before turning it out, he looked about in confusion. It took him a moment to realize what was wrong—someone had filled the room with things he remembered from his childhood, items that had been packed away after his mother died. A small framed portrait of him as a child was propped on a table. He stood looking at it, caught in a memory of his mother telling him that it was her favorite portrait, because he looked about to do mischief.
The familiar stab of pain had dulled over the years to a spark of distant sadness, full of useless what-ifs. His father had rid the house of memories of David’s mother when his mistress had moved in. David had almost been glad to forget as well, because the waste of her life had hurt too much.
But Victoria must have gone exploring and discovered these long-ago relics as she prepared the house for their coming dinner party. He touched the ceramic bird his mother had once brought home from a shopping trip; it had reminded her of their estate in Lincolnshire, where they seldom visited anymore. David couldn’t remember the last time he’d been there. Only his steward made occasional trips there now. Would Victoria like it?
He blew out the lamp and walked up to the next floor in the dark. His wife was never far from his thoughts. In just a few days, she seemed to have brought life back into the old house. Draperies were always thrown open to the sun, when he knew his father preferred to sulk in the gloom. And now she’d resurrected memories of his mother, though perhaps she didn’t know it.
He stopped outside her door, listening. Except for the creak of an ancient floorboard, he heard nothing. During the evening spent at his club, he had forgotten to send word home that he’d be late until the dinner hour. He told himself that Victoria would understand, because at least he’d remembered to let her know.
But had she? Once again she’d been alone with his father and her mother. He knew he himself would go crazy dealing with his father alone all day, yet Victoria never complained. He felt a stab of guilt. The emotion was fresh and unexpected. He was doing the best he could; he was in the middle of delicate negotiations that took all his concentration. He couldn’t fail now—and he couldn’t let thoughts of his wife distract him.
Yet when he went into his own bedroom and began to disrobe, he kept looking at the door that connected their rooms. If he didn’t go to Victoria, it would be the first evening since their marriage that he hadn’t.
When he had disrobed down to his trousers, he hesitated, then knocked softly on her door. There was no answer.
He should just go to sleep. Instead, he opened the door and peered inside, unable to stay away. There was still a candle glowing beside her bed. Victoria lay curled sideways upon the bedspread, still clothed in her dressing gown, looking as if she’d fallen asleep waiting for him.
He walked to the bed and leaned over his wife. Her long blond hair partially covered her face. With a finger, he eased a curl back from her cheek, and she stirred with a small moan. Something deep in his gut twisted, and he recognized the desire she drew out of him. She was warm and soft and smelled of jasmine from her bath. He continued to comb his fingers through her hair, releasing her scent, making her move restlessly. She rolled onto her back and he leaned over her, bracing himself on one arm and one knee, as if he’d crawl into bed with her.
He wanted to.
Her eyelashes fluttered, and she gave a soft, secret smile. “David?”
She murmured his name in a husky voice that made him hard.
He continued to stroke her hair, feeling the warmth of her scalp out to the ends of her soft curls. He brought a lock up to his face and inhaled, torturing himself over his wedding night promises.
“You’re here,” she murmured. “I waited for you.”
He traced her hair down her neck and across her shoulder where it curled provocatively beneath her breast. She opened her eyes slightly. Holding his breath, he followed the curl down her side, then across her ribs.
She did that little moan and squirm again that was almost his undoing. He was consumed by the line of her throat disappearing behind her neckline. He sat on the edge of the bed and slid both hands into her hair, cupping her head.
She sighed and almost closed her eyes again, like a cat rubbing against him, but suddenly she looked at his chest. In her eyes, was that the fear he thought he’d conquered?
In Victoria’s mind, the warm, drowsy remnants of a pleasant dream sank away as she saw that her husband wasn’t wearing a shirt. He was leaning over her, the dim light from the lamp casting half his face in shadows. Her gaze slipped downward, and she saw the sleek, sculpted muscles of his chest, like a rare piece of art come to life. The hollows were darkness along his skin, highlighting the clean lines of him. His nipples were brown points on the bulge of muscles beneath them. His arms were on either side of her, his large hands buried in her hair.
He sat back, pulling away from her, and she wanted to call him back, but was unsure of his reaction.
She came up on her elbows, wanting to see as much as she could. Her gaze traveled from the width of his shoulders, down the flat planes of his stomach, to his narrow waist. In the front of his trousers, there was a prominence she was sure she hadn’t noticed before.
He gave a half smile that made him look so handsome.
“Go to sleep, Victoria. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The urge to call him back was strong. But was she ready for everything marriage entailed? She thought of his patience that morning, and knew he would be gentle with her. Yet she could not place her trust in him, not when there seemed to be secrets in this house—secrets between the two of them.
“You’ve been practicing,” David said.
Secure on her mare in the yard next to the stables, Victoria felt very pleased with herself. “I practiced for several hours yesterday.”
“Then you don’t need me to give you another lesson,” he said, guiding his horse ahead of her.
His words dealt a blow she hadn’t anticipated. But then he looked over his shoulder at her and smiled, and she realized he’d been teasing her.
“So you’re ready to take your first ride away from the grounds?” he asked.
