“Alone time? Charlotte, do put down that scone and tell me what Edna is talking about.”
Pausing with a blueberry scone halfway to her lips, Charlotte lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “It’s nothing to worry about. I am sure she will be right as rain in a day or two.”
Dianna’s pale eyebrows lifted in alarm. “Is she ill? Miles didn’t mention anything before he left for London.”
“No,” Charlotte said as she bit into her scone, “she isn’t ill.”
“Then whatever is the matter with her?”
“Well, it is quite obvious, isn’t it?” When both Dianna and Edna merely looked confused, Charlotte sighed. Honestly, she thought to herself. Am I the only one with eyes in my head? “Our little Harper has finally done it. She’s fallen in love.”
Had Harper been able to hear Charlotte, she would have argued quite fiercely that she most certainly was not in love, thank you very much. In frustration, perhaps. In annoyance, most definitely. But in love?
Surely not.
What she felt towards Doyle were not the soft, gooey emotions she’d read about in countless novels. She didn’t swoon when she thought of him or dream of the day he would get down on bended knee and ask her to be his wife. She did imagine him kissing her - quite frequently, if she were being honest - and she’d often wondered over the past few weeks what it would feel like to be wrapped in his arms again.
But that wasn’t love.
Love was…love was something other people felt. Love meant giving up your independence. It meant relying on another person more than you did yourself. It meant giving up who you were in favor of becoming who your husband wanted you to be.
And that was something Harper would never do.
She knew precisely what type of wife an arrogant cad like Doyle Flynn would want. One who was biddable and quiet and spent all day complimenting his piercing eyes and strong jawline. One who never disagreed and always minded her tongue. One who was the epitome of flawless grace and perfect manners.
In other words, the sort of woman Harper had spent her entire life avoiding.
Kicking a tiny pebble with the toe of her sturdy leather riding boot, she watched it bounce across the freshly raked stable yard as she made her way Jewel’s stall. Instinctively sensing her mistress’s arrival, the pretty chestnut lifted her head and greeted Harper with an affectionate nicker.
“Here you go,” Harper said softly, digging two lumps of sugar out of the pocket of her brother’s old jacket she’d thrown on before coming outside. It may have been the height of summer, but England’s weather was often unpredictable and today, even though the sky was clear and the sun was out, a crisp, cool breeze whipped through the trees and rippled across the fields. “What do you think of going for a ride?”
Rather a like a dog hearing a familiar cue, Jewel’s dainty ears pricked up at the word ‘ride’ and she whinnied loudly, tossing her head up and down.
“I shall take that as a yes,” Harper said with a laugh. Opening the stall door, she slipped inside, sinking into sweet smelling straw as she began to groom Jewel’s sleek, shiny coat with long, well practiced strokes.
For as long as she could remember Harper had loved horses and was quite an adept equestrian, both on the ground and in the saddle. In the next year or so she wanted to breed Jewel, but had yet to settle on a sire.
“He’ll have to be handsome, of course,” she said conversationally as she ducked under Jewel’s neck and moved to the other side. “With impeccable lineage and a fair constitution. We don’t want a bully, do we?” Or a duke with brandy colored eyes and a smoldering smile.
Bringing the brush down on Jewel’s sensitive hide harder than she’d intended, Harper immediately felt contrite when the mare jumped and swiveled her head to look at her as though to say ‘I have nothing to do with Doyle. Don’t blame me because you cannot stop thinking about him’!
“You’re right, of course.” Apologizing with a scratch to Jewel’s withers that caused the mare’s top lip to flip out in pure, unadulterated bliss, Harper laughed and patted her on the shoulder. “Have you ever met another horse you took an instant dislike to? I am sure you have.” Her brow creased. “Although perhaps dislike is too strong of a-”
“I say, who’s in here?” A man’s voice, gruff and growly, abruptly interrupted Harper’s one-sided conversation. Recognizing the voice as belonging to Mr. Downington, the head groom, a rather crotchety old man who had been caring for the Radnor’s horses longer than Harper had been alive, she poked her head out over the top of the stall door and waved at him.
“It is only me, Mr. Downington.”
“Lady Harper,” he said, watery blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s good to see ye out in the stables on a regular basis again. I know Jewel is loving the attention as well. I haven’t seen her so happy in ages. She only tried to nip Jonny once this week.”
Harper’s mouth curved in a smile. “Is that all?”
“It is. Are you taking her out for a ride, then?”
“Indeed I am. A short one,” she said with a twinge of regret, “as I need to be back before dinner. Have the lower fields all dried out? I thought I might take her for a gallop. She wants to run, don’t you girl?”
Jewel swished her tail in agreement.
“The fields are dry,” Mr. Downington confirmed with a nod of his head, “but I don’t know about you going out by yourself.” Standing on his toes - he was a short, wiry man of only five feet and two inches - he peered over the stall door. Glimpsing Harper’s attire, he fell back on his heels with a frown. “And in those clothes. My lady, your brother-”
“-isn’t here to say no,” she said firmly. In addition to stealing Miles’ coat, she had also taken a pair of his castoff breeches and a white cotton shirt from the hidden stockpile of masculine attire she kept in the back of her closet.
When she went riding by herself - which was far more often than either her brother or mother knew - she never bothered with a riding habit or even a sidesaddle, for that matter. To her mind both things were entirely too cumbersome…not to mention unnecessary. If a man didn’t require them to ride, then why should she? “I won’t be but an hour,” she assured the dubious stable manager as she led Jewel out of her stall and held her while she was tacked. “No one will even know I am gone.”
“I don’t know…”
“I shall be back in a jiffy!” Harper sang out as she walked Jewel out into the stable yard and brought down her stirrups. Stepping onto a small wooden block, she placed her left foot in the iron, grabbed a handful of red mane, and swung on with ease. Taking the leather reins in one hand, she offered Mr. Downington a mock salute with the other. “I promise.”
“Stubborn girl,” Mr. Downington muttered under his breath as he watched Harper canter away, her long hair blowing in the wind. “Mark my words, that willful mind of hers is going to cause all sorts of trouble one day.”
If only he knew how very right he was.
CHAPTER FOUR
Reaching down, Doyle gave his foxhound an affectionate pat on the head as they strolled leisurely along a wooded trail. They’d been walking through hill and dale for the better part of three hours, although whether they were walking to something or away from it was anyone’s guess.
He liked to think he and Petunia - which was the name one ended up with when one asked their sister to name one’s dog - were headed towards something, but who could know for certain until they got where they were going?
Either way, it was a good day for a walk. The sun was shimmering down through the leaves, a light breeze stirred the hair on his temple, and the birds were loudly chirping. They flittered overhead, hopping from branch to branch in a flurry of brown and white feathers. Occasionally Petunia would perk her ears when one got close enough, but she was too blind to see them clearly and too old to give chase.
At ten years of age, Doyle’s faithful hound now spent more time sprawled in the shade of her favorite field maple than out h
erding game, but in her youth she’d been the best foxhunter he had ever owned. Intelligent and sharp witted, she had led the pack on many a merry chase and bore the scars on her muzzle and chest to prove it. When she passed - an inevitability he’d yet to come to terms with - he knew the pain of it would be unlike anything he’d felt since he lost his parents which only made these treasured walks together all the more priceless.
“This is a sight better than the city, isn’t it old girl?” he asked as Petunia paused to sniff at a pile of brush. Knowing the game she liked to play all too well he continued walking, lengthening his stride in an effort to put as much distance between them as possible until with a wage of her tail and a melodious bark she came bounding after him.
“That’s a girl,” he said, crouching down so they were face to face. Seeing the glossy gleam of cataracts covering her adoring eyes he felt his throat tighten and when next he spoke his voice was ragged with emotion. “That’s my beautiful, beautiful girl. Ready to go home?” At the word ‘home’ Petunia’s long ears twitched and she looked expectantly back down the trail. “Go on then,” Doyle said gruffly. “Get a move on.”
With another happy exclamation, this one more bay than bark, Petunia set off, jumping in and out of the tree line as her nose led her to various scents. Sticking his hands in the pockets of his trousers Doyle followed at a more leisurely pace, content to let the old hound have her fun while his thoughts wandered until the sudden sound of pounding hoof beats roused him from his daydreaming.
He had but a second to shout a word of warning to Petunia before a rider came galloping recklessly around the bend, his slight form hunched low over his horse’s neck. With a startled yelp the foxhound tucked her tail and jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding being pummeled beneath four deadly hooves.
As a haze of red clouded his vision, Doyle didn’t think, he simply reacted. Spreading his arms wide he stepped into the path of the oncoming horse and rider. The horse, having not expected a man to be out in the middle of the woods, shied sharply to the side, nostrils flaring and long legs scrambling as it struggled for purchase in the soft leafy footing. Recovered from the shock of nearly being run to ground, Petunia leapt into action before Doyle could secure her. She was too well trained to bite the horse, but as instinct overcame reason she began to run in circles around it, baying at the top of her lungs as she’d once done before every foxhunt. The rider, having been fighting to stay in the tack, ultimately lost his battle and went soaring rather gracefully to the ground when his horse reared straight up, hooves pawing the air before it landed and took off down the trail, stirrups flapping uselessly against its sides.
“Petunia, to heel,” Doyle said sternly. With one last enthusiastic bay, the hound returned to her master’s side and sat proudly beside him, tail thumping the ground. Holding onto her collar, Doyle approached the fallen rider, his jaw clenched in anger at the thought of what might have happened had Petunia not been so quick to jump out of the way. “Are you hurt?” he demanded.
The rider, having landed on his stomach and no doubt had the very wind knocked from his lungs, rose up on his hands and knees, head hanging down. “Where is my horse?” he groaned.
“It ran off.” And good luck to you catching it, Doyle added silently. His eyes narrowed as he took a closer look at the boy, for surely such a slight build could not have belonged to a man. “Who the hell are you? And what are you doing on my property? You nearly killed my hound.”
“Your hound nearly killed me!” With an outraged gasp the boy lifted his head…and suddenly Doyle found himself staring down into a very familiar pair of flashing green eyes.
“You,” they said in unison.
Harper, always quick on her feet - both figuratively and literally, it would seem - was the first to recover. Pushing herself upright, she stumbled a step to the side before regaining her balance and fixing Doyle with a glare so fierce he felt the heat of it scorch his face. “I do not know why I am surprised,” she snapped. “If anyone was going to try to kill me, of course it would be you!”
Sensing the tension in Harper’s voice, Petunia stiffened and emitted a low, warning growl. Reassuring her with a softly murmured command without ever taking his gaze off of Harper, Doyle said, “I was not the one who came charging around the bend like a bloody madwoman.”
“A madwoman?” Reaching behind her, Harper yanked her hair out from the back of her collar. Twisted into a messy braid, it fell over one shoulder as she shook her head vehemently from side to side. “I was merely putting Jewel through her paces. You’re the one who was in the way. You and that vicious dog of yours. I could have broken my neck!”
“Careful,” Doyle warned. “This dog is worth more to me than you could possibly imagine. Insult me all you like, Lady Harper, but take a care with what you say about Petunia.”
Glancing at the hound, Harper’s gaze immediately softened. “Was she…is she hurt?”
“No, but she very well could have been.”
“I…I am sorry if I frightened her.” Shifting her weight from side to side, she peeked contritely up at him beneath a fringe of dark lashes. “It was not my intention.”
As his anger dissipated, concern for Harper grew in its place. The fall she’d taken had not been a small one and even though she was standing on her own accord he knew some injuries, particularly those affecting the head, were easy to overlook. “Are you hurt?” he asked, stepping towards her. Lifting one finger as he’d once seen a doctor do to a patient who had been knocked to the ground by a carriage, he moved it back and forth in front of her face. “Follow my finger,” he instructed. “Is there any blurriness or dark spots?”
“I do not see why-”
“For once,” he growled, “can you simply do as you’re bloody well told?”
Her mouth open. Closed. Without further argument she obeyed his command, eyes flicking left and then right as she tracked his finger.
“Well?” Letting his hand drop, he studied her intently. “What do you see?”
“What I see is an imperious, bossy, arrogant-”
“You’re fine.” Turning about, he climbed back up onto the trail, leaving Harper no choice but to follow after him. She did so after a long pause, the soles of her riding boots crunching loudly in the underbrush.
“Well?” she demanded of his back. “What do we do now?”
Doyle bit back a smile. “Now,” he said, one brow lifting as he slowly pivoted to face her, “I am returning home to enjoy a nice cold glass of lemonade. I wish you adieu, Lady Harper.” Motioning for Petunia with a sharp snap of his fingers, he strolled past Harper and began to count in his head, silently ticking off the seconds it was taking her to overcome her own inflated sense of pride and ask him for help.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Fi-
“Wait! I - just wait a moment…please.”
Knowing precisely how much that please must have cost her - even if it was quite grudgingly given - Doyle stopped and turned around. “Yes? Is there something I can help you with?” A devilish glint gleamed in his eyes. “Catching your horse, perhaps?”
Facing him with a scowl on her face and her hands planted firmly on her hips, Harper glared daggers. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Every second,” he agreed. Especially now that he could fully appreciate Harper’s attire. Or rather lack of attire. Her snugly fitted breeches allowed him to see every delicious curve of her thighs and derriere while her tucked in shirt gave him an intimate glimpse of her slender waist and full breasts. Breasts that were neither too large nor too small and perfectly shaped. Breasts that demanded to be admired. To be touched. To be kissed… Bloody hell. If he didn’t stop that particular train of thought this very moment he was going to be stuck in the middle of the forest with the cock-stand to end all cock-stands.
“I do not like the way you are looking at me,” Harper said suddenly.
Purposefully taking hi
s time in dragging his gaze from her pert breasts to her pert countenance, Doyle smirked. “And how am I looking at you?”
A frown pulled at the corners of her mouth. “As though you are a wolf and I’m a tasty little rabbit.”
“But I am a wolf,” he said softly as he took a step closer. “And you are a tasty little rabbit.”
“Stop right there,” she warned, holding up her hand as though that would be enough to halt him in his tracks.
Doyle had never taken a woman by force, but then he’d never needed to. One suggestive smile, one silkily whispered word, one fleeting touch of flesh against flesh, and whomever he had chosen to seduce was all but panting in his ear.
He was rather looking forward to hearing Harper pant.
Canting his head to the side, he slowed but did not stop until their bodies were mere inches apart. “Are you going to make me?” he asked, his smirk widening into a devilish grin as she gazed up at him dazedly, green irises standing out in sharp contrast against her dilated pupils.
“Should I?” she whispered.
“That is entirely up to you.” Lifting his hand, he turned it so the backs of his knuckles barely grazed her arm as he stroked from her shoulder to her wrist. When he felt her quiver - one hard jolt of awareness that left her lips parted - he knew he’d won.
“I just don’t know…” she said uncertainly, biting her bottom lip.
“Let me taste you,” he rasped as the sight of her flush mouth being nibbled sent a spear of lust shooting straight through him and brought his cock to full attention. “It is all I have been thinking about.”
“Bugger off,” Harper said flatly before she stepped neatly out of reach. Seeing Doyle’s resulting expression of complete and utter bemusement she burst into laughter. “Oh! Your face. Let me taste you,” she mocked in a deep parody of his own voice. “It is all I have been thinking about.” Waving one hand in the air, she clutched her stomach with the other before dissolving into another fit of giggles. “Honestly, does that really work? If so, I must express my sincere concern regarding the intelligence of the women you have been seducing.”
London Ladies (The Complete Series) Page 61