Lady St Clair had invited Matilda to stay for as long as she wished, and Bonnie and Ruth were not due to leave for a few more days. Prue and Bedwin had gone, as they had a prior engagement, much to Prue’s anxiety. Prue had been quick to tell Matilda to assure Harriet that they would do all in their power to mitigate the worst of the gossip, though they both knew that would be a forlorn hope. Kitty had wanted to stay too and put off their return trip to Ireland to inform Kitty’s parents of her marriage to Luke. Harriet had been adamant that she go, however; she didn’t want her troubles clouding Kitty’s happiness at her marriage. She promised to tell Kitty as once should she have need of her, and Matilda was touched by the way Kitty had vowed to return at a moment’s notice. Kitty had meant it, and her sincerity had clearly moved Harriet.
Matilda was glad the girls had become friends, though they were terribly different. She hoped she could be a comfort to Harriet now, though, and that the girl might confide in her. That Harriet had been caught with Jasper of all people only proved Matilda’s suspicions that there was far more to their relationship than Harriet allowed people to see. Had Jasper taken advantage and seduced her? Somehow Matilda didn’t think so, but one never knew with men, and she vowed to give Harriet every chance to unburden herself.
Mr Burton had also been among the exodus of guests who’d left this morning. Matilda could not help the sigh of relief that escaped her at the knowledge, though she knew it was only a temporary reprieve. He’d made a point of telling her he’d call upon her as soon as she returned to town. That had been one reason she’d accepted Lady St Clair’s offer with such alacrity. She had some hard thinking to do, and she was grateful for the open invitation to stay, not least because Harry would need her support now. She refused to admit to the added relief of having someone else’s troubles to fret over. Her own could surely wait.
Matilda peered up at the threatening looking skies overhead and muttered an unladylike curse. It had been a lovely morning, but the excessive heat and humidity of the last few days had finally come to a head. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance and Matilda hurried faster as the first fat spatters of rain smacked against the dusty road with surprising aggression. Drat it all. She was exactly halfway between the village and the house, and it made no sense to retrace her steps. It was only a distance of three miles back to the house and Matilda had been looking forward to a pleasant walk and the opportunity to stretch her legs. It appeared her optimism had been misplaced, and she let out a little shriek of dismay as the heavens open and the spiteful lash of rain soaked her muslin gown in a matter of moments.
Running as best she could with the wet material clinging to her legs, Matilda sought shelter under a huge oak tree as a clap of thunder rent the air directly above her. She jolted, and stared about her for another form of shelter, one less likely to get struck by lightning. Remembering that she’d seen what had perhaps been a shepherd’s hut a little further up the road, she stumbled back out from under the oak tree and tried to ignore the freezing rain that stung her skin. A scream escaped her as another clap of thunder exploded overhead, so loud it trembled through the ground, vibrating in her chest and making her ears ring. As the sound diminished, another took its place, and it was a moment before she realised it was a horse shrieking in terror.
She turned and gasped as a massive bay horse reared up on the road close behind her, hooves flailing and showing the whites of its eyes as it fought against its rider’s control. Matilda watched in awe and horror, unable to believe the man had stayed seated under such circumstances and brought the horse back under control. The beast was still wild eyed and terrified when another burst of thunder erupted above them, followed quickly by a lightning strike that hit barely ten feet away. The horse reacted at once, screaming with fear and rearing so violently she thought horse and rider would both plummet backwards, before it finally unseated its rider and plunged off along the road at breakneck speed.
“Good heavens!” Matilda exclaimed, and hurried to the man’s side, praying he wasn’t badly hurt.
As she drew closer to him her eyes registered a shock of white blond hair and her heart skipped in her chest as recognition dawned.
“Oh, no,” she said, as the figure was too terribly still.
Sinking to the ground, she pushed the sodden hair from his eyes, which remained closed. The beautiful, arrogant profile was angelic when viewed this way, his thick eyelashes a darker gold against high cheekbones, and the mouth she’d always believed cruel far softer and surprisingly full in repose.
“My lord,” she said, patting his cheek as her heart raced with fear. He couldn’t be dead, not him. It wasn’t possible. “My lord, wake up, please… please wake up.”
He didn’t stir and Matilda’s heart clenched. No, no, no you don’t.
“My lord,” she said again, more urgently. “Oh, Montagu, damn you, wake up! Please, please….”
There was a sigh, and his eyelids flickered. Matilda held her breath as those startling silver eyes opened and found hers. For just a second he blinked, still hazy as Matilda let out a cry and put her hand to her heart.
“Thank God,” she said, unable to hide the depths of her relief. “Thank God.”
“Am I dead?” came a dryly amused murmur.
“Don’t tempt me,” Matilda muttered finding his eyes glittering and focused solely on her now. “You gave me such a scare.”
“Ah,” he said, his tone mildly curious. “I just wondered why you were thanking God so fervently. I’m relieved to discover it’s not because you’re finally rid of me.”
Though the rain was still hammering around them, he did not try to move and she wondered if he was badly hurt.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded, leaning him over as panic flared to life again. She stared at him, inspecting the length of his powerful body as she searched for any sign of blood or broken bones. The urge to run her hands over him and check thoroughly was something she fought to restrain. “Are you injured? Is anything broken?”
As her gaze returned to his face, she had a split second to register a look in his eyes that made her heart skip before his hand clamped at the back of her neck.
“Oh no!” she shrieked, smacking his arm away and scurrying backwards so fast she landed on her backside in a puddle.
Her heart was thundering in terror of his kiss, as she knew that was what he’d intended. She also knew that, if her mouth had met his any hopes she had for the future would be gone in the space between one heartbeat and the next. She could no longer deny his assertion that there was something between them, some powerful magnetic pull that didn’t seem to care whether or not they actually liked each other. He’d been right, though she’d carry on denying it until her dying breath.
“A pity,” Montagu sighed, sitting up on his elbows. “I thought you might be kinder to an injured man.”
“Injured?” Matilda retorted, getting unsteadily to her feet and doing her best to glare furiously at him whilst wiping the rain from her eyes. It wasn’t easy. “I’ll do you a permanent injury if you try that again.”
Montagu stared up at her, that arrogant tilt to his lips all too familiar. “Have no fear, Miss Hunt, I shan’t try it again. Indeed, I think I prefer that you instigate our first kiss. It will be so much sweeter that way.”
Matilda gaped at him. “You’re insane.”
He stared at her, the intensity of his gaze, that unwavering certainty that he was right giving her the maddening desire to look away, but she did not. “You know perfectly well that I’m not. You want to kiss me as badly as I want you to, but I’m a patient man, Miss Hunt. Now,” he said, changing the subject as though they’d merely been speaking of the weather, and leaving Matilda reeling, “I’m afraid I shall have to avail myself of your aid. I believe I have damaged my ankle in the fall.”
Matilda stared at him for a moment, torn between fervently denying she wanted to kiss him—even though she knew it was a lie and that she probably needed locking up for her own
safety—and continuing to fret over how badly he was hurt.
“Is it broken?” she asked, moving back to him.
“No,” he said, as she leaned down and put her arm beneath his to help lever him up. “I don’t think so, only… Christ!”
Matilda exclaimed as the two of them nearly fell again, as she was unable to bear his weight. Somehow Montagu righted them both, and she stared up at him to discover his face was ashen.
“Are you quite certain it’s not broken?” she ventured.
“Quite,” he said tersely. “Sprained, I’d guess.”
“At least the rain is lessening,” Matilda said, trying to distract herself from the fact that the Marquess of Montagu’s arm was around her shoulder and she was pressed tightly to his side. A low rumble of thunder grumbled softly, and she was relieved to know the storm was moving away. “What do we do now?” she asked, praying he’d not make some inadvisable remark as she was shivering, and she wasn’t certain it was from the cold, though she would swear on her life it was if questioned.
He was so solid, though, far more muscular than she’d imagined beneath all that impeccable tailoring. She’d believed him tall and lean, but the body beneath her hand was hard and a great deal more powerful than she’d guessed. The heat of his body burned through his damp clothes and she was feeling quite giddy at his nearness. Perhaps she was coming down with something. She could only hope it was pneumonia and not something more dangerous.
Montagu didn’t answer but looked around at the sound of horses’ hooves.
“Thank heaven for small mercies,” he said with a sigh, as whoever it was hailed them and drew to a halt, sliding from the saddle and running to the marquess.
“My lord!” the man exclaimed, eyes wide with concern. “Are you hurt, my lord? I left as soon as I heard the storm.”
Matilda admitted to some surprise at the obvious concern in the man’s expression. From his appearance, she assumed he was a groom or something of the kind, and he’d obviously left in a hurry without taking a coat, as he was in his shirtsleeves. Wiry and slim of stature, he was perhaps twenty years older than the marquess.
“Nothing of note,” Montagu replied. “Thank you for coming.”
The fellow belatedly swiped the cap from his head and astonished Matilda by muttering, “I tol’ yer it were gonna storm.”
“Noted,” Montagu said, his expression both benign and quelling at one and the same time. She wondered how he did it. “I will relieve you of your horse and take Miss Hunt back to Holbrooke. Return to the inn, send my carriage for me, and get people out looking for Rhaebus. I pray he’s not done himself an injury.”
“Yes, my lord, at once.”
“And how do you propose to get on a horse with a sprained ankle?” Matilda demanded, irritated.
Montagu returned a look of mild surprise as Thornton brought the horse closer. Matilda watched as the marquess grabbed a handful of mane with his left hand, put his right on the saddle and vaulted into place without ever touching the stirrups. Matilda’s mouth went a little dry and she huffed, refusing to admit she was impressed.
“I can do it bareback too, if you like,” he offered.
“Hardly the thing for the Marquess of Montagu,” she countered, affecting a scandalised expression when in truth her imagination was already picturing it. “What would the ton say if they knew?”
“I expect all the young bucks would ride up and down Rotten Row with not a saddle between them the very next day,” he said, his usual bored tone evident, though there was amusement in his eyes.
Matilda muttered something about pride coming before a fall, but otherwise refused to bite.
Montagu spoke a few words to Thornton before the man jogged off back to the village. The marquess moved the horse closer to her.
“Come along, Miss Hunt.”
Matilda looked up, her eyes widening as Montagu reached down a hand to her.
“Oh, no,” she said, backing off and shaking her head. “No, no. Indeed not. I thank you, but I shall walk.”
“You shall not, you little fool. You’re soaked to the bone and you’ll catch your death. Besides which,” he added, a wicked glint in his eyes that made her pulse flutter in a remarkably stupid fashion, “did you know that muslin becomes curiously transparent once wet?”
Matilda was suddenly a deal less chilled as her cheeks flared and she gave a little yelp of outrage. Her top half was at least covered by her spencer, sodden though it was, but from the waist down….
“Come, come, Miss Hunt. I’m a gentleman, after all. Surely you trust me not to look?”
“No,” Matilda replied succinctly and began walking away, only to realise what kind of view that gave him. She cursed and swung back around, holding her reticule in front of her. “You go first,” she ground out from between clenched teeth.
“Oh, no, Miss Hunt. I couldn’t possibly.”
Matilda narrowed her eyes at him and knew she wouldn’t win. “You are, without a doubt, the most odious, arrogant, irritating man in the entire country.”
Montagu tutted, shaking his head in dismay. “Oh, in the empire, surely? If a thing is worth doing etcetera….” he added, waving a hand nonchalantly.
Biting back the urge to growl with fury—he’d only enjoy it—Matilda stalked back to the horse. Montagu reached down before she’d prepared herself, and the next thing she knew she was sitting sideways in front of him. She gave a shriek, not least because the pommel was most uncomfortable, and almost slid off again, but a strong arm lashed around her waist, holding her in place.
“Calm yourself, you’ll spook the horse,” he replied, infuriatingly cool as Matilda stared at the ground, which seemed a dreadfully long way off.
“I don’t like horses,” she said, uncertain whether the proximity of the marquess or the lack of proximity to the ground was causing her the most distress. No. She wasn’t the least bit uncertain. There was really very little option other than to plaster herself against him, given the lack of space. It was far too intimate, and it was playing havoc with her equilibrium.
“I have you,” he said, his voice soothing, which disturbed her more than anything else he could have said or done.
The words slid over her skin like a caress and made her want to sink into his embrace. Instead she pushed away and sat up, as far away as was possible, rigid with anxiety as the horse swayed into motion. Alarmed, she grabbed at the nearest thing to steady herself and found herself clinging to Montagu’s lapels.
He looked down and sighed. “Well, it was ruined anyway, I suppose, though I’d rather you’d put your arms about my neck.”
“I’d rather die,” Matilda said, willing her fingers to release his coat, but quite unable to do so.
She watched the ground passing beneath them as the horse strode on. They continued in this way for some time, Matilda rigid with tension, eyes fixed on the earth.
“Stop looking down,” Montagu said, a note of amusement in his voice. “I promise I won’t let you fall. I must confess, I am delighted to discover something that frightens you. I had believed you utterly fearless.”
That was enough to make her look up and stare at him in amazement.
“What?” he asked. “There are many who fear me, who stammer and stutter in my presence, but not you. Not once. You’ve never feared me, not from the first.”
It was said with no inflection, just an acknowledgement of the truth. Montagu was a powerful man with many interests. Love him or loathe him, no one could ignore him, and many feared his displeasure.
“You’re wrong,” Matilda replied, turning away from him.
She feared him, and she feared what path he could lead her down if she gave into temptation.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” she demanded before he could question her further, and more than relieved that Holbrooke House was in view.
The sooner she was out of his company, the better.
There was a short pause before he replied. “I had business in the
area.”
“With St Clair?”
“No, I…. St Clair invited me to the house party, but I had other matters that needed my attention. However, I was here for a few days, so I thought it polite to pay a call.”
Matilda turned and raised an eyebrow at him.
“What?” he asked. “My manners are impeccable, Miss Hunt, ask anybody.”
She made a sound that was not particularly complimentary and heard the low rumble of a chuckle. They rode on in silence for a while and Matilda concentrated her entire being on ignoring the hard male body so close to hers, the powerful thighs controlling the horse beneath them with ease, and the scent of him that rose from his damp clothes. Leather and horses, the subtle aroma of bergamot, and something hot and masculine curled about her. The desire to loosen her grip on his lapel and slide her hand up his neck was tantalising. She could sink her fingers into his hair and see the white blond locks tangle about them, watch those pale, silver grey eyes darken....
Stop it. Stop it. It would be like petting a cobra, she scolded herself. Are you utterly insane?
Utterly, undeniably, irredeemably, replied a wistful voice in her head that she refused to acknowledge.
“Have you thought any more about my offer, Miss Hunt?”
Oh, that was it.
“This is far enough,” she said furiously as she gripped his arm and removed it from her person.
“Miss Hunt, have a care, you’ll fall,” he protested, but Matilda did not care.
With a muttered curse, she slithered from the horse in an unladylike heap before righting herself.
“Turn around and go back the way you came,” she said, and flung her arm out, pointing him back towards the village.
Thank God, she thought, grateful for her anger, relieved it had saved her from making a fool of herself. She wasn’t about to stalk off with him watching, however, not after the remark about her dress. Getting to her room unobserved would be challenge enough.
To Wager with Love (Girls Who Dare Book 5) Page 7