“You need to learn how to trot, at least, Captain. Rumor has it, Lady Georgiana is a fine horsewoman.”
“If a morning ride requires more than this,” Ethan replied as he followed his nephew around in an ever-widening circle at a sedate trot, “I will be dead within the week.”
“Only parts of you, Captain. Post a bit, sir. Rise and fall with the horse’s gait.”
“If those parts are dead, this courtship is rather pointless, don’t you think?”
Abigail gasped again and clutched Georgiana’s arm.
Georgiana turned to find her sister blushing a brilliant shade of pink and trying not to laugh at the same time.
“We should not be spying on him, let alone listening,” Abigail scolded. “Georgie, why are we here?”
“Eleanor told me about the riding lesson. I wanted to see precisely how poor a rider Captain Dorrill is.”
“No. Why are we here? Why are you forcing him to do things for which he has no experience? Why are you making this so difficult for him?” Abigail stared at her determinedly, as only a younger sister might do.
“Nonsense. He insists on courting me. I am giving him the opportunity to do so.” Georgiana turned her attention back to the fledgling rider and his two companions as they trotted back up Rotten Row toward the thick hedges and shadowing trees where she and Abigail hid. His blue hunting jacket with gold buttons suited him. Tailored to fit his broad chest and shoulders like a second skin, the color emphasized the bronzed strands of his tawny hair. His breeches, a blend of fawn and tan buckskin, outlined powerfully muscular thighs. His was the body of a man accustomed to action, accustomed to taking any task head on, no matter the cost. In spite of his trepidation, his posture was that of a man unafraid, a man determined to master any situation, any person foolish enough to try and thwart him. The idea frustrated her, and fascinated her beyond measure.
“You are torturing the poor man. It has never been your way to be deliberately cruel.” This was the Abigail who had come into her own as Daniel McCormick’s wife. Under their father’s rule, the two of them—Georgiana and Abigail—had sublimated themselves beneath layers of obedience, the occasional petty burst of individuality, and years of behaving as they ought. Abigail was free now, to act as she pleased and to see Georgiana acting as she felt she must.
“I do not understand why Ethan decided to court me nor why he thinks he might wish to make me his wife. I did not want to marry Daniel. You did, and I am happy for you. Unfortunately, I have no more sisters to throw into the captain’s way.”
“Ethan?” Abigail reached back to stroke her gelding’s nose as he butted her gently in the back.
“You were right when you told me I would not be happy married without love. I have no wish to be sold to the highest bidder to refill Papa’s coffers. Your husband makes certain the bills are paid, we have a roof over our heads, and there is food on the table and servants to serve it. Everything else goes to the gambling hells and his mistresses. I won’t make it easier for him.”
“Which is why you will make it as difficult as possible for Ethan.”
Georgiana snorted. “It still may not be enough. He has proved infuriatingly stubborn thus far.” She watched as Ethan turned his horse, nearly fell when she gave a little hop, and then started back down Rotten Row to Matthias’s encouraging cheers.
“There is a thin line between stubbornness and devotion, sister. In making it more difficult for your captain, you are making it more difficult for yourself.”
“It?”
“Love. A chance at love. Stop worrying about the rest of us and take it.” Abigail reached for her hand, clasped it hard, and squeezed.
Of course, Abigail believed in love and risking everything for a chance at happiness. She was newly married to a man who looked at her as if his every wish lay in her smiles. Georgiana’s life had been one of duty and constant disappointment as her only reward. The safest way to avoid disappointment was to remove every opportunity for someone to let her down. And Ethan, the green-grey eyed rogue, worked his way closer and closer to being able to disappoint her the most. Unless she beat him to it. She gave her sister her brightest, most conspiratorial smile.
“Let us join the gentlemen before Pumpkin manages to put the captain on the deck again, shall we?” Georgiana suggested. She helped Abigail onto the big gelding. Once her sister had settled into the sidesaddle, Georgiana led both horses from beneath the trees and around the shrubs into the circular clearing as Ethan, Dickie, and Matthias rode into it.
“Good morning, Captain Dorrill,” she greeted. “Lovely day for a ride, isn’t it?”
His red mare tossed her head, shied, and in a thrice Ethan lay at Georgiana’s feet in a disheveled, groaning, completely desirable heap. His fall from the saddle held no claim to grace. His slow rise to his considerable full height put her in mind of a cheetah the Marquess of Bath kept at Longleat when Georgiana visited there as a child. A creature of elegance and liquid muscle, a creature of leashed savagery and infinite patience. Until his prey was sighted and within his reach. He strolled over, only a hint of a limp apparent, as if he were crossing the deck of a ship upon catching sight of an enemy ship on the horizon. What cannons would he turn on her?
“Without a doubt,” he replied. “Good morning, Mrs. McCormick. Are you to be our chaperone?” He moved to the side of Georgiana’s mare, took the reins from her nerveless hands, and cupped his hands to aid Georgiana in mounting.
“Indeed, Captain,” Abigail replied from the sidesaddle atop her dun-colored gelding. “Had I known Master Matthias would be in attendance, I would have stayed abed.” She tossed Georgiana a scowl.
“I take it you are not accustomed to rising at this hour,” Ethan said as he lingered over tucking Georgiana’s booted foot into the stirrup.
“My sister is the early riser, Captain. As are you, I take it.”
With a last surreptitious caress of Georgiana’s calf, he went to his own horse, waved Dickie off, and with surprising aptitude, landed in the saddle and took the reins from his nephew. “I am a sailor, ma’am. In spite of my lengthy stay ashore, I seldom sleep past sunrise. Drives Townsend and the rest of my staff to distraction. Shall we?” He indicated the bridle path on which he had been practicing, a path which led to Rotten Row, where London’s horsemen and horsewomen met to exercise their horses and their penchant for gossip.
“Townsend is your…” Georgiana steered her mare, Delilah, to the edge of the path as she and Ethan rode side by side, Abigail and Matthias before them and Dickie trailing behind.
“He’s Uncle Ethan’s butler,” the enthusiastic young boy on the pretty white pony offered over his shoulder. “He’s a rum cove and he runs a tight ship, but he’s promised to keep the lemon drop jar in Uncle’s study full at all times.”
“Rum cove?” Georgiana turned a gaze of mock horror on her riding companion. Somewhere behind them, she heard what sounded like a strangled chuckle.
“Dickie must have taught him,” Ethan declared, which elicited a few muttered words in place of the chuckling. He had become a bit more comfortable in the saddle. Of course, Pumpkin’s pace matched that of a reluctant cart horse on the way to the knacker’s. Why had she thought he’d ever be anything save capable and too damned stubborn to admit defeat after a few falls?
“Mrs. Treach said so,” Matthias happily provided. Abigail looked over her shoulder as well, her expression one of high amusement in spite of the myriad questions in her eyes. “She’s Uncle Ethan’s cook and she has a wooden leg. Which is more legs than on most of the furniture in the house, or so Townsend says.”
“Dear God,” Ethan groaned.
Georgiana gave up on decorum utterly. She laughed, covered her mouth with her gloved hand and laughed some more. Even Delilah whickered in response to this latest revelation. “I’m going to ride up there,” she said, when she’d finally recovered. “Matthias is a fount of fascinating information.”
Ethan grabbed her horse’s reins. “Do
n’t you dare. If Pumpkin wakes up and bolts, I’m done for. I’m counting on you to save me.”
Georgiana gave the red mare a careful inspection as they finally reached Rotten Row and began a circuit of that infamous avenue. “She appears to be ready to sleep until Michelmas.”
“She is reserving her strength. Any moment now she will put forth a burst of speed certain to put Eclipse to shame.”
At the mention of England’s most famous racehorse in the same sentence as Pumpkin, Georgiana smiled in spite of herself and shook her head. “Really, Captain.”
“Ethan. I risked my life to join you on this little outing, the least you can do is let me hear my name on your lips before I die.”
“Ridiculous.” She glanced at him and then quickly away. He was terribly handsome in the early morning light. Handsome, and charming, and without shame or artifice. A complete rogue and the very last man she should find attractive. “Why did you agree to come if you knew you could not ride? Ethan.”
“Wasn’t that the point? Georgiana.” He moved his horse closer.
She pulled her reins so tightly Delilah balked a bit in response. “I have no idea what you mean.”
Birds were calling to each other in the trees. The morning air in Hyde Park was fresh, in the way it often was before the city had fully awakened. The September morning breeze had swept much of the damp and musty smell of London out of the wide green spaces of Hyde Park. Over it all, however, the scent of horses and leather and a faint wisp of sandalwood combined with what had to be…simply him, made it difficult for Georgiana to think, let alone come up with a more clever rejoinder. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed Dickie, the footman, had slowed his horse enough to give her and the captain complete privacy. She’d acquired three of the worst chaperones in England.
“I told you I would do anything you asked,” Ethan said, his dark, rough voice scraping over her skin like a heavy wool cloak. “The last time I broke my word it cost me everything. I won’t do it again.”
They completed the circuit of Rotten Row and began a second one. She wanted to know, but his coiled posture, all power and a desperate undercurrent of quiet rage, convinced her he had no intention of sharing more about the last time he’d broken his word. She’d contrived to make him uncomfortable. He knew it and still he came. What manner of man was Captain Ethan Dorrill? Ahead of them, Matthias turned in the saddle and waved at his uncle. Ethan tapped the side of his head in silent salute, the crease of a reluctant smile drawing Georgiana’s attention to his lips, firm and uncompromising, with the bottom lip fuller and surprisingly soft when he’d kissed her.
When he’d kissed her… Oh, no. Not the thing to remember now. She tapped her heel to Delilah’s side and urged her into a slow trot. Ethan followed suit. Matthias’s shout of encouragement and Abigail’s cherry wave ahead of them struck Georgiana. “Is your brother aware his son has been to your home? Or that he is here with you this morning?”
“Eleanor is aware. She and I would prefer Ash not know, for now.” He pulled Pumpkin to a halt in the middle of the Row. Before long, they’d be joined by other early morning riders.
Georgiana settled a prancing Delilah to a standstill.
“I do not ask you to lie, it will simply be better for Ash. And for Eleanor, who has been beyond kind to me since I came to London.”
“Of course.” She reached over and squeezed his hands, wrapped tightly in Pumpkin’s reins. “He will not hear it from me, nor from Abigail. I will make certain of it.”
“My brother is not to blame. He and my sister have every reason to shun me.” Ethan covered her hand with one of his. He stared out across the park toward the Serpentine. The wind stirred his hair and he closed his eyes as if in search of memories of a different wind, a different place.
“I find that hard to believe. I do not believe I have met your sister.” She studied him. Did he long to return to the sea? Or was his longing for something even more unpredictable—the love of his family, perhaps. Georgiana knew more than she wished about the things that came between family until they were strangers sharing a name and living in the same house.
“Margaret is away at school in the north of England, where she has been since she was five years old. Since the last time I saw her, and abandoned her and Ash to the care of my monster of a grandfather.” He gave her hand a last squeeze and turned to face her, eyes open and unreadable. “I have earned their enmity. Having Matthias as my courtship advisor is the only familial privilege I am allowed. Shall we?” He guided Pumpkin back toward the Row. Georgiana’s Delilah ambled along beside the plodding mare. Abigail and Matthias were two horse-shaped dots ahead in the distance.
“You have consulted a seven-year-old lad on the rules of courtship?” Georgiana had no choice but to smile.
“The rules? Of course not. Matthias has as little regard for rules as I do. I have asked him the way to a lady’s heart. My nephew has quite the way with the ladies, you know.” Ethan winked at her.
Georgiana rolled her eyes. “And what, pray tell, is the way to a lady’s heart?” she asked.
“Raspberry tarts.”
“I cannot argue with such insight. What else?”
“Gifts. Marzipan was suggested. And toy soldiers.”
“In another fifteen years, the ladies of London shall be in serious trouble, once your nephew is set loose amongst them.”
“Eleanor assures me she has made my brother aware of that fact. Apparently, Matthias has the ability to charm whatever he chooses from every maid, nurse, and nanny in the house, let alone the housekeeper and my brother’s cook.”
“A family trait.” Georgiana wanted to kick herself.
“Do tell,” Ethan offered with a grin.
“What else did your young rake apprentice tell you to do in the hope of winning my heart?”
A mother duck and her brood congregated noisily next to the hard-packed dirt of the Row. Ethan slowed his horse and held her in place. Once the feathered matriarch realized the way was clear, she led her bickering brood across in the direction of the Serpentine. Ethan pressed his heels into Pumpkin’s sides until, with a long-suffering sigh, she started forward once more.
“He told me to do what you ask, whatever you ask. Apparently, ladies cannot abide being told no.” He shifted in the saddle, drawing her attention to the dirt stain on his thigh, disappearing beneath the tail of his blue coat.
“Hence your presence here this morning.” The image of him flying off the horse to land at her feet came to her mind’s eye, over and over again. She knew he had no experience of horses. He’d had every opportunity to send his regrets. Any excuse might have served. She had no cause to feel guilt, like a wet wool blanket, wrap itself around her.
Ethan shrugged. The half-grin she’d grown to look forward to seeing creased his lips. Georgiana reached across and clasped Pumpkin’s reins in one hand.
“I did not mean for you to…be injured,” she assured him.
“Didn’t you?”
“No, I—”
“Perhaps you believed a man like me incapable of being hurt.” He leaned toward her, his eyes trained on her mouth, which caused her to lick her lips. Some fierce light came over his expression.
Georgiana shivered. “A man like you?” His breath smelled of coffee and…lemon drops. She could nearly taste it.
“A pirate?” he whispered across her lips. “A scoundrel? A rogue?”
“I don’t—”
“Sir!” Dickie called as his horse pounded up behind them. “Trouble, Captain.” He pointed up Rotten Row where Abigail and Matthias had stopped their horses to speak with an elderly gentleman leaning on a cane. An open barouche, complete with driver and two rather hulking footmen, were situated behind him.
“Damn,” Ethan muttered and kicked Pumpkin into motion. “Stay here. Damn, damn, damn.” His mare jumped into a startled trot. Ethan’s seat wasn’t the best, but he stayed on the horse. Georgiana hesitated a moment and then followed slowly behind him. T
o her astonishment, Ethan slid off the still-in-motion horse and leapt between the old gentleman and Matthias, still atop his pony.
“Dickie,” Ethan shouted. “Come and fetch him.”
The footman urged his horse forward, past Georgiana, and came to the far side of Matthias’s pony. He took Matthias’s reins, said something to Abigail, and led the pony, followed closely by Abigail, back toward Georgiana.
“Take care, my lady,” Dickie cautioned as he and his companions walked their horses past her toward one of the gates leading out of the park. “We’ll wait, should you need…”
Georgiana spared him a nod and urged Delilah toward the spot where Ethan loomed over the older man, shouting at him.
“Stay away from him, Thomas. Ash has his own life now and his son has nothing to do with you.” Ethan’s face was stone, though his voice shook with rage. She called it rage, for there was no other word for the tone and force of his words.
“He is my great-grandson. He is a Dorrill. He’ll take his proper place, as will you.” Thomas Dorrill was a wiry man, with a vigorous strength in spite of his stooped posture and heavy reliance on his cane.
“That was not part of our bargain, old man. You provoke Ash and I will do whatever he asks to thwart you. Do we understand each other?”
“Are you betrothed yet, girl?” Mr. Dorrill turned to Georgiana, who’d stopped Delilah alongside the barouche. “Has he asked you?”
Outrage flew over her like sheets of a summer rain marching across a green field. “I—”
Ethan snatched the cane from his grandfather’s hand and broke it over his knee. He threw the pieces into the hedges along the Row. The driver on the barouche box didn’t move. The two footmen, however, started toward him. Ethan withdrew a pistol from his jacket pocket and cocked the hammer.
“Call them off, Thomas, or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”
“And I will swear you attacked him,” Georgiana found herself saying. Dear God, how had it come to this pass? The amiable rogue was gone. The privateer had arrived in an instant, armed with a small Manton and a sangfroid she never would have believed Ethan Dorrill capable of.
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