To Tame a Wild Lady

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  His glance flicked from Boudicca to Caro like a horsefly looking for a likely spot to land. To bite. “There are bridle paths in the woods if you need a place to ride.”

  He didn’t understand. She’d known he wouldn’t. “This isn’t about some silly jaunt in the woods.”

  “What, then?”

  The impulse to let Boudicca take the bit seized Caro. This time, she couldn’t ignore it. Leaning forward, she loosened her grip on the reins. A touch of the crop, a tap with her heel. Boudicca needed no other prompting.

  She leapt forward into a pounding gallop across the field. The wind tore at Caro’s hair and whipped across her face. It carried a notion of a shout at her back, but she ignored Crosby’s call and let the euphoric wave of freedom carry her.

  All too soon, the irrigation ditch, still churning with brown water, loomed across her path. The ground on either side was slick with mud. Too late to turn aside. She shouldn’t attempt the jump sitting sideways, but the choice had long since flown by in the grip of the wind.

  Caro leaned forward, her front leg mashed between her upper body and the saddle horn. Boudicca gathered herself. Up. Over. The jolt of landing. A panicked, fluid moment before Caro found her seat again.

  The field on the far side floated under Boudicca’s dancing legs, and Caro smiled to herself. Her heart pounded in her ears to the thunder of steady hoofbeats. If nothing else, she’d just given Crosby something to think about.

  She sat back, and Boudicca slowed to a walk. Rhythmic thuds behind her told her Crosby was catching up. Turning, she spotted him, swaying to an easy canter, at one with his horse.

  “What was that all about?” he demanded. Not even breathless, the scoundrel.

  Odd, because in spite of the wide, open field surrounding her, the air seemed in short supply. “Proving a point.”

  “What? That you’re mad? The ground is still slippery from the rains.”

  “I’m not some frightened little miss who faints at the mere notion of a little danger.” No, she thrived on it, rather.

  “Point taken.” The line of his jaw firmed. “Or perhaps you just cannot tolerate someone going against your wishes.”

  Blast him. She stopped herself before she cursed him aloud. He was right, naturally, and her childish impulse had done the exact opposite of convincing him that she needed to maintain control over her little section of the estate. She needed a different tack and quickly. “You know, we might resolve our differences with a race.”

  “How, exactly, do you mean?”

  “If I win, I get to keep my fields.”

  For one brief instant, his eyes glinted. “Do you think me daft as a brush? I wain’t take you up on that.” No, but he wanted to—at least if he had a chance at beating her. She could read that much into his reaction. “Not on an unfamiliar horse that you know without a doubt cannot beat your mare.”

  “None of the horses here can beat Boudicca.” She let a grin stretch her lips. “I doubt any in Suffolk could across country.”

  —

  A goddamned temptation. That was what she presented him. A temptation, a challenge, and utterly off-limits. No matter how much he’d enjoy casting aside responsibility and haring across the countryside with her. Trying to catch her, more like, for he was certain she spoke truly of her mare. Still, he’d relish the sight of her wind-pinkened cheeks and her gold-touched hair torn loose from its binding.

  She’d dressed demurely today, all pinned and buttoned up, the untouchable duke’s daughter he’d encountered in the study. But he knew of her wild side. In fact, he’d witnessed that part of her first. He wanted more of that Lady Caroline.

  No. No, he must return to business. “Come back with me for a moment. I’d like to inspect that ditch.”

  A measure of levity drained from her expression. “If you insist on being tedious.” All the same, she clucked to her mare and followed.

  Next to the still foaming water, Adrian dismounted. “It ought to be receding by now. When was the last time anyone saw to the drainage?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He’d expected as much. And why should she know? None of the workings of the estate were her sphere. But that didn’t explain her lifeless tone.

  He looked up to find her staring at the ground. The rain had washed away all trace of yesterday’s struggle, but aye, this would have been the spot.

  “How is the boy doing?” Adrian should have asked after the lad’s welfare long before now.

  “He still hasn’t awakened.” Her reply was flat. Dead.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not as much as I am.” She muttered the rejoinder under her breath, but he still caught it.

  Straightening, he moved toward her, one hand extended. Before he could do anything stupid like touch her, he curled his fingers into a fist. “You cannot blame yourself.”

  “What do you know?” At least now she was infusing some heat into her reply. “You weren’t there.”

  “Then tell me what happened.” He kept his inflection low and calm, the sort of tone he’d take with a skittish filly.

  “He fell, somehow.”

  Adrian had learned as much yesterday. “So you weren’t there, either.”

  “I can put it together well enough. The boy is obsessed with jumping, but his seat isn’t steady enough. And that’s not taking the footing into account. I’ll warrant his horse refused. I should have gone after him and made him come home the moment I suspected he’d taken a horse out.”

  “It does none of us any good for you to berate yourself over something that you cannot change.”

  She stared back in the direction of the stables—of the manor house. “I do not need you to feed me platitudes. Is there anything else I can show you?”

  “As you wish, my lady.” He straightened his spine like any good footman. “I should like to meet the tenants. If I can recruit a few to help with the dredging, we can get that job out of the way before turning to the matter of crops.”

  —

  The meeting didn’t quite go as Crosby intended. “Them fields are Lady Caroline’s,” said one tenant after the next. “We won’t do anything with them unless she gives her say-so.”

  Her say-so. All the way back to the manor, Caro let the echo of those proclamations pervade her being. She hadn’t lost. She still had a chance. To avoid provoking Crosby with her silly grin, she reined in Boudicca.

  Her say-so. She wanted to shout that small victory aloud, but Crosby was already sitting far too stiffly in the saddle. The line of his shoulders betrayed a tension she expected might be mirrored around his mouth and jaw.

  As she watched, he dug his heels in and sent his horse into a trot, his body rising and falling in rhythm with the bumpy gait. The tight fit of his breeches highlighted a captivating ripple and flex of thigh muscles.

  Caro had ridden with any number of gentlemen who spent a small fortune on bespoke buckskin, but Crosby’s rough nankeen might as well have been painted over his naked skin. The notion parched her throat and caused her legs to tighten about the saddle horns.

  Almost before she realized—and certainly before she was ready—they were riding into the stable yard. A groom appeared, to hold Crosby’s mount while he swung a long leg over the horse’s rump and alighted.

  Boudicca tossed her head and danced sideways.

  “Ho, girl.” Caro shifted her weight and closed her fingers about the reins. “I know you don’t like this saddle.”

  “I don’t think that’s the problem.” Crosby reached for Boudicca’s harness just beneath her muzzle. The mare reacted with another jerk of her head. When he held firm, Boudicca pinned her ears back.

  “Careful,” Caro warned. “She isn’t fond of strangers, either.” Casting propriety to the winds, she jumped to the packed earth of the stable yard and placed a calming hand on the proud curve Boudicca’s neck. “Easy, now. Let me take her.”

  “I don’t think it’s a simple dislike of strangers, either.” Clearing his
throat, Crosby nodded toward the mare’s hindquarters.

  Caro fought off a blush as she noted her mare’s stance. Boudicca was holding her tail up and to the side. Blast it all. There was no denying what that meant. The mare was in season again, and late in the year. With any luck it would be the last time before next spring.

  “Did you ever think of having her bred?” Crosby dodged a set of snapping teeth while Caro took the reins. “You’d make a healthy profit on the foals.”

  “Is that all you think females are good for?”

  Before Crosby could respond, something heavy plowed into Caro from behind and propelled her into the solid mass of his chest. The breath expelled from her lungs in a whoosh. A strong arm snaked its way about her waist and pulled her to one side.

  Boudicca lunged again, but she didn’t get far. One of the braver grooms took her in hand, and with calming pats led her away from the center of attention.

  Caro’s gaze collided with Crosby’s, and her heart skittered about her ribs, as fractious as her mare. The rasp of a clearing throat sent heat creeping to her cheeks. She pulled out of the embrace and pivoted to find a footman standing in the dusty yard.

  “Your pardon, my lady.” The man held out a letter. “This was just delivered for you.”

  “Thank you.” She took the sealed note and stared at the direction. Lady Caroline Wilde, Sherrington Manor, Suffolk read the unfamiliar hand. At last. Her training efforts were about to pay off.

  “Clearly females are good at scheming,” Crosby said, taking up their conversation. “Just what do you need those fields for that even the tenants refuse to go against your wishes?”

  “This.” She waved the letter. “This is what I need those fields for. Have you ever heard of Sir Bellingham? He keeps hunting hounds in Leicester. He conducts one of the best-known hunts in England.”

  Crosby narrowed his eyes. “And you mean to ride with them? In my experience, they don’t allow ladies on those sorts of expeditions.”

  “Oh, they invite ladies to the balls after the hunt. I will be the first lady to actually ride with the hunt.” If she repeated that desire often enough, it might even come true. “I merely need to prove myself to them, and this…” She broke the seal on the letter. “This is my first step. Sir Bellingham has replied. That has to be a good sign.”

  But then she scanned the first lines of the note and felt her expression melt. The bubble of exuberance popped in favor of an utter hollowness. The letter wasn’t from Sir Bellingham at all.

  “I take it this wasn’t the reply you were expecting,” Crosby said.

  “No.” Caro read the entire note again, but the lines refused to change.

  Dear Lady Caroline,

  Word has reached me of your plans to hold a hunt at Sherrington Manor and invite Sir Bellingham to ride with you. If you wish him to even consider accepting your invitation, you would do well to cooperate with me. You cannot forget the small issue that persists between us. If you still refuse to part with your mare, I believe we might come to a more agreeable solution. I am willing to accept her first foal in payment of the debt your former estate agent incurred with me.

  Marcus Pendleton

  Pendleton. Hang the man. Her father’s former estate agent had gone behind everyone’s back and promised to sell Boudicca. But then he’d sent an inferior animal in the mare’s place. Pendleton, understandably, was upset about the situation, but Lizzie had arranged to pay the debt. How could Pendleton possibly feel the family still owed him a horse?

  And what had Crosby just said to her about profiting from her mare? Too dashed convenient, all of it.

  She handed Crosby the letter. “I don’t suppose you’d happen to know anything about this, would you?”

  Chapter 4

  Adrian stared at the letter. He couldn’t win this one. A glimpse of Lady Caroline’s expression told him that much. If he spoke the truth, she wouldn’t believe him.

  Damn the coincidence that had him anticipating the contents of this message. As for the rest, damn that, too. This Pendleton chap was trying to force Lady Caroline into doing something against her will. Adrian knew just how that felt, and he refused to put up with it.

  A horse snorted, reminding him they still stood in the middle of the stable yard, a potential spectacle for curious grooms. The last thing he wanted was an audience when he needed to establish a semblance of authority over the lower servants, at least. He slipped the note into his waistcoat. “Can we discuss this matter elsewhere?”

  She gathered her skirts and flipped the train of excess fabric over her arm. Then with a curt nod she indicated the path back to the house. They edged along elaborate, manicured gardens thriving after the recent rains. The air smelled of fresh humus and the perfume of blooms. On the far side of the wide border rose a high wall of yew, the rim of the hedge trimmed to a perfect straight line. And against that deep green backdrop…

  “Isn’t that your cousin?”

  Lady Caroline barely spared the figure a glance. “Yes.”

  “What’s he doing?” Besides standing with one arm arced over his head. The Marquess of Wyvern possessed a statue that stood in such a pose. Only the marble effigy represented a woman dressed in Greek robes, and her raised arm ensured the urn on her head did not crash to the ground. Snowley Wilde had assumed that exact stance, with one small addition. “Is that a rose between his teeth?”

  “That’s nothing.” Lady Caroline studied the scene the way she might inspect her fingernails to make sure they were clean. “Last week my sister tried to get him to stand on his head. Needless to say, she wasn’t successful.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Lady Philippa—she’s a year younger than I am. Cousin Snowley hasn’t learned, apparently, but when Pippa asks him to pose, she manages to convince him to do something silly.”

  “Ah.” He’d just spotted what he’d managed to miss before. A young lady in her early twenties seated several feet away from Snowley, her head bowed over a large sheet of paper, her right hand scrubbing away with a stub of charcoal.

  Lady Caroline marched off again. “Don’t think you can distract me from the subject at hand. I wish to know how you’re connected with Pendleton.”

  “I’m not in the slightest.” He didn’t even have to stretch the truth. The name might be familiar, but Pendleton could well have been a guest at the Wyvern estate.

  Lady Caroline stopped in her tracks and turned the full force of her skepticism on him.

  “I know how it looks, but I give you my word I know nowt of him.” He met that hard gaze and held it until the sun sparkling gold in her eyes’ hazel depths burned through her distrust. “In fact, perhaps you ought to tell me what he wants with you. That message reads like an attempt at coercion. Hardly the act of a gentleman.”

  He braced himself for a challenge. After all, what would the bastard son of tenants know of gentlemanly behavior? Far more than I’d like.

  She studied the ground for a moment or two. “I suppose it’s only fair. Part of what Pendleton wants is tied up with the reason you’re here.”

  “I know Mr. Barrows was skimming funds from the accounts, but what has—”

  “He was fleecing us,” she shot back. “In more ways than one. He agreed to sell my mare to Pendleton—without consulting me or asking my opinion, mind you. Once Barrows had the money, he sent an inferior replacement. Pendleton, naturally, was not happy when he noticed the swindle. He’s been insisting we make up the difference somehow, even though Lizzie tried to refund him.”

  “If your sister offered him his money, the matter should be settled.”

  “Not according to Pendleton. He refused the payment. He insists he was offered Boudicca, and it’s Boudicca he wants.”

  Adrian pulled out the scrap of paper and perused it once more. “It appears he’s rethought the situation.”

  “This is only his latest scheme.”

  “I don’t exactly agree with his methods, but this way you get to keep your ma
re. Perhaps you ought to consider—”

  “No.”

  “You wouldn’t have to deal with Pendleton, per se, but—”

  Her chin jerked upward. “Are you arguing with me?”

  Christ, she might as well have asked if he wanted to keep his position. She was the next thing to his employer. He knew better, damn it all, but something had happened on their ride together. She’d challenged him to a race, and for a brief time he’d felt more like her equal. He must remember his place. “Forgive me, my lady. I forgot myself.”

  Before she could react, the sound of a throat clearing came from behind her.

  “If you ask me, it would do you good to have someone argue with you.” The voice was at once cracked with age and amused. Its owner hobbled down the path from the direction of the manor. His gray eyes were bright amid the pale, wrinkled face.

  Lady Caroline spun on her heel and reached for his arm, as if she was afraid he’d topple to the pea gravel at any moment. “Papa, what are you doing up?”

  The duke pulled his sleeve from her grip. “I’ll have you know I’ve been feeling much better ever since that bounder of a land agent took himself off.”

  “We’ve a new agent now.” Lady Caroline gestured toward Adrian. “Papa, this is Mr. Crosby, who has come to fill that position.”

  Adrian bowed his head. “Your grace.”

  Sherrington eyed him with interest. “Dysart’s finally found someone who meets his expectations, has he? Where have you come from? You’ve a familiar look about you.”

  Adrian carefully returned the older man’s gaze. “I’m not entirely sure how that can be. I’ve come from Wyvern’s estates at the marquess’s recommendation.”

  “Well, then. You ought to settle in easily enough.”

  “If I may presume, sir. Would there be a convenient time we might sit down together and discuss estate business?”

  “Oh, goodness.” Sherrington’s expression melted into something more serious. “I’m not certain I’m quite up to that. I’ve only just begun feeling better.”