Still, he turned her toward the stables and, lending his support, let her pick her way along the line of impeccably kept boxes. Their occupants had settled in for the night. Only an occasional snort or rustle of straw interrupted the rhythm of equine teeth grinding grain.
Lady Caroline’s waist lay trim beneath his encircling arm. He suppressed a sudden urge to trace the curve downward, to experience the swell of her hip, the roundness of her arse. Firm seat, indeed. He’d noted that the very first day, when those damnable soaked breeches had revealed tempting contours.
But her long, lithe form hid a well of inner strength. He’d have expected a gently bred lady to dissolve into tears or swoon over such hurts as Lady Caroline now bore. Yet she was still attempting to walk in spite of them.
Hellfire, and wasn’t that another reason to admire her?
Carefully, alert to any further bids for freedom, Adrian opened the latch of Boudicca’s stall. With a toss of her mane, the mare stuck her nose back into her feed.
As if she sensed his reluctance, Caroline looked up at him. “I’ll be all right. She knows me.”
He relaxed his grip on her waist.
One hand on the side of the stall, she hobbled toward the mare. “Ho there.”
Boudicca went on crunching.
Caroline raised a hand and ran it down the proud arch of the mare’s neck. “You’ve had quite the adventure, haven’t you?”
Adrian could say as much for Caroline. His gaze riveted on the movement of her hand, as she stroked along the withers and down a delicate foreleg. All the while, she crooned nonsense in a low, calming voice.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but he could not tear his eyes away from the sight of that hand. From the gentleness of her caress. Damn if he wasn’t going to hear that murmur in his dreams—as long as he succeeded in dropping off. More than likely he’d spend half the night staring at the ceiling and wondering. Wondering how those hands might feel on his chest, caressing down and down in sensuous sweeps until her fingers found him hard and ready. Until they encircled his cock.
A groan rose unbidden to his throat. Already his blood was rushing south. But God almighty, he’d no right to think of her that way. She’d never look in his direction unless it was for a few hours’ fleeting amusement.
She’s not like that.
Perhaps. That much remained to be seen. He hadn’t missed the heat in her gaze as he bound her ankle just now. It hadn’t been a trick of the light.
“Lady Caroline sure is fond of that mare.” Gem’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. Thank the heavens.
Adrian cast about for an appropriate rejoinder. “How does the other horse fare? The one I brought out of the woods.”
“Snipper? I noted some heat and swelling in his leg, but he should be fine after a few days’ rest.”
“About the woods.” If he was polite, he would turn and look Gem in the eye, but his gaze remained trained on Caro’s hands as she rubbed them over the mare’s coat.
“The woods, sir?”
“Would anyone have reason to hide something in there? Something that requires digging? Snipper stepped in a hole, as far as I can tell, and that hole didn’t seem to have appeared by accident.”
“I can’t think of anything, no.”
“What about Boudicca? Have you discovered how she got out?”
“No, sir. Someone would have had to let her out, of course, but no one heard a thing.”
“What about Gus?” Caroline’s question made Adrian jump. Naturally she stood within earshot of their conversation, but her intervention caused a prickle of discomfort at the back of his neck. If she’d divined the tenor of his thoughts just now, he’d be in for a proper set down, if not an outright slap for his trouble.
“I haven’t seen him, my lady,” Gem said.
Caroline bit her lip. “I think we’d better return to the house for news.”
They made it as far as the path through the gardens before Lady Caroline sagged into Adrian’s side. Nothing for it. He ducked and lifted her, cradling her body to his chest.
Her gasp struck him somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach. He stared down at her, half expecting the crack of her palm against his cheek. But she remained mute and motionless in his grasp. Her eyes were round in her face, reflecting moonlight, and her lips…Her lips remained parted. They hovered inches away, tormenting him with their nearness.
A man like Lord Allerdale would surely take advantage to steal a kiss. He might even get away with it.
Adrian could not afford such a slip, no matter how his instincts pressed him to take one tiny sip. To learn how she tasted.
Bloodlines. That made all the difference.
He’d have to settle for the feel of her body next to his, for the soft press of her breast to his chest, for the weight of her head nestled on his shoulder. He focused on the manor, on the back door he’d exited mere hours ago, and strode off.
“If Gus never made it as far as the stables,” Caro said, “someone else had to have let Boudicca escape.”
Thank God. Thank God she was focusing on the matter at hand. The devil knew one of them had to. “Yes, I’ve drawn the same conclusion.”
“And what of Gus?”
“We’ll just have to hope they’ve found him in the house.”
Chapter 10
Caro knew she shouldn’t allow this. Mr. Crosby really ought to set her down. Not that she held propriety in any high regard. She could hardly advance that belief when she went riding in breeches as often as she could get away with it.
Still, permitting a man to carry her through the corridors of the manor was the sort of outrageous behavior her great-aunt Matilda was notorious for. The old lady wore outdated fashions that bared too much skin, sported an overabundance of rouge, and employed hulking manservants whose command of the English language was doubtful. She was the one who had encouraged them to play rather scandalous versions of parlor games at the house party earlier in the summer.
You weren’t any better, an inner voice reminded Caro. You pushed your own sister to sit in a rogue’s lap before the entire company. At least said sister was now married to the rogue in question, but the further commonality with her great-aunt struck Caro all the same.
Still, she could not bring a protest to her lips. Not when Mr. Crosby bore her along the passage toward the more formal rooms as if she weighed no more than a down-filled pillow. Not when she derived such unexpected pleasure in the strength of his arms and in the earthy scent that filled her nostrils, horse and leather and clean, unadulterated male.
She tightened the knot of her fingers entangled at his nape. Neither had she expected her head to fit to his chest just so. But it did, and the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear somehow reassured.
After all she’d seen tonight, she needed assurance that everything would be all right. That Boudicca would survive any potential consequences of her encounter with the stallion. That her own ankle would heal in time for her to ride with the hunt. That her ability on horseback might be accepted and acknowledged, despite her gender. That Papa would stop insisting she find a husband, for any man she married would deny her the activities she loved the moment she found herself with child.
A gasp pulled her from her reflection. Slack-jawed, Lizzie emerged from one of the sitting rooms, followed by Dysart and Pippa. Lizzie’s gaze settled on Caro, then moved to Mr. Crosby and back again, while Pippa’s eyebrows inched their way upward. Only Dysart appeared immovable, settling his shoulders against the nearest wall and crossing his arms.
Caro felt a blush warm her cheeks. Blast it, she never blushed, but under the burden of their speculation, heat climbed toward her hairline.
“My goodness,” Lizzie said, “where have you been?”
Caro raised her head from the haven of Mr. Crosby’s chest, the better to stare down her sister. “We’ve been out looking for Gus. Didn’t Snowley tell you?”
“Snowley’s retired,” Dysart drawl
ed. “The evening’s quite done him in, poor chap. As for Gus, he was upstairs the entire time.”
Thank heaven for that small favor. As long as the boy was all right.
“That can’t be,” Mr. Crosby said. His arms trembled. “I saw him.”
Caro loosened her hold on him. “Why don’t you put me down? It sounds as if it might take a while before we sort things through.”
Lizzie and Pippa slipped aside to let Mr. Crosby transport Caro into the sitting room. He didn’t so much as set her on the nearest couch as arrange her. He gathered cushions to elevate her bad leg and tugged at her hems to preserve her modesty.
By the time he had finished, Pippa’s eyebrows had disappeared beneath the wisps of red hair curling over her forehead. Caro answered that unvoiced incredulity with a scowl of her own.
“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” Lizzie suggested casually. Too casually.
“No, tell me about Gus first.” The boy was Caro’s main concern now, and besides, she didn’t like the speculative looks her sisters were shooting in her direction. “Why did Jane come and say he was missing?”
Dysart pushed himself away from the doorjamb and advanced into the room. “He was, but we found him soon enough. Jane didn’t think to check under the bed.”
Ignoring the warning twinge in her ankle, Caro straightened her spine. “He was pulling a prank?”
“Of course he was. It’s what boys his age do.” Without doubt Dysart spoke from experience.
“Then who did I see headed out to the stables?” Mr. Crosby’s baritone rumbled from perhaps a foot above her head. His presence made the air between them simmer. Close. So close. Yet not close enough. Not as when he’d supported her body with the strength of his arms.
Dysart eyed him. “What made you conclude you saw Gus, when you haven’t made his acquaintance?”
“Beyond bringing him in when he fell? I saw a boy.” Although Caro could not see Mr. Crosby, she could hear the shrug in his declaration. “He looked to be about the right size, and I know Gus is one for the horses. Besides, if someone had tried to keep me confined to a bed at that age, I would have tried to sneak away, too. It was a natural assumption.”
“You could have seen a tenant’s child.”
“The tenants’ bairns have the run of the estate, including the formal gardens and stables?” The disapproval echoed in Mr. Crosby’s question.
“They don’t,” Lizzie put in. “But one of the tenants’ children came to deliver a message earlier.”
Caro twisted in her seat to exchange a look with Mr. Crosby. He shook his head, the smallest of jerks, one that clearly stated, I’ve no idea what’s going on any more than you do.
“Then who let Boudicca out?” she asked.
Pippa stepped forward. “Boudicca got out?”
Caro nodded. “We thought it might have been Gus. If he’d gone to the stables to see her, she might have escaped. She did escape, except we don’t know how. The stable boys never heard a thing.”
Pippa looked her up and down, her artist’s eye taking in Caro’s garments. Their escapade had ensured the hems of her muslin gown now dragged in dirty tatters, and one of her slippers was missing. It might even be in Mr. Crosby’s pocket. The other still graced her foot, but it was in no better condition than her dress.
“So that’s how you’ve got into this state,” Pippa said.
“What did you expect me to do?” Caro shot back. “Ask everyone to wait while I changed into something more appropriate? We thought we were searching for Gus, as well. At any rate, time was of the essence.”
She clamped her mouth shut before she said any more. She was not about to discuss in front of Dysart what she’d witnessed in that field. Nor in front of Mr. Crosby, even if he’d been there with her. To describe that scene was to relive it, and once was more than sufficient.
Mr. Crosby cleared his throat. “As you can see, Lady Caroline’s had something of a mishap while we were out.”
And that was another situation she’d prefer no one cast too much light on. If she could have reached him conveniently, she’d have jammed an elbow into his ribs. “My horse stumbled in the dark and I fell.” She waved a hand, as if she were fending off a fly in the stables. “We’ll all be perfectly fine in a day or two.”
She hoped.
“As long as we can find someone to look after Gus,” Lizzie said.
“What?” A chill passed through Caro. Up until now, her sister’s demeanor had led her to believe that the boy was all right. He was healthy enough to play jokes, at any rate.
“We need someone who can keep a cool head,” Dysart added. “Someone who doesn’t have other duties to distract her.”
And why did Caro experience a sudden suspicion that her sister and brother-in-law meant to appoint her as Gus’s caretaker? “I don’t understand.”
“We’ve received a summons,” Lizzie said.
“My pater has demanded an audience. He’s determined to meet my wife, you see. I daresay he feels I’ve done well enough for myself that he can welcome me back to the family’s bosom.” Anyone not well acquainted with Dysart would have taken his deadpan delivery at face value, but Caro knew him well enough to detect the subtle thread of irony running through his statement. “But that means we can’t bring along any reminders of my past sins.”
Sins such as turning his back on society to marry a mere maid—which had resulted in Gus. Though sons of earls might well father the children of a servant, they did not marry the girl.
“I don’t believe Gus is fit for travel, at any rate,” Lizzie added.
Again with the hints that not all was well where the lad was concerned. “But he is all right.”
Lizzie nodded. “Beyond a headache, yes. If you ask me, he hid from Jane to avoid her sending for some nasty tincture or other. Dr. Fowler said megrims were to be expected, given the nature of his injury, but if Gus gets to feeling too poorly, we’re to notify him at once.”
Caro crossed her arms. “If you expect to put the two convalescents together, I’m not certain it will work. You’re assuming an eleven-year-old is willing to remain abed. If he decides to traipse off, I’m hardly in a position to chase him.”
“I can help you there,” Pippa spoke up.
“I suppose that settles it,” Lizzie said.
“It’s hardly ideal.” Caro wasn’t particularly sure why she was protesting, since she wouldn’t be going anywhere for the next few days—at least not under her own power. Lord, the hours would seem endless shut up in the house with a supposedly ailing father and an injured child who had no reason to look upon her with even a modicum of grace, given the way she’d told him off.
“What more can we do?” Lizzie asked. “We need to set off in the morning.”
“Are you not supposed to be overseeing Mr. Crosby as he settles into his new position?”
Lizzie’s gaze drifted to a point somewhere over Caro’s head, and her voice when she spoke became crisp. “I believe Snowley can take on that role.”
Snowley. Good Lord. It was on the tip of Caro’s tongue to protest that arrangement, but she could hardly produce a counterargument. Blasted ankle.
“And on that note,” Lizzie went on, “I believe the hour is growing late.”
Like an actress reacting to a cue, Pippa drifted toward the door.
“Lady Caroline.” Crosby crouched so his voice reverberated at the level of her head. The warmth of his breath wafted along her neck. “Will you require my assistance to reach your chambers?”
Caro held in a gasp. If a gentleman of her station had made such an offer she’d set him down for his cheek. But now her mind filled with the memory of how his arms had felt supporting her. The beat of his heart echoed in her ears, and the memory of that steady rhythm blocked out rational thought. However, as much as she’d love the excuse to find herself once more surrounded by his strength, she couldn’t consider such a proposition. “I—”
“I think it’s for the best if I
do that honor,” Lizzie broke in. “With our thanks.”
“Of course.” He straightened and withdrew.
Caro forced her gaze to remain on the sitting room before her, rather than let herself watch him leave.
“Shouldn’t we call for a footman to help Lady Caroline?” Dysart asked.
“Not this time.” Lizzie nodded to her husband, and an entire unvoiced conversation buzzed between them. With a slight bow, Dysart slipped into the passage.
When they were alone, Lizzie smoothed the cushions supporting Caro’s bad leg. “Mr. Crosby seems quite…involved, doesn’t he?”
“I have no idea what you’re hinting at.”
“Good heavens, the man didn’t have to stay just now.” Lizzie might as well have said the rest of it: He didn’t have to carry you through the house. He didn’t have to prop you up like a nursemaid.
“I’m sure he only wanted news of Gus. He was involved in that, after all.” To Caro’s own ears, the excuse sounded hollow.
Lizzie’s expression told it all. She didn’t buy that explanation any more than Caro expected. “You know Papa would never approve.”
“Approve?” Good Lord. “Don’t you think you’re getting ahead of yourself?”
“When you came in, things looked more than cozy.”
Caro blew out an exasperated breath and narrowed her eyes. “Is this your idea of revenge?”
“What on earth?” Lizzie stepped back, eyebrows raised. “Revenge? For what?”
“For pushing you and Dysart at each other during the house party—although that seemed to work out well enough. Papa approved, in the end.”
“He approved because he knew Dysart’s true identity from the beginning. Whereas Mr. Crosby…”
Caro eased her feet to the floor. Standing would not prove to be fun. “Is perfectly acceptable as an estate agent.”
“An extremely attractive estate agent. Young, handsome, and well spoken for one of his station.”
“I won’t deny it, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to do anything foolish.” Not when foolishness might lead to the altar one way or another. If she managed to ruin herself, Papa would be even more desperate to see her married to cover any consequences.
To Tame a Wild Lady Page 9