It was that same threat of tears that kept him from confronting her.
No gait-horse at all, but a racehorse.
It hurt and angered him that she had lied to him. That she had not trusted him. Who did she think she was fooling? How long had she expected to keep a horse like that hidden under a disguise?
But the raw misery on her face was enough to do him in, and for now, he’d hold his tongue.
She paused for the tenth time in as many minutes to cup her hands over her mouth and call the stallion.
“Shar-e-e-e-e-e-e-eb!”
Colin stopped, too, listening to her voice echo emptily over the green hills. Only the rain answered, coming down harder now and obliterating the awful silence.
“Shar-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-eb!”
Nothing.
“Come, Ariadne. Let’s keep moving.”
Ignoring him, she called the stallion one last time, her voice rising in desperation and cracking under the strain; then she wiped at her eyes, jerked her chin up, and trudged along beside him.
“He’s gone, Colin,” she said miserably. “Someone must have stolen him and turned him in for the reward. If he was out here, he would have come to me.”
“Now, now,” Colin said soothingly, walking just to the side of the long, muddy puddles that pooled in the wheel-ruts. “We still have another two hours of daylight. And rain or not, I’m not ready to give up.”
She shot him a watery look. “Oh, Colin. . . I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“You’d still be dilly-dallying in London,” he teased, trying to coax some humor back into her. Bravely, she tried to smile, but he saw her face crumple, and she looked quickly away before he could witness her loss of composure.
They continued on. A black-and-maroon mail coach thundered toward them, its wheels spraying great arcs of muddy water as it tore through the puddles, the scarlet-clad guard clinging for dear life to the back of the coach; then the vehicle was past, the team of horses that drew it sending up great clods of muck from their galloping hooves.
Silence, and the sound of the rain once more.
Colin stole a sideways glance at his companion. The lead shank drooped from her hand, her feet dragged in the mud, and her eyes were vacant and staring. Gone was the piquant vibrancy of her personality, the sparkle in her eye, the saucy, snappy spirit that had so captivated him.
“We’ll not find him tonight, Colin,” she said bleakly, pointing at the empty road ahead of them. The mail coach had obliterated most of the stallion’s tracks, and what was left of them were fading, the edges cut by his shoes growing blunter and blunter as the rain hammered them into mud. And then, as though nature itself was against them, the skies opened up and the rain came down in cruel, slashing torrents that ran like tears down Ariadne’s cheeks. Maybe they were tears; at this point, it was impossible for Colin to tell.
Moments later, all that was left of Shareb-er-rehh’s tracks were washed away into puddles of mud.
Ariadne stopped and bowed her head against the rain, her shoulders slumped in defeat as the torrents beat cruelly down on the back of her head and neck.
For Colin, it was too much. Blinking against the deluge that slashed his face, he took off his coat, tenderly wrapped it around her head and shoulders, and fashioned a sort of hood out of it to protect her from the rain as she stared miserably up at him. Then he took Thunder’s bridle in one hand, drew the noblewoman into the protection of his other arm, and half carrying her, ran as fast as his bad leg would allow to a grove of oak trees.
There they stood, relatively sheltered by the canopy of leafy branches above their heads, the two dogs huddled around their feet. Around them, the rain came down in torrents, then white sheets of fury, beating against the earth with such force that steam began to rise from the grass. The drumming roar obliterated all sound, and instinctively, Ariadne huddled closer to the veterinarian, seeking shelter beneath his arm.
She looked up at him. His hair was plastered to his head and curling loosely at its ends. Water dripped down his brow, clumped on his lashes, trickled down his cheeks. His wet shirt clung to his body, emphasizing the muscles of his arms and chest.
Even soaked, he was beautiful.
He sensed her staring and glanced down, an encouraging little smile playing about his mouth. She smiled hesitantly back, and moved closer to the steamy warmth of his body. He made no protest, merely watching the mad torrents bombard the earth around them and keeping his arm wrapped securely around her shoulders. A part of her wished he would keep his arm there forever, and closing her eyes, she laid her cheek against his wet shirt. It occurred to her that she had not had to resort to flirting, to bad behavior as Father would have called it, to gain his attention. It occurred to her that his kindness wasn’t just for animals, as her father’s had been, but for others, as well.
For her.
Somewhere out there in the rain was Shareb; but sheltered by Colin’s body, comforted by his presence, Ariadne’s fears began to subside, and as she’d done when she had first seen him saving the mastiff from bloat, she relinquished her fears and placed all her trust in him. They would find Shareb. The doctor would make sure of it.
# # #
She opened her eyes. The roar of the rain faded to a dull thrum, then individual spatters against the leaves, leaving the exhausted earth to catch its breath in gratitude.
Colin’s arm was still around her shoulders. She knew she should step away now that the rain had tapered off and his gallant protection was no longer necessary. But she did not move, and neither did he, and at last, the rain was only a soft, lulling drip as it trickled from the leaves overhead.
From somewhere nearby a songbird called, then another.
And still, Ariadne did not move.
She laid her palm against his chest, then her cheek against the back of her hand, and stared off over the green, green hills. Beneath her hand, she felt his heart beating.
“Colin.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes?”
“You are very kind, giving me your coat as you did.”
He leaned his head back against the tree trunk, letting the rain drops splash against his upturned face and smiling with the enjoyment of the sensation. “Oh, I think any gentleman would have done the same.”
“I know plenty that would not have,” she returned. She studied the intricate weave of his shirt, thought of the strong body it clung to, listened to and loved every precious beat of his heart. God help her, but she wanted to peel the wet shirt off of him and bury her lips in the hair that sparsely covered his chest; God help her, but she wanted to stand on tiptoe and kiss the damp skin at the base of his throat; God help her, but if she never saw Maxwell again, she really wouldn’t care as long as she could be with Colin Lord.
I don’t want to go to Norfolk. I don’t want to marry Maxwell. I want this man.
“Colin?”
She felt his heartbeat quickening beneath her palm. “Yes?”
“Do you think it’s wrong, that we’re standing here as we are, with your arm around me and me enjoying every moment of it?”
“You’re not the only one enjoying it, Ariadne.”
She colored a bit, and looked earnestly up at him. “Is it wrong, Colin?”
“I don’t know anymore. Wrong it may be, but if feels right.”
“Yes. . . . I daresay that is what I was thinking, too. That it feels right.” She sighed, and inhaled deeply of his clean, wet, male scent. “You are very dear to me, Colin. I only wish . . .”
His arm curled around her back, and she felt his gentle hand against her shoulders, pressing her body closer to his. “You only wish what?”
“I wish that . . . things could be different, I guess. That you were Maxwell. I—oh, Lud, I know that sounds terrible, but I don’t know any other way to put it.”
He said nothing, only holding her tightly and allowing her to continue. Rain dripped from the trees, and the grass sparkled in the brightening, late afternoo
n sunlight.
“That one kiss he gave me, ” she said softly, remembering. “It was out in the garden at Lady Andrea’s soiree. We stepped out for a breath of fresh air after a particularly strenuous round of dancing. He put his lips against my cheek, and he kissed me. But do you know something, Colin?” She looked up at him, her eyes confused, sad. “It didn’t make me feel anything.”
He gazed down at her, his face troubled. A drop of rain fell from the leaves above, hit his eyelashes.
“I would have thought that since Maxwell is to be my husband, that his kiss should have made me feel happy, thrilled, eager for more. But it didn’t. It was—cold.” She stared into his face, her eyes wide, desperate. “The kisses of your future husband are not supposed to make you feel cold, are they, Colin?”
Carefully, he said, “I shouldn’t think so.”
She laid her cheek against his wet shirt and stared dismally off over the darkening hills. “I suppose that if I had nothing to compare Maxwell’s kiss to, I wouldn’t be so worried. Perhaps this whole matter would not trouble me so much if I hadn’t kissed you. When we kissed, it was entirely different from when I kissed Maxwell. With you—” she blushed, and gave a sad little smile—“it was . . . different. I wanted more.”
Beneath her cheek, his heart was beating fast. Faster. He swallowed hard, and as she pulled away to look up at him, he gazed down at her, his eyes holding hers for a long, searching moment, before his hand came up to gently caress her cheek.
“Yes,” he said, softly, and she shut her eyes as his lips grazed her forehead. “So did I.”
“I’m sorry, Colin. It may be horribly vulgar, but I have always been one to say exactly how I feel. I don’t mean to embarrass you.”
“No, no. I am not embarrassed. Actually, I’m . . . rather flattered.”
She pulled back and looked up at him. “Flattered?”
“Well, of course. It is not every day that a lonely old sod like me hears a beautiful lady confess that she finds his kisses exciting.”
“You’re not an old sod! For heaven’s sake, you’re what, twenty-five? Twenty-eight?”
“Thirty-three.”
“Well, you look younger. It’s the spectacles, I think, even though you don’t wear them very often. Or maybe it’s your youthful face, or your teasing grin. Plus, you’re not paunchy like so many other older men—”
“For God’s sake, Ariadne, I’m not an older man!”
“Well, I didn’t mean it that way,” she said, quickly. “How is it that here I’m trying to tell you that I enjoyed your kiss more than I did my future husband’s, and we get into a row about older men?”
“Truly, I don’t know. But what I do know is that if your future husband were to see you standing here with your cheek against my chest, he would be inclined to call me out.”
“Oh, no, Colin, I would never let you duel over me. I’m not like some of those other women who like to have men fighting over them. If you ever got hurt—”
He sighed, his eyes twinkling. “First she thinks me an older man. Now she doubts my prowess with sword and pistol. Dear God, what will it be next?”
Ariadne laughed and drew back, still keeping her arms wrapped around his waist. “Oh, Colin. You always know just what to say to make me feel better. You have made me laugh in one of the darkest hours of my life.”
“Well then, before that hour grows any darker,” he said lightly, as the green faded from the hills and the shadows grew long, “shall we use what time we have left to try to find that confounded stallion of yours?”
He offered his hand, and she took it. It was warm, strong, comforting, and hers fit within it as though the two had been made for each other.
The thought hit her with sudden alacrity.
Made for each other.
Shareb-er-rehh was out there somewhere, perhaps in danger, perhaps gone forever. But there was something she had to say to the veterinarian before they did anything. Something she had withheld from him, something she could keep to herself no longer. She squeezed his hand, looked up into his handsome face, and knew it was time to tell him the truth.
“Colin,” she said, and held her ground as he grasped Thunder’s bridle and tried to move out from beneath the tree.
He paused, raising one brow in question.
She gazed up and into those clear, intelligent eyes that had so entranced her from the very first, and wondered how she had ever been able to keep anything from him. Why she had ever wanted to. Then, taking both of his hands, she drew a deep breath. “There is something about Shareb-er-rehh that I have not told you.”
“I know,” he said, gently, with a little smile. “He’s no gait-horse, is he?”
She shook her head, still holding his gaze.
“I didn’t think so. In fact, if I were to make one guess, based on his build, his carriage, and what I saw today, I’d say he’s a racehorse.”
“He’s more than a racehorse, Colin. Much more than a racehorse.”
“What is he, then?”
She looked him straight in the eye. “The Fastest Horse in the World.”
CHAPTER 14
“The Fastest Horse in the World.”
He was gazing at her with a patient smile, the sort a parent might bestow upon a child who’d just said they’d seen a fairy queen sitting on their pillow.
“That is what I said.”
“Granted, my dear, the horse is obviously a Thoroughbred, but that is an extraordinary claim.”
They trudged through the pasture, the wet grass brushing their knees, Thunder between them, and the two dogs leading them back toward the road.
“No, Colin, you’re wrong. Shareb-er-rehh is not a Thoroughbred. At least, not a Thoroughbred as you might know them.”
Overhead, the clouds began to break up, and patches of bright blue sky peeked through.
Ariadne gazed off over hills dotted with sheep and cattle. “My father was a very wealthy man. He had the money to pursue many interests, most of them eccentric, but his life’s passion was horses. In particular, racehorses. He was an active member of the Jockey Club, and he devoted his life to a project that he had begun long before he and my mother were even married—specifically, a quest to develop a superior racehorse.”
Ahead, the road beckoned, a flat, brown ribbon of mud wending through the green pastures. “Do you remember the famous, immortal, and unbeaten Eclipse?” she asked. “Well, Father bred two swift little mares—one, he’d imported from the Orient and the other was a gift from a Bedouin tribe leader whom he befriended when he went there to study their horses—to Eclipse. Then he bred the finest of their fillies back to him. Surely, you know the benefits of selective inbreeding. Well, it took my father decades of meticulous planning to see the embodiment of his dream, but see it he did. Fifteen years ago, he produced the very first Norfolk Thoroughbred, an animal similar to our English Thoroughbreds, but one with more intelligence, more heart, more fire—and more speed. They are the fastest horses in the world—and Shareb-er-rehh is the last surviving stallion.”
Colin gazed down at her, and saw the truth—at least, as she believed it—in her eyes. Fastest horses in the world or not, only a timepiece could tell. But after seeing Shareb-er-rehh’s blistering display of speed, he wasn’t altogether inclined to challenge her claim.
“Is he faster, then, than Black Patrick?” he asked, thinking of the mighty and undefeated King of Newmarket.
“Shareb has never been raced. But he is the Fastest Horse in the World, Colin. Trust me on that.”
“And he is the last stallion?”
“Yes. And Gazella is the last mare. Because Father gave her to Maxwell as a betrothal agreement, she was not in the barn when that strange illness claimed the rest of the stock. Shareb-er-rehh was the only horse to survive both that and the fire. And if something happens to him . . .”
“The Norfolk Thoroughbred will be no more.”
“Yes.” She sighed. “Now you know why I must get him to Maxwell�
�s before my brother can catch up to me. Tristan has no regard for our father’s dream, and is in debt to the tune of thousands. Shareb-er-rehh is his only means of paying off his creditors—and to that end, he’ll sell him off without blinking an eye.”
“How much is the horse worth?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Nobody knows. But the Duke of Leighton once offered my father three hundred thousand pounds for one of our stallions, and he wasn’t nearly as nice, nor as fast, as Shareb.”
They had reached the road. Ariadne climbed over a small fence and stood there in the mud, gazing off at the wide vistas that rolled away on all sides of them. She cupped her hands to her mouth and called the stallion, throwing her head back and letting the wind carry her voice off over the hills.
Nothing.
She let her hands drop to her sides and stood looking up at him in defeat.
“Colin—I know I should trust in you, but I just don’t know where to go from here.”
“I have an idea,” he said, and held out his hand for the stallion’s leather lead shank. Wordlessly, she handed it to him, her brow creased in a frown as he squatted down and called little Bow to him.
Even Thunder pricked his ears, curious.
“Really, Colin, what is Bow going to be able to do—”
But the veterinarian was holding out the lead shank to the dog, who approached it and sniffed it furiously.
“Go find,” Colin ordered. “Go find Shareb.”
Cocking her head, the little dog yapped and regarded her master with bright, button eyes.
Again, Colin held the rope out to the dog. “Bow, find!”
“Rarf! Rarf!” Bow cried, and like a white cannonball, streaked off the road and over the adjacent field; Marc looked at her for a moment in confusion and then, wondering what he was missing, charged off after her.
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