“I was beginning to think you had chickened out,” he said as soon as she stepped outside.
She looked up at him, shading her eyes against the afternoon sun, and felt the now-familiar thrill that jolted her every time she saw him. He looked like a Greek god sitting so tall on his horse, power and strength radiating from him. His crisp white cotton shirt was unbuttoned low enough that she could see the bronze of his neck, and the brown riding pants hugged his powerful thighs. He was backlit, but the soft shadow on his face couldn’t hide the desire in his eyes as his bold gaze captured hers and then moved slowly over her body, caressing her, before it returned once again to her face.
She dropped her gaze, determined to brace herself against these onslaughts. She wasn’t going to let him do this, to fluster her to the point that she would lose the race. It wasn’t even fair of him to try. It wasn’t fair that he had to be so undeniably handsome. It wasn’t fair that he had to have that thick, dark hair that lay so softly against his neck, those intensely riveting eyes that seemed able to peer into her very thoughts, those broad shoulders that surely could withstand the weight of any problem, those—confound the man! He was doing it to her again.
Annoyed for being distracted before the race had even begun, she snapped, “I wouldn’t dream of going back on my word. I said I’d race, and I’ll race. And win!” At his chuckle, she turned her back to him and prepared to mount by pulling up the long shirt she’d donned and tucking it into the top of her breeches. She jumped up on the mounting block fashioned especially for her and untied Ahote.
“Did those belong to your father?”
At her questioning look Derek pointed to her breeches.
“Of course not. Papa’s clothes would be much too big. Colin gave these to me.”
“Colin? Who’s Colin?” Derek asked, his question laced with suspicion.
“Our stable boy. He’s only been with us a couple of years.” She gestured in the direction of the stable where a wizened old man was making extremely slow progress toward the doors. “Joseph is too old to be a groom, but he refuses to take an easier position. It didn’t matter while my father was alive; Papa took an avid interest in the horses and did everything Joseph couldn’t. But after he was gone… well, Colin seemed a perfect choice to help out.”
There was no reason to reveal the fact that she’d caught Colin trying to steal a bag of apples left for the horses. Surely that could only embarrass the boy, and it had no bearing on this matter. He’d proved an excellent risk. As her father had told her, good people were sometimes driven to desperate measures, and as far as she was concerned, starvation was a good motive for the theft of a bag of decaying apples.
“And just how old is this stable boy?”
“Colin? He’s just a boy,” Lucy replied. To her, Colin would always be the boy she’d first seen clutching the sack of apples with that guilty expression on his dirty, tear-streaked face. Of course, he’d grown a full foot since then thanks to regular meals, but to her, Colin was still that freckled-faced, frightened boy.
“I suppose it’s all right for you to wear them today,” Derek conceded grudgingly. “But I don’t want you wearing them again unless I’m with you.”
“What I choose to wear is none of your concern. Let me remind you of our agreement: I shall tend to my own pursuits without your interference, and one of my pursuits is riding my horse—in breeches.”
“And let me remind you that I specifically said those pursuits can’t involve other men. If you insist on wearing such indecent clothing, you can’t help but invite trouble from men.”
At her bewildered look, Derek softened his voice. “You aren’t exactly built like a young boy. Er… the breeches don’t fit you quite the same. What I mean is, your backside fills out those breeches in a way no young boy’s could. There isn’t a red-blooded man alive who could ignore such an inviting sight.”
Lucy was silent as she quickly mounted her horse, but the high color on her cheeks told Derek he had made his point.
“Well, let’s go, then,” he said gruffly, trying hard not to look at the plump rear end that fit so nicely across the saddle. He’d have a difficult time keeping his mind on the race if that was going to be in front of him the entire time. Yet, he had no intention of taking the lead right away. He wanted to win, but it wouldn’t serve his purpose to injure her pride.
“We’ll cut across here to the starting line,” she said, nodding toward the narrow path that led around the pond. “There are three gates to jump, with varied terrain in between, but you did study the route, didn’t you?” Without waiting for his reply, she leaned forward and whispered something in Ahote’s ear and they began an easy trot toward the starting point.
“Are you ready?” she asked as Derek moved up beside her. “Ahote’s afraid of gunshots, so we can’t have a starting signal, but I can ask Joseph to wave something in the air, if you’d like.”
Derek’s smiled indulgently. “I have a feeling it would take old Joseph as much time to get here as it would for us to finish the race, so why don’t you go on ahead and start. I’ll try to catch up.”
She gave a simple click of her tongue and a nudge from her knees, and Ahote, who had stood patiently with only a slight tossing of his head an indication that he knew what was to come, leapt forward with the grace and speed of a racehorse that had been trained to the life.
Leaving Derek behind, Lucy leaned low, riding ahead and taking the first gate easily, with no discernible decrease in speed.
Derek chuckled to himself. She really was quite a woman, and his mother would be absolutely delighted with her. Of course, he’d need to tame her inclination for independence. He couldn’t afford to be distracted from his responsibilities by a wife who insisted on wearing breeches or riding astride. But then, surely she would give up such pursuits once she had important matters to tend to, as his wife.
Forcing himself back to the present, he was amazed to find Lucy well ahead of him and decided he’d given her quite enough lead. The course wasn’t that long, and if he let her win, he’d have a month to heartily regret it. Urging his horse toward the small copse of trees Lucy had just entered, he began a concentrated effort to overtake her. By the time Lucy and Ahote sailed over the second gate, Derek was directly behind them. A few moments later, his horse’s thundering hooves ate up the remaining distance between them.
Passing her, he grinned at the startled look on her face and realized with more than a little surprise that she’d actually expected to win the race. Well, he wouldn’t rub it in, but he would make her stick to the bargain. The thought of her slowly letting down her hair, revealing her luscious, innocent body to him little by little, until she was completely naked to his gaze, sent a rush of mingled lust and exhilaration through him, and he took advantage of it, doubling his efforts to stay in the lead.
The finish line was less than a hundred yards away, with only one more jump before it. The pounding of hooves suddenly grew louder and from the corner of his eye he was astonished to see Lucy at his side. How had she gained on him?
With a growing admiration he realized he’d underestimated her skill, or at least the stamina of her horse, and he drove his own horse as hard as he could. He reached the gate only a half-second before she did, flying over it, so intent on his victory that the loud popping sound didn’t register until he crossed the finish line a few seconds later. When it did, he swung his horse around, feeling as though he were fighting heavy seas and making no headway. A gut-wrenching fear struck him when he spied Ahote, down and riderless, and at the same moment saw a flash of something that had to be Lucy tumbling to a stop.
Vaulting from his horse, he was beside her in seconds, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. At the moment he reached her, Lucy’s eyelashes fluttered, then her eyes opened, and she struggled to sit up.
“Don’t move,” Derek urged, easing her back down, one hand behind her head. “Let me make sure nothing’s broken.”
Her face was white and
she closed her eyes but said nothing, waiting quietly while he grasped first one leg and then the other, running his hands along them and squeezing gently to see if she was hurt. She sat up then, her face pale against the ebony cloud of hair that now hung about her shoulders and down her back. Her white shirt was dirtied and torn, and pieces of leaves and twigs clung to her long curls. She pushed him away with shaking hands, her blue eyes dark with worry.
“Nothing’s broken. But Ahote,” she choked out. “I must get to him.” Her voice broke as she frantically searched the area, her eyes widening with fear when they settled on the huge black horse ten yards away, whinnying softly and trying unsuccessfully to get to his feet. “Oh, no,” she cried out. “No! No!”
Derek pulled her to her feet and ran to Ahote, realizing that Lucy’s own well-being depended on that of her horse. He ran his hands over the horse’s legs, taking his time, anticipating a break and dreading it with each and every breath.
“I don’t understand,” Lucy said, her eyes glistening with tears. “There’s no hunting allowed on my land. I have signs posted and everyone knows. How could this have happened?”
Derek glanced up at her, his hands never stopping. “It wasn’t a shot; Ahote must have clipped the gate with his hoof as he jumped. At his speed, and with such force, it would sound like a shot.”
“No. I know exactly how he reacts to a gunshot and that’s what it was. He panicked and then he stumbled when he hit the ground. Did the shot hit him?” Her voice quivered. She reached out a hand to the horse, comforting him as he whinnied.
Derek shook his head, wondering why she insisted there had been a shot. “No, and nothing’s broken as far as I can tell. His right hind leg is tender, though.” He stood and helped Lucy up, aware of an overwhelming sense of relief that was beginning to seep through him. “Let’s wait until he’s able to stand and we’ll walk back slowly. If he can’t put weight on it, I’ll bind the sprain with my shirt. How are you feeling?” he asked, noticing the stiffness of Lucy’s movements as she stroked the horse.
Another woman would have been crying by now, if she hadn’t swooned. And another woman would have been more concerned about herself than her horse. He watched Lucy limp to the generations-old wooden gate. As with the other gates they’d jumped, this one was about twelve feet wide and connected two hedges. At either side of the gate was a solid wood post as tall as the hedge. Lucy grimaced only a little from what he knew must be great pain at the movement, and his earlier admiration deepened to respect. She would not complain, not about her own discomfort, anyway.
He waited while she inspected the gate, though what she hoped to find he did not know. When she turned around to face him, her face bore a queer expression.
“What?” he asked, hurrying to her. She pointed to the wooden post that had been on Derek’s left as he jumped. He took a better look and froze. A lead ball was embedded in the wood where pieces had splintered away. There had been a shot. Glancing around uneasily, he discarded the open field as the source of the shooter. From the pattern of splinters, the ball must have come from the woods not thirty yards away. Scanning the perimeter of the clearing, he saw nothing unusual.
“Hello there!” he shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. There was no reply to that or to a second shout, no sound at all. Nothing but complete silence in the still afternoon air.
A sense of foreboding snaked through him. “Get back to the house,” he told Lucy.
“What?” Lucy was kneeling next to Ahote again, her eyes on him.
Derek grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Now. That way,” he said, pointing opposite from where the shot would have come. His heart began to thump in his chest again, this new danger hitting him full force.
She shrugged out of his grasp, her irritation evident in her tense shoulders and frown. “I’m not leaving Ahote. What is the matter with you?”
“Oh, for Christ sake.” He knew better than to waste precious time arguing with a woman who would do what she wanted anyway. He’d wasted too much time already by not believing Lucy when she insisted there was a shot.
“At least get down, behind Ahote, and stay there,” he said.
Then he turned and ran to his horse.
Chapter 17
Derek galloped off toward the woods, his thoughts hammering at him. If the trigger had been pulled a single moment earlier, the lead ball would have caught him full in the chest. Had it been meant for him? But that was preposterous. No one suspected him of his masquerade. He was sure of it… or was he?
But if it wasn’t meant for him, then someone had shot at Lucy, and that thought was terrifying to ponder. No, it couldn’t be Lucy. It was him. Or else a hunter had lost his way. That was it—and he’d taken so long to call out that the hunter was already gone. He wished his body would listen to his mind and relax, but no relief came.
As he skirted the edge of the clearing, he glanced back to the gate and deduced the approximate position of the shooter according to the direction of the splinters. He dismounted, tied his horse to a tree. He spied tracks a few yards inside the tree line and crept forward with caution, listening for sounds in the surrounding woods, but all was silent. The tracks—a man’s—were fresh, and he followed them for several minutes until they led him to a small rundown cottage where they joined another set of tracks, those of the four-legged variety. The man’s tracks disappeared there; he had ridden out on his horse.
There was no other evidence, but he continued to the cottage and pushed open the door, finding the interior to be dirty and dusty, years of neglect evident from the roof to the floor boards. No one had been hiding out here. Perhaps the shot had come from a misguided hunter after all, one too frightened by what had happened to step forward.
Still, Derek couldn’t shake his apprehension.
He hurried back to his horse, not bothering to mount but instead walked him toward Lucy who, of course, had paid no attention to his command. One thing her father obviously hadn’t taught her was that a woman was supposed to obey her husband, and he wished today, as he suspected he would wish many times in the years to come, that he could punch Philip Barrick in the nose for that. He tried to set aside his uneasiness, but that was hard to do when Lucy might have been killed. There was no point in scaring her, especially when she was probably right about the hunter, but he would look into the matter.
“He got up!” Lucy said, her face awash with joy. “Do you think he should walk on his leg? I don’t want anything to make it worse.” She looked to Derek for reassurance.
He offered an encouraging smile. “Nothing’s broken, but it has to hurt like hell. At least we’ve ridden in almost a full circle; he doesn’t have far to go.”
Derek waited while Ahote put weight on his leg, at first gingerly, and then more heavily. The horse would be all right.
Lucy gave him a tremulous smile of relief. “Thank you,” she said simply, but their eyes met, and something passed between them that he realized was the start of a friendship where before there had only been physical attraction. He inhaled a sharp breath, surprised at the thought of Lucy as his friend
“You’re welcome.” They began a slow walk back to the manor, and he felt the strain of the past few minutes begin to abate.
He angled his head to watch her face, wondering what she thought about the shot and her tumble. “I’d say you were lucky you didn’t break your neck in that fall, but I don’t think it was luck. You seemed to be tumbling along after a fashion. How’d you learn to fall off a horse like that?”
She smiled up at him, her blue eyes shining. “My father taught me.”
“That’s a rather unusual skill to teach a daughter, isn’t it? Not that a girl shouldn’t be taught such a trick,” he added lamely. Criticizing her father was not the way to get in her good graces.
“I suppose it is,” Lucy agreed, “but my father wasn’t really a conventional aristocrat. At least I like to think he wasn’t.”
“Why’s that? What’s wrong wit
h being a conventional aristocrat?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, hesitating. “Most of the peers I know lead silly lives. Either they don’t seem very happy or they seem quite happy and I can’t imagine how they could be. How could anyone want to spend all his time gambling and drinking and—oh!” A flush of color quickly flooded her face. “Not that a gentleman shouldn’t drink or gamble.”
Derek grinned at her embarrassment. She probably thought he spent every free moment gambling and drinking and carousing. He thought of all those long hours of work—with his stewards, behind his desk, out in the fields—since he’d returned to England. If she only knew…
“And your father wasn’t like that?”
“No,” she said simply, pushing her thick, dark hair behind her ears, “though my aunt tells me Papa was quite the rake in his younger days. I had trouble believing that, but I guess he was always adventurous. He went to America instead of taking the Tour, and he even spent a few months living with Indians. That’s where he learned how to fall off a horse.”
“Now I understand,” Derek said, noticing how Lucy’s eyes sparkled when she spoke of her father. “That explains your horse’s Indian name—The Restless One. It’s a perfect name for him.” He smiled at her surprised look. “I’ve had some experience with Indians too, having come from America. I actually lived with a tribe one summer. They didn’t teach me how to fall off a horse, so I’m envious, but I can hit any target with a knife, moving or not, and I can track anything that walks.”
“I sometimes forget you’re an American. You barely have an accent. Papa was always talking about how much he learned from the Indians. He taught me how to fall when I was just a child,” she said, her eyes filling. “First I learned on the ground, of course; then I jumped off a stump; then it was a taller stump; and finally, my very own horse. And always there was a thick carpet of straw to roll onto. I know it sounds silly, but it was something we could enjoy together.”
Duke Of Deception (Wentworth Trilogy) Page 14