by Jane Feather
"Yes," agreed Edward. He wandered outside into the inferno of the summer afternoon. Theo couldn't marry a coward – it was unthinkable. Presumably she didn't know the story, and probably it was best if she never heard it. She'd be as miserable as sin with a man she couldn't respect. And why was she marrying Stoneridge, anyway? A hated Gilbraith. But he thought he could guess the answer to that. It would be the only way she could remain in control of her beloved home. Theo, despite her volatile nature, was ever pragmatic when it came to the estate.
But she wouldn't have agreed to marry the earl if she hadn't liked him. Theo was not that pragmatic. And did the man know what a pearl he was getting? It would be so easy to misunderstand Theo if one didn't take the time and trouble to look below the swift, efficient surface, to listen to what she was saying beneath the impatient, blunt words.
Edward had known the Belmont girls since childhood, and he knew how easily Theo could be hurt and how hard she would fight back. Life with her could be wonderful… or it could be sheer hell.
He smiled slightly to himself as he strolled through the heat. The few men not huddled in what little shade the village offered stared curiously at the absorbed lieutenant. His loosened tunic indicated that he was not on duty… only a madman would wander voluntarily in the midday sun.
Edward was thinking of how close he and Theo had come to making a match of it themselves, until Theo had decided it would be a bad idea. She'd said she wanted him as a friend, and she was afraid that having him as a husband would spoil their friendship.
If the truth be told, he'd been relieved. He'd been growing closer to Emily, appreciating her sweet-natured softness. He guessed that Theo had seen this, just as she'd been aware of her sister's affection for him. In typical fashion she'd come to a quick decision and implemented it without fuss.
Edward was so absorbed in these thoughts that he didn't realize he'd walked through the village and was approaching the farthest picket line. The sniper in the sparse olive grove beyond the pickets caught the sun-sparked glitter of the lieutenant's silver buttons on his tunic.
The sniper had only just taken up his position. He knew that he'd be able to get one victim before the English were wise to him. This bare-headed arrogant young officer, strolling with such apparent disregard for his safety, seemed the perfect choice.
He raised his rifle and sighted. Gently he squeezed the trigger.
Edward's life was saved by a kestrel. The hawk swooped down on a shrew scurrying along the roadside. Edward turned sideways to watch it, and the bullet that was destined for his heart went into his shoulder in an agonizing, fiery stab.
He yelled in surprise, his hand pressed to the spot where blood pumped in great gobbets; then he flung himself to the ground beside the shimmering white ribbon of the road, rolling beneath a cactus bush, terrifyingly conscious of how skimpy a shelter it was. But the sniper would have to fire again directly into the blinding light of the midday sun, a handicap that was Edward's only hope of seeing another dawn.
"You look harried, Lady Belmont," Sylvester observed two days before his wedding.
Elinor paused on the staircase, giving him a distracted smile. "I'm not harried exactly," she said. "Just somewhat exasperated. The seamstress has been trying to do the last fitting for Theo's wedding dress for two days, but she's never in the house. I finally managed to collar her this morning, but she's hardly being cooperative."
"Perhaps I can be of service," Sylvester suggested, raising an eyebrow.
The earl had proved to be rather good at managing his betrothed, Elinor reflected. "If you're not afraid of a quarrel just before your wedding day."
"Ma'am, I'm not in the least afraid of Theo," he replied. "And if she wishes to quarrel, then I won't stand in her way. Indeed, I believe it might do her some good… release some of her tension."
"You may be right, Stoneridge," Elinor said with a smile. "I'll leave you to your errand of mercy. You'll find the battlefield in the sewing room in the east wing."
Sylvester strolled up the stairs, humming to himself. It was true that Theo was as jumpy as a scalded cat as the wedding day grew closer, but he sensed it was as much excitement and anticipation as apprehension.
The sewing-room door stood open, and he could hear Theo's voice from halfway along the corridor.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Biddy, do be quick. What does it matter if the hem's a bit crooked? No one's going to notice."
"Of course they'll notice, Theo," Clarissa stated. "You can't walk up the aisle with half your skirt above your ankles and the other half dragging on the ground."
"Don't exaggerate, Clarry."
"Now hold still, do, Lady Theo…"
"Your mother says you're being tiresome, my love." Sylvester lounged against the doorjamb, regarding the scene with an amused eye. Theo, her eyes mutinous, her mouth set, stood on a low stool, billowing white gauze clouding around her. A woman knelt in front of her, her fingers darting through the material like silverfish as she pinned and tucked.
"You're not supposed to see the wedding dress before the wedding, my lord," Clarissa squeaked in horror, holding a pincushion from which she was supplying the seamstress.
"Oh, I think we can forgo convention," Sylvester said, stepping into the room.
"This is just stupid," Theo announced. "I have a dozen perfectly good gowns that I could have worn. It's hardly some grand-Society occasion."
It was true that it was going to be a very small family ceremony in deference to the recent death of Theo's grandfather, but Lady Belmont was insisting that some traditions had to be observed.
His lordship came over to the stool, taking his bride-to-be around her slender waist. "Now, stand still. The more cooperative you are, the sooner it will be over."
His hands spanned her waist, and he felt the tension surge through her at his touch. She quivered like a fawn about to take flight before the hunter. Standing on the stool, her eyes were almost on a level with his, and the deep pansy-blue darkened almost to black, the mutinous glare fading.
His lips curved in a comprehending smile, and he tightened his grip on her waist. A smile trembled on her own mouth.
"That's better," he said. "Most young women take an interest in their wedding preparations… instead of fighting them at every turn."
"Most young women don't have as much to do," she responded a shade tartly, although she continued to keep still under his hands. "The farrier is due at the home farm this afternoon, and I have a bone to pick with him over his last account. He billed us for shoeing both shire horses, but Big Jack had a sprained tendon and has been out at grass for two months."
Sylvester frowned and the warm light died in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me about this? I am quite capable of conducting such business with the farrier."
"Oh, I can't remember to tell you every last detail," she said. "It's a relatively trivial matter… and anyway, you haven't met the farrier yet."
"And I assume you were going to rectify that this afternoon?" His eyebrows lifted in an ironic question mark.
Theo's flush was answer enough. "You're not yet familiar with the ledgers," she said stiffly.
"That is no excuse. Stand still," he snapped as she moved to jump off the stool despite his hold. He took a step closer to her, and his riding boot crushed a white lace flounce. The seamstress gave a little cry of distress, and he glanced down impatiently. With exaggerated caution he moved his boot, glaring at Theo.
Clarissa flinched unconsciously, her eyes fixed on the earl's large hands at her sister's waist. He seemed to fill the sewing room with his anger and his physical presence. She cleared her throat and said awkwardly, "I'm sure it just slipped Theo's mind, sir. But you'll be able to accompany her and meet Mr. Row this afternoon."
"I fully intend to meet Mr. Row this afternoon," the earl stated. "And I shall dispense with an introduction. My absentminded cousin will be far too busy making wedding preparations with her mother to perform it."
Clarissa could t
hink of no more oil to pour on these troubled waters. The seamstress, apparently oblivious of the stinging atmosphere, knelt back with a sigh of satisfaction.
"There, Lady Theo. That's all pinned. If you'd like to slip out of the gown now, I'll have the stitching done in a trice."
The earl released Theo's waist. "I'll tell you the results of my discussion with the farrier later this afternoon, cousin." He turned to the door.
"No, wait!" Theo jumped off the stool, tripping over the yards of train in her haste. She seized his arm. "He's such a tricky son of a bitch that -"
"What did you say?" The earl interrupted this impassioned beginning in genuine shock.
"I don't know. What did I say?" She looked startled.
With astonishment he realized his blunt and unconventional fiancee genuinely didn't know what he was objecting to. " 'Son of a bitch,' my dear girl, is not appropriate language for the granddaughter of the Earl of Stoneridge, let alone for his wife."
Theo dismissed this objection with an impatient gesture. "Yes, but you don't understand. You're a newcomer and Johnny will think he can fool you. You don't know what a tricky bastard -"
"Theo!"
"Your pardon, sir." She tried to look contrite, but her eyes were now alight with mischief. "It keeps slipping out."
There was something wonderfully absurd about the contrast between the impish grin on Theo's brown face, the energy coursing through the slender frame, and the demure white lace and flounces of a gown that looked as if it had found its way onto the wrong back.
Sylvester tried and failed to look stern. "Try to put a curb on your tongue in future."
Theo merely shrugged and said, "Just give me a minute, and I'll be ready to come with you." Immediately, she began to pull her wedding dress over her head.
"Theo!" Clarissa squawked, staring at the earl, who still stood in the room. The seamstress, whose priorities were very straightforward, ignored the earl's presence and rushed to help before Theo's rough treatment tore the flimsy silk.
Sylvester chuckled. It was so typical of Theo. "I'll give you five minutes to join me in the stables," he said through his laughter, striding out of the sewing room before Clarissa's sense of the proprieties could be further outraged.
"Damnation!" Theo muttered through the yards of filmy gauze train as it was edged over her head. "Be quick, Biddy."
At last she was free of the confining material. She scrambled back into her riding habit, grabbed her whip, hat, and gloves from the table, and ran from the room.
"Always in a hurry, Lady Theo is," the seamstress observed comfortably, gathering up the gown and carrying it to the long sewing table.
Sylvester had his fob watch in his hand as Theo reached the stables, panting, cramming her hat on her head. Dulcie had been saddled and stood placidly beside the earl's black. The massive gelding was shifting on the cobbles, tossing his head and snorting. It was unusual behavior for the well-behaved Zeus, she thought, before her eye was caught by something much more important.
"Seven minutes," Sylvester observed. "Not too bad, considering."
Theo ignored this. She was staring at the sidesaddle on Dulcie's back. "What's that?" she demanded. "Where's my proper saddle?"
"Ah," Sylvester said. "Cousin, it's time you started riding like a lady. The Countess of Stoneridge can't go racketing around the countryside like an itinerant gypsy."
Theo glanced around the stableyard. Two grooms were busy soaping saddles in the shade of an oak tree. "You have no right to make such a decision for me," she said in a fierce undertone.
"If you won't make it for yourself, Theo, then I do have the right," he said as softly. "In two days you'll be my wife, and it doesn't suit my pride to wed a hoydenish romp."
" Your pride!" she exclaimed in a whisper. "If it didn't trouble my grandfather, and it doesn't bother my mother, what the hell right have you to complain? I don't give a fig for your pride." Even as she said it, she knew it was a silly challenge, and it was one that Sylvester ignored.
He simply caught her round the waist and lifted her into the saddle. "Let your left knee rest on the -"
"I know how to do it," she broke in crossly.
"That's something, I suppose." He smiled, perfectly happy to conciliate now that he had her where he wanted her. He still held her on the saddle, however, but Theo had no intention of making a spectacle of herself by jumping down again. She had the uncomfortable conviction that Stoneridge would simply put her back in the saddle, and such a jack-in-the-box display in front of the grooms was not to be considered.
"Let go of me, Stoneridge!" She snatched up the reins, glowering at him.
He held her for a second longer, then nodded and released her, turning to mount the restlessly pawing black.
"Easy, now." He stroked the animal's neck as he gathered up the reins and prepared to spring into the saddle. "Easy, fellow. What's the matter with you?"
"I expect he's objecting to his rider," Theo said, wishing she could have come up with a wittier retort.
Sylvester merely chuckled, and his eyes narrowed as he looked up at her. "Shall you object, gypsy? Somehow I doubt it."
Theo's jaw dropped as a host of unbidden emotions rushed through her at this wickedly suggestive comment. Her eyes darkened in the telltale manner he'd become accustomed to, and Sylvester laughed aloud, swinging himself into the saddle.
He was barely seated before the black raised his head and snorted, his eyes rolling wildly. Before Sylvester had time to grasp the reins securely and get his other foot into the stirrup, Zeus took off at a headlong gallop, crashing over the cobbles, his head up, nostrils flaring.
Sylvester pulled back on the reins, struggling to find his other stirrup as he fought to keep his seat. The horse jumped the railed fence separating the stable from the pasture, his rider clinging on for dear life, and bolted toward the cornfield on the far side.
Theo was so taken aback that she didn't immediately move; then she kicked at Dulcie's flanks and the mare set off in pursuit. Even galloping flat out, there was no way Dulcie could catch the bolting gelding. The black's speed was terrifying as he sailed over the hedge separating the fields. Theo could see that Sylvester had both feet in the stirrups now and was lying low on the animal's neck, gripping the mane as well as the reins, trying to keep his seat.
If he fell from that height at that speed, he'd be lucky not to break his neck, she thought in horror. What could have happened to cause the well-schooled black to bolt? It was all she could do to keep the horse in sight as he careened toward a copse, every now and again rearing up on his hind legs, snorting and bucking violently. Somehow Sylvester stayed on his back.
"Dear God," she cried silently, knowing the danger that now threatened when the horse crashed into the copse. A low branch, catching his rider across the head or the throat at that speed would fling him from the horse with a broken neck or a fractured skull.
But Sylvester was aware of the danger. He knew Zeus was not simply bolting; he was also trying to unseat him as he bucked and reared. The horse was an intelligent animal and was as aware as his rider of the dangers of the copse. He charged sideways, intending to smash his rider's leg against a tree trunk. Sylvester saw it coming and yanked his leg upward as the horse veered to the right. It made his seat even more precarious, and he saw the low branches ahead almost too late to fling himself along the animal's neck.
His feet were out of the stirrups now, and he couldn't get them back in. It was all he could do to hang on to the mane. There was only one thing he could do. As Zeus catapulted down the narrow ride, Sylvester reached up, grabbing a branch overhead, hauling himself out of the saddle as the horse charged ahead.
He dropped to the ground, badly shaken but miraculously unhurt. Dulcie came galloping down the ride toward him, Theo white with shock and dread.
"Are you all right?" She drew back on the reins and the mare hung her head, blowing vigorously after the strenuous ride.
"Just about," he said. "I co
uldn't knot the reins, so I hope to God he doesn't trip over them and break a leg."
"What could have happened to him?" Theo dismounted. "I've never seen a horse do that before."
"Certainly not Zeus," Sylvester agreed. "Is Dulcie up to both our weights?"
"We can't both ride with a sidesaddle," she pointed out, not without a hint of satisfaction, despite the grim circumstances.
"We'll ride bareback," he said brusquely, moving to unstrap the girths. "Zeus will have run himself out soon, and I have to catch him before he does himself some damage."
He lifted the saddle from the mare's back and offered Theo his cupped palms as a mounting block before swinging up behind her, reaching for the reins.
The mare walked wearily through the copse and out into the sunlight of a stretch of gorse-strewn common land. Zeus stood on a small hill, pawing the ground and snorting. His neck and flanks were in a lather, and green foam bubbled around the bit. The reins dangled to the ground, and he had one hoof inside them.
"If he takes off again, he'll catch his foot," Theo said, even in her anxiety aware of the powerful body at her back, the earthy scent of his skin, the strength in the arms encircling her.
Stoneridge, however, seemed unaware of her proximity. He dismounted rapidly when they were about ten yards from Zeus. "Stay here, I've a better chance of not spooking him if I approach on foot."
Theo stayed where she was, watching, her heart in her mouth. Zeus lifted his head as the man drew near. He snorted, pawing the earth, his eyes still rolling wildly.
Sylvester spoke softly to him, extending his hand, stepping purposefully toward him. The familiar voice seemed to pierce the animal's terror and weariness, and although he tossed his head and blew through his flared nostrils, he didn't take off.
Sylvester lunged for the reins, grabbing them, and Theo heaved a sigh of relief, trotting over to them.
"Now, let's have a look at you," Sylvester said, looping the reins around his wrist, stroking the sweat-lathered neck. The animal whimpered and showed the whites of his eyes.