by Anne Gracie
When she wasn’t arguing with him.
As he shaved and dressed, he considered what she’d said about the girls. Did they really think he didn’t care about them? He’d damned well turned his life upside down for their sake.
He supposed they didn’t realize that.
* * *
Emm rose and rang for hot water. “I’ll wear my riding habit, Milly,” she told her maid when she arrived. “And wake the girls up, will you? We’re going riding this morning.”
Her old habit was faded and a bit shabby—she hadn’t worn it for seven years—and she’d had Milly move the buttons, as she’d filled out in the bosom and hips since then, but Emm was looking forward to riding again. She would get Rose and Lily to show her and George the estate. With any luck they would not even notice their brother’s absence.
She’d given some thought to keeping the girls occupied and happy while they were here. As she’d told their brother some weeks ago, Lily and Rose were bright but bored, and when young women were bored, they got up to mischief.
Vigorous exercise was one way of keeping them out of trouble.
Milly came back shortly afterward with the news that the girls were already up and dressed, that the master had summoned them for a ride before breakfast.
So he’d changed his mind about the urgency of his mission. Perhaps he’d listened to her after all. Encouraged by the news, Emm hurried downstairs and let herself out the back door. As she headed around the back of the house toward the stables, she heard voices raised in argument.
“I won’t! And you can’t make me. It’s stupid!” The unmistakable tones of George.
“You will, my girl, or you won’t ride at all.” Her husband’s voice. She hurried toward the stables.
“It’s a perfectly ridiculous way to ride! How can I control Sultan perched up on that silly contraption? A rider—a good rider needs only his knees to control their horse, but this way—”
“It is how ladies ride.”
“Well, not me! And you can’t tell me how to ride my own horse—Sultan belongs to me!”
“I can always send the horse and his stableboy back to where they came from.” A silky-voiced threat.
Emm picked up the pace and half skidded around the corner to see her husband standing in the middle of the stable yard, glaring in frustration at his niece. Rose and Lily, mounted on sidesaddles, watched in wary silence, as did the hound, Finn. Both girls were dressed in riding habits that Emm noticed were almost as out of date as hers. The curriculum at Miss Mallard’s Seminary did not include equestrienne skills, so Emm guessed it had been nearly as long for the girls as for her.
George, on the other hand, was dressed in masculine breeches and boots. She wore a scowl that matched her uncle’s so exactly that Emm was hard put not to laugh.
He stood holding the reins of his own horse and a black stallion that Emm hadn’t seen before—apparently the horse George had raised herself. The stallion bore a sidesaddle.
“Good morning, everyone,” Emm said blithely. “You’re quite right, George, a sidesaddle is a ridiculous affair—if it were not, then men would use them too—but I’m afraid your uncle is also right. If you wish to ride when we go to London, you will have to ride sidesaddle. To ride astride would brand you as a hoyden of the worst kind.”
George looked mutinous. Emm was sure the girl was about to declare that she didn’t care, so she added lightly, “And that would make things very unpleasant for Rose and Lily, as well as for you.”
Black brows drew together. George cast a doubtful glance at the other two girls. “Why should it make things difficult for them?”
“Because we are a family now, and what one family member does affects the reputation of the others.” She let that sink in a moment, and added, “If one girl is held to be badly brought up, people will assume the other girls are just as wild and ungovernable.” She let that sink in, and not only to George.
Emm produced an apple core and offered it to Sultan. His lips were velvety soft as he nuzzled the fruit from her palm. “You accepted necessity when you trained this beautiful creature, George. It’s the same thing.”
George looked puzzled. “What necessity?
“You raised Sultan, didn’t you? Trained him from a foal?”
George nodded. Emm continued, “You could have left him to grow up wild and free, unbroken and untamed. But you wanted him to be able to go anywhere, to be respected and admired by all who saw him, so you broke him to bit and bridle and taught him his company manners.”
She saw from George’s expression that she understood.
“Your life has changed, George,” she said softly. “You can continue to fight against bridle and bit, or you can learn to accept a different kind of freedom and find joy in your new life. It’s up to you.”
There was a short silence, broken only by Sultan snuffling and wuffling down Emm’s front in search of another apple.
“I really do understand how you feel, though,” Emm continued in a sympathetic tone. “Before I was sent away to school I always rode astride and wore breeches all the time. It’s far more comfortable and practical, I agree.”
“You did?” George exclaimed.
“Didn’t your parents mind?” Lily asked curiously.
“My mother died when I was an infant, and my father—well, let’s just say he found it easiest to treat me as a boy. I’d probably still be wearing breeches and careering around the country astride had not the good ladies of church and county descended on my father in a pack when I was thirteen and informed him I was becoming a complete hoyden, and would, if left to continue my pathway, become quite unmarriageable. They convinced him to send me away to school to learn to be a lady.” She smiled at Rose and Lily. “Miss Mallard’s.”
She said to George, “Your uncle told me you are an excellent horsewoman.” The girl blinked and gave her uncle a surprised glance. Emm continued, “It won’t take you long to master the sidesaddle, teach your beautiful Sultan how to go on with it, and show him off to the world. But there are a few tricks to it. May I?” She gestured toward George’s horse.
George hesitated, then nodded.
Emm checked the fit of the saddle. Perfect. ”The worst aspect is that you need a mounting block or another person to help you mount. Quite irritating if you want to be independent.” She turned to her husband. “Boost me up?”
He hesitated, his expression unreadable. “Just to demonstrate the seat,” he said reluctantly. “We don’t yet know how the horse will react to the sidesaddle.”
“Of course,” Emm said with a sweet smile. He passed the reins of his horse to a stableboy, cupped his hands to make a cradle for her boot and tossed her lightly into the saddle.
Sultan, unused to the weight and balance of rider and sidesaddle, fidgeted and stamped restlessly. “You seat yourself like this, George. It’s actually much more balanced and comfortable than it looks. In riding, as in life, everything is balance.” Emm gathered the reins, hooked her right knee around the lower pommel and slid her other boot into the stirrup, and by the time Sultan decided he didn’t like the strange saddle or the strange rider, she was ready for him.
The horse reared up a little, snorting and plunging.
“Right, that’s it. Off, now!” Cal came forward, obviously intending to grab the bridle and force the head down. George and the stableboy did the same, but already disturbed, and with people coming from two directions, the horse danced nervously away, shying and tossing his head.
“Stay back, I can manage,” Emm called. “It’s just temper, isn’t it, you beautiful boy? Come on, then, let’s see how you can move.” And she urged the horse out of the stable yard and headed briskly down the drive. Sultan seemed a little unsure at first, champing restlessly at the bit and tossing his head in annoyance, but Emm had him firmly under control, and as she urged him faster, his gait le
ngthened first into a smooth canter, then a hard gallop. It was utterly exhilarating.
The thunder of hooves behind her warned her that her husband was in hot pursuit. She glanced back to see Rose and Lily following at some distance. Cal drew level with her and reached out for her bridle.
“Don’t you dare!” she cried, raising her whip at him in a teasing threat. “I’m having a glorious time. Race you to the gate!” And she urged Sultan faster.
They were neck and neck when they reached the gate. “What the devil do you think—” he began.
Emm wheeled her mount around. “Race you back!”
As they neared the stable yard, she reined in her horse and entered the yard at a demure trot. She leaned forward and patted the horse’s neck. “He’s an absolute beauty, George,” she said as George and the new stableboy came running toward them. “You did a marvelous job training him. He’s taken to the sidesaddle remarkably well.”
“Lord, but you can ride, Emm,” George gasped. “You beat him—Cal, I mean—even with that silly saddle. I didn’t think anyone could ride like that on one of those things.”
Emm laughed. “I had a head start. But I’m certain once you and Sultan are used to the sidesaddle, you’ll beat everyone to flinders. He moves like a dream.” She lifted her leg over the lower pommel and slid lightly to the ground.
Only to find her arm seized in a hard grip. “A word with you, madam.” Her husband tossed his reins to the stableboy and marched her into the stables. Rose slipped off her own horse and came forward, looking concerned. “Stay out of it, Rose,” he growled. Emm nodded to reassure the girl and sent a quick smile to Lily and George, who were watching wide-eyed.
He was in a fine old temper but Emm wasn’t the least bit worried. She was, however, interested to know why.
“You, out!” he snapped to a pair of gawking grooms. “Everyone outside until I say so.” The grooms fled.
He pushed her into a stall, shut the door and glared at her, his eyes sparking flinty gray. Another magnificent beast with a temper.
Chapter Sixteen
If this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable.
—WILLIAM CONGREVE, THE OLD BACHELOR
“Now, madam, what do you have to say for yourself?”
She was breathless, her heart racing, and not just because of the ride. It was the way he was looking at her, so darkly furious. He’d never looked at her that way before. Not in daylight. He wasn’t the cool and controlled Lord Ashendon now.
Somehow, that look thrilled her.
She gave him a bright smile. “Wasn’t that utterly exhilarating? I haven’t ridden for years. That horse of George’s is wonderf—”
“How dare you ride off like that on an untrained horse!”
He really was rather rattled, she saw, and decided to push him a little further. “Oh, pooh, he took to it like a lamb!”
His jaw tightened and he took a step forward. “You weren’t to know that! It was a damned foolhardy act—”
“Nonsense. I’ve been riding since I could walk. I can tell when a horse is merely nervous and uncertain and when he’s—”
“You could have been thrown!”
“But I wasn’t,” she said calmly. “I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss.”
He gave her a goaded look. “You vowed to obey me,” he grated. He took another step forward. He was close enough for her to smell him now, the clean scent of linen, shaving soap and a faint tang of fresh horse sweat. And man, angry aroused man.
“Oh, you’re just cross because I beat you in the race,” she said provocatively.
‘It’s nothing to do with that—it’s— Dammit, woman!” He wrapped one powerful arm around her, hauled her against him and kissed her, long and hard.
It was a conflagration of anger and arousal, compelling and possessive. Heat and frustrated anger radiated from his body. His arm enclosed her waist like a steel band as his other hand wrapped around her throat, cupping her chin, tilting her mouth to accept the demand of his kiss.
He moved forward, taking her with him, trapping her between his hot, hard body and the cold stone of the stable wall, not breaking the kiss for an instant. Plundering. Demanding. His taste, the urgency of him flooded her senses, his heat seeping into her body, setting her aflame. She felt the heavy thrust of his arousal against her belly.
Her knees weakened. A hard masculine limb thrust between her thighs, anchoring her.
She’d braced her hands behind her, against the cold rough wall, but as he deepened the kiss, scalding her with inflamed passion, she slipped them up his body, twining them around his neck, sliding her fingers through the damp tangle of his hair, gripping the thick locks fiercely as she returned kiss for kiss.
Never—never!—had she dreamed kissing could be like this.
Cal wasn’t sure what brought him to his senses—a sound, a thought, a cold dash of sanity—but whatever it was, it was enough to let himself wrench his mouth from his wife’s, release her and step back. His breath was ragged, as if he’d run a mile.
For a long moment they stared at each other. She was panting too, her mouth damp and red from where he’d ravaged it.
Good God, what had he been about to do? He’d been on the verge of taking her—here, in the stables!—up against a rough stone wall!—with the girls and the stableboys outside.
Madness.
“Emm? Cal? Is everything all right?” a hesitant voice called. It was his little sister.
“Stay outside, Lily,” he said hastily. He was still aroused.
“It’s perfectly all right, Lily,” his wife called, sounding satisfyingly breathless. “Your brother and I are, um, having a discussion.”
Remembering that he’d been furious with her—and still was—for risking herself on an untried horse, he groped for something conclusive to say. “Let that be a lesson to you, madam.”
Her eyes widened and then, incredibly, she laughed. “A lesson? I see I shall have to annoy you more often in future, then.” The light in her eyes was soft, not challenging, inviting him to share the moment.
His lips twitched in response. “I wasn’t annoyed,” he began. “I was— Oh, to hell with it. Just don’t be so reckless in future. You gave me a hell of a fright.”
“I’m sorry. It was—oh, it was so very good to be on horseback and out in the fresh air again, I couldn’t resist. There really was no danger—he’s a beautiful animal and very well trained. But I’m sorry I worried you.” She slipped her arm through his. “Shall we return to the girls? Lily sounded quite worried.”
He was fit to be seen again, so he opened the stall door and led her back outside to where the others were waiting. “You’re a magnificent horsewoman. I had no idea. Why did you not tell me you rode?”
She shrugged. “You never asked, and besides, you’d made it clear you wanted me to get on with the house refurbishment.”
He felt a pang of compunction. He really should have taken the trouble to learn more about her. “I borrowed horses from a neighbor for Rose and Lily and had Georgiana’s horse and his groom brought from her former home.” He’d thought it might make her feel more at home.
His wife glanced up at him. “So there isn’t a mount for me? Not even a mule or a donkey?”
He shook his head. “But I’ll send for one at once.”
“Which? A mule or a donkey?” She was teasing him again, he saw, and felt something loosen in his chest.
“The mount you deserve,” he told her in a severe tone.
She laughed again, and there was a sense of companionship in her attitude, as though they’d crossed some threshold. He didn’t know what, but it pleased him.
“Are you still going after your assassin today?” she asked quietly.
“No, I’ll go tomorrow. I’ve been chasing the swine for two years; another day won’t mak
e much difference.”
They emerged into the morning sunshine, where the three girls waited apprehensively. Their gaze immediately shot to his wife, examining her for signs of violence, he supposed.
Emmaline clung to his arm and said gaily, “We’ve discussed the matter and Cal is going to find something for me to ride, so we can all ride out together.”
“A donkey,” Cal growled.
“A donkey?” Rose began, a belligerent expression on her face. “But she—”
“It’s a joke, Rose,” Emmaline assured her with a laugh. “Your brother didn’t know I could ride, so he only borrowed horses for you and Lily, for while we’re here. And of course he sent for George’s beautiful Sultan, because he knew George would be fretting about him—and I must say, George, he is a beautiful creature. I quite envy you.”
Rose turned a surprised look on Cal. “You arranged horses especially for us?”
He shrugged. “I knew you’d want to ride, and this place hasn’t been occupied since Father died. Henry sold off all the horses.”
“And you brought Jem here, as well as Sultan,” George said. “Thank you, Cal.” It was the first openly friendly thing the girl had said to him.
“We’ll drop in on Sir Alfred Chisholm—he’s the neighbor I borrowed the horses from—and see if he can spare a mount for Emmaline.” He turned a stern look on his niece. “He’s the Master of the Hunt, and if you bother him in any way, shape or form, George, your horse is going straight back to Alderton. And that enormous hound of yours!”
To his surprise his niece grinned at the threat. “You called me George,” she said triumphantly.
“Slip of the tongue,” he said gruffly. “Now, since you’re dressed in those wretched breeches, you can ride up behind me, Emmaline can take Sultan and we’ll all ride over to Sir Alfred’s together and presume on his generosity one more time.”
* * *
Cal’s horse’s hooves crunched on the frozen grass, leaving a trail of round green hoofprints. The bare branches of the trees were rimed with frost, a landscape of silver and white with darkly etched silhouettes and shadows of gray and lilac. He crested the hill and turned to look back at the house. The weak winter sun was just beginning to touch the tips of the chimneys.