by Burke, Darcy
“You want me to speak freely?”
She lifted a shoulder. “We always did.”
“We were children.”
“Such a shame that children can say whatever they like to each other, and when we become adults, we must hesitate and consider and censor.” She gave him a sly look. “I’m not very good at that, I’m afraid.”
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t expect you to be—not the Bee I remember.”
“Are you going to tell me what Thornaby said or not?”
He grinned. “He said your brother is anxious to marry you off, preferably before he has to pay for a Season. I can’t believe that’s true—it’s just Thornaby being a jackanapes.” He flicked her a glance, his eyes widening slightly. “My apologies,” he murmured.
“No apology is necessary. Thornaby is a jackanapes, as far as I can tell. And sadly, that sounds exactly like my brother. He’s actually rather horrid.” She waved her hand. “Not that it signifies since I don’t want a Season anyway. London doesn’t interest me.” She peered at him. “You lived there?”
“For ten years.”
“And you liked it?”
“Very much.”
“Why?” She genuinely wanted to know.
“That is a rather lengthy tale, and we are nearly at the end of our second circuit.”
Bianca thrust her lips into a mock pout. “That is hardly fair. Will you tell me some other time?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
They arrived at Poppy, and Bianca reluctantly pulled her hand from him and moved to stand beside her sister. What a refreshingly honest and open conversation. “Are you going on the hunt in the morning?” Bianca asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t hunt.”
Bianca’s heart thumped an extra beat. She’d never understood hunting for sport with the hounds and all that nonsense. “Oh?”
“I do like to shoot, however, and ride, and I tried to convince Thornaby to organize an excursion for those of us who aren’t hunting. I don’t think he listened, however.”
“Then allow me,” Bianca said, narrowing her eyes. “I will see you tomorrow.” She turned abruptly and made her way to Thornaby, who’d just left the dance floor.
In five minutes, he’d agreed to organize a ride during the hunt and a separate shooting competition in the afternoon. As she walked back to Poppy, she realized she could likely manipulate him into hosting the St. Stephen’s Day party. If she wanted to.
She wasn’t sure she did. He would be a ghastly host. Unfortunately, she might not have any other choice.
Her gaze trailed to where Ash stood talking to a pair of young ladies. He would be a much better host. Except his estate was too far away. They’d have to transport everyone over ten miles.
Bianca’s brain began to churn…
“You’re thinking again,” Poppy said, eyeing her speculatively.
A grin slid over Bianca’s lips. “Always.”
* * *
The morning was slightly overcast and quite cold. As a result, only two people showed up for the ride—Ash and Bee. There were more grooms to accompany them, three to be exact.
Ash wondered if she’d beg off since it would be just them. Instead, she seemed…pleased?
Bee’s eyes sparkled in the midmorning light as she glanced around. “Just us, then?”
“So it appears,” Ash said.
She gave him an impish smile. “Lovely.” She crossed to the mounting block and climbed atop the horse Thornaby had provided.
Ash mounted his horse and moved closer to Bee. “Is this acceptable? Us alone on a ride, I mean.”
She shrugged. “Does it matter?”
He laughed. “You are as audacious as I remember.”
“Is that a good thing?” she asked as they started out of the stable yard.
“I think so. It’s certainly not boring.”
“Is that a danger? Boring females?”
“Anything boring is a danger.”
“I wholeheartedly agree. What did you do in London to ward off boredom?” she asked. “You promised to tell me why you liked living there.”
He sent her a teasing look. “I don’t recall promising you anything.”
She rolled her eyes. “Perhaps I exaggerate.”
“You? Never.” He recalled the time she’d said she’d seen a wolf, but when he’d told her there were no wolves in England, she’d admitted it was just a large dog. “I feel the need to run, then I will tell you about London, all right?”
She nodded, then gave him a coy smile. “Shall we race?”
They were out of the stable yard and cresting the small hill that overlooked the parkland adjoining Thornaby’s estate. She didn’t wait for his response before kicking her horse into a gallop.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered in both appreciation and anticipation. He directed his mount after her and did his best to keep up.
She won in the end, but then he hadn’t tried too hard to overtake her. He’d enjoyed watching her far too much.
When he caught up to her, she was grinning, her breath coming hard as she stroked her horse’s neck. “Caught me at last?”
“You’re an exceptional rider,” he said.
“Thank you. I didn’t get to see you, but since you kept up, I imagine you are also quite skilled.”
He laughed at her hubris. “I’m passable.”
“Don’t denigrate yourself. You’re more than that.” She started to walk her horse back the way they came, the grooms trailing behind them. “Now tell me about London.”
“You’ve truly never been?”
She shook her head. “My father never encouraged me to go when I was younger, and it didn’t occur to me to ask. I’m quite content here in County Durham. But I imagine there is much to do and see in London.”
“Oh yes. The theatre. The British Museum. The Royal Academy Exhibition. Hyde Park. And so much more.” He thought of his favorite places—nowhere she could go.
“That’s what you liked about living there—the places to visit? To alleviate your boredom?” She asked the last with a flirtatious smile.
Flirtatious? Maybe. He wasn’t particularly good at flirting and wasn’t entirely sure he’d know what it even looked like. He had no experience on the Marriage Mart or in courtship in general. “It was hard to be bored. I was accepted to the Inns of Court and worked as a barrister.”
She seemed impressed, her gaze moving over him with admiration. “Well done. What did you do for fun?”
Hit people.
Thankfully, he didn’t say that out loud. Boxing had been his true love—a way to work through the anger he’d nurtured for so many years at school and to control his impulses. The speech, the coughing and throat clearing, the twitches.
Not long after he’d arrived in London, he’d attended a match. That had led to lessons and ultimately to participating in matches himself. Nothing glamorous, but small bouts that allowed him to hone his skill and learn self-control. And build a reputation as a fearsome pugilist, which hadn’t been his intent.
“I, ah, didn’t have much spare time. But I enjoyed riding.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “This is not a long story at all. You were bamming me last night.”
“Hmm, you may be right. It was ten years, so it felt like a long story.” He tried to think of what he could say that wouldn’t reveal too much. She was a young lady, after all.
Hell, she was also Bee.
“I loved London,” he said, reflecting on how much he’d changed in his time there. “It’s where I became who I am. I don’t think that would have happened if I’d come back here when I finished at Oxford.” He hadn’t wanted to anyway, not after everything he’d endured there.
“Becoming a lawyer did that?” she asked, sounding skeptical. “I think there’s more to your story. Maybe someday you’ll tell me.”
He wanted to. “Maybe someday I will.”
They trotted their horses for a few minutes, then slowed once
more as they approached Thornhill.
“I wonder if you might give me your opinion on something,” she said, looking at him askance.
“If I can, I will.”
“I wager you know Thornaby better than I. Do you think he’d host the St. Stephen’s Day party?”
“Why would—” He caught himself before he finished. Though he worked hard to keep a rein on himself, sometimes things leapt from his mouth. He stretched his neck in reaction. “I don’t think I know him well enough to say.”
“I hope I didn’t anger you with my question.”
Hell, he hadn’t meant to give her that impression. “Not at all.” He sought to divert. “Why isn’t your brother hosting the party?”
“I wish I knew. I mean, really knew. He just says he won’t do it. He doesn’t have a good reason. He doesn’t have any reason, as far as I can tell.”
Ash didn’t know Calder Stafford very well—he’d been gone from Oxford by the time Ash and Lyndon had arrived, and Ash had only run into him periodically in London. “I’m sorry he’s proving difficult. It’s such a shame he won’t host it. Or at least give you a good reason.”
“Yes, he owes us that, if nothing else.”
He blinked at her. “Us?”
“Me. Our retainers and tenants. The villagers. You.”
“Me?”
“You would have come, wouldn’t you?”
“Probably.” He hadn’t thought about the event at all. It was enough to consider spending his first Christmas season as an earl at Buck Manor.
“Is your mother at Buck Manor now? It seems I haven’t seen her in Hartwell the last several months.”
“She came to join me this past July. She will be disappointed about the party, now that I think about it.”
“We must have it,” Bee said as they rode back into the stable yard. “Everyone will be disappointed. Calder will have to come around.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
A groom met them, and Ash dismounted. He quickly handed the reins to the groom, then went to help Bee down.
She’d been on her way to the mounting block but stopped when she saw him approach. The groom took her reins, and she turned to place her hands on Ash’s shoulders, then slid from the saddle.
Ash clasped her waist firmly. When she stood before him, he could see the cobalt depths of her eyes and smell the sweet fragrance of her floral soap. A surprising heat stole over him, suffusing him in something he hadn’t expected: desire.
Taking his hands from her, he stepped back.
She smoothed her hands down her skirt, seemingly unaffected by their brief connection. And why should she have felt what he had? In fact, he was beginning to doubt he’d felt anything at all. He was simply happy to see her after so many years.
“To answer your question,” she said, “if Calder doesn’t come around, I must come up with an alternate plan. Though it pains me, I think I must ask Thornaby if he will host it.”
Thornaby would be delighted to help her. Except he was also incredibly cheap, or at least he had been, and Ash couldn’t imagine that had changed. He was, however, eager to establish a relationship with Bee, and Ash wouldn’t put it past the man to try to use her request to benefit himself. “Be careful,” he advised.
“I always am.” She turned toward the house, a breeze stirring the dark curls about her face.
Ash laughed. “Like when you climbed so high in the tree that I had to come up and help you down?”
“Yes, exactly like that.”
He laughed harder. “How is that being careful?”
She flashed him a smile. “Because I knew you were there to rescue me.”
The laughter stuck in his throat, but he forced it out lest she realize how her words affected him. And how was that?
“Would the woman you are now actually want to be rescued?”
She stopped and pivoted toward him. “No.” She stared up at him. “How could you know that?”
He hadn’t, but he’d guessed. She’d always been confident, almost reckless, even. And she seemed as outspoken and fearless as ever. “It made sense that you grew into a someone who can take care of herself.”
She looked at him with unflinching pride. “Thank you.”
They continued toward the house. “Still, if there is ever any way I can be of assistance, I hope you’ll ask.”
They reached the doorway and she paused. “I will. Unlike you, I will make a promise. And I will keep it.” Her gaze turned saucy, and he had to think she was flirting. Again. Maybe.
“I didn’t make you a promise,” he repeated softly. “But when I do, I will keep it.” He opened the door for her.
She held his gaze a long moment, then the edge of her mouth ticked up. “Good.”
Chapter 3
Bianca and Poppy walked from the house toward the lawn where the shooting competition was set up. Bianca hoped they planned to allow women to participate. And if they didn’t, well, she’d shoot anyway.
Most of the house party guests were in attendance. Bianca immediately spotted Ash standing on the periphery of a group of gentlemen.
“It looks like the spectators are over there,” Poppy said, gesturing to the right where most of the guests were gathered. Everyone else, including a handful of footmen, was clustered near a table. Beyond that stood three targets. “Do you mean to shoot?” Poppy asked.
“I do.”
“Papa would be proud.” Poppy’s voice was soft. She missed their father, but not as much as Bianca, likely owing to the fact that it was Bianca who had cared for him in his final years. Poppy had already been wed to the Marquess of Darlington. And, of course, Calder had been off in London hardening his heart.
“You could shoot too,” Bianca suggested, even though she knew her sister would decline.
Poppy laughed with genuine mirth. “No one wants to see that. I never possessed the skill that you do. Frankly, I never possessed the desire to learn.”
“No, you are a much more proper female.”
“Because I like to sing and play music?” Poppy gave her a teasing look.
“Because you are good at both and at needlepoint and all things domestic. All the things at which I am abysmal.” Bianca grinned with pride.
“That is not true. You are more than capable of arranging and managing all manner of things. That is an exceptional domestic talent.”
“I suppose it is.” Bianca fixed her gaze on the target field with great intent. “They better allow me to shoot. I don’t see one woman over there.”
“I fear for them if they don’t,” Poppy said drily.
Bianca sent her a wicked glance, then strode toward the target area. Ash noted her approach, a single auburn brow arching along his forehead.
“Good afternoon, Lady Bianca,” Thornaby said in greeting, his thin lips stretching back to reveal a patronizing smile. No, that wasn’t fair. Bianca oughtn’t assume they weren’t going to let her participate. “Did you come to wish us good luck?” He gazed at her expectantly.
She rocked forward on her toes. “Not at all. I came to shoot.”
Thornaby’s eyes widened, and someone laughed. Followed by a second person. Then a third. While the viscount didn’t join in, he was clearly trying not to smirk. “I’m afraid this competition is for gentlemen only,” he said with mild condescension. “You may watch from over there.” He motioned toward the spectators.
Bianca forced a sickly sweet smile. “Are you afraid I’ll beat you?”
Her query was met with more laughter.
“It’s a danger,” Mr. Moreley said from the side of his mouth. “She did beat Ruddy in a race earlier. Sorry, Buckleigh, I mean.”
Several gentlemen turned their heads toward Ash and snickered. Moreley had said sorry, but he didn’t appear apologetic. And Bianca didn’t think he’d been apologizing for mentioning the race. No, he’d corrected himself after calling Ash “Ruddy.” Was that a nickname?
“Trounced him, I heard,” another gentle
man said.
Bianca noted that no one looked at her with admiration or appreciation. They all cast taunting glances toward Ash. He stood silent, his face impassive.
“It wasn’t a race,” Bianca said, even though she’d absolutely challenged him to a race. She’d sensed he hadn’t actually raced her.
How had any of them heard about it anyway? She scowled toward the stables, thinking it had to have been one of the grooms. She detested a retainer with loose lips and was glad to have none of those at Hartwell.
“It was, and you won,” Ash said, causing everyone to whip their heads in his direction. “I’ve no problem losing to a woman.” He pinned Thornaby with an expectant stare. “Why not let her shoot?”
“Because the prizes aren’t for women,” he said crossly. He turned back to Bianca and summoned a pathetic excuse for a smile. “Why don’t you demonstrate your skill for us prior to the competition?”
“An excellent notion,” Ash said. “Her efforts can still be measured against everyone else’s.” He looked her in the eye, and Bianca had never felt more included or…present. The moment enveloped her until she forced herself to speak.
She turned to Thornaby. “I accept.”
Thornaby looked utterly nonplussed. He exchanged a look with one of the other gentlemen, his brow creasing. Bianca held her breath. Would he allow her to shoot, or would he make an even bigger scene?
He settled his gaze on her. “Which weapon would you like to use?” His voice was tight, as if just asking the question pained him.
She had to bite her tongue lest she laugh. And he hoped to court her? Moving past him to the table, she perused the half-dozen weapons laid out. There was a lady’s muff pistol in addition to a Manton flintlock. Her father had given her a lady’s muff pistol three years ago. It looked small compared to the others, but she knew it was just as powerful. Still, she was surprised to see it on the table with the other weapons since it wasn’t generally used for distance shooting. Why would they include it?
Swallowing her smile, she reached for the muff pistol, then frowned. “It’s already loaded.”
“Of course,” the viscount said.
“I prefer to load my own.” She didn’t press the issue. It was enough that she was allowed to shoot. Allowed. Bitterness rose in her throat, and she swallowed it back as she stepped around the table. “Does it matter which target I use?” she asked.