Captain's Bride (5 page)

And neither does anyone else, thanks to
Mother
. “He’s away at school in the North. He wants to be a
botanist. Mr. Eisner’s lectures made quite an impression on him.”
Again Nicholas nodded, but he seemed preoccupied. He cut a handsome
figure astride the big black, and for the first time in years,
Glory felt a little self-conscious. “You’re a very good horseman,
Captain.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “So are you. I wouldn’t have
expected a woman of your . . .
tastes
to enjoy so strenuous
a sport.”

Glory ignored the barb. “I never was much of a
tomboy, but riding is like nothing else. Don’t you agree?”

“What? Oh, yes, yes, I do.”

Glory quietly seethed at his lack of interest. Why
was she rambling on like an idiot when the captain was obviously
bored with her company? For the past half-hour the only time he’d
looked at her was when he thought she
wasn’t
looking at
him.

“Captain, if you’d rather return to the house—”

“That might be a good idea, Miss Summerfield. I—”

“Glory,” she corrected.

“Glory.” He reined the black to a halt and turned to
face her. She sat astride her big bay like a countess, wisps of
flaxen hair glistening in the sun. Again Nicholas felt the strain
in his breeches that had plagued him off and on for the past two
hours. “I’m afraid I’m a little preoccupied with my ship,” he lied,
then combined the words with an element of truth. “I probably
shouldn’t have left Charleston.”

“Father says you work too hard,” Glory said.

“Maybe so, but I think you may be right about
returning early.”

Glory fought a surge of temper. “I
am
beginning to tire,” she told him, furious that he’d enjoyed the
morning not nearly as much as she. “And there are several
important
matters I should attend to this afternoon.”

It was clear she felt
he
was
not
one of
them, and Nicholas fought a surge of anger. If she were anyone but
Julian’s daughter, he’d have spent the morning charming the spoiled
little chit into his bed. As it was, all he’d managed to do was
give himself a case of the discomforts. And he wouldn’t be able to
find ease for that until he returned to Charleston. Even Lavinia
Bond was beginning to look good.

“Tell you what, Captain,” Glory said as she turned
her mount around on the path. “I’ll bet I can beat you home.
There’s a shortcut we can take through the fields if you think
you’re up to a few hedges.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. The ground’s too
muddy. Someone might get hurt.”

“You’re not afraid you’ll lose, are you?”

“Look, Miss Summerfield, as long as you’re with me,
you’re my responsibility. We’ll go back the way we came.”

“Father told me a little about you, Captain, but he
failed to mention you were a coward.” With that she spun the big
bay and dug her small heels into its flanks. The horse leaped into
a gallop, then settled into a low-necked run.

Nicholas cursed beneath his breath and urged the
black stallion forward. At first he pressed the animal hard to
catch the bay. Then the black picked up the challenge and hurled
himself faster, hoofbeats thundering against the muddy earth.

Spoiled and pampered, he thought. Not a moment’s
concern for anything other than her whims. She’d probably break her
fool neck, and Julian would never forgive him. He leaned over the
black’s mane, urging him faster, hoping to catch the girl before
she reached the first hedge looming in the distance. As fast as the
animal ran, Hannibal had gained only half the distance Nicholas
needed. Glory sailed over the hedge, her body parallel with the
neck of the bay, taking the jump with just as much grace as she’d
shown on the ballroom floor.

Nicholas cursed her for the little fool she was, took
the hedge behind her, and continued his pursuit. She was still a
few feet ahead when they approached a split-rail fence near one of
the rice fields. As they drew near, the ground grew even soggier
and Nicholas still wasn’t close enough to stop her.

Just as she sized up the jump, the bay slipped in the
marshy soil. The horse made the fence, but his landing was less
than perfect, and Glory nearly pitched over the animal’s head. She
regained her balance and pulled the horse to a halt just the other
side of the fence, jumping down from her sidesaddle in a single
graceful motion.

Relieved but furious, Nicholas allowed the stallion
to take the fence at his ease, then halted the animal on the
opposite side. Glory stood ankle deep in the rich dark mud,
examining the bay’s foreleg, the hem of her skirt black and
dirty.

Nicholas worked a muscle in his jaw, barely
controlling his temper. Dismounting, he stalked to where the horse
stood in the mud whinnying softly, and examined the leg. “I hope
you’re satisfied.”

For a moment she looked up at him contritely, then
she stiffened her spine. “How was I supposed to know the field had
been flooded? I’ve taken this jump a hundred times.”

“You’re supposed to use that pretty little head of
yours,” Nicholas told her, his voice hard. “You’re supposed to know
better than to race across a muddy field!”

“I just wanted to . . .”
Teach you a lesson
,
she thought. “Have some fun,” she said. “I didn’t mean for him to
get hurt, and I’ll thank you not to lecture me.” As if to emphasize
her point, Glory slapped her riding crop against the fullness of
her skirts, her blue eyes snapping fire.

“You’re willful and spoiled,” Nicholas said, his
temper barely in check. “Someone ought to take that riding crop to
your backside.”

Glory’s cheeks flamed. “
You’re
certainly not
man enough to do it!”

Nicholas straightened, his hard look boring into her.
“I think you would find I’m man enough, Miss Summerfield. But I
have neither the time nor the inclination to give young ladies
lessons in deportment.” Ducking beneath his horse’s neck, he jammed
a booted foot in the metal stirrup and swung a long leg over the
low back of his saddle. With his mouth curved in a thin, mirthless
smile, he reined the black away.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Glory called after
him, incredulous. “You can’t just leave me out here!”

“Can’t I?” Nicholas threw back over his shoulder.

“But my horse . . . he’s injured. I can’t ride him
like this!”

“Then I suggest you start walking.” Nicholas set the
black into a leisurely canter.

“Damn you, Nicholas Blackwell! Damn you!”

Nicholas whirled the big black and fixed his gaze on
Glory, pinning her with his eyes. “Keep that up, Miss Summerfield,
and I may just come back and give you that lesson we discussed.”
Even at a distance he could see her eyes go wide. She didn’t say
another word, just started leading the bay through the muddy field
toward the lane in the distance. Nicholas smiled to himself. He
wouldn’t mind giving her lessons—in bed, where they’d do the most
good. Since that was not an option, maybe the long walk back to the
plantation would teach her to mind her manners.

The trip back home seemed interminable. Glory fumed
all the way.

She’d been right about Captain Blackwell in the first
place. He was nothing but an overbearing, arrogant ass! How dare he
leave her stranded out here! No gentleman would ever treat a lady
that way. But then, Captain Black-well was obviously no gentleman!
Except for the first few hours, he hadn’t even tried to make
pleasant conversation. The man could not have cared less about what
she had to say. He was just . . . just . . .
despicable
.
That’s what he was!

When she finally reached the main road, Glory hailed
a wagon loaded with hay, which was headed toward the house. The old
slave at the reins jumped down to help her onto the wooden seat,
and Glory graciously let him fuss over her. Her feet ached, her
ankles were rubbed raw from walking in the deep black mud, and her
riding skirt hung in tatters from pushing her way through shrubs
and vines she’d intended to jump. Again she damned Nicholas
Blackwell. Why hadn’t her father warned her about the man?

“Papa, how could you?” Glory railed, calling him by
the childhood name she used whenever she lost her temper or became
upset. “Surely you had some idea what he was like!” In her
stockinged feet, she stood in his study in front of his massive
rosewood desk, mud still dripping from the hem of her riding
skirt.

“Tell me again,
what
exactly it is Nicholas
has done? Did he make advances? Did he force himself on you?” She
could hear the hint of amusement in his voice.

“Of course not! I told you what he did. He
left
me out there. He made me walk all the way back to the
house!”

“Because you’d acted exceedingly foolhardy and
endangered not only your own life and his but also the lives of the
animals. Those are valuable horses, Glory. They deserve better
treatment and you know it.”

“I refuse to discuss this any further.” Glory drew
herself up to her full height which was quite impressive compared
to most of the women she knew. “Nicholas Blackwell is a cad and a
bounder. I wouldn’t be surprised if Miriam is right and he is . . .
involved
with Lavinia Bond!”

“Glory!” Her father leaped from his chair.

“It’s all right, Father. I’m a grown woman. I
understand these things.”

“What things?” Nicholas asked from the doorway, but
his amused expression said he’d heard every word. With casual
nonchalance, he leaned his tall frame against the jamb.

“I’m sure you would find them just as uninteresting
as you did the rest of our conversation today,” Glory told him
bitterly.

“You look a little worn, Miss Summerfield,” Nicholas
said, lifting one black brow and raking her from bosom to toe with
his hard gray eyes. “Maybe riding is too strenuous a sport for you
after all.”

“Why, you—”

“Stop it right now, both of you!” Julian warned.

Glory squared her shoulders, stared the captain
straight in the eye, and stormed past him as he moved farther into
the room. The noisy slam of the heavy walnut door marked her
exit.

“Well, Nicholas . . .” Julian indicated he should
take the overstuffed leather chair in front of the desk. “I guess
you were serious when you said you weren’t interested in
marriage.”

Nicholas stretched out in the chair, crossing his
long legs atop the matching leather ottoman. “I was serious, all
right. But I didn’t intend to cause problems between you and your
daughter.”

Julian chuckled. “How about a little bourbon and
branch water?”

Nicholas nodded. “I could use a good stiff
drink.”

Julian poured two fingers of fine Kentucky bourbon
into tall crystal glasses, added a dash of water, then handed the
glass to Nicholas. “I’ve never seen her this way,” Julian said. “At
least not with a man. With the others she just smiles and bats her
lashes, and you wonder what she’s thinking about because it
certainly isn’t the young man who’s in the room. She’ll fight with
me, of course, but the others . . .’’ He shook his head. “At least
you sparked a little spirit.”

“Oh, she’s got plenty of spirit,” Nicholas said. “God
help the man she marries. If she can’t sweet-talk him into doing
what she wants, she’ll shame him into it.”

“I’m sorry you find her so unattractive.” Julian eyed
Nicholas over the top of his glass.

Nicholas cocked a brow. “She’s beautiful and you know
it. She’s intelligent and charming. She’s also pampered, spoiled,
willful, stubborn, and selfish.”

“Not selfish, my boy, never selfish. Glory would give
away the clothes on her back if she thought someone needed
them.”

“I’m certain she has hundreds of good qualities,”
said Nicholas, not sounding as though he meant it. “She’d be a
challenge, that’s for certain. If she weren’t your daughter, I’d
like nothing better than to bring her to heel. But marriage? Not a
chance. My father went through hell, and most of the married men I
know aren’t much better off. I intend to stay single. If you’re as
smart as I think you are, you’ll keep your daughter away from
me.”

Again Julian chuckled, a vibrant, husky sound, just
like the man himself. “You’ve seen how easy it is to keep Glory
from doing anything she pleases . . . But you seem to be doing a
fine job of making her dislike you, so I’ll just leave it to
you.”

Glory soaked in the warm sudsy tub for over an hour.
The heat helped drain some of her tension and ease a little of her
temper. How could her father have taken that awful man’s side? Eric
Dixon would never have acted that way! He’d have given up his own
mount and led the bay through the mud to the house.

But, she admitted grudgingly, her father and Captain
Blackwell were right about one thing. She shouldn’t have taken the
hedges in that much mud. Of course she hadn’t meant for the bay to
get hurt. She loved the big horse and all the other animals in her
father’s stable. Well, it was over and done with now, and she’d be
damned if she’d let Captain Blackwell know how she felt.

By early evening, Glory’s temper had cooled. She took
a little extra care with her toilette, determined to appear
nonplussed. April, her maid, coiffed Glory’s pale locks into
ringlets on either side of her neck, then helped her slip into a
daringly low cut pale blue watered-silk gown that enhanced the
bright blue of her eyes. Neither her father nor her mother had seen
the gown before—she’d been saving it for something special. Well,
retribution was special enough. She intended to make Nicholas
Blackwell squirm if it was the last thing she ever did.

By the time Glory entered the dining room, her father
and mother and the tall handsome captain were seated at the long
mahogany Hepplewhite table. Milk-white bay-berry tapers lit the
room from a crystal candelabrum, and the gold-trimmed porcelain
dinnerware gleamed in the candlelight. Both of the men rose as
Glory swept in.