Hope's Betrayal (24 page)

Nero lowered his
large head obligingly, letting Huntley slip the bit into his mouth, fasten the
cheek strap and then toss the reins over his neck. Next, it took all Huntley's
concentration to stay upright as he lifted the saddle from the half-door and
placed it on Nero's back.

"Steady
lad."

Gathering the
reins in his left hand, Huntley reached for the stirrup and stopped. To mount
meant bending his left leg, which was an impossibility.

"Damn."
Huntley searched for a solution. "Alright, work with me on this."

Ducking under
the Nero's neck, Huntley rearranged himself on the horse's offside and pulled
down the right stirrup. He measured the length to his armpit and gripped the
reins in his right hand. If his left leg would just take his weight, he could
put his right foot in the stirrup and boost himself up…

Nero stood
still, his ears flicked back, looking bemused, wondering what madness had overtaken
his master to mount on the wrong side. Huntley got his foot in the stirrup and
everything was going to plan, until his injured leg gave way beneath him.

One second he
was preparing to mount, the next the walls were rushing past his head as, arms
flailing, Huntley fell backwards. His shoulders struck the cobbles, then his
head. But worse still, with his right foot still wedged in the stirrup, he
found himself semi-suspended. Nero pranced on the spot. Instinctively, Huntley
curled up as best he could, protecting his head with his arms, expecting the
horse to rear. Nero put his ears back and quivered from head to toe, but stood
his ground. Huntley waited, with the horse braced for flight, but nothing
happened.

Slowly, taking
his time so as not to spook Nero, Huntley reached for the stirrup and freed his
foot. Shuffling backwards across the straw, he felt his left leg. Nothing had
broken, it had just given out with all his weight on the one leg, but that was
small consolation. He was useless. Worse than useless, he was a fool. But he
was also a fool on the floor of a loosebox with a dangerous horse.

Nero snorted.
His hoof struck the cobbles.

"Easy
boy."

Nero backed, the
whites of his eyes showing, nostrils flared.

"Easy."

All too clearly
Huntley saw the danger; it would only take one sudden movement and he would be
lying beneath a rearing, plunging beast. Slowly, Huntley rolled onto his front
and pushed himself up onto his good knee. Nero eyed him warily and trembled.

"Steady.
I'm going to stand. Alright?"

A ton of
muscular horse flesh quivered in front of him. Biting his tongue lest he cry
out with pain, Huntley regained his feet. With a singsong tone, he reached out
and quieted the horse. He felt the coiled tension as he smoothed his neck.

"You're right.
That was a stupid idea."

The muscle
fasciculations beneath his palm stopped and then Nero, as if deciding there was
nothing to worry about after all, started tugging at his hay rack. With a
snort, Huntley patted the horse and threaded his fingers through the wiry mane.
He leaned forward, and with his cheek resting against Nero's warmth, from out
of nowhere his eyes filled with tears as Huntley gave into self-pity.

His career was
over. If he couldn’t ride, then he wasn’t fit enough to rejoin the Navy. Tears
slid down his cheeks, tracing the line of his jaw, and falling unchecked into
the straw. He made no attempt to stem the flow, crying silently, his head
hidden in Nero's mane, until he was empty. Then, he pulled out a handkerchief,
wiped his eyes and blew his nose

"Sorry
about that." He patted the horse.  "I know I can rely on your
discretion."

Utterly
exhausted, it was some comfort to Huntley that no one had seen his breakdown.

"Well, if
I'm not totally useless, how about I groom you, my friend?"

Huntley reached
for the body brush but his hand froze in midair. Unless he was hearing things,
there was a faint scraping sound coming from just outside the box. His skin
prickled, alert to company.

"Who's
there?"

His demand was
answered by some frantic whispering. In two unsteady strides, he crossed the
stable to glare over the half-door where he found Miss Tyler pulling urgently
on Jasper's lead. But the pup remained oblivious, refusing to move, with his
nose firmly planted in an interesting pile of hay just outside the door.

"Miss
Tyler," Huntley growled, "in heaven's name, what on earth are you
doing?"

Hope looked up,
eyes wide and bright.

"I heard
Jasper crying and knew he needed to relieve himself. I didn’t want him waking
Her Ladyship, so I brought him outside myself." She trembled.

A vein throbbed
in his left temple. "How long have you been there?"

From the way she
couldn’t meet his eye, he knew she had seen his disgraceful lapse. Never had he
felt so utterly undone. He waited for her pity, for gratuitous words of comfort
but instead, after an awkward silence she merely nodded towards the horse.

"He's
magnificent. What's his name?"

"Nero."

"Is he
yours?"

"Yes."

He cursed his
terse answers, and yet, he had no words. Then he noticed Hope was shivering. It
was a cool morning, a hint of frost in the air, and yet he hadn’t noticed
before. He looked more carefully at Hope and noticed white linen beneath her
cloak. Peering over the door, he stared at her feet, kid leather slippers on
her bare feet.

"You aren’t
dressed." He said simply.

Hope nodded.
"I know. I wasn’t planning on being this long."

Then he noticed
her hastily pinned hair and skin pale as milk. In the early morning light she
looked beautiful, no, beauty was too simple a word, she looked—ethereal. She
shivered again.

"Merciful
heavens, you'll catch your death dressed, or rather undressed, like that. Here,
come into the stable."

Hope hesitated.

“Don’t worry,
Nero will act as chaperone.”

A smile twitched
across her kissable lips. “How can a horse be a chaperone?”

“He’s very
protective of me,” George managed to joke, “if you try any mischief he’d
protect my honor with his life.”

Despite the
recent humiliation, he found he needed human company, especially hers—fragile
as a wax doll and yet brave as a lion. With eyes which searched his soul, she
studied his face.

“Very well. Just
for a minute. Until I'm a little warmer.”

“Come.” Huntley
held open the half-door. She brushed past and his body burnt with longing.
“Nero pushes out as much heat as a small fire— come here.”

“Won’t he bite
me?”

“Not if I tell
him you are a friend.”

“And am I? A
friend…still?”

“Yes.” His heart
flipped in his chest.

“Then I want you
to tell me the truth.”

“What do you
mean?”

“I want you to
talk to me. Is that such a strange idea?”

He considered
her question. “I rather suppose that depends on what you want to talk about.”

Her fine-boned
hand reached out and touched his arm. “I saw you. I wasn’t spying…Jasper
brought me this way….”

Huntley felt the
humiliation afresh. “And now you feel sorry for me.”

“No, just the
opposite in fact.”

“What? You speak
in riddles.”

Her words were
confusing, and with a humph he turned his back and picked up the body brush.

“It takes a very
brave man to admit he is… frightened of the future.”

Silence. Glad
she couldn’t see his face, George closed his eyes. Perhaps Hope was right and
he was frightened—of a future without the Navy, with everything he lived for
swept aside. His hand shook as he swept the brush over Nero’s neck. He
comforted himself with the broad, sweeping motions, intent on ignoring the
sprite at his back. He decided to cut her off until she grew bored and went
away. He worked intently, focusing on each small hair, burnishing Nero's coat
until it shone.

So when, a few
minutes later, he felt a gentle weight on his shoulder—and Hope squeezed his
arm—a barrage of conflicting emotions bewildered him. But, most confusing of
all was the sense that he wanted to hold Hope, to crush her against his chest
and bury his head in her hair.

"You should
go." He growled.

"No."

"I don’t
want your pity."

"And I have
no pity to give."

Slowly he
turned. "Then why are you still here?"

"Once you
helped me. You protected me when others condemned me…you didn’t judge."

“But I don’t
want anyone, least of all you, to feel sorry for me.”

“And why would I
do that?”

“Because I am
not the man I was. Because I am useless. A wreck.”

“Well, the man I
know is bigger than that. The man I see before me, stood up to his fellow
officers for what he believed was right. Your body will heal and you will
recover, but the good thing is…." She swept her hand towards the straw,
the site of his recent humiliation, "is that your body's weakness has
taught you humility…and that’s a very appealing quality.”

Huntley stared
at her, astounded. “It is?”

“Oh yes, I
didn't liked the arrogant bully of a man you were before, but this Huntley, the
one who cries into his horse’s mane, is altogether more attractive.”

Huntley put down
the brush. “Well, I’ll be damned if I ever understand women.” His heart thudded
as they faced each other, so close he could smell the scent of bedsheets on her
skin. Merciful heavens, a man could lose himself in the depths of those tilted
green eyes, standing there with her luscious lips softly parted.

He cleared his
throat, acutely aware of the pulse at the base of her throat. “Miss Tyler,
unless you want to be ravaged, I would suggest you leave now.”

She didn’t move.
A primal beat throbbed through his blood. He licked his lips and took a step
forward to trap her between his muscular arms, as he leant against the stable
wall.

“Why didn’t you
go?”

Without fear she
gazed into his eyes. "Because I want to stay."

He claimed her
mouth, so warm and moist, such precious heat as she returned his kisses, gently
at first then with urgency. He leaned closer, pressing her against the wall,
until the delicious length of her was pressed against his body. It excited him
further to know that beneath the redingcote was no armory of stays and
petticoats, but just one thin night-rail. A sense of mastery swept through his
body, luxuriating in the suppleness of her shoulders as he lowered her hands to
caress the undulating line of her waist. Both breathing heavily, he leaned down
to taste the skin of her neck. She arched and groaned in response, throwing
back her head to expose the milky curve of her throat.

At his back,
Huntley felt Nero’s heat and heard him munching  hay, nonplussed by the
exploits of his master. Through his lust-filled haze, he became aware of Hope
clinging to him—and his aching need. Not only was this woman beautiful and
brave, but she was passionate, everything his heart desired.

He stroked the
curve of her hip, gentling her like a flighty horse, while seeking to calm his
churning emotions. He found the buttons of her redingcote and with slow,
teasing dexterity, popped them open one by one. He felt her stiffen, as she
realised only her thin night-rail covered her breasts and belly. With an
effort, he stilled—waiting—lest she push him away, but instead she melted deeper
against him, burrowing her head against his shoulder. His arm crept around her
waist, exquisitely aware of her skin separated by a layer of linen. Her trust
humbled him, more intoxicating than any liquor, He rejoiced in her proximity.

For a long minute
they stood pressed together. The length of his arousal strained at his
breeches. He had no idea how well-schooled Hope was in the ways of the world,
but he had no intention of forcing himself on her. If anything happened, it
would be at her behest. With an ache which reached his soul, he knew he would
wait forever if necessary to make her his.

Through the
depth of his passion-filled fog, his voice grated.

“You know I
desire you?”

She snuggled her
head deeper. “I know. You understand why I can’t…don’t you?”

“Your mother's
disgrace?”

Hope nodded.
“She mistook lust for something deeper and her love was betrayed, leaving her
with child and alone. I cannot make the same mistake.”

With shaking
hands and supreme effort, George drew the front of her redingcote together, and
refastened the buttons one-by-one. He wanted nothing more than for her to be
happy, his desire no longer important. 

“I will wait…but
go now, for my resolve won’t hold much longer.”

With such sweet
reluctance, she drew away. Jasper had fallen asleep in the hay, and gathering
the pup under her arm, with a darting smile over her shoulder, she left.  His
heart went with her.