Love With a Scandalous Lord (12 page)

T
he Harrington stables were vast. Lydia couldn’t imagine the joy of possessing so many beautiful horses for the simple pleasure of riding them. Most of the horses her family owned were used to work the farm or cattle.

And they certainly didn’t have a host of servants to see to the welfare of the livestock. Back home, she took care of her own horse. She didn’t mind the chore. She actually rather enjoyed it.

Today she’d decided to join Colton on his afternoon ride. They strolled through the cavernous structure that didn’t smell much different from their barn at home. She welcomed the scent of fresh hay and warm hide.

The rest of the family was going for another excursion in the carriage to view the surrounding countryside.

“Good afternoon, Miss Westland,” an older man said as he approached her, doffing his cap. “Going to join the lad today, are you?”

Following Colton’s debacle with the Duchess, and after gaining their father’s approval, Rhys had introduced the head groomsman to the family, making certain Sims understood he was to ready a horse for them any time they requested. Sims was in charge of the stables and had several younger men and some boys who worked with him. A few gawked at the visitors now, but most remained hard at work.

“Hello, Mr. Sims,” Lydia said. “You’ve got a fine stable of horses.”

“Aye, miss. His Lordship has a good eye. Any one of the beasts in here should do you well.”

She smiled brightly. “Thank you. I’ll take a look around and let you know which one I’d like.”

“Very good, miss.” He turned to Colton. “Will you be riding the same horse today as you have before?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Sims grinned. “Right-o, then. Let’s get him ready.”

While Colton hurried off with Mr. Sims, Lydia searched for a mare that she thought would be to her liking. Through a wide opening at the other end of the stable, she saw some horses canter by.

She walked to the opening and leaned against the gate that separated her from the horses within the confines of the paddock. She counted six. One neared, caught her scent, and trotted away. Her stomach roiled.

Its flanks bore the unmistakable scars inflicted by a lash or a whip. A riding crop maybe. But only if it had been held by someone with a very heavy hand. Her gaze darted to the other animals. They all bore similar scars. Tears stung her eyes at the thought of the cruelty that had been inflicted on them and all they’d suffered.

“Have you found a horse, miss?” Mr. Sims asked.

She pointed toward the enclosure. “These horses—”

“His Lordship insists no one other than himself ride these, miss. Inside, I have a fine, gentle mare I think you’d enjoy riding.”

“His Lordship?” she whispered hoarsely. “The Marquess?”

“Aye, miss.”

She could hardly believe it. She’d judged Rhys to be caring. How could she have been so incredibly mistaken?

“Lyd, what are you doing?” Colton asked, as he approached. His eyes widened with horror at the sight of the horses. “God Almighty! What happened to ’em?”

She could see her brother was hurting for the horses as much as she was. Growing up on a farm, they always had the utmost respect for animals and would never dare dream of abusing one. What sort of monster did? “They’ve been terribly mistreated,” she said.

“Aye, miss, they have, but that’s not your worry now, is it?” Mr. Sims asked. “Come along. Let’s get a horse readied for you.”

He turned away, but Lydia could hardly take her eyes away from the sight of the battered animals.

“I never noticed these before,” Colton said. “Why would anyone do that to a horse?”

“Because he was cruel. That’s the only reason.”

“You think Uncle Rhys did it?”

“Who else? Mr. Sims said he was the only one who rode them.” She wrapped her arm around Colton’s shoulder and led him back into the stables. It always took her by surprise to realize he was nearly as tall as she was.

But the realization distracted her for only a heartbeat, before her thoughts returned to the horses and
Rhys. She’d never suspected he was a man capable of such brutality.

He’d insisted he wasn’t kind. She’d refused to listen. Now she’d seen the proof of his claims. She was revolted by the knowledge that she’d allowed him to kiss her, had flirted with him, had even fancied herself falling for him.

Rhys heard the yelling the moment he stepped out of the silversmith’s shop. Apparently he wasn’t the only one, because people began streaming out of the shops and heading toward the end of the street where the commotion seemed to be originating.

His height afforded him a better view than most, and yet he could scarcely believe what he was seeing as he neared the carpentry shop. Mr. Bower, a tenant who farmed a good deal of Harrington land, stood in his wagon, with the reins in one hand and a whip in the other. He yelled down at some woman who was screaming up at him.

Rhys wended his way through the crowd of curious onlookers, not an easy task when they were all vying for a closer inspection of the turmoil. Usually this village was as quiet as a church. He could hardly fathom the excitement these quarreling people were causing.

“Pardon me. Excuse me. Make way, please,” he ordered as he tried to diplomatically move people aside.

He neared the wagon. A woman climbed on board. Not a woman. A lady. A finely dressed lady. Not only a lady.

Lydia.

By God, she was furious.

“Give me that whip, you goddamned sorry son-of-a-bitch!”

She reached for it.

Bower shoved her back.

She teetered. Her arms flailed.

Rhys’s breath backed up painfully in his lungs, and he quickened his pace.

Bower pushed her again. Losing her balance completely, Lydia cried out.

As she fell backward off the wagon, Rhys thrust someone aside and caught Lydia. She flung her arms around his neck as though she didn’t quite trust him not to drop her.

When releasing her was the furthest thing from his mind.

They were both breathing hard, their gazes locked. Passion fueled the violet of her eyes, eyes framed by the longest lashes he’d ever seen. He wanted to look into them until he became lost, until his past transgressions melted away. Her parted lips were so incredibly close to his that he would need to lower his head only a fraction in order to taste them. The temptation was almost more than he could tolerate.

He became acutely aware of the side of one of her breasts flattened against his chest, the warmth of their bodies easing through the cloth, mingling, saturating the skin of the other.

He had carried many a woman to his bed, but none had felt as right in his arms as she did. None had felt as though she belonged. None had made him regret so profoundly that he could offer nothing more than this.

“Put me down,” she hissed through bared teeth.

Apparently he’d mistaken fury for passion. He became increasingly mindful of the people surrounding him, jostling about in an attempt to determine exactly what was going on here.

He tipped his head slightly in acquiescence, and slowly lowered her feet to the ground, relishing the length of her body unfurling against his. She stepped back, and the cool air rushing between them restored his senses.

“Miss Westland, perhaps you’d care to explain what this commotion is all about. From my vantage point, it appeared you accosted Mr. Bower here.”

“Aye, that she did, m’lord. A wild woman, to be sure—”

He cut a scathing glare at Bower that abruptly silenced the man. He turned his attention back to Lydia. “Miss Westland?”

“Not that you would care, but his wagon is loaded with too many supplies. It’s too heavy for one horse to pull. He was using that whip on the poor animal. I was trying to stop him.”

“And placing yourself in great peril during the process.”

“I can defend myself. The horse can’t.”

“I see.” Indeed he did, now that he looked beyond Lydia to the wagon. Heavy furniture had been loaded into it. He glanced up. “Mr. Bower, I don’t fancy getting a crick in my neck while discussing the matter with you. Will you please step down?”

That Bower didn’t want to was evident in the mulish expression that crossed his face, before he climbed off the wagon. As soon as Bower’s feet were planted firmly on the ground, Rhys smashed his balled fist into the man’s face. Bower hit the side of the wagon before sliding to the ground.

Lydia’s mouth dropped open, as did the mouths of most of the people standing near enough to have seen what had transpired.

“I have no tolerance for a man who abuses a woman,” Rhys said with remarkable calm, trying desperately not to imagine what might have happened to Lydia had he not been quick enough and close enough to catch her.

“But, m’lord, she was carrying on—”

“I witnessed her behavior, Mr. Bower. The prudent thing for you to have done would have been to go in search of a constable. Or myself. Now if you’ll please stand, we’ll discuss this matter like civilized gentlemen.”

Bower hesitantly worked his way to his feet, eyeing Rhys the entire time as though he didn’t quite trust him not to strike him again. Rhys was incredibly tempted to oblige the man by fulfilling his expectations of another blow.

Instead Rhys turned to the crowd. “The entertainment is over. I suggest you all return to your business.” He glanced at Lydia. “You may, of course, stay.”

“Of course.”

He couldn’t quite comprehend the reason she seemed cross with him. He had, after all, come to her rescue like a gallant knight.

Bower flinched when Rhys went to straighten the man’s jacket and dust the dirt off his clothes. Rhys wasn’t normally so quick to deliver a punch, but then where Lydia was concerned, he seemed to seldom behave as himself.

“Now, Mr. Bower, Miss Westland is quite correct. Your wagon carries far too much weight for this horse.”

“But, m’lord, I’ve only got the one horse, and I don’t fancy making two trips into the village when it takes away from me time in the field. But me new wife fancies some new furniture.”

“You keep beating that horse like you were, and he’s going to die, and then you’ll have nothing at all, you idiot!” Lydia pointed out.

Bower’s face turned a mottled red. “That horse has been pulling me wagon long enough for me to know what he can and can’t handle!”

“Enough!” Rhys demanded. “You will lighten the load.”

“But, m’lord—”

“I’ll send some of my men with a wagon to pick up the remaining items and deliver them to your home,” Rhys told him. “In the future, you need only send word to Harrington that you have supplies or furniture or whatever needs to be delivered, and I’ll see it is taken care of. To spare your horse and your time.”

The man nodded with obvious resentment. “Very good, m’lord. I’ll get some chaps to help me unload the wagon.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bower. One last thing. It would improve my opinion of you considerably if you were to offer an apology to Miss Westland.”

Bower glared at Lydia. “I ’umbly apologize, miss.”

The tone of his voice more aptly conveyed that he wished some misfortune to befall her. Rhys would have to pay Mr. Bower a visit later and teach him a few manners, but further public chastisement would only serve to embitter the man.

Lydia nodded curtly, seeming as happy to receive the apology as Bower was to issue it. Bower lumbered off in search of someone to help him unload the wagon.

“He’ll beat that horse the next chance he gets,” she said.

“To ensure that he does not, I shall speak with him again on the matter later,” Rhys said.

She furrowed her brow as though he’d spoken in a language alien to her. He’d never had much luck in understanding women’s minds when they were revealed to him through conversation, let alone when he could see within their eyes that the wheels were turning. Wherever she was headed with her thoughts, he decided it would be best if they simply moved on to more pressing concerns.

Tugging on his glove, Rhys glanced around. “Where is your brother?”

“By now he’s probably back at the house.”

Now it was his turn to wonder at her meaning. “I beg your pardon? I thought you’d planned to go riding together this afternoon.”

“We started out together. Then I saw the village and wanted to take a closer look. He figured I’d want to do some shopping, and he wasn’t interested. So he headed back.”

“Then who accompanied you to the village?”

Shrugging, she shook her head. “No one.”

“Are you telling me that you rode here without the benefit of chaperone or escort?”

“I suppose I am.” She gave him a pointed glare. “I’ll see you later.”

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the manor.”

“You can’t ride back alone.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s simply not done. A
lady
does not ride about the countryside alone.”

She blanched at that, but jutted out her chin in defiance. “I do it all the time back home.”

“Well, you shan’t do it on my watch. I’ll escort you home.”

“I don’t need an escort,” she insisted.

“I’ll not have your father berate me for not seeing to your welfare. Unfortunately, the silversmith has not yet finished the task which I’ve set to him. I was going to have a spot of tea at the inn just up the road. Perhaps you’d care to join me.”

Ah, he could see those little wheels of indecision turning.

“Mrs. Forest is known for her deliciously wicked chocolate desserts,” he offered in an attempt to entice her.

“No.”

He sighed deeply. “Very well. I’ll escort you home and then return to finish my business.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I fear it is, Lydia. What sort of gentleman would I be if I did not look after your welfare?”

She leaned toward him, her eyes narrowed. “I know exactly what sort of
gentleman
you are, my
lord
.”

The derision in her voice took him off guard. Was she still seething over the abuse of the horse, or did she have cause to be upset with
him
? If so, what in God’s name had he done?

“What sort of gentleman is that?” he asked.