Recklessly Yours (13 page)

About to laugh at her own folly, she stole a peek at him to discover him peering back at her
most
intently. Oh, but she wouldn't fall prey to fanciful speculation again. She smiled. “Lord Bryce, I—”

Not another word passed her lips, for he abruptly leaned close, pressed his lips to hers, and kissed her—kissed her deeply, wholly, until she ran out of breath and her insides melted away.

Just as abruptly, he pulled back, looking astounded, almost frightened by what he'd done. His mouth opened, and for an eternal moment during which Willow's heart pounded deafeningly in her ears, no sound came out. Then, like a man suffering from shock, he murmured faintly, “Forgive me, Miss Sutherland.”

Before she could gather her composure to reply, he turned and strode away, retreating back through the rooms the way they had come.

 

“I should never have gotten on Sport o' Kings.” Lady Sabrina's voice quivered with emotion. She held Holly's gaze for an instant, then turned abruptly away to stare out across the gardens. “I was angry and . . . and she knew it.”

Perched beside her on the terrace's wide stone balustrade, Holly untied the ribbons beneath her chin and set her ruched silk bonnet in her lap. The duchess had left them some minutes ago to consult with her housekeeper and butler about the evening's entertainments. The woman had meant well, but Holly had had the impression that her efforts to comfort her daughter had done little to ease Lady Sabrina's agitation. In Holly's estimate, it wasn't assurances the young woman needed, but simply someone who would listen.

“That was why I lost control,” the noblewoman continued in a tight voice. “Sport o' Kings and I have practiced those exercises countless times. We could do it blindfolded.”

Far below them, the slate rooftops of the stables framed the base of the gardens. On the other side of those structures, the demonstrations were continuing. Holly should be there. She should be asking questions and persuading the guests to boast of their latest equine acquisitions and confide in her about their hopes for future successes on the turf.

But as much as Victoria needed her, she couldn't leave Lady Sabrina.

“I was so angry with
him
,” Sabrina said softly, almost mouthing the words. Her head went down, her chin nearly touching her chest.

“Whom do you mean?”

Sabrina's head swung up. “My brother. Colin.”

“But what did he do?”

“It's what he didn't do, Miss Sutherland. It is because of him that the man I expected to marry is now—Oh, it is so humiliating.” She lowered her head for a moment, then looked up with eyes that sparked with indignation. “He is engaged to another woman.”

“But . . . what could your brother have done to change matters?”

“He could have insisted my father give his permission before he left for the Americas.” An angry blush stained the girl's cheeks. “He could have come home when I asked him and confronted our father.”

“But, Lady Sabrina, your father is a duke. Surely no one can bend his will once his mind is made up.”

“Father's mind
wasn't
made up. He was stalling or preoccupied or simply didn't care. . . .”

“Excuse me for saying so, my lady,” Holly said as gently as she could, “but if that was the case, your gentleman, if his heart was true, would have waited.”

Lady Sabrina ripped a handful of leaves from the plant growing in the pot beside her, crushed them between her fingers, and threw them over the balustrade. Holly braced for a retort, but the girl surprised her. “Perhaps you're right, Miss Sutherland. Perhaps it had nothing to do with my father or Colin, and everything to do with me. I drove him away.”

“No, my lady, surely not. I didn't mean that. But your heartache certainly does explain your difficulty in the paddock. A horse can sense the troubled mind of its rider.”

Lady Sabrina nodded. “Yes. And something is happening to me, Miss Sutherland. Something strange and inexplicable is rendering me a danger to our horses.”

“Don't be silly. All you need do in future is maintain a calmer state of mind.”

“You don't understand.” The woman startled Holly by suddenly seizing her hand. “Yesterday at the Ascot Racecourse, Colin believed I intentionally drove our carriage onto the track. He believed I urged the team to a dangerous gallop across the heath.”

“And didn't you?”

“Of course I didn't.” Her grip tightened until Holly's fingers began to throb. “Oh, I pretended it was all in fun. But just as today, I'd lost control. A rabbit had darted across our path and spooked the team. But it was more than that—
much
more. I've dealt with startled horses before without mishap. Yet nothing I did either yesterday or today made the slightest difference. It is as though . . .”

“Yes?” Holly leaned slightly forward, searching Lady Sabrina's features. Panic flickered in the noblewoman's light blue eyes.

“It is as though the animals suddenly loathe me. Fear me.”

Holly wiggled her fingers until Lady Sabrina's hold loosened a fraction. “Did you explain to your brother what happened?”

“Good lord, no. I cannot have Colin or even Geoffrey realizing the truth.” Her voice sank to a whisper. “I pretended to have done exactly what Colin accused me of. My family mustn't know. No one in the racing community must ever know.”

“I still don't understand, my lady. What must people never know?”

“That I have completely lost my abilities as a horsewoman. Don't you see, Miss Sutherland? These horses are all I have. Without them, there is nothing.
I
am nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Nonsense.” Holly slipped an arm around the girl's shoulders. “These recent mishaps are merely that. An expert horsewoman does not lose her abilities overnight. Why, tomorrow you'll saddle Sport o' Kings and ride to your heart's content. You'll see.”

Lady Sabrina blinked down at her lap, an effort to clear away tears, Holly guessed. When she looked back up, a determined expression had wiped her vulnerability away. “I don't know why I've confided in you, Miss Sutherland. Perhaps because you do not hail from our world, because you are not truly part of it and will therefore not judge me as the others would. But you are nonetheless a skilled horsewoman. I recognized that today. I respect you for it. And I thank you for what you did earlier.”

Those words produced a pang Holly did her best to hide. If only her brother felt the same.

“I must beg you to afford me the same respect, Miss Sutherland. Please speak of this to no one. Not even to your sisters and most especially not to any members of my family. May I count on you to keep my confidence?”

“I assure you, my lady, no one will hear anything from my lips.”

Lady Sabrina came to her feet. “If you'll excuse me, I must change into a proper gown and then see if my mother needs me. You and your sisters are staying for supper?”

“We are. Thank you.”

Lady Sabrina swept away, the train of her riding skirts trailing behind her on the flagstones. She gathered the train over one arm and entered the house through a pair of French doors. At the same time, a footfall sounded at the base of the terrace steps. Someone started up.

Holly gasped when his face came into view. “Lord Drayton.” Her gaze darted to the garden below. “How long were you . . . ?”

He paused at the top of the stairs. “Listening?”

She compressed her lips in reproach.

“I am sorry, Miss Sutherland. I hadn't intended to eavesdrop.” His brusque tone and the determined speed of his stride as he approached took her aback.

She drew herself up, her spine gone rigid. “Your sister was speaking to me in confidence, my lord. No matter what you heard, I cannot discuss anything she said.”

“I didn't seek you out to talk about my sister.”

He had sought her out? Before she could decipher what he could mean, he was beside her, sitting disconcertingly close and—her heart lurched—grabbing for her hand. “Miss Sutherland, I want you to promise me you'll never again do anything like what you did in the paddock today.”

Dismay sank like a stone inside her. “Lord Drayton, I—I apologize. I know you had matters well in hand, and then I came along and embarrassed you before your guests—”

“The devil take my guests.”

“What?” She blinked in surprise. “Aren't you angry with me?”

“Angry?” His eyebrows shot up in incredulity. “Miss Sutherland, you may have rescued my sister from grave injury. Perhaps even saved her life.”

“But earlier you seemed so . . .” She trailed off, trying to remember what exactly he had said.

“Miss Sutherland, the truth is I did
not
have matters well in hand. I am eternally grateful for your quick action, and I want you to swear you'll never do anything so foolhardy again.”

He still held her hand, almost squeezing it as his sister had done, and now he gave it an urgent shake. His words made scant sense. He was grateful but at the same time he seemed angry, or at least perturbed, and—she hardly knew what else. His proximity and his touch threw her into confusion, elation. She could think of no reply, not even when he repeated his demand that she never endanger herself again.

He fell silent. His blue eyes held her, and she might have been soaring in a clear summer sky. A taut energy arced between them; it pulsed through her, hummed in her ears. There was so much she longed to tell him, so much more she longed to hear him say. The silence stretched, not exactly uncomfortable, but filled with puzzlement and an expectation that sizzled like her brother-in-law's electrical wires . . . until voices from the garden severed the connection between them.

Down below, on the main garden path, top hats, beribboned bonnets, and parasols bobbed above the shrubbery. Laughter drifted through the foliage.

Lord Drayton came to his feet. “Excuse me, Miss Sutherland,” he said, and was gone.

 

Conversation and Mozart faded to a muted hum as Colin melted into the shadows and descended the terrace steps. The torches dotting the gardens threw elongated shadows across his path, their irregular shapes reflecting his troubled thoughts.

He had more than done his duty today as acting head of the family and a leader in the racing world. A full dozen of the Ashworth two-year-olds already had prospective buyers, along with several more race-ready three–and four-year-olds. Of those, several purchasers had expressed wishes for their animals to remain at Masterfield Park for training. His solicitors would begin negotiating terms tomorrow and the bargains would be struck before the Royal Meeting commenced. His father could have nothing to complain about upon his return from the Americas.

Are you still laughing, Father?
Ah, but Colin would have the last laugh, assuming he could convey the colt safely back to Devonshire without anyone finding out, and then somehow convince the queen the replacement colt was the one Thaddeus Ashworth had given her.

By God, he needed a miracle.

A seductive murmur followed by a higher-pitched giggle came from somewhere beyond the box hedge to his right. As he proceeded across the gardens, more soft laughter drifted on the breeze. It seemed his guests were thoroughly enjoying his hospitality. As long as all parties were willing, it wasn't his business to interfere. He kept going, not pausing until he reached the stable yard, where he stopped to gauge the brightness of the moon. Nearly full, the orb hung plump and bright in a cloud-free sky, spreading a carpet of silver across the paddocks and the more distant meadows.

Perfect, as long as he kept to a conservative pace.

Nate, the night groom, snapped to attention when Colin walked inside the stable. “Cordelier, milord?”

Colin nodded. While the gangly youth went to collect saddle and tack, he strolled down the aisle, lit by the lanterns hanging high on their pegs, until he reached the stall of his favorite horse. Something about this place, its sounds and smells, never failed to calm him.

Cordelier stood sleeping with his head in the far corner, but at Colin's soft summons the stallion turned and stuck his nose over the stall gate. “Halloo there, boy.” Colin reached into his pocket for the small apple he'd secreted there earlier. As Cordelier munched it from his palm, Colin ran a hand down the animal's powerful neck. “You did exceptionally well today.”

Another stallion might have panicked when Geoff's horse bumped him, might have reared, kicked, fallen. Colin shut his eyes to block out the images of what could have happened. He stroked Cordelier's neck again. “You're a good, steady friend, old man.”

Cordelier should have been sold off years ago. The most promising of the Ashworth colts at the time, he had known no shortage of eager buyers. In fact, Thaddeus had nearly sealed a deal that would have taken the potential champion far north to Yorkshire.

But Colin had wanted him—no other horse would do—and he had put his foot down. If his father wanted his continued cooperation in the breeding and raising of champions, then he would yield to Colin's wishes.

Cordelier finished chomping the apple and pressed his nose to Colin's coat front in search of another. “Sorry, old boy. Only brought the one this time.”

He touched the star half hidden beneath the stallion's ebony forelock. He loved this horse, had raised him from a foal and trained him up to be the champion he might have been, had Colin been willing to let him go.

“Sometimes, old boy, I wonder if I did you any favor in keeping you from the turf. Racing is in the very chemistry of your blood. You might have been a legend. Ah, well, I suppose you've served an even greater purpose, if a rather less celebrated one.” The horse seemed to nod in agreement, and nuzzled Colin's shoulder. “How about a ride beneath the stars, shall we? You know where we're going, my friend.” Scratching behind Cordelier's ear, Colin lowered his voice to a whisper. “My partner in crime—”