Recklessly Yours (14 page)

“Milord?”

He jumped at the interruption, and turned to see Nate standing with his arms empty and at his sides. Colin frowned at the delay. “Is something wrong?”

Nate nodded and came closer, speaking in an undertone. “There's someone about, milord. A lady. I thought you should know.”

“Well, who is it?” Had Sabrina sneaked away from the bustle of the supper party? When she was younger, she'd often slip out of her room at night, and Colin would find her down here, brushing her pony and confiding in the gentle animal about her future hopes. One of those hopes had been recently dashed, and he didn't doubt she'd seek the same solace that had once eased her hurts.

But Nate was shaking his head. “She's no one I know, my lord. One of your guests, perhaps. She's down the east aisle, moving quietly from stall to stall, a bit strangelike. She's actually slipping into the stalls.”

“Did she see you?”

The groom gave another shake of his head.

Colin moved away from the stall. “Thank you, Nate.”

“Shall I saddle Cordelier, sir?”

“Hold off for now.”

G
ood heavens, they were all the same. Horse after horse essentially identical, with bay coats and ebony points, the only differences being that some bore the Ashworth star, some only a streak, while others boasted no white marking at all beneath their forelocks. Those last two, of course, she ruled out immediately. Victoria's colt bore the star. But Holly still had to examine each horse, because the marking wasn't always immediately apparent if covered by the forelock. And the stable's dim lighting didn't help.

“This will never do,” she murmured beneath her breath. Finding Prince's Pride would be like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack, except that every bit of this hay exactly resembled the needle.

She sidestepped to the next stall. She had decided to examine the Ashworths' private stables first, for it made more sense to her that Victoria's colt would be hidden among the animals not readily available for public viewing. She hadn't counted on there being so many!

“What can one family possibly do with all these horses?” she whispered in response to the sleepy snort that greeted her at the next stall. She ran her hand up the nose, moving the mane aside and checking for the star. This one had it. As she had done several times already, she unlatched the stall gate and stepped in. First she checked to see if this animal was a colt. Then she hesitated, waiting for . . .

Good gracious, for some magical quality to come over her. She simply didn't know what she was supposed to feel when—if—she finally encountered Prince's Pride. Victoria had said she would
know
, that she would sense the colt's remarkable superiority.

She felt nothing but the heat wafting from the animal's flanks, sensed nothing but that this particular horse had suddenly awakened from his doze and noticed her intrusion into his stall.

His head swung around, one large velvet eye regarding Holly with a gleam of surprise. The flank beside her quivered and shook, a back foot stomped. The tail swished in agitation.

“There, there now,” Holly cooed gently. “It's quite all right. I don't believe you're the fellow I'm searching for, so I shall be going now.”

But as she attempted to retrace her steps, the horse shifted his formidable bulk and blocked her path.

“It's all right,” she whispered again. “If you'll only move over a bit . . .”

She moved alongside the animal, smoothing her palms over his flank as she went. The action seemed to have a calming effect. The tail switched back and forth but the horse stood his ground and tolerated Holly making her way to the stall gate. She reached the colt's front shoulder and stretched her hand toward the latch—

“Who's there?”

The barked demand startled her, and she let out a cry of alarm. With a whinny, the horse lurched and tried to swing about; his massive shoulder struck Holly and shoved her off balance. She landed on her rump in the hay.

Footsteps advanced toward the stall at a run. Holly attempted to gain her feet while the colt stomped and thrashed dangerously about his stall. Head down, Holly thrust her arms up in front of her and shimmied back as tightly against the side wall as she could to avoid the frantic hooves.

The gate was thrown open, and a pair of hands made a grab for the colt's halter. The horse fought and shied, trying to find a means of escape within the close confines of the stall.

“Miss Sutherland,” Lord Drayton called out as he struggled to gain control of the animal, “have you been injured?”

“No, my lord.” He maneuvered the horse to one side, allowing Holly room to stand. She wasted no time in scrambling to her feet and out of the stall.

Lord Drayton spent the next few minutes soothing the horse. Finally he secured the gate, and turned to regard Holly. “You're quite certain you're all right?” he said very low, in a queer tone that spread goose bumps across her back.

She nodded, then crossed the aisle and stood beside him, in front of the stall. As if the past moments hadn't happened, the horse stuck his head over the gate and calmly nudged her with his nose. “Is the colt all right?”

“He's done no harm to himself that I can detect.”

“I'm sorry. I . . .” She heaved a sigh. “I keep saying that to you today, don't I?”

A powerful hand closed over her shoulder. “Come with me.”

Just as earlier, his touch cast her into a state of bewilderment. Barely aware of her surroundings, she let him convey her down the aisle, around a corner, and out into the night air. She thought he'd turn toward the house, but he chose the opposite direction, walking with a purposeful stride, one that made her hasten her steps to keep up. Then he came to an abrupt halt.

Empty and silent, the paddocks, racetrack, and pastures beyond spread like a moonlit patchwork before them. The hush unnerved her, as did the silence of the man beside her, charged as it was with an emotion that pulsed off him in waves. He'd taken her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, and as they stood side by side, she stole a glance at him. His nose pinched and his jaw sharply square, he stared hard into the distance. She could only guess he was searching for words adequate enough to rebuke her for her foolishness.

When she could stand it no longer she swallowed and said, “I'm sorry. I only wished to see the colt up close.”

“The fault was mine, Miss Sutherland. I shouldn't have sneaked up on you as I did.” He broke off, turned her to face him, and seized her hands with the same intensity as earlier that day on the terrace. “But you could have been seriously injured.”

She found herself toe-to-toe with him, dwarfed by his greater size, the breadth and strength of his shoulders, his broad chest. As he stood poised above her, his face was a fierce shadow framed by the night sky, his eyes gleaming with the sharp clarity of the stars.

The emotion blazing in those eyes made her look away, gasp for breath. And then she realized what he'd said and looked back at him. “You purposely sneaked up on me.”

With a sheepish lift of his brows, a quirk of his mouth, he nodded and released her hands.

“You thought I was . . . ?” She didn't finish the question, for the obvious truth was that he'd suspected her of doing exactly what she
had
been doing: spying. Her pulse rattled a warning that she was glad he couldn't feel.

“I am extremely protective of the horses,” he confessed. “The racing world is not an entirely ingenuous one. Rivalries and greed often drive people to extremes.”

Her heart thudded against her stays. Had
he
been driven to an extreme act? She wondered how close she had come tonight to discovering Victoria's colt. Perhaps no more than a stall or two away.

His expectant look broke into her thoughts. It was her turn to say something, and she realized that despite his apology, he waited to gauge her reaction to that last statement. He was testing her as much as she was testing him.

If ever she needed to deceive, it was now. For Victoria. For her country.

“And you thought perhaps I was . . . up to no good?” she said with a touch of dramatic flair. Feigning astonishment, she pressed a hand to her bosom. “You thought I might be ferreting out the secrets of the Ashworth racing success?”

His lips pursed, and one corner lifted in a lopsided grin. “It does sound rather ridiculous when spoken aloud. But you were
inside
the stall, Miss Sutherland. Surely you realize how unusual that appears.”

“But how can one properly judge good horseflesh without getting as close a view as possible?”

Eyebrows drawn, he seemed to weigh this statement. “You do realize you were on the private side of the stables, where we keep our own horses.”

Indeed, she'd been very much aware of that fact. She widened her eyes. “Was I? Then I must have misunderstood your sister earlier. I could have sworn. . . . Well, there has been so much to absorb today, I don't wonder I got it wrong.”

The crickets and night rustlings filled her ears, became all but deafening as he studied her and she willed every muscle in her body not to quiver, not to give her away. Suddenly exhausted by her game of deceit, she wanted to demand what he was looking for, and what he was hiding. Perhaps it was a delayed reaction to being nearly trampled beneath the horse's hooves, but she wished for the safety of her hotel room, where she might bury her face in her pillow and—goodness—cry. Let flow tears that she couldn't explain. She knew only that her heart suddenly ached, and she longed for relief.

“Return tomorrow for a private tour of the stables,” he suddenly said. “And a ride, if you wish.”

What?
“Really?”

He nodded. “If you like.”

“I would like that very much—”

She was interrupted by a voice calling out from the stable yard. “Colin, are you here?”

They both turned in the direction of the hail. Silhouetted by lamplight, Lady Sabrina approached from the archway between the stable wings.

The earl quickly opened a wide space between him and Holly. “Yes, Sabrina. What is it?”

“I've been looking for—” Lady Sabrina broke off and craned forward, peering through the shadows. “Is that Miss Sutherland with you?”

He swore under his breath, and Holly wondered what his sister would think to discover them standing here together in the dark. But there was nowhere to hide, nothing to be done but square her shoulders.

Lady Sabrina met them partway as they walked back to the stable yard. Holly wanted to shrink from the curiosity arching the young woman's brows. “It is actually you I've been searching for, Miss Sutherland.”

“Me? Is something wrong? Is it—”

“Do not be alarmed, Miss Sutherland,” Lady Sabrina hastened to say. “She is all right, just a bit of a faint. Mama called for the smelling salts and some tea, which quite did the trick but—”

Colin stopped her with a hand on her wrist. “
Who
, Sabrina?”

“Ivy,” Holly murmured, confirming her own worst fears. “Oh, no!”

Panic gripped her. Hefting her skirts, she stood poised to set off at a run. The earl pressed forward on the balls of his feet, too, and Holly remembered that Ivy was the wife of his closest friend.

Lady Sabrina stepped in front of them, blocking their path. “I didn't mean to frighten you, Miss Sutherland. Lady Harrow is at this moment sitting with her feet propped up in Mama's blue parlor, sipping tea. And”—she leaned closer and lowered her voice—“no one but Mama and me is any the wiser.”

“Oh. I—” The open acknowledgment of her sister's condition brought Holly up short. Was Lady Sabrina also acknowledging Holly's compromised position of having slipped away with her brother? Not that she
had
slipped away with him, but surely that was how it must appear. “Thank you.”

The girl gave a conspiratorial wink that made Holly unsure whether or not she had found an unlikely ally in the young woman. As if to suggest she had, Lady Sabrina linked her arm through Holly's. “Come, I'll take you to your sister.”

“Yes, and we'll need our carriage brought round immediately.”

“Oh, indeed not, Miss Sutherland,” Lady Sabrina replied in a tone that brooked no debate. “Mama will not hear of your returning to your hotel. You and your sisters shall remain here, where Lady Harrow may be properly looked after. You may make a list of everything you'd like fetched from your rooms. I shall send a footman and my maid.”

Holly looked uncertainly at Lord Drayton, who had yet to add his approval to this turn of events. She glimpsed myriad emotions flickering across his handsome features: startlement, hesitation . . . fear? All this passed in the span of blink, and then he recovered his poise and gave a nod. “A prudent plan.”

That was all. Lady Sabrina chatted all the way back to the house, seeming oblivious to the heavy silence that cloaked both her brother and Holly. Holly should have been elated at this further opportunity to observe the Ashworths, and Lord Drayton in particular. But those emotions she'd witnessed nagged like a sore tooth. Were they an admission of guilt?

 

“For the third time, I did not faint,” Ivy insisted. “I stood up too quickly and became the tiniest bit light-headed.”

Perched at the foot of the bed, Willow shifted her legs beneath her and leaned against a bedpost. “You fell,” she insisted. “I saw you.”

“I lost my balance.”

Holly poured another cup of tea and passed it into Ivy's hands. She searched her sister's face for the slightest sign of illness. The color had returned to her cheeks, and the cup and saucer remained steady between Ivy's hands. “Lady Sabrina insisted you passed out,” Holly reminded her.