Tessa's Touch (22 page)

He snorted. "That young popinjay thought
he'd have everything he wanted —you, Wheatstone, your father's stables. All he
had to do was snap his fingers. A lesson in humility will do him good."

"Is it to do me good as well?" she
asked. "You know I don't want to marry Harold, nor do I imagine that he
really wants to marry me. Why are you so bent on this course, Uncle?"

But she knew the answer already, for he had
just revealed it: Wheatstone. The stables. They were to come to her, and
therefore to whomever she married.

Why had she not realized it before, been more
on her guard against Harold, against both of them? Because they were family,
she had told herself they must have her best interests at heart, but it was not
so—it had never been so.

"Don't think to persuade your father to
change his mind," her uncle said now. "He won't want word of your
indiscretion to get about, any more than you do. Nor will your young gallant
come to the rescue once the world knows the truth about you."

Tessa stared at him. "What do you mean?
You know I wasn't with Harold that night."

"Maybe not, but I'll lay odds you weren't
alone, either. You're ruined, missy, and if the man responsible —the man you
rode out with —was going to step forward and make it right, he'd have done so
already. You should be grateful to my son for his willingness to take you,
secondhand goods that you are now."

"Grateful—!" She turned her back on
her uncle, afraid she just might assault him physically if he continued to
smirk at her.

To her relief, the Master of the Hunt, the Duke
of Rutland, sounded his horn just then and the field began moving toward the
covert. Should she attempt a word with Anthony during the day's run? Her uncle
would be left behind once the hunt began in earnest, so it should be easy
enough to manage —though she still had no idea what to say.

She had refused his offer already and could
scarcely ask him to offer again, now that she was betrothed to her cousin —or
ask him to admit openly that he was the one who had spent Friday night with
her. Her father had seemed to believe her when she said she'd been alone, and
that news would devastate him afresh.

Her uncle's spiteful words came back to haunt
her. Did Anthony's hesitation mean that he had doubts? If only he had spoken to
her father before Harold had made his "admission" —but no. How could
he have done so, when she had refused him? Still, if he learned of the
circumstances behind this hasty betrothal, might he step forward with the
truth?

Even if he did, his family —nay, all of Society
—would despise and reject her if word got out that Anthony married her only
because he had to. And her cousin and uncle would make certain word got out,
she had no doubt of that. No, she could not tell Anthony the truth and so risk
both his happiness and her father's health.

On the way to the covert, Tessa kept her
distance from everyone else on the field, Anthony included. When they all
stopped to wait for the hounds to draw the fox, her uncle moved to her side
again.

"We're not looking to sell this horse just
yet, so there's no need for you to ride him all-out today. Stay near the back
while I look over the rest of the field with an eye to our next purchase."

She glanced over to where Anthony and his
friends were changing from their hacks to their hunters. For an instant she
caught his eye, but then he turned away, his expression unreadable.

"Very well," she agreed with a sigh.

* *
*

Though the run so far had been excellent, this
was proving to be a most unsatisfying meet for Anthony. Instead of riding near
the front of the field, as she'd done in the past, Tessa was hanging back with
the stragglers, staying close to her uncle. She must have been told to do so, for
Anthony knew she loved speed, and the thrill of the hunt, as much as he did.

For himself, he felt torn between warring
instincts —to be first in the field, and to be with Tessa. Poor Faro couldn't
understand why Anthony kept reining him in, and Anthony was nearly as
frustrated as his hunter. No matter how slowly he went, Tessa couldn't —or
wouldn't —catch him up. He actually considered a deliberate fall, and
pretending an injury, but feared that he might inadvertently hurt Faro if he
tried it.

It must have been past noon when they came to
the first serious check, when the hounds lost the fox at the border of a
stream. While the hunstman urged them across the water to cast for the scent on
the other side, the strung-out field finally had time to coalesce into a single
group again.

At once, Anthony seized his opportunity. Tessa
was still shadowed by her uncle, but she was also close to Lady Killerby's
phaeton, which he should be able to use to his advantage. He rode over to the
group, smiling broadly.

"What say you, my lady, Sir George? Quite
a run so far, eh? The best we've seen this season, I believe."

Sir George nodded, his earlier melancholy
apparently forgotten in the excitement of the hunt. "Aye, I'm enjoying it
immensely. Don't know why I never thought to do this before."

"You needed a push —and I'm quite pushy,
I've been told," Lady Killerby said with a wink. "But Anthony, what
ails you? On Monday, you were right at the forefront, as was Miss Seaton. I
must say that neither of you are acquitting yourselves nearly so well
today." She glanced from him to Tessa, who gave a small shrug.

"Indeed, Tessa, there's no need for you to
hang back with Mercer," Sir George said. "I know this is the first
time you've ridden to hunt on that horse, but I'm sure you can do better than
this. Make me proud, won't you?"

Tessa blinked, clearly startled. With a quick
glance at her uncle, she nodded. "Very well, Papa, if you wish. When the
hounds find the scent again, we shall see what this gelding can do."

"And what of you, Anthony?" Lady
Killerby prompted. "Is your horse lame, or are you grown
fainthearted?"

"Neither, my lady," he replied with a
grin. "I, too, promise to show Sir George what I'm capable of."

"Excellent," Lady Killerby exclaimed.
"Then we'll all enjoy the hunt as we ought. But now, if you'll excuse us,
we must seek for a place where we can ford this stream, or we'll see nothing at
all when the hunt continues."

Bowing from the saddle to them both, Anthony
shot a glance under his brows at Emery to see the man looking both angry and
frustrated. Tessa, however, sent him a grateful look when her uncle wasn't
watching her.

Satisfied, Anthony did not attempt to speak to
Tessa yet, confident that he'd have a chance to do so once they were again on
the move. Still, he could not resist giving her a small, reassuring smile in
response to her look, and was rewarded by seeing her blink and smile
tentatively in return.

Emery, who had been watching the retreating
phaeton with a scowl, turned back to his niece. "Don't think this means—"
he began, but just then the hounds gave tongue and the huntsman's horn sounded
the resumption of the hunt.

"Let's go," Anthony cried to both of
them, knowing that only Tessa was capable of complying. "We've given our
word, after all."

He spurred Faro toward the confusion of the
reanimated field and was conscious of Tessa just behind him. The leaders began
splashing across the stream, some with more difficulty than others, for the
water was better than hock-high.

Glancing back, he saw to his surprise that
Mercer Emery was cantering alongside Tessa, though clearly with some
difficulty. Really, the man was an execrable horseman. The three of them
reached the stream along with the middle of the field. The water, up to the
bellies of the shorter hunters, was flowing fast.

Anthony slowed Faro to a walk so that he could
better find footing, raising his feet to keep his boots dry. Tessa, now beside
him, did likewise. Emery, however, rode into the water at a canter, apparently
determined not to let the two of them get away. Predictably, his horse slipped,
then lunged to the side to regain its feet.

With a yell, Emery landed in the stream,
face-first. Sputtering, he scrambled to his feet, glaring about as though his
tumble had been someone else's fault instead of his own.

"Uncle! Are you hurt?" called Tessa,
though Anthony thought he could hear a hint of laughter in her voice.

It was all he could do not to laugh himself,
for Emery looked quite comical, wringing water from his tricorne hat. Others
around them were not so restrained, and guffaws broke out on all sides. Emery
was not particularly well liked.

The sodden man's face turned dark red but he
shook his head. "I'm fine," he growled. "Get on with you—all of
you!"

Anthony needed no further urging. "Come
on," he said to Tessa. "Your father and Lady Killerby are already
across." He pointed upstream to where the phaeton had just reached the
other side. "We did promise."

With one last glance at her glowering uncle,
she gave a quick nod and nudged her mount the rest of the way across. They both
spurred their horses to a trot, then a canter and finally a gallop. There were
still too many people about to attempt a shouted conversation, but Anthony felt
a welcome sense of rightness pervade his being.

Though there was no chance now of Emery
catching them up, Anthony and Tessa both increased their speed, passing more
and more of the field until they had taken their accustomed place in the lead.
"That's more like it," he finally shouted across to her.

Smiling, she nodded but did not reply.

Soon they had to slow to a canter, so as not to
override the hounds. That made conversation easier, but also allowed the rest
of the field to draw closer. "That gelding seems to be shaping up
nicely," Anthony commented.

"Yes, I think he'll make a fine hunter
with some work," she replied, keeping her eyes resolutely forward.

So, she didn't wish for real conversation? Too
bad.

Subtly, by repeatedly angling Faro barely
within a comfortable distance for her mount, he guided her off to the right, out
of the direct path of the rest of the field. When the hounds checked again a
few minutes later, they were both well out of earshot of the others.

The moment they halted, he got right to the
point. "All right, Tessa, suppose you tell me what's really going
on?"

She tried to evade him, both physically and
verbally, sidling her horse back toward the field as she said, "I don't
know what you mean."

He was having none of it, however. "You
know exactly what I mean. What is this nonsense about a betrothal to Harold
Emery?"

She stopped sidling, but still did not meet his
eye. "It's not nonsense," she said in a voice he had to strain to
hear. "As my uncle told you and my father doubtless confirmed, I am to
marry my cousin . . . as soon as is reasonably possible."

"But why?" he demanded, aware that
the hounds might find the scent again at any moment. "It's obvious you
don't even like the fellow. Is it something to do with my making you an offer
yesterday?"

Though she glanced up for an instant, allowing
him to see the pain in her eyes, she did not answer.

"Tessa?" he prompted. "Are you
somehow being forced to this?"

Still, she said nothing, responding only with a
quick shake of her head.

Frustrated, he said, with deliberate sarcasm,
"So, is this your way of ensuring that no one can ever take you away from
your precious Papa? Is it because he needs you so much, or because you need
him? I thought you more courageous than that, Tessa."

Her head came up and she glared at him, anger
replacing pain —as he'd intended. "Courage has nothing to do with it! And
you're a fine one to talk, when it's as much your fault as—" She broke
off, clearly having said more than she'd intended.

"So, it does have something to do with our
night out together," he said. "I take it we were somehow discovered?
Are the Emerys threatening to tell your father unless you marry your
cousin?"

"Not . . . not exactly." She averted
her eyes again. "Papa did find out I wasn't at the Hilltops' that night,
but not that I was with you. He is convinced that I'll be ruined if I do not
marry quickly, so when Harold, ah, offered, he insisted I accept."

"You did not see fit to tell them that
you'd already received an offer of marriage —from me?" Anthony wasn't sure
whether he was more hurt or angry. Had he completely misinterpreted her
feelings for him?

But when she faced him again, her brown eyes
swam with sadness, and a longing that made him hope again. "I couldn't!
Don't you see? That would be tantamount to admitting—"

At that most inopportune moment, the hounds
gave tongue again, and at once she spurred her mount forward to get in position
for the continuation of the hunt. Anthony cursed under his breath, but only at
the delay.

His path now seemed clear. As soon as he could
arrange a private audience with Sir George, he would admit the truth. Surely
then he would insist that Tessa marry Anthony rather than her opportunistic
cousin. He'd inform her of his plan at the next check.