Tessa's Touch (5 page)

Nor could she blame him, not really. Nimbus had
improved remarkably over the past few days, as she'd spent more time with him
in the company of other horses and people, but she was by no means confident
that he'd behave himself without any influence from her whatsoever. Still, what
choice did she have?

Father's readiness, even eagerness, to allow
her to ride in the hunt, once Uncle Mercer convinced him, showed her how
desperately he needed to believe that the Seaton family still held a position
of importance in Leicestershire. To rebuild that position —or even a credible
illusion of that position —they needed funds well beyond the rents, which
seemed to cover fewer and fewer expenses every year.

At the next check, she was careful to keep her
distance from Lord Anthony. She owed him no explanations, of course, but she
feared that if he pressed she might say more than she intended. There was
something about him that drew her, that tempted her to an openness that was
unfamiliar to her after so many years of keeping her own counsel.

The third check was longer, as the fox had
crossed a stream before heading into a rockier area that apparently held little
scent for the hounds. While the hunstman and whippers-in sent the hounds here
and there, Uncle Mercer approached Tessa, where she sat a bit apart from the
others.

"This was a clever scheme, if I say so
myself," he said. "Already three different gentlemen have expressed
an interest in that horse. The bidding will be brisk tonight, unless I miss my
guess."

When Tessa did not reply, he frowned.
"What? I thought you'd be pleased, much as Wheatstone needs the
money."

She managed a slight smile. "Oh, I am, of
course. I'm, er, merely realizing that I'm likely to be sore tomorrow. It's
been almost a year since I've ridden so much in a single day."

He grunted. "A hot bath and some liniment
will cure it. If this goes as well as I think it will, you'll want to be ready
to ride to hunt again in a few days, so we can sell this one as well." He
gestured to Cinnamon, beneath him.

Tessa nodded, trying to shake off her lingering
misgivings. "I'm sure I'll be fine," she assured him, but then she
saw Lord Anthony headed her way and wondered if she'd spoken too soon.

Her uncle wheeled away to speak to another knot
of gentlemen, offering her no reason to ignore Lord Anthony's greeting.

"You seem to be holding up well, Miss
Seaton," he said with a smile that made her hope she'd imagined his
suspicion earlier. "I must say I admire your stamina."

She was abruptly reminded of that double-edged
conversation in her father's study last week. "Thank you, my lord, though
I was just telling my uncle that I expect I'll feel the effects tomorrow. I've
not been used to such hard riding."

"It certainly doesn't show." His gaze
was frankly admiring, bringing warmth to her cheeks. "Pray don't feel you
must finish out the day if you are tired, however. Probably half of the men who
started with us won't, you know."

She'd noticed that the only other woman in the
hunt had gone back at the second check —not that she'd taken a single jump that
Tessa had seen. She longed to ask who that woman was, but suspected from
something her uncle had said that she was not quite . . . proper.

"Oh, I believe I'm good for another few
miles, at least," she said, oddly anxious that he not think her
faint-hearted. "And Nimbus here is barely winded." As soon as she
said that, she wished she hadn't.

"So I see. He
is
a fine animal, however unpredictable his
temper might be."

"His temper has improved greatly,"
she felt obliged to say, hoping it was true. "We've not had him long —only
a few months —but he responds far better than he did at first." That much
was definitely true; he'd been difficult even for her to handle when Uncle Mercer
first brought him home.

"Then you've had a hand in his
training?"

Tessa stared at him, trapped. Her father was
adamant that no one outside the family know that she visited the stables, nor
would Uncle Mercer or Cousin Harold appreciate her confessing her assistance to
this gentleman.

"I, ah, have ridden him quite a few
times," she finally said. "That has allowed me to mark his
progress."

He smiled, though his hazel eyes were again too
perceptive. "Then I am even more impressed with how you are performing on
him today. I would never have expected such riding from someone who wasn't
intimately acquainted with his—or her— mount."

"Thank you," she said stiffly,
refusing to acknowledge his implication. "I have spent more time with him
these past few days, knowing I'd be riding him today." Papa had agreed to
that, once Uncle Mercer had convinced him to let her ride with the Quorn. So
much extra time with the horses was enough to make this enterprise worthwhile
to her, apart from the money.

"Of course." His expression was
knowing —perhaps even amused.

She met his gaze squarely, refusing to be
intimidated or mocked, and sensed a subtle change in him as he returned the
look. It was as though something, some sort of understanding or awareness,
passed between them. Tessa felt her cheeks warming again, but didn't look away,
afraid that might reveal even more about her unsettled response to his
nearness, his intensity.

The huntsman's horn recalled her to her
surroundings. "The scent," she said unnecessarily. "They've found
it."

For an instant she thought she saw something
like surprise in his face, but she couldn't be sure, for they both turned their
horses at once to rejoin the field for the next run. Tessa's heart was
pounding, but not from anticipation for the chase this time. But no, she did
feel a sense of anticipation. It must be the hunt, therefore, for what else did
she have to look forward to?

* *
*

As the day wore on, Anthony found himself
staying close to Miss Seaton. He told himself it was so that he could more
accurately evaluate her mount, but he knew there was more to it than that. It
bothered him, for he felt an attraction that went beyond anything he'd ever
experienced before.

"Infatuation," he muttered to himself
as he watched her clear a hedge that three quarters of the field had elected to
go around. He'd felt it before, to a particularly alluring actress or even a
fresh and beautiful debutante. But it never lasted past a few minutes'
conversation, which invariably revealed an empty head.

True, he'd had two—no, three— conversations
with Miss Seaton now, but it did not signify. He still knew little about her
except that she was a remarkable horsewoman.

And that her head was decidedly not empty.

A vague sense of self-preservation kept him
from approaching her at the next check, but it did little good since Killer
used the pause to discuss her mount —and herself.

"Amazing animal. Simply amazing. I must
have him," his diminutive friend was saying. "Gaston and Bancroft are
both interested as well, but I should be able to outbid either of them. Miss
Seaton seems to like me, as well, which may count for something."

"Oh?" Anthony strove to conceal his
amusement. "What makes you say so?"

"Every time I smile at her she smiles
back. Not all women require height and broad shoulders in their men, you
know," Killer replied, preening a bit.

"Not if he's got enough in his
pockets," Stormy agreed, riding up to join them just then. "Since
you're well padded there, that should give you a fighting chance with the fair
maiden, eh?"

Killer frowned. Anthony felt like doing the
same but restrained himself. "Miss Seaton ain't like that," Killer
protested. "She's a real lady— anyone can see that."

He said it a bit too loudly, for Lord
Porrington sidled over on his lanky dun gelding. "Where would a 'real
lady' learn to ride like that?" he asked with an unpleasant chuckle.

Anthony had never cared for Porrington, but
just now he found him more irritating than usual. "I suppose the same
could be said for a real gentleman," he said casually. "Though that
wouldn't explain you, now, would it?"

It took a moment for his import to sink in, but
then Porrington scowled. "As for Miss Seaton, I've heard her grandfather
was a horse trainer," he said with a sneer. "That makes her little
better than the other females I've seen in the hunt, however much better she
might ride." He headed off before any of them could respond.

"Guess he still hasn't got over that
dunking he took last year," Rush commented. "Obnoxious fellow, isn't
he?"

The others agreed, to Anthony's relief. He'd
prefer not to be put in the position of defending Miss Seaton to his friends.
"Killer, be sure you spend some time with that bay before bidding on
him," he said then, as much to change the subject as anything.

"I suppose I can try," replied the
plump viscount with a shrug. "But if a lady—" he emphasized the word
with a glare at Porrington's retreating back—"can handle him so well, I
can't imagine I'll have any trouble."

Anthony couldn't think of any other caution he
might make that wouldn't prick his friend's pride, so he merely nodded and
determined to take a look at the horse himself that evening, when Miss Seaton
would presumably have gone home.

The hunt ended an hour or so later, one of the
best opening hunts Anthony could remember. Against his better judgment, he rode
over to Miss Seaton, who had indeed finished out the day. Not surprisingly, he
supposed, she showed no desire to be in at the kill.

"It's all part of the hunt," he said,
drawing Faro up next to her, for she was looking distressed.

She gave a strained little laugh. "I know.
And I know foxes are pests, killing poultry and such, but this will never be my
favorite part of the hunt, I fear. A noble beast that gives us such sport would
seem to deserve a better reward."

"I've never thought of it like that,"
Anthony confessed. "If it's any comfort, I've been to many a meet where
the fox has escaped in the end. No one seemed to mind, as long as we had a good
run out of it."

"Thank you," she said, and her smile
now seemed genuine. "It does help to know that the fox has a sporting
chance."

Anthony was struck again by the beauty of her
wide brown eyes, the smoothness of her skin and the rich honey color of her
hair, peeping beneath her hat and veil. "You have an affinity with more
than just horses, I see."

She blinked, as though uncertain how to take
his words. "I suppose so, though horses are what I've always been closest
to. My mother—" she broke off and glanced away.

Remembering Porrington's ill-natured remark, he
changed the subject. "My friend, Lord Killerby, seems determined to buy
your hunter."

"Several others have expressed interest as
well, according to my uncle. The final price may be high." Was she trying
to give him ammunition to discourage Killer?

"He can afford it," Anthony said,
trying to gauge her expression, "but I hope he won't be sorry."

She met his gaze for an instant, then looked
away again. "Nimbus is an excellent hunter, as you've seen yourself
today."

"With you mounted on him, at least."
Was that a flash of alarm in her half-averted eyes? "Should he get a bad
deal, I'd probably encourage him to speak to your father," he warned her.

He'd expected a reaction, but not the mixture
of fear and anger in the face she now turned toward him. "I beg you will
do no such thing! A gentleman stands by his bargains, my lord. But if there
is
any sort of a problem, I would ask that your
friend come to my uncle, or to me. My father's health is poor and I'll not have
him bothered by such things."

"My pardon," he murmured, realizing
he'd somehow hit a sensitive spot. "Sir George did not seem so feeble to
me, for all he is crippled."

"No. No, I suppose not," she said,
visibly reining in her anger. "It is his heart, you see. The doctor says
it is not strong, so we strive to shield him from unnecessary upsets." Her
lower lip trembled.

Anthony felt an overwhelming urge to reassure
her, to offer her his help in some way, though he had no idea how. That lip
looked so vulnerable, so . . . delectable. Firmly, he checked that train of
thought and wondered what else they might be shielding Sir George from. The
sagging roof, perhaps?

His intense curiosity about her situation
sounded another warning in him. "My apologies, Miss Seaton. I will direct
Lord Killerby to speak to your uncle if he has any questions. And now, I see
Mr. Emery coming this way, so I will take my leave of you. Dare I hope I will
see you at another meet this season?"

She glanced quickly toward her uncle with an
expression he couldn't read. "I hope so," she said, "though that
will be up to the hunt masters. Good day, Lord Anthony."

With that, she wheeled the magnificent bay and
went to meet Mr. Emery, who would presumably be taking Nimbus with him into
Melton tonight, where any auctions and sales would take place. Anthony watched
her go with mingled regret and relief, fully aware that he was beginning to
enjoy Miss Seaton's company rather too much.