The Dangers Of Deceiving A Viscount (28 page)

She laughed. “Frightfully little, really. I suppose I dream of something new and exciting more than I experience it.”

“Indeed? A widow such as you has the freedom most women her age do not possess. I should think you’d go abroad or into society.”

“And do what, pray tell?” she asked airily. “Perhaps I have the freedom, but there is little joy in such adventures when undertaken alone.”

A forbidden thought occurred to him—if Phoebe were to stay in Bedfordshire after her work here was done, he would change that. He would take her places with him, he would show her all the excitement and adventure the world had to offer.

Perhaps it was not such a far-fetched idea. Perhaps he might find a permanent position for her here, at Wentworth Hall.

“Ooh, look!” Phoebe suddenly exclaimed as they crested a hill, catching his wrist to draw his attention. She pointed to the right and Fergus began to whinny. At the base of the hills where the stream widened was a small meadow and the castle ruins.

The horses were there, grazing where the grass always seemed lush and green. There were only four of them; the foal and its mother were missing now, their numbers culled by poachers. Soon there would be none left but Apollo.

“Now here is a bit of unexpected adventure,” Will said, and urged Fergus into the meadow. As they rode into the clearing, Apollo lifted his head, glanced insouciantly in their direction, and resumed his grazing. He was very much accustomed to Will now—he hardly minded him at all, not even on his back. But only for a short time. Apollo was far too intelligent to allow his surrender completely.

Will dismounted, then helped Phoebe to the ground. He removed the saddlebag from Fergus’s flanks, un-fastened the cinch that held the saddle on Fergus, and pulled it off of him.

“What do you mean to do?” Phoebe whispered.

“You will see.” With a wink, he slung the saddlebag over one shoulder, and the blanket and saddle in hand, he began to walk through grass and daisies not yet eaten by the feral horses.

Apollo eyed him with lazy curiosity as he approached, greeting him with a grunt and a jerk of his head.

“Good day to you, old friend,” Will said, and stroked Apollo’s nose. The horse instantly nudged his pocket, looking for the apple or carrots he knew would be forthcoming. Will did not disappoint him. From one half of the saddlebag, he withdrew an apple. The other horses were quickly at his side—they, too, had become accustomed to his frequent visits and apples. But only Apollo had agreed to be ridden; the others had merely accepted his presence in exchange for the apples.

He reached into the saddlebag and withdrew one apple after another, feeding them to the attentive horses. He glanced over his shoulder, to Phoebe. Fergus had wandered off to graze and Phoebe stood in the middle of the meadow, frozen with wonder, her gaze fixed on him and the horses. He smiled and held out his hand to her.

She did not hesitate—she gathered her skirts in one hand and moved quickly through the daisies to reach him. He handed her two apples, one for each hand; one of the horses attempted to take it from her hand before she had even closed her fingers around it, and Phoebe laughed, the rich sound of it sending a shock of delight through Will.

The look of genuine pleasure on her face was enough to make a man want to move mountains, or, at the very least, tame wild horses.

“It’s remarkable, Will,” she exclaimed breathlessly.

“There’s more,” he said, and handed her the nearly empty saddlebag. “Keep feeding them,” he advised her, and quickly put the blanket on Apollo’s back.

Phoebe watched him with an expression that suggested she thought he was mad, but Will stroked Apollo’s neck, then slid the bit in between his monstrous teeth. In a few moments, he had fastened the bridle as well. He rubbed his neck and withers for a few minutes, then lifted the saddle to shoulder level and carefully placed it on Apollo’s back. The last time he’d ridden him, Apollo had objected to the saddle, even though he had taken it thrice before.

But Apollo must have sensed this was important to Will, for today he remained quite calm, even as the other horses began to move away. The only outward indication the horse gave that he even noticed the saddle at all was the sudden switch of his tail. Will bent down, reached under Apollo for the girth, and brought it up, cinching it as tight as he dared.

Apollo continued to stand calmly, his tail switching.

Phoebe watched him intently, holding the saddlebag in both hands before her.

“Good lad,” Will said soothingly to Apollo. “Just as we’ve done before, slow and easy.”

Apollo turned his head slightly, fixed his eye on Will.

“Slow and easy,” Will said again, and tested his weight in the stirrup before pulling himself up and onto the saddle.

Phoebe gasped softly and pressed a hand to her mouth as Will gently spurred Apollo forward. He received a snort and a toss of Apollo’s massive head for it, but the horse allowed Will to jog him in a circle around Phoebe.

She turned slowly, following his progress with bright blue eyes as big as moons.

When he came full circle, he reined Apollo to a stop. “Do you know how to ride?” he asked.

She looked at Apollo and nodded solemnly.

“Then allow me to invite you to a bit of adventure outside your little workroom.”

Phoebe shifted her gaze to him and beamed. “Truly?”

He smiled and gestured toward the horse.

“Thank you!”

From the tips of her stylish boots, to the row of tiny buttons that fastened her gown at her side, to the small cross that hung around her neck, she was perfect. She was beautiful.

He spurred Apollo into trotting a tight circle around her. “Take down your hair.”

“Why?”

Because he would have a bit of his fantasy, too. “Please,” he said.

She looked at him with a curious smile, but withdrew a pin from the back of her head. One tress of hair as thick as his arm uncurled down her back. She withdrew two more pins, and the rest of it fell.

He drew Apollo to a halt and dismounted. “Ride astride,” he said, and helped her up to the saddle. It took a moment of maneuvering in her gown, but she managed it. Her legs were bared from the knee down, ending in boots that were hardly suitable for riding.

Will caressed her knee. “Are you afraid?”

Phoebe leaned over to rub Apollo’s neck. “No,” she said at last. “I am exhilarated beyond compare. I rather feel like the warrior queen.”

He smiled at that—he knew precisely how she felt. “Shall I lead you?”

“No,” she said instantly, and picked up the reins.

Still, Will held the bridle. She beamed at him—he did not believe a smile could be so broad, or that eyes could shine with such delight.

“You do not trust my abilities,” she said with a playful frown.

“I do not trust Apollo,” he said, and looked at the horse, which appeared to be resigned to his fate for the afternoon.

“Apollo! A splendid name,” she said approvingly, and stroked the stallion’s neck again. “Will…I would have never believed a horse as magnificent as this could be tamed.”

He grinned proudly. “It’s really not so hard to believe—horses are meant to be ridden. It is in their nature. One must merely coax it out of them.”

“Ah,” she said, petting Apollo’s neck. “If horses were meant to be ridden…then perhaps you might allow me?”

He gave her a dubious look.

“Please,” she said with a purely feminine smile.

She looked so earnest that it was impossible for Will to object. Frankly, something deep inside him wondered if he could deny that beautiful face a bloody thing when pressed. He certainly couldn’t find it within himself to deny her this, and he reluctantly let go the bridle.

With a cry of delight, Phoebe picked up the reins and put the heel of her boot in Apollo’s side. The horse started, but then began to trot.

“A circle, Phoebe!” Will called out to her. “He’s just been broken.”

“Yes, of course,” she called back to him.

She did ride expertly, he noted, moving in rhythm with Apollo’s gait. Her hair glistened behind her like a silken banner as she led the horse to trot around the meadow in a circle.

The other horses, Will noted, had begun to move away, toward better grazing. As Phoebe came around, he extended his hand. “There you are. Let me help you down.”

But Phoebe laughed and spurred Apollo a little harder into picking up his pace.

“All right, then,” Will said, smiling, his arm still extended. “Come down now.”

Phoebe clearly had no intention of it. Apollo began to canter in a circle.

“You have bested me,” Will called up to her, bowing low. “But you really must come down now.”

“This is marvelous!” she exclaimed. “I feel so free! I believe I could ride to London and back before he’d even as much as—”

She never completed her sentence, for Apollo grew weary of the game and suddenly bolted after his herd, startling Phoebe. She lost her balance, and with a shriek, she went tumbling off the side, heels over head, as Apollo raced to the edge of the meadow.

She landed flat on her back in a cloud of yellow and green muslin.

“Phoebe!” Will cried, racing to her side.

Wide-eyed, she blinked up at the clear blue sky. There was an ugly gash across her leg where she must have caught the cinch.

“Dear God,” Will said, as he gingerly ran his hands over her arms and legs, looking for any breaks. “Are you hurt? Speak to me!”

She didn’t answer; she just gaped at the sky, her mouth open.

He realized the breath had been knocked clean from her lungs, and he instantly bent over her, pressed his mouth to hers, and breathed into her.

A moment later, Phoebe drew a hard, rasping breath.

“Are you hurt? Does anything feel broken?” he pressed her.

“Nothing,” she said hoarsely, “but my awful pride.” She pushed herself up. “What happened?”

He put his arm around her back and helped her to her feet. “He’s not entirely tamed,” he said. “It is my fault—I should never have allowed it.”

“Don’t be silly. It was my fault. I would not come down when you said. Oh dear,” she said, hissing in pain as she raised her right foot from the ground. “I think I have sprained my ankle.”

“It must have been caught in the stirrup,” Will opined, and realized how lucky they were she hadn’t been dragged, or caught under Apollo’s hooves.

“I do not think I can put my weight on it,” she said, gripping his arm.

He quickly swept her up into his arms and carried her across the meadow, to the old ruins and a wall covered in moss. He removed his coat and laid it down for her to sit on.

“I am so very sorry,” Phoebe said as she put her hands to her ankle, wincing. “How foolish of me.”

“Allow me,” Will said, removing her boot and feeling her ankle. “May I move it?” At her nod, he moved it one direction. She did not flinch. When he moved it again, she moaned in pain.

“Never fear, madam. I am quite prepared in all manner of aid.” He rose to his feet, uncoiled his neckcloth. “Stay exactly where you are, and whatever you do—no riding.”

She gave him a petulant smile.

Will strode across the meadow to the stream. He dipped his neckcloth into it—it was ice cold, exactly as he’d hoped—and then returned to Phoebe. He squatted down, put her bare foot on his thigh, and cleaned the cut. When he’d finished, he took a knife from his boot, cut the neckcloth into pieces, and carefully wrapped the cloth around the cut, and then her ankle, inwardly wincing each time she exclaimed in pain.

“But it’s so cold!” she complained when he’d finished.

“The cold will reduce the swelling,” he said. “Now, then, you must remain where you are while I fetch my saddle. I will return as soon as I can.”

She nodded, examining her ankle.

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, and carried on with the strength of her smile to propel him.

W hile Phoebe waited for Will to return, she worked herself into a panic and even attempted to repair her ankle by walking on it. She had to try something—the gash she could hide, but she couldn’t return to the hall with a sprained ankle! How on earth would she explain it? What would everyone think?

Will and Fergus trotted up from the stream at last, the saddle hanging off Fergus’s rump. Will paused in the middle of the meadow to retrieve the forgotten saddlebag.

Phoebe was holding onto the moss-covered wall as Will rode to her. A strong and hot afternoon breeze lifted her hair around her face, but provided little relief from the heat. Will reined Fergus to a halt, dismounted, put a hand on his hip, and looked at her ankle. “I know you pride yourself on being fearless, Phoebe…but I did not think you were foolish as well.”

“I must walk on it,” she said irritably. “How will I return to Wentworth Hall in such a state?”

“On horseback,” he said calmly.

“Which will not invite any speculation whatsoever.”

Will gave her sarcasm a wry smile. “I hardly care—I care only that you not harm yourself further by standing or walking.”

“I beg your pardon, but I care very much what will be said at Wentworth Hall.”

“Phoebe,” he said, and smiled so warmly that Phoebe felt her heart break a little, “you have nothing to fear, sweetheart. I would be less than a gentleman if I allowed one untoward thing to be said of you.”

“How do you propose to stop it?” she asked, alarmed by her sudden and passionate anger. “Even you cannot stop tongues from wagging!”

Will touched her face with the tips of his fingers and looked deeply into her eyes. “I have not forced you here against your will,” he said calmly. “I believe we had an understanding…did we not?”

“Yes, but…” She glanced at her foot, suddenly confused. “But I did not expect to…to…” To what? she shouted in her mind. To feel so deeply? “To injure my ankle,” she said weakly.

He sighed. His fingers drifted to her neck. “All right, I will admit that this does present us with something of a problem.”

“It very much does,” Phoebe said flatly.

He squatted down on his haunches to examine her foot. “Perhaps we can ease your pain. I know an old Indian cure,” he said thoughtfully as he touched her toes.