A Lady of Expectations and Other Stories Page 6

  As she followed the little girl up the stairs, Sophie frowned. From the mouth of an innocent babe..?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NOT CONTENT WITH her efforts thus far, Fate seemed intent on assisting him at every turn.

  As he sat his black hunter in the shadows of a wind-break and watched the small cavalcade come thundering up Ashes’ Hill, Jack couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

  Jigson, ever mindful of his place in the scheme of things, had been assiduous in his visits to the tap. Thus Jack had learned that the junior Webbs, accompanied by Miss Winterton and Miss Webb, were to be found on horseback most afternoons. Weather permitting, they would hack about the lanes and fields, but, according to one of the Webb grooms, the track over Ashes’ Hill was currently their favoured route.

  As he watched them canter up onto the green swath before him, Jack’s smile broadened. His golden head was a delight in moss-green velvet, the long skirts of her habit brushing tan boots. On her guinea-gold curls perched a typically feminine contraption; he knew she’d call it a hat, but to his mind the wisp of fabric anchoring a pheasant’s feather hardly qualified for the title. Turning, he lifted a brow at Percy mounted on a bay gelding beside him. “Shall we?”

  Percy started; his abstracted gaze, very likely visualizing the rival merits of herringbone and country plaid, rapidly refocused. “What? Oh, yes. ’Bout time.”

  Jack smiled and led the way forward, out of the shadows of the firs.

  Pulling up on the crest of the hill, then wheeling her horse to view her cousins, straggling up in her wake, Sophie did not immediately see him. Clarissa, who had reached the spot some moments ahead of her, had likewise turned to view the vista spread below them. Stone walls and still-dormant hedges divided the brown fields, their colour just tinged with the first hint of green. Jeremy and George, fourteen and twelve respectively, were but yards from the top; Amy, bouncing along on her placid cob, brought up the rear. The twins, yet to graduate from plodding ponies, were not included in these afternoon expeditions.

  Reassured that all was well, Sophie relaxed her reins. Eyes bright, cheeks aglow, she drew in a deep breath, savouring the crisp freshness.

  “Well met, Miss Winterton!”

  The hail brought her head round; the deep voice sent the colour to her cheeks even before her eyes found him. He was mounted on a raking black hunter, sleek and powerful. As the animal walked towards her, neck proudly arched, black withers rippling, Sophie was struck by its harnessed power. Then her eyes lifted to its owner.

  Broad shoulders encased in a hacking jacket of soft tweed, his powerful thighs, clad in buckskin breeches, effortlessly controlling the horse, he appeared the very epitome of a wealthy country gentleman. His face, features stamped with that coolly arrogant cast which identified his antecedents more definitively than his name. His eyes were very blue, dark, his gaze intent.

  There was power there, too. As he brought his horse alongside hers, Sophie felt it reach for her.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Lester.” She forced herself to extend a gloved hand, disconcerted by the warmth that caressed her cheeks and the breathlessness that had assailed her.

  He took her hand and bowed over it, a difficult feat he performed with rare grace. His eyes quizzed her. “We saw you riding up and wondered if we might join you?”

  “What a splendid idea!” From beside Sophie, Clarissa beamed ingenuously.

  Feeling slightly helpless, Sophie could not resist the subtle laughter lurking in the blue eyes holding hers. Very much on her dignity, she retrieved her hand and indicated the track leading on over the hill. “If it pleases you, sir.”

  The smile she received in reply warmed her through and through.

  Jack gestured to Percy, hanging back on his other side. “If you’ll permit me to introduce Lord Percy Almsworthy?”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Winterton.”

  Prepared to be wary, Sophie saw at a glance that Lord Percy was sprung from a mould quite different from his companion. Reassured, she smiled and held out a hand.

  As he leant from the saddle to shake it, she thought she detected a look of keen appraisal in Lord Percy’s mild gaze. “M’father’s Carlisle,” he said, giving her a peg on which to hang his hat.

  Sophie dutifully introduced her cousins, in strict order of precedence. Jeremy and George barely waited for Amy’s shy “Hello,” before pouncing.

  “What a bang-up set of blood and bones, sir!”

  “Splendid hocks!”

  “What stable does he hail from?”

  “Is he a Thoroughbred?”

  Jack laughed. “My brother bred him out of Jack Whistle.”

  “The winner of the Derby?” Jeremy’s expression mirrored his awestruck tone.

  Jack’s eyes touched Sophie’s. “The very same.”

  “Is your brother staying with you?” Gerald asked breathlessly.

  Jack couldn’t help his smile. “He was, but he’s gone on to Belvoir.”

  “Oh.” Both boys appeared crestfallen that they had missed the opportunity to badger a breeder who could turn out such a horse as the black.

  “Never mind,” Jack said. His eyes again met Sophie’s. “I’ll mention to him that you’re interested in speaking with him, it’s perfectly possible you may meet in him in Hyde Park.”

  “On Rotten Row?” George’s eyes were round.

  When Jack nodded, Jeremy put their seal of approval firmly on the plan. He breathed out in a great sigh, his face alight. “Capital!”

  Then, with the rapid change of direction that characterised the young, Jeremy turned to George. “Race you to the oak.” They were off on the words, thundering down the slope towards the distant tree.

  As by unvoiced consent they set their horses ambling after the two boys, Sophie glanced up at Jack. “You’ll have to excuse them—they’re rather single-minded when it comes to horses.”

  Jack slanted her a smile. “Harry and I were the same.”

  Sophie let her glance slide away. She could hear Clarissa and Lord Percy conversing; they were only a step or so behind. It was true they had no real chaperon, yet she could not imagine there was any impropriety in the situation; the presence of the children lent a certain innocence to the gathering.

  Jack had only just registered the absence of a groom. He suppressed an instinctive frown. “Tell me, Miss Winterton, do you commonly ride unescorted?”

  Glancing up, Sophie caught the frown in his eyes. Her brows rose. “All my cousins are expert riders; there’s little chance of calamity in a gentle ride about the lanes.”

  “The lanes?”

  Sophie had the grace to blush. “You can hardly expect such high spirits—” she indicated Jeremy and George “—to be content with such mild entertainment.” Somewhat defensively, she added, “Clarissa and I are experienced riders, and Amy’s cob is so ancient it rarely gets above a canter.”

  That last was self-evident as Amy, not content with their ambling progress, was jigging along ahead of them as fast as the cob would go. Barely a canter, much to Amy’s disgust.

  “Besides, sir,” Sophie added, slanting a glance up at him, “I cannot believe that you and your brother—Harry, was it not?—would have been content with the lanes.”

  To her surprise, Jack’s lips firmed into a distinctly grim line. “Indeed, no, Miss Winterton. Which is why I feel peculiarly well-qualified to express an opinion on what disasters are possible—nay, probable—given two high-couraged youngsters on fine horses.” He turned from his contemplation of the boys, now circling the oak ahead, to look down at her. “And,” he added, “which is why I think you should most certainly have a groom with you.”

  A trifle nettled, Sophie reached down to pat the proud neck of her own mount, a raw-boned grey stallion. “You need have no fear of them getting away from me. Few horses can outrun the Sheik.”

  Her action drew Jack’s gaze to her horse; until then, despite his frequent preoccupation with the species, he had not
really noticed it. As his gaze took in the large head, the long legs and heavy shoulders and rump, he felt the hairs on his nape rise. Despite the fact he had heard the warning note in her voice, despite knowing she would not welcome his question, he cleared his throat and asked it. “Do you normally ride that beast, Miss Winterton?”

  His curiously flat tone had Sophie glancing up, searching his face. “No,” she admitted, after a moment’s hesitation. “My uncle’s stables are extensive. We all take turns helping to exercise the hunters.”

  Jack’s jaw firmed. “And does your uncle know you’re riding such a dangerous creature?”

  Sophie stiffened. “Mr. Lester,” she said, her accents precise, “I have grown up around horses—have been riding since my earliest days. I assure you I am perfectly capable of managing the Sheik, or any other of my uncle’s horses.”

  “That horse is too strong for you.” His brows lowered, Jack stated unequivocally, “You should not be riding such an animal.”

  In the sky above them, the larks swooped and carolled. Their horses, displaying a fine equine imperturbability, trotted on down the hill. Sophie, flags of colour in her cheeks, abruptly retrieved her dropped jaw. Wrenching her gaze from the deeply turbulent blue into which it had fallen, she looked ahead.

  The froth of white lace covering her breast rose as she drew in a deep breath. “Mr. Lester,” she began, her tone icy, her accents clipped, “I believe we would do well to leave this topic of conversation. I am perfectly capable of managing the Sheik. Now, if you don’t mind, I think we should join my cousins.”

  Resisting the impulse to toss her head, she flicked her reins and the Sheik surged forward. She thought she heard an angry snort, then the black moved up beside her, long fluid strides eating up the turf. Irritation, consternation and something even more unnerving rasped her temper; Sophie kept her gaze fixed forward, ignoring the glowering presence beside her.

  Through narrowed eyes, Jack viewed her chilly dignity with very real disapproval.

  The two boys and Amy were waiting by the oak. Sophie drew rein and looked back. Clarissa and Lord Percy had followed them down. As his lordship drew up, she heard him remark, “The best bonnets are to be found at Drusilla’s, in my opinion. Just off Bruton Street. All the crack at the moment.” Her cousin and Lord Percy were clearly deep in fashion. His lordship appeared perfectly content; Clarissa was hanging on his every word. With a smothered snort, Sophie turned to her younger relatives.

  “We’ll walk along the hedge until we come to the ride. Then back beside the woods.”

  There was a definite edge to her tone. Jeremy, George and Amy cast her swift glances; without a word, they fell in behind her. Jack remained by her side; Sophie did not waste any effort in trying to dislodge him. Clarissa and Lord Percy brought up the rear, barely glancing up from their sartorial discussion.

  Sophie slanted a wary and warning glance at Jack. He met it with a coolly inscrutable expression. With determined calm, Sophie lifted her chin and set off along the hedge.

  The silence that engulfed them stretched ominously. She could feel the occasional touch of his glance; she knew there was a frown in his eyes. Sophie wondered why her throat felt so tight, why simply breathing seemed so difficult. Suppressing a grimace, she racked her brains for some suitably innocuous topic of conversation.

  Behind her, George was idly threshing the hedge with his whip.

  Later, Sophie learned that, entirely inadvertently, George had flushed a hare from the hedge. The animal darted out, straight under the Sheik’s hooves.

  The stallion reared, screaming.

  Sophie fought for control. It was all she could do to keep her precarious seat.

  Then the Sheik was off.

  Like a steam engine, the huge stallion pounded down the line of the hedge. Sophie clung to his back. Mounted side-saddle, she could not exert sufficient strength to rein in the panicked beast. The wind of their passing whistled in her ears and whipped her breath away. Desperate, she peered ahead through the wisps of hair flattened against her face, through the rough mane that whipped her cheeks. The hedge at the end of the field loomed ahead. Whispering a fervent prayer, Sophie dropped one rein and threw all her weight onto the other. Almost sobbing, she hauled back. The manoeuvre worked. The Sheik’s head slewed, responding to the drag on the bit. But the stallion did not slow. Sophie felt herself tipping sideways. A scream stuck in her throat as she flung herself forward to cling once more to the Sheik’s glossy neck. The ride they had been making for opened out before them; a single tug of the Sheik’s powerful head pulled the rein from her grasp. Snorting, the stallion flew down the green turf.

  Rattled, jolted, Sophie struggled to regain the reins. The ride eventually entered the woods, narrowing to a bridle track. She had to control the Sheik before that.

  But the horse had the bit firmly between his teeth; even when she had the reins back in her hands, he refused to respond to her puny strength.

  A flash of black to her left was her first intimation that help was at hand. Then Jack was beside her, the heavier black crowding the grey. He leaned across, one hand closing hard over her fingers as he added his weight to hers. Sophie felt him exert an increasing pressure, not jerking, as less experienced riders might. The Sheik felt the inexorable command.

  Gradually, the grey slowed, finally stopping by the side of the ride.

  Dragging in a ragged breath, Sophie sat up. Immediately the world tilted and spun. A ripe curse fell on her ears; it seemed to come from a long way away. Then strong hands fastened about her waist and weightlessness was added to the disconcerting sensations buffeting her.

  Her feet touched firm earth. Shudder upon shudder racked her; she was trembling like a leaf.

  The next instant she was enveloped in a warm embrace, locked against a hard frame. A large hand cradled her head, pressing her cheek against a firm male chest. The earthy scent of tweed and leather surrounded her, inexplicably comforting. With a gasp, stifled against his coat, Sophie clung to him, a solid anchor in her suddenly perilous world.

  “My God! Are you all right?”

  He sounded as shaken as she felt. Her throat was still closed; dumb, Sophie nodded. Dimly recalling the proprieties, she reluctantly drew away.

  Hard fingers gripped her upper arms; abruptly Jack put her from him. Gasping, Sophie looked up, only to be subjected to a mercilous shake.

  “I thought you said you could handle that beast!”

  Numb, Sophie stared at him, at the fury that flamed in his eyes. A chill trickled through her veins, then spread; she felt the blood drain from her face. Cold blackness drew in; she blinked groggily.

  Jack paled as she drooped in his hands. With a muttered curse, he gathered her to him.

  Sophie didn’t resist. Supporting her against him, Jack guided her to a fallen log. “Sit down!”

  The harshness in his tone brought Sophie’s head up. Simultaneously, her legs gave way and she complied with more haste than grace.

  Jack stood over her, his face an icy mask. “You’re white as a sheet. Put your head down.”

  Dizzy, disorientated, Sophie simply stared at him.

  Jack cursed again.

  The next thing Sophie knew her head was descending towards her knees, yielding to the insistent pressure of a large hand. He didn’t let up until her forehead rested on her knees. As another wave of black nothingness swept over her, Sophie jettisoned any thought of resistance. She set her mind on breathing deeply, calming the turmoil inside. The world and her senses slowly returned to her. Only then did she become aware of the long fingers that had insinuated themselves beneath the collar of her habit and blouse, pushing aside her curls to gently caress her nape. Cool, firm, they traced sorcerous patterns on her sensitive skin. Faintness threatened again; his touch drew her back, anchoring her to reality, soothing her frayed nerves, promising security and safety.

  They remained thus for what seemed like an age. Eventually, Sophie drew in a deep breath and sat up. The han
d at her nape fell away. She glanced up through her lashes. His expression was closed, shuttered. Dragging in another breath, she gathered her skirts.

  His hand appeared before her. After a moment’s hesitation, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to assist her to her feet.

  “I have to thank you, Mr. Lester, for your assistance.” She managed the words creditably but could not look at him. Instead, eyes downcast, she fussed with her skirts, smoothing down the moss velvet.

  “I would infinitely prefer, Miss Winterton, if, instead of your thanks, you would give me your promise not to ride that animal, or any like him, again.”

  The coolly arrogant tones left no doubt of the nature of that request. Slowly straightening, Sophie met his gaze. Inscrutable, distant, it told her little, as if he had brought a curtain down across his feelings, shutting her out. Lifting her head, she stated, “What befell, Mr. Lester, was purely an accident.”

  Jack bit back a caustic response. “The fact you were riding that horse, Miss Winterton, was no accident.” His accents clipped, he viewed her through narrowed eyes. “He’s too strong for you—and you knew it.”

  Sophie folded her lips, and gave him back stare for stare, her expression as remote as his.

  Jack felt his temper slowly slip its leash. His expression hardened from mere flint to granite. “Before we leave here, Miss Winterton,” he said, his voice low and commendably even, “I want your promise that you will not, in future, engage in such wanton recklessness.” He saw her blink; he kept his gaze on hers. “Furthermore, I give you fair warning that should I ever find you on such a horse’s back again, you have my promise you’ll not sit a saddle for a sennight.” He watched as her eyes widened, stunned disbelief in their depths. He raised one brow. “Is that perfectly clear, my dear?”

  Sophie suppressed a shiver. Unable to hold his relentless gaze, her own dropped to his lips, compressed to a mere line in his ruggedly handsome face.

  There was no more than a foot between them. Luckily, the shock of her recent terror was fading; Sophie felt her strength, her normal independence, returning, flooding back, stiffening her resolve. She raised her eyes once more to his. “You have no right to make such a demand of me, Mr. Lester—nor yet threaten me.”