Scoundrel in the Regency Ballroom: The Rake and the Heiress / Innocent in the Sheikh's Harem. Marguerite Kaye

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       Chapter Four

      Serena woke to a fresh sunny morning. It augured well for the promised outing, which she was looking forward to enormously. She checked her appearance in the mirror one last time before going downstairs. Her riding habit was of deep blue velvet, and the small hat trimmed with feathers of a matching colour sat jauntily atop her golden curls. It was not one of Madame LeClerc’s creations, having been fashioned for her by an English tailor in Paris, the mannish cut of the short jacket serving to emphasise the very feminine curves concealed beneath it.

      Madame LeClerc was wont to sleep late and had not yet risen, and for this Serena was grateful. She could imagine the fevered speculation that would be aroused by the sight of herself setting off to ride out alone with Nicholas. Madame’s expressive Gallic eyebrows would shoot up to new heights, possibly to disappear entirely under the frill of her cap. With a chuckle, Serena gathered the long trail of skirt over her arm and closed the door of her lodgings quietly behind her. She stepped gaily out into the bright April sunshine and set off for the Hall with a sense of anticipation and well being.

      The way was damp underfoot. The scent of fresh earth and wet grass carried on the gentle breeze stimulated her senses. Though she missed Paris and greatly looked forward to seeing London, with all the famous sites she’d heard so much of, at this precise moment she was in no rush to get there. In a way, she was starting to think of this lush green land as home. How she envied Nicholas the beauty of Knightswood Hall. How she envied him the casual acceptance and ease of manner with which he took it all for granted. Papa had imbued his daughter with his own excellent address and confidence, but there were nevertheless times when Serena felt overwhelmed by the elegance of Knightswood Hall and its dashing owner. She was not at all convinced of her ability to play the role of a lady for the London Season in which her father had insisted she should take part, once her true position was known. She was even less convinced than ever of her desire to do so.

      Overseeing the saddling of the two horses as Serena made the now-familiar short walk from the village, Nicholas was also musing on the subject of his family’s ancestral home. During past visits to the Hall the solitude, lack of entertainment and the early country hours had been a trial. In Serena’s company he looked on it all with a fresh eye. Seeing the house from her perspective, he could admire its beauty anew, could appreciate its quirks and inconveniences as the product of its evolution, tangible evidence of its history and provenance. For perhaps the first time ever he felt a genuine sense of pride at being the owner and custodian of the Lytton estate.

      The fresh green loveliness of the English spring bursting forth in all its glory before him was something else he had missed, since it coincided with the height of the Season and the hustle, bustle and grime of London. He was making up for lost time now. At some point its appeal would begin to pall, he had no doubt. As would Serena’s. But not yet.

      He knew enough of her to be certain that she would not change her mind about leaving. At best he had only today and tomorrow. He would wait no longer to sample more of her charms. The thought ignited his senses, an unaccustomed sense of anticipation making him jerk on the bridle in his hand. Titus whinnied and flared his nostrils. The dappled grey mare standing next to him pranced skittishly.

      ‘I’ll take them round the front myself,’ Nicholas said, casually dismissing the groom. Grabbing both sets of reins, he set off on foot through the archway, out of the stable block and towards the house. Rounding the path which led to the front, he met Serena coming from the opposite direction.

      Seeing Nicholas stride towards her, leading a horse in each hand, a dazzling smile illuminating his handsome features, she felt her breath catch in her throat. His cravat was snowy white against the strong line of his jaw. A plain dark-brown riding coat buttoned tight across his chest emphasised the width of his shoulders. Looking down, past the cutaway of the coat, the waistcoat of biscuit hue adorned with a single fob, she drank in long muscular legs clad in his favourite buckskins and impeccably polished short boots with long tops. She swallowed. The soft leather of his breeches seemed moulded to his shape so tightly she would swear she could see his muscles ripple underneath as he walked, the square-cut tails of his coat flying out behind him. His hands were clothed in gloves of the same close-fitting soft leather. In one of them he carried a riding whip. He was, Serena thought, not beautiful, that was quite the wrong word, but astonishingly, compellingly attractive.

      Trying not to stare like a besotted schoolgirl, she turned her attention to the horses he was leading. The large imperious stallion could only be his. The other horse was smaller, a lovely dappled grey with expressive, intelligent eyes. ‘Oh, is this my mare?’ She ran the last few steps, going straight to the horse’s head, producing some lumps of sugar from a pocket in her habit. ‘She’s lovely.’

      ‘Yes, she is,’ Nicholas said, his eyes on Serena.

      He took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, smiling into her eyes in a way that left her in no doubt of his thoughts. Serena felt a responsive shiver. Beside her the horse pawed nervously at the ground.

      ‘Her name is Belle,’ Nicholas told her, handing over the reins. ‘She can be quite lively—do you think you’ll be able to handle her?’

      ‘I’m sure we’ll get along splendidly. I expect she just needs a gallop. I’m looking forward to it almost as much as she is.’

      ‘Well, just take it easy until we’re out in the fields. Come here and I’ll help you up.’

      She mounted with ease, draping her long skirts gracefully over the pommel. Belle pranced and pawed, held firmly in a light grip. They set off at a brisk trot side by side down the lane and out into the fields. Serena rode well, straight-backed and light handed, the feathers in her hat flying out in the breeze as she urged the mare into a gallop. Beside her, Nicholas and Titus kept pace. The countryside rushed by in a swirl of green and brown accompanied by the thud of the horses’ hooves, the whistle of the wind in her ears, an occasional rustle in the undergrowth as some small animal fled from their path. Gradually they slowed to a canter and then to a trot, lazily following the meanderings of a burbling stream.

      Flushed from the exercise, her eyes bright with curiosity, Serena asked Nicholas to tell her more about their surroundings, surprised to find that almost all the land belonged to him. Her questions forced him to dig deep into the recesses of his brain for answers. It was gratifying, how quickly it all came flooding back to him.

      ‘I hadn’t realised you were such an expert on farming,’ she teased.

      ‘I’m not really. My bailiff manages it all; I can’t claim any credit for the good heart the land is in.’

      ‘But you clearly understand how the estate works.’

      ‘I spent a lot of time here in my youth, even though I don’t come down so often now.’

      ‘It’s so beautiful here, I love СКАЧАТЬ