The Housemaid’s Scandalous Secret. Helen Dickson

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СКАЧАТЬ on its hind legs with a snort of alarm, dragging the short rein from the man’s grip. Finding itself unexpectedly free, with stirrups dancing, it then began to rear and prance with its hooves flailing, scattering everyone in its path. Raising a noisy furore amongst the crowds it was heading straight for Lisette.

      She watched as it came closer. The horse had its ears back and nostrils flared, but it seemed to her that its head was still well up, which was a sign that it was not completely out of control. The only thing she could think of was to try to slow the horse. Unafraid, stepping into its path she began to walk towards the charging beast, holding her arms wide. When it was close she uttered a gasp of admiration, for it was the most beautiful chestnut horse and it was galloping straight at her.

      ‘Oh, my God! Get back, woman! Get back!’ the horse’s handler shouted.

      Standing only a few feet from the danger, Lisette heard the warning but stood her ground, not out of bravado but from sheer fascination as the magnificent animal reared up. ‘Oh, you beautiful creature!’ she whispered. Then, as if she were urging a child to do her bidding, ‘Stop, stop, you’ll hurt yourself if you’re not careful.’

      Reaching into her pocket for a sugared sweet, she held out a flat palm to the horse, which ground to a halt, snorting wildly and rolling big hazel eyes. ‘Come on, you adorable thing. I’m sure you’re going to like it.’ The horse decided he would. He accepted the sweet as Lisette calmly took hold of the short rein and proceeded to stroke his quivering, satiny neck. With huge hindquarters and a barrel chest, he was a splendid sight. ‘You’re so lovely.’ She sighed as the horse nudged her pocket for another sweet. ‘But where have you come from?’

      Suddenly a swift, agile figure appeared from nowhere.

      ‘It’s all right, Blackstock,’ the figure shouted to the man who had brought the horse off the ship. ‘I’ll handle him. Give me that horse,’ he demanded of Lisette, holding out his hand for the rein. But as he made to grab it, the horse flattened his ears, stamped his foot and lunged at him, knocking the man sideways so that he collided with Lisette and she started to topple back. Acting so swiftly his movement was a blur, he gripped her upper arms and hauled her forward.

      She landed against him, her breasts pressed to his chest, her hips welded to his hard thighs which felt as resilient as tempered steel. The breath was knocked out of her, leaving her gasping. His hands held her upright, his long fingers gripping her arms. His lips thinned, the austere planes of his face hardened and his fingers tightened about her arms. To Lisette’s stunned amazement, he lifted her easily and carefully set her down a couple of feet away from him. When he released her arms she turned to the restless horse.

      ‘Stop that,’ she scolded, reaching out and jerking the rein reprovingly. ‘You mustn’t stamp your feet. Here, have another sweet.’ The man, a soldier, stared at her. The expression his eyes contained—intensely concentrated—sent a most peculiar thrill through her. She blinked and stared back, and then it was as if she was seeing a dream awake before her. She knew this man. Her body and all its senses remembered him. She knew him by the rich, hypnotically deep voice, and the icy, needle-like chills that were her own response to him.

      ‘Stepping in front of an out of control horse is a dangerous and extremely foolish thing to do,’ he reproached sternly. ‘Do you make a habit of it?’

      ‘No, and nor do I make a habit of talking to strangers—and never to gentlemen in uniform,’ she replied, her light mockery laced with gentle humour.

      He scowled down at her averted face. ‘And that is your rule, is it?’

      For the first time she turned her head and faced him fully. A salvo was fired. It struck home with a crushing weight. Lisette couldn’t have realised that Ross Montague could not trust himself to speak. Her beauty was such that his breath caught in his chest. It brought home to him the starvation of his need to feel a woman’s touch.

      ‘Oh, absolutely,’ she replied calmly.

      With a will of iron, Ross clamped a grip upon himself. ‘Rules are made to be broken—at least mine are. By me,’ he said with an ease he little felt. ‘You could have been maimed for life or worse. But it is clear that you seem to have a way with horses.’

      ‘I was brought up with them in India where I have lived since I was a child. I love them and they seem to like me—and this is such a beautiful horse. If he’s been confined on board ship for weeks on end no wonder he bolted like he did. I would say he could do with a good gallop.’

      Beginning to relax as he looked at this enticing young woman in a dark grey, unadorned gown, his interest growing by the second, Ross gave her a slow smile. ‘I agree, but he will have to be patient a while longer.’ Having witnessed the entire incident and relieved no one had been hurt, this girl had amazed him. ‘I’ve never seen anyone stand in front of a charging horse before. I am impressed. But you do realise that the horse could have killed you, don’t you?’ She gave him a look that was almost condescending, a look that told him she had known precisely what she was doing and that she was more than capable of dealing with a runaway horse. He was indeed relieved that she was unharmed, though he was a little surprised at the strength of his emotions.

      Taking the rein, the horse jerked back and for a moment he wrestled with the animal, speaking to him in a soothing voice until he calmed down. Fascinated, Lisette watched him. She didn’t know men could move like that. His coordination was faultless. He was so tall, large and lean but strongly muscled beneath the splendid scarlet-and-gold regimentals that hugged his broad shoulders and narrow waist without a wrinkle or a crease. She felt she should leave him now, this stranger—yet he wasn’t a stranger, not to her. Was this really the same man who had saved her life, the man in whose arms she had spent an entire night, clinging on to him for dear life lest she fall into a raging river?

      Tall and arrogant looking, he was olive skinned, almost the colour of a native of India. His hair was dark brown, thick and curling vigorously at the nape of his neck. His eyebrows were inclined to dip in a frown of perplexity over eyes that were watchful. It was his eyes that held her. They were vivid and startling blue, a shade of blue she had never seen on a man or woman before. It was the deep blue of the Indian Ocean—or was it the colour of the peacocks’ feathers that strutted cocksure in the grounds of the rajah’s palace? His face was too strong, his jaw too stubborn and too arrogant to be called classically handsome. His features were clear cut, hard edged. Only his lips, with a hint of humour to relieve their austerity, his intelligence and the wickedness that lit his blue eyes, gave any hint of mortal personality.

      ‘His name is Bengal,’ Ross informed her, ‘and he was given to me by a maharajah of that place. Sometimes I wonder if he’s a horse at all and not Nimrod in disguise. The Hindus believe in the transmigration of souls and I’m not convinced that in some previous incarnation this horse wasn’t a noble prince dedicated to hunting wild boar.’

      ‘Then for the love of his sins it would appear he has now descended into the body of a horse with his love of the chase unaltered,’ Lisette said laughingly as the horse nuzzled at her pocket.

      Ross met her wide gaze and looked at her long and deliberately, studying the young and guarded face, noting the wariness and schooled immobility with interest. There was something about her, something vaguely familiar that attracted his attention. He had the impression that he had seen her before, but he could not imagine where. He saw a girl slightly above average height, graceful and as slender as a young willow. Beneath her bonnet her blue-black hair was drawn straight back and confined in a black net so that its shining, luxuriant weight tilted her little pointed chin up as though with pride.

      When he looked into her eyes which were surrounded by a thick fringe of jet-black lashes, СКАЧАТЬ