London's Most Wanted Rake. Bronwyn Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ word I’ll want a suitable horse for that group, too,’ Alina instructed, finishing the last of the chocolate. She would have liked to have lingered in the sunny bower of the window, but there was work to be done and elegance like hers didn’t come easy. Alina crossed the room to the dressing table where her pots and brushes were laid out. ‘Time to work your magic, Celeste.’

      Then she would work hers. At least on the ride she’d have both men where she could see them. One could play with a man like Channing, flirt a little, but one couldn’t trust them—couldn’t trust them to leave well enough alone, couldn’t trust them not to get under one’s skin without even trying. And because of those reasons, she couldn’t wait for him to get the introduction. She had to do this her way and she had to do it fast before Channing could step in. She’d already paid twice in the past for his involvement in her life, once physically and once emotionally. The first time she’d been naïve. She could forgive herself for that. The second time, she’d simply been a fool who had trusted the wrong man. Well, no more. The Comtesse de Charentes had emerged from the fires of her marriage, wiser to the ways of men.

      * * *

      The drive in front of the house was full of milling people and horses by the time she arrived downstairs. A honey-bay mare was waiting for her, prancing eagerly. Alina eyed the prancing horse warily. She was a competent horsewoman, but she’d rather have ridden with the casual group, more time for talk and conversation. This feisty girl was going to demand her attention, starting with getting on. Alina looked around for a mounting block.

      ‘Need a leg up?’ Channing materialised at her side. He stroked the mare’s shoulder, looking golden and handsome in the morning sun. There was nothing for it. The mounting blocks were all busy. But she would have refused if she could. He had a way of touching a woman that made her feel special even when she knew better, even when the task was as mundane as mounting a horse. Perhaps she imagined his hand lingered at her leg a moment longer than necessary as he checked the girth.

      ‘Are you riding with this group?’ A line creased his brow between his eyes.

      ‘Yes,’ she answered smartly, gathering the reins. ‘You’re not worried, are you?’ She didn’t want him concerned. It made him warm, likeable.

      ‘Are you sure you can handle the mare? She’s a fine horse, well trained but spirited, too,’ Channing quizzed.

      Alina gave him a confident smile. ‘I can handle her. I’ve ridden bigger horses than this one.’ The gelding she had had in France had been nearly seventeen hands.

      He gave her a naughty look. ‘Size isn’t everything.’

      She laughed and moved her horse forward. A line was beginning to form. She wanted to get closer to Seymour at the front. ‘You’d better mount up if you mean to come.’

      ‘Oh, the things I could do with that statement.’ Channing gave a loud laugh and drew several eyes their direction.

      ‘Hush, will you?’ Alina scolded.

      He smiled and stepped back, relenting. ‘I’ll be along shortly. I need to find a servant to take care of something before I can ride out.

      * * *

      She couldn’t keep up. After the first two miles, it was apparent the mare was willing. It was her own skill that would not allow her to take certain risks. She could ride the flat ground well enough, giving the horse its head over the wide meadows, but she didn’t dare take the jumps over hedges and logs at full speed. She took them at a slower, cautious rate. That put her at a disadvantage and whatever ground she’d made up on the flat was soon lost, putting her at the back of the ride while Seymour continued to ride in the front.

      Alina reined the mare to a trot, giving the horse a chance to breathe and herself a chance to think. She would never catch Seymour at this rate. She needed a short cut, a detour that would take her around the designated course and bring her up with the leaders. She caught sight of a path cutting through the woods to the side of the course. Ah, some luck at last. Alina veered to the path and into the woods.

      This was better. There were no logs or hedges to jump, only the occasional tree root to navigate and her horse was sure footed enough. She’d make up time fast enough now. But that was before the screech of a hawk split the quiet of the woods and her mare took off as if it were a clarion call to arms.

      She had no time to react. It was a testament to her competence that Alina stayed on as long as she did. A forest at full tilt was no easy trail. There were dangers aplenty in low-hanging branches and jutting roots. One stumble on the horse’s part would be all it would take to dislodge a rider.

      Alina gave up any attempt at steering. The horse had a mind of its own and Alina sensed the mare was running not so much out of the crazed urgings of a spook as it was because it wanted to and nothing, certainly not she, was going to stop it. Her only option was to stay on and ride the mare out. That worked fairly well until they came to a tree lying across the path.

      With no idea of what might lie on the other side, Alina pulled at the reins in a final attempt to stop the racing mare. It was the wrong choice. It slowed the horse, but not enough to turn away from the jump, only enough to take it with a little less momentum than she needed. The mare cleared the log, but the landing was shaky. The mare stumbled in the soft mud, depositing Alina in the shallows of a forest stream on the other side. It was a most ignoble finish to a gallant ride.

      The mare recovered her feet and trotted to a stop on the other side, whinnying happily as if this were the greatest of larks. Alina smacked the water with an angry fist and shouted, ‘Don’t you dare laugh at me, you silly horse!’

      It felt good to vent some of her frustration, but there was still plenty of it left. She’d never get to Seymour first at this rate. Her habit was soaked. ‘You’ve ruined everything, you know,’ she scolded the horse. ‘I’ll never get to the picnic now. I’ll have to go back to the house and change. You have no idea what you’ve done. Channing will get to Seymour first and then he’ll have all these questions.’ She hit the water again for emphasis.

      ‘Hey, don’t hurt the water!’ a cheery male voice called out and Alina froze. Within a moment, Channing appeared around the edge of the log, leading his horse by the reins. It occurred to her briefly to get up out of the stream. But why? Her humiliation was already complete. Of all the people who could have found her in this situation, it had to be Channing Deveril. Getting up now wasn’t going to change that or dry her clothes any faster. She might as well wallow in it.

      ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked, tethering the two horses together on a low bush.

      ‘Just my pride.’ She struggled to stand. Her skirts were heavy and she was embarrassed to find she couldn’t quite manage it.

      ‘Wait, let me help you or you’ll fall again.’ Channing extended a hand, his boots sinking into the muddy bank.

      She took his hand and resisted the temptation to pull him in with her, but he’d already sacrificed his boots to the cause and she opted not to be petty. ‘How did you know I was out here?’

      ‘I was behind you, quite a way, but I saw you veer off into the forest. I wanted to make sure you were all right.’ He leaned against a tree trunk while she sat on a stump, wringing out her skirt. Channing shrugged out of his coat and offered it to her.

      She didn’t want to take it, but it felt good after the cold water of the stream. The day itself was warm and she’d dry soon enough, but for now the warmth of his coat was irresistible. СКАЧАТЬ