Bound By A Scandalous Secret. Diane Gaston

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       Chapter One

      Lincolnshire—December 1815

      Genna Summerfield first glimpsed him out of the corner of her eye, a distant horseman galloping across the land, all power and grace and heedless abandon. A thrilling sight. Beautiful grey steed, its rider in a topcoat of matching grey billowing behind him. Horse and rider looked as if they had been created from the clouds that were now covering the sky. Could she capture it on paper? She grabbed her sketchpad and charcoal and quickly drew.

      It was no use. He disappeared in a dip in the hill.

      She put down the sketchpad and charcoal and turned back to painting the scene in the valley below, her reason for sitting upon this hill in this cold December air. How she wished she could also paint the galloping horse and rider. What a challenge it would be to paint all those shades of grey, at the same time conveying all the power and movement.

      The roar of galloping startled her. She turned. Man and horse thundered towards her.

      Drat! Was he coming to oust her from the property? To chase her from this perfect vantage point?

      Not now! She was almost finished. She needed but a few minutes more. Besides, she had to return soon before someone questioned her absence—

      The image of the horse and rider interrupted her thoughts. Her brush rose in the air as she tried to memorise the sight, the movement, the lights and darks—

      Goodness! He galloped straight for her. Genna backed away, knocking over her stool.

      The rider pulled the horse to a halt mere inches away.

      ‘I did not mean to alarm you,’ the rider said.

      ‘I thought you would run me down!’ She threw her paintbrush into her jug of water and wiped her hands on the apron she wore over her dress.

      He was a gentleman judging by the sheer fineness of his topcoat and tall hat and the way he sat in the saddle, as if it were his due to be above everyone else.

      Please do not let this gentleman be her distant cousin, the man who’d inherited this land that she once—and still—called home.

      ‘My apologies.’ He dismounted. ‘I came to see if you needed assistance, but now I see you intended to be seated on this hill.’

      ‘Yes.’ She shaded her eyes with her hand. ‘As you can see I am painting the scene below.’

      ‘It is near freezing out,’ he said. ‘This cold cannot be good for you.’

      She showed him her hands. ‘I am wearing gloves.’ Of course, her gloves were fingerless. ‘And my cloak is warm enough.’

      She looked into his face. A strong face, long, but not thin, with a straight nose that perfectly suited him, and thick dark brows. His hair, just visible beneath his hat was also dark. His eyes were a spellbinding caramel, flecked with darker brown. She would love to paint such a memorable face.

      He extended his hand. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Rossdale.’

      Not her cousin, then. She breathed a sigh of relief. Some other aristocrat.

      She placed her hand in his. ‘Miss Summerfield.’

      ‘Summerfield?’ His brows rose. ‘My host, Lord Penford, is Dell Summerfield. A relation, perhaps?’

      She knew Lord Penford was her cousin, but that was about all she knew of him. Just her luck. This man was his guest.

      ‘A distant relation.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I’m one of the scandalous Summerfields. You’ve heard of us, no doubt.’

      The smile on his face froze and she had her answer. Of course he’d heard of her family. Of her late father, Sir Hollis Summerfield of Yardney, who’d lost his fortune in a series of foolish investments. And her mother, who was legendary for having many lovers, including the one with whom she’d eloped when Genna was almost too little to remember СКАЧАТЬ