“You will not make excuses for him. Elgin Sloane is a man, he must be held responsible for his actions. That he obviously believed me to have less mental aptitude than a cow-well, now, that’s a painful tonic to swallow. However, when I discovered the truth, I would have shot an arrow through his gullet if I’d had my bow with me.”
“As I said, Miss Carrick,” Charles said, “ Elgin made some bad decisions, decisions he bitterly regrets. He has changed. He has grown into his years, although it has taken him longer to grow since he lied about his age.”
“How old is Lord Renfrew?”
“I know for a fact that he is thirty-three.”
She laughed, simply couldn’t help herself. “Twenty-four months, he lied about twenty-four months. He believed that to an eighteen-year-old-girl head over boots in love, twenty-four months would make a difference?”
“One never knows about females. My own wife was a mystery to me until the day she died. I see you are still feeling the pain of the blow he struck you.”
“What blow was that?”
“What he did isn’t all that dishonorable, Miss Carrick. Elgin desperately needed money to restore his uncle’s estates. The old man was a wastrel, unworthy of his lands and title. Elgin knew he would have to make the ultimate sacrifice.”
“The ultimate sacrifice,” Hallie repeated slowly, savoring the words. “I had no idea I had achieved such status. That’s the only blow he told you about?”
“Good grief, there’s another?”
“Indeed. The thing is, Lord Renfrew was bedding another woman at the same time of our betrothal.”
Charles winced. “I can see why he wouldn’t want to admit that to me. That does make him appear in a rather stupid light, doesn’t it?”
“Oh yes. Now, you can’t buy my mare and you can’t push Lord Renfrew’s suit. You’ve drunk your tea. Would you like to leave now, sir? Perhaps take Lord Renfrew’s hat and cane to him?”
Charles slowly rose. “I knew that messengers were always kicked, yet still I came. That second blow, he didn’t tell me about that one. Next time I will know better.”
“Lord Renfrew must have a hold on you, to actually convince you to come here. To be his emissary, that is certainly sinking oneself very low.”
“Oh yes, certainly he has a lovely hold over me. If he didn’t, can you possibly imagine I would be here to push the nitwit’s suit with you?”
She laughed, felt a tug of liking. “What is the hold he has on you?”
“I don’t believe I’ll tell you that, Miss Carrick. May I call you Hallie?”
“No. Perhaps next week. If there is a next week, which, given the company you keep, is highly unlikely. Jason and I are very busy. I do not like to have to spend time sipping tea when there are stalls to muck out.”
“A lovely thought, that,” he said. He walked to her, his stride strong and graceful, making Hallie wonder just who Charles Grandison was. He collected her hand, turned it over and kissed her wrist. “Such soft skin,” he said.
“If you lick me, I shall kick you out the front door.”
He laughed. “Oh, no, I don’t lick a lady’s flesh, at least not in the drawing room, Miss Carrick. It has no finesse, only the value of shock. I dislike such artifice.”
She wondered what he was thinking when he mounted the lovely gray Andalusian gelding held by Crispin, their youngest stable lad, all of thirteen, and watched him accept Lord Renfrew’s hat and cane from Petrie. She watched him ride the Andalusian through the open gates and down the drive. An excellent riding horse-proud, agile, calm. She wondered what his name was. She wondered what hold Lord Renfrew held over Charles Grandison.
Hallie wanted to work her horses, she wanted to sweat, to perhaps sing a ditty. She didn’t want a man to make a fool of her ever again.
Ten minutes later, she was walking quickly toward the stables. She could still hear Petrie and Martha arguing, hear Cook singing as she prepared Master Jason a Spanish frittata, and Angela humming as she sewed another divided skirt for Hallie.
She whistled until she wasn’t more than twenty feet from the paddocks, and heard a scream.
It was Delilah, and she was loose. So was Penelope, and both were in the paddock running after Dodger, who, with a tremendous jump, cleared the paddock fence to race off into the distance.
“What the devil happened, Henry?”
Jason came running around the corner, a hoof pick still in his right hand. He gathered what it was all about. “Bring me Charlemagne. He’s the only one fast enough to catch Dodger.”
But Hallie was faster. “He’s my horse,” she said, slid the bridle into place, grabbed his mane, and pulled herself up. “I’ll fetch Dodger home, sir. You calm the mares.”
Jason watched her ride that brute of hers bareback at a gallop. He watched Charlemagne take a fence in full stride. He shook his head and went to the paddock.
“The little missus sure can ride,” Henry said. “I ain’t niver seen a female ride like that ’un.”
“It’s a pity Charlemagne’s bloodlines aren’t worth spit, else we could make a lot of money off him.”
“Old feller’s an accident o’ blood, Master Jason, an’ that sometimes ’appens. He niver shoulda been so mean nor so fast.”
Not five minutes later, Corrie and James rode up to the stable. “We saw Hallie riding like the wind. What’s going on?”
“Dodger’s ladies were fighting over him. He escaped, and Hallie went after him.”
James handed his brother Bad Boy’s reins. “You’d best make sure she doesn’t break her neck.”
CHAPTER 28
It was the fault of Major Philly’s cow, who was wandering free in her pasture, chewing placidly on the fresh summer grass as she stared after Dodger, who was still running faster than the wind. The cow was unaware that Charlemagne was running right at her, all his focus on Dodger, who was still a good thirty yards ahead of him.
When the cow saw Charlemagne, eyes wild, head down, she mooed loudly in alarm.
Charlemagne heard the moo but didn’t see the cow, but Hallie did. In a last-ditch effort to avert disaster, she threw herself against his neck, grabbed the reins close to his mouth, and jerked as hard as she could to her right.
Charlemagne ripped the reins out of her hands, jumped straight into the air, slashed out at the cow with his hooves, missed, and sent Hallie hurtling over his head.
Jason saw the whole thing. He was so frightened he cursed until he’d run out of both human and animal body parts. He leapt off Bad Boy’s back, dodged the cow’s butting head, and fell to his knees beside Hallie.
She was pale except for two bloody scratches on her cheek. He felt for the pulse in her throat, couldn’t find it. “Don’t you dare be dead, damn you. I want Lyon ’s Gate, but not over your dead body. Open your eyes, you bloody female, now. You don’t wish to be the first buried here in this cow pasture, do you? There, I found your pulse. You’re alive, so stop pretending you’re not. Wake up, woman.”
“I wonder where all past owners of Lyon ’s Gate are buried?”
Her words were slurred, but he understood them. “Good, you’re here. Keep your eyes open. How many fingers am I waving in front of your nose?”
“A blurry fist. You’re shaking your fist at me. What nerve.”
“Hold still.” He started with her arms, then skimmed his hands lightly over her, ending with squeezing her toes in her riding boots. “Do you have pain anywhere else other than your head? Don’t lie there with a vacant look on your face, answer me. You didn’t groan, is it only your head?”
“Yes, it’s only my head. Get that fist out of my face.”
“My fist is two fingers. Keep your eyes open, Hallie. I saw what happened. Ah, here’s Dodger, come back to see what trouble he caused. I tried to shout after you that Dodger always came home by himself, but you were off to save the day rather than pause for just an instant to see if your assistance was even needed.”