When it happened, as it had to, she clung to reality as if it were a piece of driftwood in the storm-tossed waters of bliss. She had to keep quiet even as her body exploded and a passing thought for the moisture dampening her gown flitted through her brain. Then the tension left her body, her muscles relaxed, and he slid his hand from beneath her with a final Angering squeeze of her bottom.
With unsteady hand, Ariel reached for her goblet of wine. Were her eyes heavy, her cheeks flushed? She raised her eyes from their studious contemplation of her plate and met Oliver's dark gaze. He knew. He knew because he knew her. She forced herself to keep her eyes steady, to stare him out of countenance, even as her heart pounded and the glass nearly slipped from her suddenly clammy fingers.
It was Oliver who looked away first, routed by her unwavering stare, his angry chagrin blazing in his eyes. Ariel released her breath on a long exhalation, only then realizing that she'd been holding it throughout the silent encounter.
Simon glanced at her, his eyes gleaming wickedly. Ariel pushed a crystal bowl of syllabub toward him. "Gertrude makes a wonderful syllabub, my lord. Won't you try some?"
"Thank you, no, I don't have a sweet tooth." His mouth curved in one of his swift smiles, his eyes crinkling. "Except of course for certain nectars from certain honeyed cups."
Ariel to her annoyance blushed deeply. "If you will excuse me, sir, I have some matters to attend to in the kitchen."
He rose politely as she slid out from the bench and was still smiling to himself when he resumed his seat.
Ariel made her way to the kitchen, although she had no real errand there, but it was one place where she could gather herself together amid the hustle and bustle and no one would question her presence. Her mind returned to the horses. She wondered if Ranulf knew about her deal with Mr. Carstairs.
Not that it really mattered now. Edgar had recruited an army of stable lads to patrol the Arabians' block. No one would get past them tonight. Within the next few days, she would have shipped them all out to safety. And soon enough she would follow them.
She was listening with half an ear to Gertrude, who was complaining that her copper kettles needed resoldering and the tinker hadn't been by in six months. "Send Sam to the Romany encampment. I'm sure there'll be someone there skilled at mending pots."
Gertrude frowned. "Them Romanies are trouble, m'lady. Don't want 'em around 'ere. There'll steal the tears outta yer eyes soon as look at you."
"They need work," Ariel stated with a slight dismissive gesture. "If they're treated courteously, they'll behave courteously." She moved toward the pantries, leaving Gertrude muttering her disagreement. It was not a disagreement she would voice openly to Lady Ariel, whose tolerance for Romanies was well known, if disapproved of.
Ariel examined the laden slate shelves in the pantries, but she wasn't really seeing the cheeses, the bowls of butter and cream and buttermilk, the cold hams, flitches of bacon, roasted fowl.
She hadn't realized until today that she had been growing ambivalent about her life's plan. That somewhere at the back of her head, deep in her heart, had been lurking the faint thought that maybe she wouldn't have to leave this marriage in order to do what she needed to do. The tantalizing little question had been steadily pushing up its head like the first snowdrop through the ice-hard ground of winter. What would Simon say if she asked him to support her in her venture? If she told him she wanted to breed and sell racehorses from the Hawkesmoor stables? If she explained to him how vital it was for her to be independent? Free? Even if she would never use that freedom to do anything that would hurt him or their marriage?
But now she knew she could never ask him. He was a man with supreme authority over his wife. Why should he be any different from any of the other men who had had dominion over her? She couldn't trust him to be different.
And he was a Hawkesmoor.
She would leave as she'd always intended to do. And short of kidnapping her from some secluded spot in Holland, he would have little redress.
Ariel was changing into her riding habit the next morning, in preparation for a ride with Simon, when the sounds of commotion drifted up to her window from the court below. Buttoning her jacket, she went to the window and looked down. A group of riders in royal livery had just clattered over the drawbridge. Ravenspeare servants rushed to greet them, and as Ariel watched curiously, Ranulf and Roland came down the steps from the Great Hall.
The lead rider dismounted, bowed to the earl of Ravenspeare, and handed him a rolled parchment as he began to speak in a manner that seemed more like proclamation than ordinary discourse.
Ariel opened her window and leaned out, her curiosity now well piqued. Other guests were swarming from the hall, and she saw Simon and his friends among them.
Ranulf glanced up at her window. He cupped his hands around his mouth and commanded in ringing accents, "Sister, come down."
Ariel stepped back from the window, hastily tugged on her boots, and went to the door, Romulus and Remus nudging her knees in their anxiety to get there first. "No, I think you'd better stay in here." She pushed them back and closed the door firmly on their protesting howls. She ran down the stone stairs, across the now deserted hall, and into the court. The melee of guests moved aside, creating a path for her as she made her way to the group in the center.
"What is it?"
"A gift, my dear sister," Roland informed her, and the note of sardonic amusement in his voice instantly put her on her guard. Whatever had amused her brother was at her expense.
"A wedding gift from Her Majesty," Ranulf declared, turning to look at her, his eyes bright with malice. "Such an honor, my dear sister. Not only has Her Majesty gifted you with betrothal presents, but now she has sent you the most magnificent wedding gift." He stepped aside and gestured with a wide flourish to a liveried groom who held the bridle of a sway-backed, dirty-gray nag. The beast stood with lowered head, blowing miserably through foam-flecked lips.
"My lady, Her Majesty also wishes you to accept the saddle and sheepskin as a token of her good wishes for your future happiness," intoned the gentleman whose elaborate braided livery signified that he was the leader of the gift-bringing party. He laid an indicative hand on the sheepskin saddlecloth that had seen many a better day and the worn tooled leather of the saddle itself.
Ariel stared at the beast. "That is nor a horse!" Simon put his hand on the back of her neck, a seemingly casual gesture of affection, but his fingers tightened in a warning that she was for the moment too astounded to heed. "No." She shook her head definitely. "That poor creature belongs to some other species altogether."
"Ariel, be careful." Simon spoke softly but urgently against her ear. "The queen will want to know exactly how you reacted to her gift."
Ariel stiffened. Swallowed. Glanced up at him and met his deadly serious gaze. "I can't," she mouthed, her own eyes brimming with laughter. "How can I?"
"You must."
Pressing her fingers to her lips, she turned back to her gift's waiting escort. "I am deeply honored by Her Majesty's condescension," she said, her voice trembling with a mixture of laughter and indignation. "Such a… such a… magnificent animal," she managed in a rush before laughter got the better of her. She turned her head into Simon's chest, her shoulders shaking.