"I won't tell either," said the Duke, tossing his apple high.
Marianne thought he was probably speaking the truth, not because of his noble nature but because the incident gave him a hold over his tutor. She considered admonishing him about the evils of blackmail but decided that if this thought had not already occurred to him she would only be putting ideas into his head.
"I would like very much to ride with you another day," she said. "I will need an escort after Mr. Carlton has returned to London. But today we must talk about certain business matters. It is a private talk. You would be bored."
"No, I wouldn't."
"Another time," Marianne said. Moving quickly, she got inside her room and bolted the door.
She wondered, as she changed, whether she had been wise to tell Henry that she and Carlton would be discussing private matters. His curiosity would certainly be piqued by that. But she felt sure they could find a place removed from any possibility of eavesdropping, even by the ingenious Duke.
Her spirits rose as she studied her reflection in the full-length mirror. The riding costume, made of the usual dull black cloth, set off her fair coloring and fit snugly around the waist before billowing out over a small bustle. Simple as the gown was, it had the unmistakable air of superb tailoring, and the hat was delicious – a dashing cavalier style with a broad brim and sweeping plumes.
When she came downstairs Carlton was waiting for her. He carried a leather crop, which he switched impatiently against his boots as he strode up and down.
"You were long enough," was his only greeting.
"A gentleman would say that the wait was well worthwhile," said Marianne, conscious of how pretty she looked.
"That depends on what one is waiting for. Come along. I have selected a mount for you and only hope you are up to it."
"I would have preferred to select my own."
"The choice is not that great." A footman hastened to open the door for them, and Carlton went on, "There is only one horse in the stable suitable for a lady. The head groom assures me she is gentle and tractable."
From this Marianne fully expected a timid old mare or a fat pony. She was agreeably surprised when she saw the horses a groom was leading up and down along the drive. One was a tall bay gelding which was stamping and blowing, impatient to be off; the other, which carried a lady's sidesaddle, was an elegant gray. Mild brown eyes turned to study Marianne as she approached, and a velvety soft mouth nuzzled the hand she extended.
"But I have nothing for you," she whispered. "Next time, I promise. How beautiful you are!" She turned to the groom. "What is her name?"
"Stella," was the reply. "Ye'll hae no trouble wi' her, miss; she's gentle as a lamb."
Marianne was about to reply that she was not at all afraid when she saw Carlton looking superciliously down at her from his saddle and a wicked impulse came over her. When the groom offered his hands to help her mount she made a clumsy business of it and wriggled around as if she were having difficulty finding her seat.
They started off at a walk, with Carlton leading. As soon as his back was turned Marianne settled herself more comfortably.
Carlton stayed on the path until they were out of the grounds. They went out a back gate instead of following the main drive to the road, and found themselves on the open moors, with the mountains forming a magnificent backdrop. The terrain was not too unlike the moors of Marianne's home, and as a fresh breeze tugged at the plumes in her hat she felt a rush of delight flood her veins. She had not realized how much she had missed the open air and the joy of finding herself on the back of a good horse.
She knew she rode well; had not her father, the best horseman in the West Riding, taught her? Indeed, these lessons had been the only occasions when Marianne felt close to her father – because only then was the squire unselfconscious with her. He had taken pride in her aptitude and made no allowance for her sex, except to insist that she ride sidesaddle after she grew too old to let her bare legs dangle. Noting the eager arch of the horse's neck, she knew Stella was yearning to run. The mare was too well trained to do so without an order from her rider, but her muscles quivered with desire.
So when Carlton said, "We might try a trot, I suppose, if you think you can stay on," Marianne yielded to her evil angel. It was only necessary to raise her hands and make a soft wordless sound of encouragement, and Stella was off.
Marianne heard Carlton's cry of alarm far behind her and tried to look as if she were being run away with; but after the first moment she forgot her intention in the sheer rapture of speed. The squire had owned some fine horses, but she had never ridden an animal that moved as well as Stella. Marianne urged her on with a shout, and lost her hat. The wind tore her curls loose from their net.
It was not repentance or fear that finally made her slow the horse's reckless pace, but awareness that she did not know the terrain and had no right to endanger the splendid animal by risking a stumble or a fall. Only then, as the whistling of air in her ears diminished, did she hear the pound of hooves behind her. Glancing over her shoulder she saw Carlton urging the gelding on at a desperate pace. He rode like a centaur, but the sight of his taut, anxious face made her want to burst out laughing. As he drew closer he shouted, "Hold on, don't let go the reins! Try to pull her in."
Marianne did so. The obedient Stella stopped, so suddenly that Carlton went shooting past. He turned his mount with ruthless strength and rode back more slowly.
The truth had dawned on him by then, and his expression was too much for Marianne. She doubled up over Stella's neck. Carlton waited until she had controlled her mirth. Then he said grimly, "I hope you enjoyed that."
"I did. So did Stella." Marianne stroked the mare's neck. Stella turned her head and curled her lips back as if joining in the girl's amusement. "Oh, it was wonderful," she went on exultantly. "I didn't realize how much I had missed it. And she moves like a dream – she is a wonder!"
"She is," Carlton agreed. "And you are a thoughtless, reckless young idiot." He studied her laughing, unrepentant face with its frame of tumbled curls, and after a moment the corners of his mouth twitched. "I suppose I sounded very smug, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did. I could not resist."
"I can't say that I blame you. All the same, you took a risk you should not have taken, and frightened me half to death. My heart has not stopped pounding yet."
"I didn't know you cared," said Marianne, lowering her eyes and looking up at him through her lashes.
"The Duchess would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you," was the cool reply. "Now, if your sense of humor is satisfied, shall we go on?"
"Well," said Marianne, after they had proceeded for some distance side by side, "what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"
"First I want you to tell me something. What precisely happened between you and Bagshot?"
Marianne's hands tightened. The intelligent Stella rolled an inquiring eye back at her, decided that the movement had not been meant for her, and proceeded onward at the same steady pace.
"I don't want to talk about it," Marianne muttered.
"I fear you must if you want me to trace your Maggie. I was unable to discover what had become of her. I must have more information if I am to proceed."
"You tried to find her?" Marianne's pique evaporated. She gave him a look of sincere gratitude. "That was kind."
"But ineffective, so far. I learned something of her history from the performers at the club, but none of them knew her well, and no one admits to having seen her after that night. Did she ever mention where she lived, or the name of a friend with whom she might have taken shelter? I must know everything she said."