What if that creature hurts someone else? People will wonder why I let it live after it threw my father, or why I didn’t at least give it away.
I won’t have a suitable answer.
He flew over to the window, through which he could see the fields behind the house, as well as the stable block and the paddocks around it.
And there, quite clearly, without the slightest mistake of what it could be, he saw that wretched black stallion in the paddock closest to the stables.
A lady had half-climbed up the fence, and was leaning over, holding out a hand. There appeared to be something in her palm. As he was watching, horrified, the stallion delicately took the treat, nose snuffling at her hand, as demure as anything.
“I thought I made it clear that horse was meant to be kept away,” William said, voice wobbling. “Imagine if one of the guests chose to ride it, or believed it was a suitable mount for the hunting party, of all things.”
The butler cleared his throat. “Yes, your Grace. I am not sure why the horse would be in the paddock, but the grooms insist that the horse requires exercise and fresh air. They say the creature is tamer than it once was.”
“That’ll count for nothing, if Society finds out that I kept the horse that killed my father!”
William could hear his voice pitching, childishly hysterical. He squeezed his eyes closed, biting his lower lip hard.
It doesn’t matter. Just send somebody out to bring her back, put the horse back in the stables, and have a word with her mamma. The girl really shouldn’t be out unchaperoned at a party so full of gentlemen, it’s generally not very…
His thoughts cut off abruptly when the lady turned around, glancing back towards the house as if her attention was caught by something, hand lifted to prevent her bonnet from flying off her head.
It was, of course, Miss Lavinia Brookford.
William felt that he ought to have guessed that right away. Naturally, only a lady like Miss Brookford would go out alone to investigate the stables, only to find what was likely the only man-killing horse in Bath.
William acted before he knew what he was doing. Wrenching open the window, he stuck out his head, the cool air taking his breath away after the stuffiness of the study.
“What on earth are you doing, you foolish girl? Whatever you do, don’t touch that horse!Don’t touch that horse!”
Perhaps, in hindsight, it was not the most polite thing to shout. The butler drew in a sharp, surprised breath, but William could not have cared less.
She’d heard him, heknewshe’d heard him, but she only stared blankly at the house, baffled, clearly with no idea who was shouting at her and why.
Biting back a curse, William withdrew back into the study.
“I will deal with this,” he told the butler shortly, and then broke into a run.
He managed to race through the house without being seen, except by some baffled footmen. William shot out into the cool air, realizing to his chagrin that he had left his jacket up in his study, and was in fact in his shirtsleeves.
It was too late now to do anything about it, of course. Clenching his teeth, he ran faster, crossing the courtyard.
He could now see the stables up ahead, with the paddock to one side. Miss Brookford was still perched up on the fence, her back to him. The horse was close enough to her now that it could nudge her shoulder with its nose, which it did when she did not produce another piece of carrot quickly enough.
In his mind’s eye, he saw the horse bucking, his father flying forward out of the saddle. He saw the widening of the old duke’s eyes, the first glimmer of fear that William had ever seen on his father’s face.
What sort of creature could make a man likethatfeel afraid?
“Miss Brookford!” he bellowed. “Miss Brookford!”
She turned to look at him, aghast, as any woman would when confronted with a madman running at full speed towards her. It occurred to him briefly that he had to look like an absolute sight, in his shirtsleeves, hair a mess, eyes wild, racing towards her, yelling.
“Your Grace?” she managed, dropping down from the fence. “What on earth is the matter?”
The horse put back its ears and huffed, jerking its head up and down. What did that mean? William had never liked horses, even before the incident, and he had no idea what those movements were supposed to mean. He supposed that the horse was upset. Somebody had once said that when horses put back their ears, it meant they were angry.
Panic spiked in his chest.
“Get away, you simpleton! Get away!”
