“Capital!” Lord Chesterford greeted the words warmly.
Callum turned to face the road again, leaning a little forward to guide his horse into a trot. He had ridden since he was four years old, and he barely needed to think about what he did. His mind focused on Miss Rothwell, her undeniable beauty playing through his thoughts. It was not so much her looks—though she was undeniably lovely—but rather her vitality, her sweetness. The warmth in her smile.
Help me,he thought wordlessly, sending up a silent prayer for aid. He did not know how to escape the growing closeness he felt, the irresistible draw toward her that was beginning to drive him mad. It would be one thing if she seemed to return his feelings, but instead, she seemed politely indifferent. He could not forget her scathing words at the dinner party. It seemed cruel that he should feel so drawn to someone who seemed unable to return anything but chilly good manners.
“May I join you?” a voice said beside him.
Callum turned around, blinking in astonishment, to see Miss Rothwell and Harriet beside him on the path. Mr Rothwell was a little behind. At the point where the road widened, they must have seized the chance to overtake the two older men and Lord Grassdale. He stared at them, not sure what to say, then nodded.
“Of course,” he said, struggling to maintain a cool, neutral tone. Miss Rothwell was looking at him with an inquiring gaze. He turned away, feeling embarrassed. He could not fathom what she might be thinking about him.
She rode alongside him. He rode wordlessly, searching his mind for something to say. His thoughts were blank, filled onlywith his awareness of her. She sat upright, her posture as easy and relaxed as his own. She held the reins lightly. She used a side-saddle, one of Harriet’s old ones, her long legs twisted gracefully around the pommel, demurely covered with her brown velvet mantel. His cheeks flushed red.
“Do you often ride here?” she asked him. He blinked in surprise, not expecting her to say anything.
“No. I mean, yes. In winter. It is a good place to exercise the horses,” he explained. He blushed, aware of how odd he must sound.
“It is warmer here than elsewhere on the estate. Or, it seems to be,” Miss Rothwell said after a moment.
“Mm.” Callum nodded. “It is.” He gazed around, wishing he could think of something intelligent to say.
They were riding downhill, moving towards the pastureland. He leaned back, slowing his horse to a walk. Miss Rothwell was slightly ahead of him and, as the path narrowed, he stopped briefly, allowing her to slip in ahead. Lord Chesterford caught up with them and then Callum rode on, keeping a little behind Miss Rothwell.
They rode past a thicket, and Callum gasped as something—a bird, he thought, he could not see what—suddenly burst out of the bushes. In the same moment, Miss Rothwell, who was riding ahead, took off. He let out a yell. Rainstorm, her horse, was a stable, wonderful mare, except in the presence of anything that moved swiftly. She had a bad experience on a hunt when a gun went off too close to her, and ever since then she had associated fast movements with danger.
“What was I thinking?” Callum swore at himself. Miss Rothwell was clinging on, doing her best to remain mounted, but Rainstorm had bolted, and they were galloping out onto the pastureland. There were fences there, and Rainstorm would not think twice about jumping if she was spooked. Two of themost dangerous things were if horses vaulted fences or reared unexpectedly.
He leaned forward, urging his horse into a gallop.
Chapter 13
Rosalyn clung to the reins. She leaned back, doing her best to stay on, as her mare, Rainstorm, bolted at a gallop across the field.
“Easy, girl,” Rosalyn tried to say, loosening her grip on the reins as much as she dared. Her legs were gripping the high pommel of the side-saddle, and she leaned as far back as possible, both to slow the horse and because the horse might rear or vault. A rider lying across the horse’s neck was vulnerable to having their own neck snapped by a sudden rear.
God, help me,she thought silently as the horse continued to gallop. Trees and bushes flashed past, shadows barring them as they raced past fences. The horse had left the road and was careening down a path. If it was her mare, she would have relaxed as much as possible, trying not to send any mixed signals that would frighten her mount still further. But this was an utterly unknown mare, one whose behaviour she could only guess at.
They were approaching a corner and Rosalyn screamed, then a wild plan to slow the horse occurred to her. She grabbed the reins and pulled as harshly as she dared, jerking the horse’s head sideways. As she had hoped, the horse veered sharply into the corner, the movement naturally slowing her down.
Rosalyn eased her grip on the reins, the horse slowing slightly. She tried straightening up, relief weakening her as the horse slowed to a canter.
As her horse slowed still further, she had time to look around. Her relief gave way to a sense of shock again as she realised that she had no idea where she was. It was twilight, the shadows lengthening and the path under her feet barely visible. She could see woodland up ahead and somewhere far awayburned distant lights; perhaps a farmhouse. Her heart thudded in her chest.
She had no notion of how to get back to the manor.
“Sebastian?” she called. “Papa?”
The horse heard her and swivelled her ears, pawing the dirt and snorting. Rosalyn patted her neck, aware that her own shaky, fearful voice was frightening to the confused, exhausted creature. She shivered, drawing her mantel tight around her. The horse had stopped, and she could lift her hands from the reins. She looked around. It was getting dark fast and if she did not find the way back soon, she would be lost all night.
What about wolves? And the cold?She asked herself, a frisson of fear running down her spine. It had been warm while the sun was out, but as night fell, the cold gnawed at her even through her thick cloak. She and her horse could both freeze to death on the field. To say nothing about the possibility of predators. Wolves were rare but far from unheard of, especially in thick woodland. And even in the countryside, the chances of running into a dangerous human on the road were greater than she would like. She looked around, fear gripping her.
“Easy, girl,” she told the horse, patting the creature’s neck. Her horse was pawing the ground again and she did not want to risk her bolting a second time.
The farmhouse was not impossibly far away, but it was almost utterly dark and there was no way to know if a road or track led there. She lifted the reins. The only wise option seemed to be to retrace their steps, but since they had not followed any particular path, that was also difficult.
“Easy, girl,” Rosalyn said gently, as she pulled on the reins as gently as she could, trying to guide her horse to turn around.
Her horse turned, and they started to go back. There was the faintest evidence of a path; a brighter greyish ribbon of bare earth in the sea of black that was the nighttime grassland.Rosalyn swallowed hard, her fingers icy and her stomach queasy with fear.
