Page 33 of Return to Satterthwaite Court

Lieutenant Heywood leveled a glare at the reckless idiot. “You careless fool.” Though he didn’t raise his voice, the deep, implacable tone of it nevertheless caused the fellow to recoil. “Did no one ever teach you how to comport yourself in a public street?”

The young gentleman reddened at the reprimand. “Beg pardon. Didn’t mean to startle—”

“Drive on, sir,” Kate said impatiently. “We have no need of your apologies.”

Shame-faced, the fellow continued past them at a quick clip. His curricle swiftly disappeared around the corner, leaving Kate alone in the street with her horse, her groom, and the soberly clad (and irritatingly handsome) lieutenant.

She took charge of Ember’s reins. “You said you weren’t going to come.”

Lieutenant Heywood didn’t reply. Not directly. “Your horse is lame.”

“I’m well aware.” Kate soothed Ember with a pat on his shoulder.

Horses had no sense when it came to their physical limitations. When spooked, a lame horse would bolt as surely as a sound one, often causing himself irreparable damage in the process. It was why a horse with an injury must be confined to a loose box.

“Jonas?” She turned to address her groom. “Take him to the White Horse and soak his hoof. I’ll not have him lamed on my account.”

“Yes, my lady.” Jonas took hold of Ember. The fiery-tempered bay promptly attempted to bite Jonas’s gelding. “None of that,” Jonas chided. And then to Kate: “Will you be needing me to put your sidesaddle on Smokey?”

“No,” she said. “I shall walk.”

“All the way back to Somersetshire?” Lieutenant Heywood inquired blandly.

Kate shot him a dark look. He appeared serious enough—solemn, even. She nevertheless had the distinct feeling that he was laughing at her. “When I’m ready to return home, sir, I shall hire a carriage. It’s no concern of yours.”

“You’ve made it my concern,” he said.

The nerve of the man!

Kate waited to respond until Jonas led the horses away. The moment he was gone, she turned on the lieutenant. “Why are you here?”

He didn’t reply. He only stared down at her, frowning.

Kate was aware she didn’t look her best. Though her black wool riding habit had been clean and pressed when she’d departed Beasley, her heavy skirts had fast become rumpled and her tightly fitted bodice, with its long row of small black cloth-covered buttons, was now streaked with dirt. Her face was dirty as well. A strand of perspiration-damp hair had come loose from her chignon to cling to her cheek.

A surge of self-consciousness threatened.

She ignored the sensation. “When last we spoke, you—”

“I changed my mind,” he said.

She cast a cursory glance around. There was no sign of a horse or carriage nearby. No conveyance from which he could have alighted in time to catch Ember’s bridle. He must have been walking along the street when he saw her.

Dratted man!

She hated that she hadn’t noticed him first. That he’d somehow managed to surprise her.

“How did you get here?” she asked. “You didn’t ride, surely. Not the entire way from Heycombe.”

“I hired a post chaise.”

“You have a carriage, then?”

His black brows lowered. “If you’re about to suggest—”

She cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I suggest nothing. I’m merely remarking on the fact that you have a post chaise at your disposal, while I have no means—”

Before she could finish her thought, the bell on the parish church tower rung out, signaling the hour. It was ten o’clock. The precise time mentioned in the anonymous letter.