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“Of course. Well,” she said, bracing herself for their conversation to turn sour, “I might be able to shed some light on the situation.”
Sure enough, the man’s eyes became slits. “What do you know about Merlin’s disappearance?”
A laugh bubbled up to her lips. “Merlin?”
“It’s a perfectly sensible name for a horse,” said the man, his tone a little defensive.
Except it wasn’t. Not really. The thought of a man as powerfully masculine as he was doing something as fanciful as naming a horse after an old wizard in a children’s tale was strangely touching.
She could see the veins in his neck tense so she kept her opinion to herself. “The young lady I was traveling with was not in her bed this morning.”
“You think that she stole my horse?” he asked incredulously, cutting straight through her delicate choice of words.
“I wouldn’t rule it out as a possibility.”
“I think not.”
It was Jane’s turn to look skeptical. “Why?”
“Merlin stands fifteen hands high and snaps like a badger defending its den. He’s too much for anyone but the most skilled rider.”
“Lady Margaret is the best horsewoman in the West Riding and rides to hounds with the most talented sporting men in the county,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height. She might be furious with her charge, but Jane would still defend the young lady’s skill. “She’s more than capable.”
“Of handling a stallion that goes like a bat out of hell—excuse my language?”
Oh, how little he knew. “That sounds like exactly the sort of horse Lady Margaret would’ve chosen.”
The man looked shocked. “She’ll break her neck.”
“That’s part of the appeal, I’m sure.”
The man smacked the riding crop against his boot again, though this time there was nothing but anger fueling the gesture. Jane flinched, and his mouth tensed into a thin line. “I don’t even use the thing when I ride. I’m not entirely sure why I continue to carry a whip.”
“Tradition, perhaps,” she said, her eyes not leaving the crop.
“A silly tradition at best.” He let it go so and it fell, harmless in the packed dirt of the innyard.
“Thank you,” she said. “I understand why a crop is used, but I’ve never been able to reconcile myself to put it into practice.” Not that governesses rode all that often . . .
“Supposing that your Lady Margaret has Merlin, where would she be going?”
Oh, Jane had a pretty good idea. She’d known since she pulled back the covers and found the young woman’s bed cold, but she hadn’t wanted to admit it. Not when it seemed she’d be able to chase her charge down and talk some sense into her. But now . . . now a plan was quickly forming in her head. A crazy plan, but a plan nonetheless.
“I have some thoughts,” she said slowly.
“If you care to share those details, I’d appreciate it.”
He shifted his weight from side to side like an eager pugilist waiting for his opponent. His whole body seemed primed for action, ready to sprint off and ride Lady Margaret down. He was just the sort of man she was going to need to try to catch up with her errant charge and force her back on the road to Holmesfield Hall before the girl ruined both of their futures.
Jane put on her brightest smile and prepared herself for battle. “I’ll be happy to tell you, sir, as long as you promise to take me with you.”
Nicholas stared long and hard at the pretty woman whose blond ringlets spilled alluringly out of her simple chignon, not entirely sure he’d heard her correctly.
“Take you with me?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “I’m afraid I must go along.”
“No.” Of course she couldn’t come along. He’d be riding at breakneck speed, doing everything he could to retrieve Merlin and get to Lord Ashby’s home for his appointment in a week’s time. The last thing he needed was a lady slowing him down, and he certainly didn’t want this woman there with her big blue eyes and lips so full they seemed almost indecent.
