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He glanced down at his damaged sleeve and grinned. “I appreciate your offer, but this was my fault. Having handled horses all my life, I am perhaps a bit overconfident and less careful than I ought to be.”
Relieved, she moved on to the real reason she’d kept him. “No doubt my sister feels you’ve just fallen out of favor with me and I with you. We must do something to disabuse her of that idea.”
He backed away. “I cannot kiss you, Victoria. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t—Cavendish would run me through.”
“Well, of course not! That isn’t what I meant,” she hissed. The idea was surprisingly repugnant. “But there must be something else you can do,” she said, frustrated. The situation had gone far beyond any plan of hers. “I leave it to you to decide. Whatever it is, make it convincing. I shall follow your lead.”
As they walked, she waited for him to say or do something. Anything. But he just trudged along at her side, silent and brooding. Her sister’s laughter drifted back on the breeze. She elbowed him as they made the turn to leave the gardens. “Do something!” she whispered.
Just as they passed beneath the arbor entrance, Withy came to a sudden halt. Mystified, Victoria watched as he reached out and plucked a single scarlet bud from among the roses blooming along the lattice. Carefully, he stripped it of its thorns.
She looked at him in astonishment as he slowly held it out to her. She’d thought he was going to put it in his buttonhole, not give it to her!
“Take it,” he whispered, his lips barely moving.
She shook her head a little, not wanting to comply. To do so would mean—
“You must trust me,” he breathed, urging her with his eyes. When she did not move, he lifted the bud to her mouth and ran its tip along her jawline and bottom lip.
Panic blossomed in her stomach. Dear Lord, please let them not be looking! After a moment’s hesitation, she reluctantly reached up and took the proffered flower. When she finally got up the courage to turn, she looked to see Amelia and Cavendish standing down the path staring at them. Amelia’s face was completely without color. Cavendish’s was inscrutable.
She cringed, tucking the flower away out of sight. It would have been better if he had kissed her. A quick kiss on the cheek would have been bold, but forgivable. The gift of the crimson rose, however, had another implication altogether—a very bloody serious one!
And she’d accepted the damned thing. Every servant who’d witnessed the exchange—and they were always watching—would be sure to pass along the juicy gossip. Why couldn’t he have picked a pink one? Or yellow? Any color but red?
No one spoke as they entered the house. They returned to the salon, where the four made stilted, polite conversation.
Victoria looked at Withington and marked the misery in his eyes as he glanced furtively at her sister. She looked to Cavendish, who seemed to be focused on Amelia to the exclusion of all else. Had they gone too far with the ruse? And Amelia—her knuckles were white, her lips pressed together in the familiar frown she knew so well.
There would be absolute hell to pay after the gentlemen left.
The tense atmosphere was suddenly shattered by Papa’s unexpected arrival. “Well now, my lovely daughters, may we expect these gentlemen to call again in the future? Or shall I send them on their merry way?” he asked cheerily.
Eyes lowered and bodies shifted. All the air in the room seemed to suddenly disappear.
At last Victoria spoke, proud to find that her voice was steady. “Of course, Papa. I should welcome another visit from Lord Withington.”
“As would I from Lord Cavendish,” echoed Amelia immediately, her voice hard.
Her father’s sharp gaze flicked between them, full of suspicion.
Cavendish bowed. “Your Grace, I must compliment you. You’ve some fine horseflesh in your stables.”
If it was an odd segue to make at such a tense moment, it did the trick, for Lord Richmond smiled. “I see my youngest has been showing off her beasties again.”
“Indeed, she has,” answered Cavendish, smiling. “That Primero of hers is especially of interest. We’ve several Andalusians, and have been looking for new blood. Lady Victoria has agreed to consider breeding him to our stock.”
“Has she now?” replied her father, surprised. “Well, you must rank high in her esteem, then. Victoria is most particular regarding her horses.”
Cavendish chuckled. “Yes, well, it appears her horses are just as particular as their mistress. I’m afraid poor Withington lost a bit of his sleeve during the introductions.”
Her father’s face darkened. “Victoria, how many times must I tell you that an unapproachable horse is not to be tolerated in my stables? He’s bitten at three grooms since you brought him here, and he’s even tried to nip me once or twice. It is not to be borne!”
“Oh, Papa,” she soothed, “I doubt he would ever really bite you or anyone else. Those were just warnings—if he’d really wanted to, he would have had you.”
He shook his finger at her. “I don’t care how much you like him, I’ll not have a vicious animal on my property!”
Her spirits sank. “I’m sorry, Papa. I shall speak to him directly. It won’t happen again.”
