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Julius jerked up off the ground, shoving her off his lap as he scrambled to his knees. “Victoria!” Holding out his hands before him in denial of the bliss that awaited him in her arms, he slowed his panicked breathing, trying to regain sanity. “No matter how much I might desire you, I will not allow this to happen. I at least have enough self-control to prevent such foolishness.”
Her look of hurt made his heart contract.
“If by your words you imply that I have less self-discipline than a lady ought, then perhaps you should pursue someone else,” she said, flinging her words like daggers. “Amelia, for example. She’s certainly concerned enough with propriety, and she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing breeches.”
Before he could respond, she shot up and let out a shrill whistle. At the sound of approaching hooves, he looked up to see Primero thundering straight for her.
She ran to meet him. At first, it appeared as if he would run right over her, but at the last second he slowed and turned, even as she leaped. In a feat of timing and skill worthy of a Romani showman, she planted one foot in the stirrup of the saddle, swung her leg over—and was gone.
A shout echoed back to Julius as, stunned, he watched the pair shoot across the downs. “Victoria, wait! I didn’t—” Swearing, he made haste to catch his borrowed mount. At the faint sound of another whistle on the wind, however, the mare’s ears perked and she trotted off to join the others, leaving him behind.
He watched as the trio dwindled into the distance, crested the nearest hill, and disappeared. He stood on the wold, dumbstruck as he realized she’d deliberately left him several miles from civilization with no means of return save his own two feet.
The rays of the evening sun warmed his back, taking off the chill of the steady breeze as he plodded along, contemplating his situation. Victoria was a right hellion and no mistake; marrying her would no doubt hopelessly complicate his life.
Even so, he couldn’t deny his growing attachment to the little spitfire. Everything about her drew him.
As to her concerns, people might indeed whisper a bit about her oddities, once they became known, but in time it wouldn’t matter. There were plenty of eccentrics in the upper echelons—with far worse peccadilloes than a penchant for riding in breeches.
He would ensure that they rode together frequently with her dressed so, and rely on the servants’ gossip to tell the world that Lady Cavendish always returned from their private outings with a scandalously disheveled—and very satisfied—look about her. The thought made him smile, despite being a bit footsore. He now wished he hadn’t worn his new boots.
The sun hung low on the horizon and long shadows stretched across his path by the time he reached his carriage. Rapping on the side of the vehicle, he startled the driver, who was nodding in the seat. “Wake up, Remy. It’s time to go home.”
“Yes, m’lord,” answered the servant, his expression properly neutral.
Julius didn’t bother waiting for him to hop down, but opened the door himself and clambered inside. He leaned back against the squabs as the carriage lurched into motion, and scowled at the drying mud that encrusted his now-broken-in boots. Already, he could feel the blisters forming beneath the once-immaculate leather.
Outside, the outline of Richmond Manor slowly shrank, at last disappearing behind the trees.
He would definitely call again soon—under the pretense of seeing Lady Amelia, of course, he reminded himself. If Victoria was prepared to be deflowered in a field, he’d better move quickly before things got out of control.
For both of them.
PRIMERO TROTTED INTO the stables, tired after his long, hard run but seemingly content—unlike his mistress.
Sliding down, Victoria began unfastening buckles and straps with vicious little jerks. She hung the saddle on the wall, wishing it was Julius’s
hide. Hearing a sound behind her, she made to open another stall for the mare he had borrowed.
For only half a ride. She smirked at the thought.
When the mare did not appear, she turned to see what the matter was and saw Amelia lounging against the door.
Two gazes raked each other, one calculating, one defiant.
“You never visit the stables. What are you doing here?” Victoria asked imperiously.
“Watching my foolish sister return from an even more foolish tryst.”
Passing a tired hand over her forehead, Victoria sighed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve been out riding the wold.”
“And the grass stains on your back and arse?”
“I fell.”
Stalking over, her willowy blond sister leaned down to stand nose-to-nose with her. “You’ve not fallen off a horse since you were four. And that great, hulking beast of yours, for all that I despise him, would never allow such a thing and we both know it! You can’t tell m—” She stopped cold. “You’ve been crying,” she accused.
“What of it?” Victoria shot back, infuriated.
