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Rebecca opened her mouth to reply, but he held his hand up in an utterly imperious gesture she’d never seen from him before.
“Donotspeak yet,” he said in a low tone that brooked no argument. “I amtoo upsetat the moment to hear anything you may have to say.” He paced some more and then planted his hands on the windowsill and stared out. “When I saw you trotting up the lane,astride, no less, with that broken ankle of yours, I thought . . .” He stopped speaking. She could see his back heaving from the deep breaths he was taking as he continued to stare out the window. “How can I trust you when you do something so reckless?” he whispered.
Rebecca had no reply. But his question clarified much about Ben’s actions concerning her. “It may have appeared reckless to you,” she said in as calm a voice as possible, “since you didn’t know my brothers taught me to ride astride—much to my parents’ chagrin, as I’m sure would not surprise you—but I knew riding astride would give me more control on the horse, despite my broken ankle, than riding sidesaddle.” She had mounted from the right with a mounting block, and Peter, bless his soul, had held her horse for her until she’d settled into the saddle, keeping his eyes turned away from her breeches-clad legs.
“I see,” Ben said with mock equanimity. “Getting on a horse to personally deliver a message, whether astride or sidesaddle, seemed the logical approach to you under the circumstances, did it?”
She had tried to bring a sense of calm to the conversation, but now she felt indignant. She was completely capable on the back of a horse, and her insides began vibrating furiously from his sarcastic question. “Telling someone youwantthem in your life butdon’tis logical too, I suppose, since you appear to be an expert on the subject of logic. As is abruptly taking your leave immediately after.” She wouldnotmention his passionate kisses; she would certainly cry if she did, and she wouldnotcry in front of him, not now, no matter what.
A discreet tap at the door seemed to spare them both for the moment. “Come!” Ben barked.
Mrs. Snow entered, carrying the tea service Ben had requested. “Here’s hot tea now, my lord, miss,” she said, a cheery smile pasted over her worried expression. “Would you like me to pour, miss?”
“I can pour tea, thank you very much,” Ben snapped. Then he closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. “Thank you, Mrs. Snow,” he said in a calmer tone. “Please excuse my earlier abruptness.”
“Apology accepted, my lord,” Mrs. Snow said. “Now, if you need anything, anything at all, just ring, and I’ll be here quick as can be.” She was looking at Rebecca when she spoke, which Rebecca took to mean that she had an ally against the agitated male in front of her, should she need one. She nodded her understanding.
Instead of pouring tea, however, Ben went to a side table and poured himself a small brandy.
Rebecca wasn’t particularly hungry right at the moment, and since her legs were propped on the footrest, reaching the tea tray, let alone pouring a cup of tea, was not something she could do. It was just as well. She needed to deliver her message and leave as quickly as possible anyway. Someone in her family would discover she wasn’t home, and she didn’t want Peter to get blamed for her actions, and he was sure to confess if confronted. “The reason I traveled to call upon you in person,” she said, striving once again for calm, “was to inform you that my sister Susan, whom you met, has married the Duke of Aylesham, and the family is—”
“My felicitations,” he said, interrupting, and then took another sip of brandy.
“The family,” she continued, “is planning a celebration for this Tuesday, and as our neighbor, you will, of course, be invited. I wished to inform you of the news myself.”
“You needn’t worry,” he said. “I shall stay at home and spare you the trouble of my presence.”
“That isnotwhat I was about to say at all,” she said, her frustration getting the best of her. “Youmustattend. You are our immediate neighbor; you are, whether you like it or not, part of this community and one of the noblemen who graces the village. For all our sakes, we must be seen to be on congenial terms with each other. I wished only to give you as much time as possible to reconcile yourself to being in attendance.”
“I see. Thank you.” He set his brandy glass down with a distinct amount of force.
“Very well, then,” she said. If he wasn’t going to say anything more than that, it was time to leave. She started to slide her feet to the floor, which was precisely when she realized the flaw in her plan. By riding a horse, she didn’t have her crutches with her, but she wouldnotadmit any foolishness on her part to Ben. She would rather die.
She vowed that she wouldhopto her horse and climb into the saddle on her own rather than ask for his help, although she wasn’t sure how.
She held on to the arm of the chair and stood and then took a little hop.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he said, crossing to her.
“I’ve delivered my message, and I am returning home,” she said.
“Not yet, you aren’t,” he said. “We haven’t finished our conversation.”
“We finished our conversation earlier this week,” she said belligerently, staring him fully in the face. “At least, you seemed to imply as much.”
He sighed gustily and ran a hand over his face before he slumped into a nearby chair as though the wind had gone out of him. “I handled the situation poorly in every way possible, didn’t I?” he said more to himself than to her.
Rebecca didn’t say anything because, naturally, she agreed with him.
* * *
Ben sought for something more to say, something that more fully explained his prior reactions, but nothing came to mind. She sat, looking at him, her eyes full of defiance and the hurt he’d inflicted upon her, and an odd thought flitted into his mind: that he was proud of her for standing up to him, for facing him as a neighbor in order to help him prepare for a village celebration that he would, essentially, be required to attend. She had set her own feelings aside to complete the task, had risked injury in more ways than one to deliver her message.
He felt like a brute.
“Tea?” he offered lamely, hoping it would give them something to do while he determined what to say to her.
She was still looking at him with those forlorn, angry eyes of hers. “No, thank you.”
