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She wasn’t going to chat about Meric, or the camp, or the dancing and kisses that had occurred there. Perhaps she wouldn’t talk at all! Harriet’s horse shook its head from side to side and snorted as if it sensed her mood.
“I’ve been trying out a bunch of keys the Rileys gave me,” he went on. “It’s like a treasure hunt.”
He seemed to think this would amuse her. Did he imagine she intended tochat?
“So far, I’ve found the liquor cabinet and a collection of jeweled snuffboxes.”
Harriet kept on saying nothing.
“I never understood the attraction of snuff,” Ferrington continued. “Rather unpleasant habit, all the sniffing and brown handkerchiefs.”
Did he sound uneasy? She hoped so. Harriet lifted her chin and gazed at the passing countryside. As did her horse, it seemed. She’d spied a juicy tussock at the edge of the lane, and now she ambled over to sample it. Harriet tugged at the reins. The animal kept its head down, chewing and ignoring her.
“What are you doing?” asked the rogue earl.
Harriet turned to glare at him. “Iam not doing anything.” Couldn’t he see that? “Myhorseobviously prefers eating to wandering aimlessly about the neighborhood.” Where was Cecelia?
***
Unaware of any delay, the duke and duchess had ridden a little distance ahead. “This mount isn’t half bad,” the duke said to his wife. “Ferrington is a good judge of horseflesh, it seems.”
“Spirited but well trained,” Cecelia agreed. “The Travelers know their business.”
“A truism confirmed.” He watched the side of her face appreciatively. “So shouldn’t we be moving on?” he asked. “We have found the earl. Our mission here is accomplished.”
“I think we should stay at Ferrington Hall a bit longer.”
“Ah. How much is a bit?”
Cecelia made an airy gesture. “An indeterminate period. Not too long.”
“I see. Why is that? We do have a great deal of other work. I thought you were eager to get the estate in order.”
“Friendship comes first,” she replied.
“I would scarcely call Ferrington a friend. As yet. He seems a fine enough fellow, but…”
“Not him. Harriet.”
The duke raised dark brows, but before he could reply, there was something like a verbal explosion behind them—an exclamation or a shout. The Terefords turned to find Harriet’s mount hurtling toward them as if the hounds of hell were at its back. Harriet flailed in the saddle, clearly on the verge of falling off. Ferrington was staring after her, aghast.
Harriet pounded past them, clods of earth flying. In the next instant, Ferrington kicked his mount into action and raced after her.
“What the deuce?” said James as the other man galloped by. “I thought you said Miss Finch wouldn’t wish to ride hard.”
“She didn’t look as if shewishedto be galloping,” replied Cecelia. The other two riders disappeared around a curve ahead. Cecelia put her heels to her horse and went after them. James followed suit.
***
Bent over his horse’s neck, pounding along the lane terrified for Miss Finch’s safety, Jack tried to work out what the hell had just happened. He’d gone over to her recalcitrant mount. He’d advised Miss Finch to yank the reins with some authority, which had earned him a scorching look. He’d then administered a slap on the rump to admonish and encourage the beast. It had been a perfectly normal slap—really, no more than a tap—a mere touch that any rational horse would have understood as familiar marching orders. But this animal had taken offense, jumped off its hocks like a rabbit, and shot off down the lane as if a race had been declared.
Jack had lost a moment to sheer disbelief. This behavior made no sense. But then he’d noted Miss Finch’s imbalance in the saddle. She wasn’t a good enough rider to control this kind of bolting. Heart in his mouth, he went after her. He didn’t even notice the Terefords as he galloped past.
“Pull her back,” he shouted when he drew nearer. He didn’t think Miss Finch heard. She looked frightened and was fully occupied with clinging on.
They came to a low place in the high hedges that lined the lane; Miss Finch jerked at one of her reins for no reason Jack could see. Her horse tossed its head, half reared, twisted, and jumped over the line of bushes. The pair disappeared in a way that made Jack fear the ground was much lower on the other side. Picturing Miss Finch and her mount lying in a broken heap in the ditch, he urged his mount a bit farther along, then put him at the hedge. The Traveler horse accepted the challenge and jumped.
The tips of branches brushed the horse’s hooves and stomach. But they cleared the obstacle and landed in a meadow that slanted swiftly downward toward a line of trees that probably ran along a stream. Jack looked left and right. There was no sign of Miss Finch in the flower-strewn meadow grass. He headed for the trees.
