Chapter 8
Holly didn’t wait to see if Lord Drayton would meet with success. As he hurried to his sister’s aid, she hefted her skirts and ran to the opposite enclosure, where other horses awaited their turn in the paddock.
The closest horse to the gate was a bay, already saddled and tied to the rail. The animal didn’t bear the star, but everything else about him suggested he hailed from the Ashworth stud.
“Miss? Excuse me, but what on earth do you think you’re about?”
Holly ignored the groom as she hastily unwrapped the reins from the fence and pulled herself into the saddle. With no time for niceties such as adjusting her skirts so she could approximate a sidesaddle position, she slipped her feet into the stirrups. The youth’s face was a streak of ruddy color as she urged the colt past him.
“Miss! Come back here! You can’t—”
She cantered the colt through the open gates and into the larger paddock. A shocked twitter rippled through the crowd, but she ignored the gasps and set her sights on Lady Sabrina and the filly.
The colt’s energy pulsed beneath her like surging ocean waves. She must be careful or she could just as easily lose control and find herself in the same predicament as Lady Sabrina. She glimpsed Lord Drayton’s face as she rode past him, saw his surprise give way to consternation and then anger. She took no heed as he shouted her name.
Sport o’ Kings danced about, shaking her head and pulling at the reins, giving Lady Sabrina a jolting ride. It appeared the young woman could barely manage to hang on. Praying she could keep the colt calm, Holly urged him to the filly’s side.
“Give her her head and allow her to follow my lead,” Holly called softly to Lady Sabrina. The girl nodded and carefully loosened the reins.
Holly wagered on a horse’s instinct to run in a pack, and on the filly and the colt having a rapport. The filly acknowledged the colt’s presence with a twitch of her ears and a momentary easing of her erratic movements. Holding her breath, Holly stole the opportunity to squeeze with her knees and set the colt to an even, comfortable lope.
With a burst of triumph she watched the filly take her cue from the other horse. Matching his pace, she fell in beside him, her stride smoothing and elongating. After a lap around the paddock, Holly ever so gradually slowed the colt to a trot, then a walk, and then finally brought both animals to a halt.
Sport o’ Kings’s fatigue showed in her snorting breaths and her quivering, sweating flanks. Holly leaned over to run the flat of her hand along the filly’s damp neck. Lady Sabrina’s hands shook where they lay in her lap, still clutching the reins.
Lord Drayton ran up to the filly’s side. “Are you all right?”
Her brow furrowed, her gaze pinned on the black mane in front of her, Lady Sabrina nodded faintly. Her brother raised his arms to grasp his sister about the waist. She leaned in to him and allowed him to lower her to the ground.
Around the paddock, the onlookers called out their relief for Lady Sabrina and the filly. Both Lord Drayton and his sister ignored them. Having witnessed Lady Sabrina’s haughtiness in the past, Holly waited for her to heft her chin, glare into her brother’s face, and make excuses. She did none of those things, but continued to stare downward, a ridge of perplexity scoring her brow.
“You were fighting her, Sabrina,” her brother said quietly. “You know better than that.”
“She has never behaved that way before. . . . I don’t understand it. . . .” Lady Sabrina regarded the filly, standing calmly now and rubbing her head against the colt’s neck.
As Lord Drayton and his sister continued their murmured conversation, Holly became aware of the twittering onlookers.
My goodness, did she really ride in astride?
Did you see how her skirts flew up to expose her ankles?
She did save the day, albeit in a rather scandalous manner.
Her family? They’re nobody, really. . . .
She glanced around at the shocked and curious faces, her cheeks heating. The urgency of the situation had sent her scurrying for a remedy, the only one she could think of. Only now did she realize how she looked to the others, sitting astride in the saddle with her skirts tucked round her legs and her ankles on display.
And where was Ivy? Or Willow, who should have been back by now? Had she so embarrassed them that they’d slipped away somewhere? She remembered the earl’s angry look as she had ridden by him. Her heart sank and her cheeks flamed hotter.
“Miss Sutherland?” He had moved beside her horse, and stood with his arms extended to her.
“Lord Drayton, I am sorry. I only thought to—”
“Yes, but not now, Miss Sutherland. Please, just let me help you down.”
His hands braced her sides at her waist, and what should have been a simple gesture of assistance set off a firestorm of confusion inside her. She forgot to lean and set her hands on his shoulders so he could lift her from the saddle. She knew only that he touched her as he had never touched her before, and that she wished him to go on touching her, touching more of her, touching her endlessly. His hands were strong and warm and sure, as she had always known they would be, all those times she had peeked at them and tried to imagine them on her.
She’d gotten her wish, but to what purpose?
“Miss Sutherland, is something wrong?” Oblivious to her untoward musings, he lowered his arms. “You seemed in control, but perhaps you were injured?”
She shook her head, more to clear it than in reply, so aloud she said, “I was not hurt, my lord.”
Why do you suppose she just sits there?
Can you hear what she is saying to him?
The continued speculation sent fresh waves of heat climbing from her chin to her hairline.
The earl raised his hands to her again. “If you please, then.”
“Oh, yes. How silly of me.”
This time she set her hands on his wide, sturdy shoulders. He seemed to bear her weight with no effort at all. As he lowered her to the ground, she leaned more fully in to him—she couldn’t help herself—and her thighs brushed his, and then her breasts briefly grazed his hard chest, sending a shock of awareness through her.
“There you are,” he whispered. Her feet touched the ground, but he didn’t release her. They stood toe-to-toe, bodies no longer touching but close enough for his heat to penetrate her clothing, for his breath to graze her cheek, for her lips to feel drawn to his as if by a magnetic pull.
His chin lowered a notch. “Will you do something for me, Miss Sutherland?”
She inhaled his starchy, masculine scent and nodded. “Anything.”
“Sabrina? Oh, my darling girl!”
The shouted endearment sent Lord Drayton stepping away. The sudden loss of his bulk in front of her left Holly feeling as though she might fall on her face. She braced her feet and struggled to regain her composure as the Duchess of Masterfield swept into the paddock. Lord Shelby was already at his niece’s side, and now Lady Sabrina was enfolded in her mother’s arms.
“I was still down by the track with some of our guests when someone came running to tell me your horse had gone stark mad.”
“Not mad, Mama. Just a bit nervous. Please don’t make a fuss.”
“Why, my only daughter is nearly thrown and trampled by a mad horse, and I am not to make a fuss? Come. We are going to get a nice cup of strong, hot tea in you.” Her arm securely anchored around her daughter’s shoulders, the duchess walked her out of the paddock. Lord Shelby followed them, but he went no farther than the grassy aisle between the paddocks. Holly could hear him reassuring the guests that all was well.
Lord Drayton gathered the colt’s reins. Just as he reached for the filly’s, a groom ran to relieve him of both animals. The earl turned back to Holly. “That favor, Miss Sutherland.” A flick of his chin indicated his sister and mother, the pair looking very much alike from behind, though the younger woman’s hips were more slender and her hair gleamed a brighter gold. “Will you go with them?”
Did he long for her to be gone? The notion sent her heart sinking to her knees. She glanced again at the Ashworth women, proceeding slowly toward the house, Sabrina’s head on her mother’s shoulder. “I’m not sure my company would be needed just now, my lord.”
“It would, Miss Sutherland. I assure you it would. Please go.”
Please go. The words jabbed at her heart, especially the please, as if he could scarcely wait to be relieved of the embarrassment she must have caused him. To keep her chin from trembling, she clamped her lips together. Then she lifted her chin and swept out of the paddock. Ignoring the raised eyebrows and whispers of the guests was easy. She simply let their disparagement shoot like dull-tipped arrows over her head. But Lord Drayton’s censure weighed heavily, unbearably, even after she’d put considerable distance between them.