Lisette underestimated her husband. Although he did not mean to share the early evening’s entertainment, Justin Strand had not the slightest intention of spending another night away from his bride. His return to his ancestral estate was not a propitious one, however. Before he was halfway home, it was raining hard. Brutus was afraid of storms, and when a sudden flash of lightning was followed by a great boom of thunder, he sprang onto the seat beside Strand and did his destructive best to dig his way underneath him. Strand was cold, furiously angry, and very tired. He allowed the edge of his rage to break over the burrowing dog, but was interrupted when the powerful animal’s claws gouged his thigh. Instinctively jerking away, Strand lost ground and found himself unable to lower his knee save over Brutus. Snarling curses, he moved to the other side of the carriage. It was hopeless. The dog hurtled at him. Without the aid of two strong men it was doubtful the brute could be ejected from the carriage, and Strand had no intention of either sitting on Brutus or allowing the animal to sit on him. He draped a corner of his cloak over the shivering monster and favoured him with a succinct evaluation of his ancestors.
“I am sure you are aware, you miserable excuse for a watchdog, that I was thoroughly gulled today,” he observed grimly. “My lady wife did not see fit to explain that she had promised to care for your revolting self while Bolster is away. She was certainly aware I’d not have the gall to dump such a plague on his lordship’s servants. I have driven in excess of forty miles, Sir Shivershakes, to no purpose. But there will be an accounting! I promise you!”
Brutus quailed, whining heartrendingly, then sat up, eyeing his master in so frantic a way that Strand feared a resumption of the earlier chaos. He at once moderated his tone and at last was permitted the luxury of sitting peacefully, listening to the rain between Brutus’s resounding snores.
It was half-past twelve when the carriage splashed into the stableyard, and the house was dark. He would light it, Strand thought mercilessly. Had it not been for his implacable resolve to spend the night with his bride and also to demand an accounting of her savage duplicity, he would have racked up for the night at the first tavern he’d come to and allowed Brutus to quake under the hay in the stables. Without an instant spent repining the disturbed slumbers of the inhabitants, he instructed his coachman to blow up a hail on his yard of tin. As a result, by the time he was climbing down the steps lights were already appearing in the windows of the long house beside the stables where the grooms and outside servants dwelt.
Best came staggering into the barn, dragging a coat over his nightshirt. “Welcome—” he began, then stopped, one glance at Strand’s face freezing the words on his lips.
“Get that hound of Satan out of the carriage!” snarled Strand.
Fisher, hurrying from the side door of the Hall, holding up an umbrella, said a concerned, “Good heavens, sir! You must be tired out!”
“Ain’t no dog in here, sir,” called Best, puzzled.
“We may hope he is well on his way back to Three Fields!” Strand said acidly.
Twenty minutes later, his hair brushed, his new red velvet robe tied over his nightshirt, and vengeance in his heart, he marched across his bedchamber and flung wide the connecting door to his bride’s suite. The parlour was empty and dark. Pacing across it, he threw open Lisette’s door. There was no light save for the flames still flickering in the fireplace, but by that faint glow he saw Lisette leap up in bed. She wore a filmy nightgown of some indeterminate pale colour, her cap was lopsided, and her eyes huge with fright. Retribution, he thought ragefully, was upon her. “Good morning, ma’am,” he gritted. “I came home after all, you see.”
He took three long strides towards the bed and the white-faced girl who trembled there.
Brutus had not essayed the long journey back to Three Fields, for he was decidedly a creature of habit. He was, besides, just dozing off, and did not hear the man’s approach until Strand was almost on him, whereupon he sprang up hurriedly.
The result was unfortunate.
* * *
“Nothing to worry about, dear lady,” Dr. Bellows uttered reassuringly, as he closed the door upon his recalcitrant patient and accompanied the bride (whom he privately thought to be exquisite) along the hall.
He had arrived in direct violation of Strand’s orders and, walking into the book room where his patient was stubbornly attempting the read the morning paper, had announced a jovial, “Well, here’s old Bellows-to-mend again, Justin. What now have you been up to, dear boy?”
Strand had groaned and covered his eyes with his left hand, whereupon Dr. Bellows had pounced upon the right and grasped it, drawing a shout from his patient and an instinctive flinch from Lisette. “Hmmn,” he said mildly. “Something broken in here, I think. D’you have any idea how many bones there are in the human hand, Justin? No, of course you don’t, for I keep forgetting you’ve a head of solid wood.”
Surprised, Lisette had darted a glance at him, to find his face suddenly angry. She had been more surprised to see her husband colour hotly, drop his eyes, and endure in silence a careful but undoubtedly unpleasant examination.
When he had gone crashing down in the darkened room, Lisette, for one panicked moment, had fancied herself an early widow. He had soon sprung to his feet, however, and snarling hideous threats had raced into the hall after the fleeing Brutus. Fearing for the dog’s survival, Lisette had followed, only to find Strand leaning against the wall, clutching his arm and looking white and exhausted. “Well, and is your revenge adequate, ma’am?” he’d asked unevenly. His fall was, she knew, only a trifling matter compared to the indignity she had been made to suffer. Nonetheless, she was not an unkind girl, and to see his eyes narrowed with pain had so wrought upon her that she had required Fisher to send a groom galloping at once for the family doctor. Strand had protested vigorously, but Fisher, being both fond of his employer and delighted by the bride, had not heeded him. Not a little frightened by both the accident and her husband’s wrath, Lisette decided to play the part of the dutiful wife, which role she had since nobly maintained.
Now, she asked, “Then, there is nothing broken after all?” and wondered why, if that were so, the doctor had made such a fuss, insisting that her husband take to his bed so that the arm could be properly splinted and placed in a sling.
“To the contrary, I suspect several small bones may be either fractured or broken,” Bellows said. “Shame it’s his right hand. There’ll be no keeping him inactive for long, even so. Still, for the time being he must stay quiet, ma’am. I cannot get laudanum down him, but I’ll leave you these powders. Three a day in a glass of water. They taste foul, so he’ll make a great fuss. But it will keep him quiet, at least. A very light diet, if you please, and I will come back tomorrow to see how he goes on. No need to show me out, m’dear. I know me way.”
She expressed her intention of obeying his instructions implicitly and returned to the bedchamber.
Strand had already been subjected to one of the powders and lay watching her with a drowsy but irked look on his thin face. His hair was rumpled, and in the white nightshirt with his bandaged arm strapped across his chest, he looked rather astonishingly youthful and defenceless.
Discovering that Brutus panted beside the bed, Lisette knew a pang of guilt and said, “I am indeed sorry that you have had so much distress, sir. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”
“You can take out that revolting animal and shoot it,” he muttered malevolently.
“But of course. I do not know what Lord Bolster will think of so flagrant a violation of my given word. But I must henceforth be guided by my husband in all things. Including—conduct.” His eyes sharpened predictably, and she said with sweet martyrdom, “I should not wish to inflict such a task on Best, for he is so kind a man. Perhaps I could do it. I have watched my brother shoot at Manton’s, so I am not afraid of handling a pistol.”
“Are you not? I shall have to remember that,” he drawled thoughtfully. Lisette being unable to restrain a dimple, he stared at it, then growled, “You may well laugh, madam wife. The fact remains you’ve not yet begun to know that curst brute’s habits! I was never so glad as to be rid of him, and I count it downright treacherous of you to saddle me with him again. He is a pest, ma’am. He eats like a horse, is totally unreliable as a guard, snores like a volcano, and—”
“And seems most fond of you, sir,” Lisette put in meekly.
“Which verifies his stupidity, else he would comprehend that I cannot abide him.”
“Yes, but he might more easily comprehend that fact were you to stop caressing him.”
Strand glanced to the side and hurriedly snatched back the hand that had been absently fondling Brutus. “I—er … had not realized…”
“Of course, you are half asleep. I will remove him and take care he does not disturb you again.” She moved closer to bend over him and seeing the look of shocked disbelief, enquired, “May I smooth your pillows?”
Strand’s eyes were becoming positively heavy, but he propped himself on one elbow as Lisette plumped his pillows. “I wish,” he yawned, lying back, “you would allow me … to…”
“Go to sleep,” she adjured, and led Brutus from the room.
Strand lay quietly for a moment after the door closed behind her. Then he withdrew his left hand from beneath the eiderdown. For a long moment he gazed at the object he grasped. A small square of fine lawn, edged with dainty lace. He raised it to his lips and breathed the sweet fragrance of it. Awkwardly, he sat up and with painful care placed his prize in the drawer of his bedside table. Then he settled back down and went to sleep.
* * *
Dr. Bellows appeared to exert a powerful influence upon his patient, and for the two days following, Strand meekly submitted to lying abed, swallowing the noxious drugs and drowsing the hours away. By the third day he was beginning to grumble, however, and by the fourth, he was up and about. Coming downstairs at ten o’clock, Lisette was shocked to see him stride in at the front doors wearing riding dress, and arguing with a clerical-appearing individual regarding the benefits of allowing the south field to lie fallow for a season.
“Oh, there you are, my dear,” he said, flashing Lisette an impudent grin. “This is my steward, Connaught. Connie—my wife. Now, I’m not at all pleased by the look of things at Silverings. The boat dock is downright rotted and must be attended to at once if we’re not to lose the whole this winter. Mrs. Strand, would you please ask Fisher to step in here? As for—”
“No,” said Lisette clearly.
A sparkle came into Mr. Connaught’s faded brown eyes. Strand’s head turned to his wife. Startled, he exclaimed, “Eh?”
“May I ask what you are about, sir?” She folded her hands and regarded him with cool disapproval. “Dr. Bellows said you were not to—”
He laughed. “Oh, you mustn’t pay too much heed to our Bellows-to-mend. He’s a good enough old fellow, but a regular gloom merchant. I’m doing splendidly. I’ve kept my arm in this confounded sling for—”
“Three days,” she nodded. “Dr. Bellows said three weeks—at least.”
“Nonsense. A far too conservative estimate, m’dear. I’ll be fully restored long before that. Give you my word.”
His eyes held a mocking glint. Lisette blushed and retreated, but at the door she turned back. “Did you have a nice ride, Strand?”
“Very nice. I shall roust you out soon, ma’am, for there’s something I must show you.”
“It shall have to wait, sir. I must insist there be no more riding today.” Strand looked astounded, and she turned to his amused steward. “I am sure you understand, Mr. Connaught, that the master’s recovery must not be impaired.”
The gleam brighter than ever in his eyes, Mr. Connaught bowed and said he certainly understood. In fact, he was only going to stay another minute or two.
“Thank you,” said Lisette. “That would be considerate in you.”
Staring at the door as it closed behind her, Strand muttered, “Well, I’ll be damned…”
“Nothing like having a lady around the house, is there, sir?” asked Mr. Connaught. “Especially so lovely a lady as your own.”
Strand was silent for a long moment. Then, “No,” he said slowly. “Nothing.”
* * *
In the hall, Lisette encountered Mr. Fisher, winding the grandfather clock that stood at the foot of the stairs in the wide entrance foyer. “Good morning, Fisher,” she said, captivating him with her smile. “Could you tell me, please, has there never been a music room in the house?”
“Years ago there was, madam,” he answered, closing the clock with care. “It annoyed Mr. Rupert to hear practising, so the instruments were all moved into the children’s room.”
“The children’s room?” Moved by a sly impulse, she asked, “Oh, is that at Silverings?”
“No, madam. Mr. Rupert never cared for Silverings, though it had at one time a quite splendid music room.”
So Silverings belonged to the Strands. “I see. But my husband is fond of the place, I believe.”
“Very fond. Would you wish to see the children’s room, madam?”
Lisette indicating an interest, Fisher led her outside, past the barn and through a shrubbery having in the centre a cleared space in which stood what looked like an enclosed summer house. Unlocking the door, he said, “Shall I wait, madam? Or would you care to stay for a time?”
“I would. Thank you.”
Left alone, she wandered about curiously. The room was surprisingly spacious and well kept up. In addition to chairs and tables, there was a small pianoforte which she soon determined was in excellent tune, a harp, a mandolin, and a case holding a fine violin. She sat at the piano and played for a while, well pleased with its tone and action. She did not turn when the door was softly opened, guessing that Strand had come seeking her, but when he did not speak a sudden unease caused her to spin around on the stool. She gave a gasp of shock. James Garvey stood in the doorway, smiling fondly at her. He swept off his curly-brimmed beaver and bowed low. “At last!” he breathed, coming quickly into the room and closing the door behind him. “Oh, my poor creature. How wan you look! Does he ill-treat you?”
“Wh-whatever are you doing here? Mr. Garvey, I—”
“James—I beg! Just to hear it on your lips!”
“Oh, James, then. You must be mad! Does my husband know you are here?”
He shrugged, stepping closer to regard her with eyes aglow with adoration. “How could he? I understand he is confined to his bed after a small accident. I rushed here at once, to console you.”
“Good gracious!” she exclaimed, walking around him to the door. “You are not very well acquainted with my husband, sir, else you would know he is scarcely the type to remain in bed.”
Her hand on the doorknob was restrained as his own closed over it. “Lisette, my goddess of beauty, stay a moment, I implore you. All these weeks I have been desolate.”
She said with asperity, “If my husband finds us alone here, Mr. Garvey, we are liable to be a good deal more than desolate. Now, you must please leave before—”
“Not yet! Do you suppose I rode all this way to be frightened off by the likes of Justin Strand?” He carried her hand to his lips despite her efforts to free it and, gazing down at her, murmured, “I love you still. You are everything feminine—everything pure and lovely. My adored Lisette, when may I see you? Can you get away from him? Could you come to—”
The door opened suddenly. Lisette gave a little squeak of fright and wrenched her hand free. Garvey turned lazily, quizzing glass upraised and a mocking smile on his lips. “Oh, but how very embarrassing,” said he.
Charity Strand stood on the threshold. “M-my—my apologies!” she gasped, and fled.
Garvey laughed. Lisette said furiously, “Oh, but that was too bad of you, James. Now Justin will come, and—”
“Have no fear, beloved. I can handle your irate husband, should he object, which I rather doubt.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Merely that while he may not be very bright, I’d not take him for the reckless type.”
“Be that as it may—” Lisette frowned—“he is my husband. I insist that you leave at once.”
He instead stepped closer, and took her by the shoulders. “Did you despair, my lovely one? Did you think I had abandoned you? Never! I shall adore you for as long as I live.”
His green eyes were soft with love, his handsome face hovered above her, and here was more romance in a few moments than she’d had from Strand in the two weeks she had been wed to him. Yet, oddly, she was more irritated than enchanted. “You are very good, and truly, I am most grateful for your concern, but I am a married woman now. Whatever might have been is—is past redemption.” He looked so downcast that she was moved to add kindly, “Sir, you have every quality to charm a lady, and there are so many in London who must, I am sure, admire you.”
He sighed. “But only one who has my heart.” Lisette turned away, and he said, “Married, my lovely dream—married … but perhaps not past redemption.”
“James,” she said, searching his face, “you would not do anything foolish?”
He laughed easily. “I never do anything foolish—save to say farewell to you, my goddess. But before I go, promise me this. If you ever need me, if he ever ill-treats you, you will at once send word. Promise, Lisette?”
She nodded. “I promise.” And thought it quite nonsensical.
* * *
Returning to the house, Lisette found Strand and his sister in the library. Their conversation terminated rather abruptly when she entered, but it soon became apparent that Charity had not spoken of what she had witnessed in the children’s room. She had stopped, she said, for a brief visit en route to spend a month or two with the Leiths at Cloudhills.
“Which is quite absurd,” said Strand. “This is your home, and always will be.”
“Yes, and I should be most glad of your company,” Lisette put in. “I miss my own family so badly, and it would be delightful if you could stay.”
Charity was adamant, however. She would not dream of interrupting a honeymoon. “If the truth be told,” she said with a glance at Lisette, “you will get little enough of privacy here, and will likely have a steady stream of visitors. You should have gone away, Justin.”
He attempted a gesture, forgetting his broken arm, and winced slightly. It was sufficient for both ladies to demand he rest for a while before luncheon and, grumbling that his life was as ordered as though he were a small boy, he went contentedly upstairs to do as he was bid.
When they were alone, Lisette turned to her sister-in-law. “You did not tell him.”
Charity shook her head. “I hoped there was nothing of import to tell.”
“Thank you. And there truly was not. Mr. Garvey had just arrived with—with a message from my family, and sought me out in the garden.” It must, she knew, sound false, especially since Garvey had been kissing her hand when Charity had burst in on them.
“I had heard Mr. Garvey is—er, devoted to you,” Charity said in a worried voice. “But truly, he has a—a rather unsavoury reputation where ladies are concerned. If my brother thought—”
Lisette summoned a small laugh. “That I have taken a lover after less than a month of marriage? Good gracious! You must suppose me fast indeed!”
“Oh, no, no! I only meant that it might be necessary for you to tell my brother, does Mr. Garvey continue to annoy you.”
It was said so earnestly, and the girl’s sweet face was so troubled that Lisette could not take offence and, patting her hand, agreed, “Indeed it might. But not, I think, while Strand has only his left hand.”
Charity paled. “Heavens! You never think it would come to a duel? Surely Mr. Garvey would not be so rash? He is the one challenges convention in pursuing a married lady!”
“I have tried to warn him away. We can but hope he will behave properly in the future.”
Charity nodded, but when she was in the carriage and being driven to Cloudhills her heart was heavy. She had very little faith in the proper behaviour of Mr. James Garvey.
* * *
Something was tickling Lisette’s nose. She brushed it away sleepily, and snuggled deeper under the blankets. Again came that persistent tickling. She opened one eye. A dewy pink rose lay within an inch of her face. Blinking at it, she heard a familiar and amused voice scoff, “Slugabed!”
She raised her head and discerned Strand, booted and spurred, standing at the foot of the bed. For a moment of foolishness she fancied him almost attractive as he leaned against the bedpost watching her with his quirkish grin, his blue eyes bright against his tan, the fair hair tumbled as usual, and his whip tapping restlessly against his top boot. Such an illusion must, she decided, be the result of insufficient sleep, and closing her eyes she muttered, “Go away.”
The rose tickled her nose once more, and when next she opened her eyes, Strand’s face hovered rather frighteningly close. “You desire help, madam bride?” he murmured. “I shall be glad to assist you…”
His hand closed over the bedclothes. Snatching at them protectively, Lisette, aware that he had every right to do as he chose, was spurred to hasty, if indignant, agreement. “Shall I ring for your abigail?” he enquired, moving back. “Or can you manage to dress yourself alone?”
Lisette imparted regally that although she might be forced to arise at so ungodly an hour, she refused to inflict such misery upon her hapless abigail.
Strand chuckled and left her, but she was shocked when the door again swung open just as she was getting out of bed, and he stuck his head back in. “If I chance to have dropped asleep by the time you arrive downstairs, please wake me.” His eyes wandered downwards; he added appraisingly, “You’ve a well-turned ankle, I’m glad to see.”
She gave a gasp of mortification and whipped her foot back under the covers. Dreading lest he again return with his odious offer of assistance, she dressed in record time, her rapid movements accelerated by the chill in the fireless room. Adjusting her petite grey hat, its large red feather a vivid complement to her dark hair and eyes, she appraised herself critically and decided that she looked well enough—well enough for her husband, at all events. She took up whip and gloves, paused beside the full-length mirror, and lifted her habit a little. She had suspected she had no cause to blush for her legs, but nonetheless, it was nice to know she had a “well-turned ankle.”
Outside, the skies looked threatening and the air was cold. Lisette shivered as they started out of the stableyard side by side. “What a miserable morning. It looks like rain.” She glanced at Strand’s right arm, carried in the sling. “I doubt you should be riding yet.”
“It won’t rain this morning. And I feel very well, thank you,” he said cheerfully. “We’ll give the horses a gallop. That should warm your blood a little.” He added, sotto voce, “I hope.”
Lisette turned a scornful glance upon the repellent creature but surprised such a whimsical twinkle she could not hold her anger and, fighting an impulse to smile in return, remarked, “I trust we do not have far to go, Strand.”
“Oh, only a short way past Petworth,” he said airily.
“Petworth? Why, it—it must be three and twenty miles, at least!”
“Oh, at least. But it’s early yet, and we can breakfast along the—”
His words were cut off as Brutus came charging from the trees and shot under the horses, excitedly barking. Lisette had caught a glimpse of him an instant before he reached them and had tightened her grip on the reins. Strand was caught by surprise as his big chestnut gelding bucked in a frenzy of fear. Struggling to manage her own mount, Lisette shot an anxious glance at her husband. For a man with only one arm at his disposal he was doing magnificently, his wiry body swaying to counter the chestnut’s gyrations as he fought for control. Reining the animal to a halt, his gaze flashed to Lisette. “That blasted idiot of a dog!” he exclaimed, a trifle breathless. “You might have got a broken neck out of this!”
“You terrify me, sir,” she said meekly. “Shall I return home while you dispose of him?”
He glared at her, grunted “Come on!,” and spurred to a gallop.
The horses were eager to go and fairly flew over the turf. Strand rode like a centaur, guiding the big chestnut unerringly with his left hand. Lisette, who had been used to chafe at the restrictions polite Society placed on young damsels and yearn for a gallop, contrarily was now vexed by Strand’s breezy assumption that she needed no pampering. When her pert little hat was almost snatched off by the wind, she decided enough was enough and drew Yasmin to a sedate trot. Strand was soon out of sight, but since she had no idea whither they were bound, she surmised he would return for her. She was right. He came thundering up, his eyes bright and a becoming flush on his lean cheeks. “My apologies.” He grinned. “I forget you’re London bred and unaccustomed to exercise.”
She was irritated, but smiled and said sweetly, “Alas, I fear I am a great disappointment to you, Mr. Strand.”
“Never mind,” he reassured her infuriatingly. “We’ll have you up to snuff in no time.”
Why was it, she wondered, that however right she was, however wrong he was, she inevitably was made to feel inferior? It was a new experience, and one she did not at all appreciate. Up to snuff, indeed! She rode on in a lofty silence, and Strand stayed more or less beside her, his horse fidgeting and fretting, snorting at every puff of breeze, sidling at shadows, and in general behaving so outrageously that several times Strand was obliged to allow him to circle Yasmin. Lisette was being drawn to a snail’s pace and had to grit her teeth to keep from urging Yasmin ahead. They came to a low hedge the horses could have walked over, but Strand made a great point of insisting that Lisette wait, while he galloped off, the chestnut kicking up his heels in delight at the change of pace. In a minute or two Strand returned and led Lisette a short distance westward where he dismounted to open a low gate. Having ushered her through it with grave ceremony, he prepared to close the gate, whereupon his mount pranced sideways, colliding slightly with Yasmin.
“Brandy, you devil, be still!” Strand exhorted, and with laughter brimming in his eyes, said, “Sorry about this idiot, madam wife. He behaves in much the same fashion when I take my grandmother out.”
It was the last straw. With a muffled but incensed exclamation, Lisette drove home her heels. Yasmin bounded forward. Strand’s startled shout rang out, but bending low, Lisette urged the mare to greater speed, paying no heed to the wind now, and exulting in this gallop of her own choosing. Over lush meadows, down a gently sloping hill, and along a winding lane she raced, trees and hedgerows flashing past, the wind whipping her hair and sending her habit billowing. Her cheeks were tingling; she felt invigorated and happily ignored Strand’s roared demand that she stop. He was coming up fast but, exhilarated by the chase, she made no attempt to slow the mare. They were following the path of the river and as Yasmin shot around a curve, the lane narrowed suddenly. Too late, Lisette saw that the heavy rains had caused the river to overflow its banks at a low spot just ahead. Floodwaters surged across the lane, having dug a deep channel in which debris swirled sullenly. There was no way to avoid that treacherous gulf. Tall hedgerows presented an impenetrable barrier at the left, to the right was the raging swell of the river, and the jump was by far too wide for Yasmin to attempt. For the first time in her life Lisette froze with terror and sat watching disaster rush at her.
A thunder of hooves, a gloved hand closing over her reins and wrenching back with surprising power. Yasmin reared, neighing in panic. Recovering her wits, Lisette jerked her about.
There was no time for Strand to do the same, besides which he had lost his own reins when he grabbed hers. He was leaning perilously from the saddle, but managed to pull himself upright. With his hand fast gripped in Brandy’s flying mane, his knees tight, his weight on the stirrups, he guided his horse into that impossible jump. They soared into the air. Lisette gasped as Brandy’s tucked-up back hooves skimmed an ugly splintered tree trunk. They could not hope to clear that deathtrap! They could not! But the chestnut landed on the far side. The earth crumbled away under his back legs. Strand had been flung forward and with a fluid leap was out of the saddle and tugging at the reins. For a breathless moment man and animal scrabbled and fought, then Brandy was clear and stood trembling, eyes rolling, and neck lathered with foam.
Lisette closed her eyes and breathed a silent prayer of thanks. “Are you all right?” she called anxiously.
Having already satisfied himself that she’d not been thrown, Strand did not so much as deign her a glance, his full attention bent upon an inspection of his mount’s muddied legs. He patted the chestnut’s neck and spoke softly to him. “Wait there!” he called curtly, and led Brandy along the lane.
Watching him disappear from sight through a break in the hedgerow, Lisette thought rebelliously that he had taunted her into essaying that gallop. The fact that he had shouted at her to stop conveniently escaped her, and she glowered at Yasmin’s ears, quite sure she was about to be chastised.
Strand hailed her. He had circled around and, instead of having the common decency to rush to his shaken lady and determine if she was about to swoon, waited some distance behind her, gesturing impatiently. Her brows gathering into an irked frown, she rode back to him.
“What in the devil did you think you was about, madam?” he demanded, not mincing his words. “Trying to prove what a bruising rider you are? Did you not hear me tell you to stop?”
Unhappily conscious that his anger was to an extent justified, she lifted her chin and said with proud hauteur, “Tell me, sir? No man tells me what I may do! I do as I please!”
“You did as you pleased, Mrs. Strand. From now on, you will be guided by me!” His eyes fairly sparked rage; his chin seemed to thrust out at her, and his lips were a tight, angry line.
“How dare you address me in such a tone?” Lisette flared.
“Oh, I dare! Never doubt it. And shall do more than scold if you ever again commit an act of such reckless folly! Had you forgot you are my wife?”
Her lip curling, she retaliated, “I wonder how ever I might have come to do so!” She knew at once that she had erred, for the rage in his eyes was replaced by a dancing gleam of mirth.
“I do not wonder at all,” he said, adding wickedly, “but I shall contrive to remind you of it. Just as soon as possible.”
Her cheeks fiery, Lisette thought it best to ignore the vulgar boor.