Seven
by Charles Brightmore
Nathan looked at the blush spreading riotous color on Lady Victoria’s creamy smooth complexion and forced himself not to reach out and touch that bewitching color. Her blue eyes snapped with outrage and she all but bristled at his improper comment. Indeed, she resembled a firework about to explode.
“If that arrangement is not suitable to you, my lady, you need only to give me my note. Otherwise I fear I shall have to stick to you like green to lettuce. Like yellow to daffodil. Like red to tomato. Like-”
“I quite understand your meaning.” She pressed her lips together and he found himself staring at her mouth, anticipating her releasing the pressure so he could watch it resume its plump fullness. “Clearly you think that by making a pest of yourself-not a difficult feat, by the way-I will find your constant company so odious, I will gladly hand over the note.”
“That is my fondest wish, yes.”
“Then you’ve underestimated me and my determination.”
“On the contrary, I can see how stubborn you are.”
“There is a difference between determined and stubborn.”
“I’m sure you think there is. And I’d be delighted to hear your theory on the subject during our ride.” He raised his brows. “I should think you’d want me to go with you so as to ensure that I’m not searching your bedchamber in your absence.” He allowed his gaze to wander down her form, then met her eyes and slowly grinned. “Unless you fear that I’ll find the note on your person.”
She raised her chin in that obstinate, haughty, prim, look-down-her-nose fashion that for some idiotic reason he found highly arousing. “Certainly not.”
“Excellent. Then it is settled. Follow me.” He walked toward the stables, and she fell into step alongside him. Watching her from the corner of his eye, he suppressed a grin at the furtive glances she threw over her shoulder at his animals who followed directly behind them.
They entered the stables and he called out, “Hopkins, are you about?”
“Right here,” came a muffled voice. The first stall door on the left swung open and a rugged man with a swatch of fiery red hair and a matching beard shouldered his way through the opening carrying a large pail in each hand. “‘Mornin’, m’lady, Dr. Nathan.” He held up the buckets. “Just about to fill yer brood’s troughs. The hens left ye a gift of three fat eggs.”
Nathan smiled. “Thank you, Hopkins. Bring them up to the kitchen and have Cook prepare them for you.”
“Thank ye.” He shot a narrow-eyed look at the goat, pig, cow, and ducks who hovered in the doorway. “Out with the lot of ye. Yer grub is comin‘.” He looked at Nathan. “Will ye be needin’ horses saddled, Dr. Nathan?”
“If you’ll feed the animals, I’ll take care of the saddling for Lady Victoria and myself.”
Hopkins jerked his head in a nod, then headed outside, followed closely by the herd. As he disappeared from sight, his voice drifted back into the stable. “Git yer bloody snout out o‘ my arse, ye damn impatient beast.”
Pretending he didn’t hear a thing, Nathan said, “Just let me settle Boots.” He set the sleeping kitten in the first stall then latched the door. When he returned, he said to Lady Victoria, “Are you a proficient rider?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I think Honey will be a fine mount for you. She’s spirited, but gentle.” He led the way to the last stall, where the mare, named for her pale golden mane, nickered at the sight of him.
“She’s beautiful,” Lady Victoria exclaimed when he led the mare from the stall. He watched her stroke the horse’s neck and velvety nose.
While Lady Victoria and Honey became acquainted, he outfitted the mare with a sidesaddle, listening to Lady Victoria croon soft, complimentary words to the horse. He then saddled Midnight, a pure black gelding, for himself.
After seeing Lady Victoria safely settled in the saddle, he swung up onto Midnight and led the way out of the stables. Curious as to whether she truly was a proficient rider, he struck out at a brisk trot toward the huge copse of elms at the far edge of the lawns, purposely avoiding the other direction, where the haunting memories from that night three years ago waited to ambush him. When they neared the trees, he slowed their pace, wandering slowly along the wood-scented trails dappled with pale skeins of early morning sunlight. Birds twittered, leaves scrunched underfoot, and a soft sea-scented breeze filled his head. Memories assaulted him from all directions. He’d ridden and walked and run these paths countless times during his youth, and even after such a long absence it now felt as if he’d never left.
He wasn’t certain how long they rode in silence before she said, “The grounds here are lovely. Do you visit Creston Manor often?”
He wondered if something had shown on his face to prompt her question. “I haven’t been here in three years.”
Her brows shot upward. “You mean since that last mission?”
“Yes.”
“Why haven’t you returned?”
He turned and faced her directly. The sunlight glimmered on the dark brown curls framing her face, coaxing cinnamon highlights. Her dark green riding costume complemented her creamy complexion. And her lips… bloody hell, her lips looked like they were fashioned from plump, moist, succulent peaches. Perhaps going riding with her hadn’t been a good idea after all-
“Lord Nathan? Why haven’t you returned?”
Bloody hell, he’d completely dropped the conversational ball. He quickly debated telling her the truth, then decided, why the hell not? It’s not as if her opinion of him mattered. “After the mission failed, I had a falling out with my father and brother. It was best for all concerned that I left.”
Her gaze searched his, then she said softly, “That must have been very difficult for you.”
Whatever he’d expected her to say, it hadn’t been that. He’d expected her to pry, to look scornful, to be curious. Instead she offered him sympathy, as if she understood such estrangement. He found it confusing. And unsettling. Damn it, he didn’t want to discover anything
“I imagine that being here again brings back many memories,” she said, again disarming him with her uncanny ability to understand precisely what he was thinking.
“Yes. This trail we’re on right now was always my favorite. It splits about a quarter mile ahead, with the right fork heading toward the beach and the left to a small private lake at the far edge of the property.”
“So this particular spot is filled with happy memories?”
He nodded slowly, a smile tugging at his lips as some of those memories slipped through his mind. “Yes, it is.”
“Would you care to share some with me?”
He shot her a look. Her expression revealed only interest. “You realize that if we converse, we run the risk of arguing.”
“We won’t converse,” she said with a smile. “You can talk, and I shall simply listen to your stories of your misspent youth. So tell me, why was this spot your favorite?”
He hesitated several seconds, allowing the atmosphere of the surroundings to infuse him with nostalgia. The twittering birds, the soaring trees bathing them in dancing ribbons of shade and gilded sunshine. The scent of fresh earth, clean air, and always, that underlying tang of the sea that made him think of home. “My two favorite spots on
