Dauntry had taken his leave of them all the night before. He’d worn an almost comical expression. Regret, mingled with frustrated desire, and an underlying sense of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on…anger? Disgust? Relief? He was returning to Ashcombe Park and all the inherent responsibilities that awaited him there.
He’d been very clear about it after dinner, making sure she overheard. Whether his declaration had been for her benefit or his own she couldn’t be sure. He’d sounded like he was trying to convince himself. But would desire or duty win out? Would he turn up on her doorstep?
Would he tamely acquiesce to her rule? Somehow she couldn’t quite picture him agreeing, if only because he appeared to dislike being dictated to. Much as she did herself.
She missed having a man in her bed. Not enough to give up her independence, but suddenly the need was acute enough to consider the rather drastic step of breaking her rule and taking a lover in every sense of the word.
Dauntry had ripped away the blanket of numbness she’d carefully shrouded herself in, leaving her painfully awake to the world of sensual possibilities. It had been impossible to give in at Winsham Court, surrounded by her friends and family, but on the wider stage of London?
God, she hoped Dauntry didn’t really mean to mire himself in the country.
With her maid and Caesar safely off the previous night in one of her father-in-law’s smaller coaches, George was able to follow on horseback. She’d be made welcome at St Neots with a private room, her own sheets, and a well-stocked cellar. Heaven. All reached without the damnable confinement of a coach. Her new maid had been quite indignant about sharing the coach with the dog, but George sincerely doubted Maeve was put out enough to sit outside with the coachman instead. The girl would get used to dogs soon enough, or she’d flee to another employer.
Several hours later, George pulled her horse up short and smiled over her shoulder at Catton, her late husband’s tiger. Behind him, the two armed grooms her father-in-law insisted upon also reined in.
In the middle of the road was a curricle. Absent one wheel, it lolled drunkenly to one side. In front stood a gentleman in a dark greatcoat fighting to keep his horses still while unravelling their traces. To one side stood what appeared to be the man’s valet, looking as though he’d been spilt from his seat by the calamity.
Dauntry. The mere sight of him set her pulse racing. The hint of cheekbone visible above the high collar of his coat, the sureness of his hands as they calmed the horses. Hands that had touched her with every bit as much power and grace.
It felt like a sign, encountering him again so soon.
‘I think we’re about to play knight errant,’ she announced quietly, motioning for the grooms to follow her.
‘I say, Dauntry,’ she called out, setting her mount in motion, ‘you could use some help, couldn’t you?’
His head snapped up, a flush on his cheeks. George bit her lip to keep from smiling. He might forgive teasing, but outright laughter just might be too much for his pride to swallow. No man liked to be caught out in such a manner. And she had plans for this one. Tonight. One night. Alone on the road home, no chance of repetition. The circumstances were perfect.
‘The wheel’s come off,’ he replied, his tone deeply disgusted, ‘but I don’t think either of the horses was hurt.’ His valet made an aggrieved noise which Dauntry pointedly ignored.
Catton leapt down, the skirts of his coat flying out. He carelessly dropped his mount’s reins and hurried to assist with the daunting task of unhitching the horses and extracting them from the tangled web of harness and rein. While Dauntry held both horses by the bridle, Catton went over the team with quick, expert hands.
Even from several feet away George could hear Catton crooning to them, hands and voice soothing, reassuring. Letting them know it was all right to calm down. Worth his weight in gold.
The leader dropped his head, resting his beautifully dished forehead against Dauntry’s chest. Dauntry’s face softened momentarily, the tightness leaving his mouth. He let go of the bridle and moved his hand up to scratch the sensitive place behind the gelding’s ear.
‘They’ll do very well, my lord,’ Catton announced, patting the second horse firmly on the rump, ‘though I think this one might have strained a hock. It’ll bear watching.’
George surveyed the scene from the saddle. She could get down and help, but she suspected her assistance would only provoke or embarrass him. It was probably irritating enough to be forced to accept the help of other men.
Once the horses were tied off at the side of the road, the two outriders dismounted and attempted to drag the curricle out of the road. They heaved up the wheel-less side of the carriage, the screech of protesting wood and metal making Mameluke’s ears swivel and flick. George stroked his neck, leather glove slicking over silken hide, and he settled.
With Dauntry and Catton pushing, the road was quickly cleared and the curricle deposited far enough off to the side to be out of harm’s way. The carriage collapsed with a groan. A layer of mud and dust decorated its otherwise pristine finish.
‘So what’s to do now?’ George asked.
‘It’s a good five miles farther to Oundale, but I think I can ride one of the carriage horses in.’
‘Nonsense. Even if they are broken to saddle, no one—and certainly not a man of your size—should be on them until you’ve had a chance to inspect them more thoroughly. Tom can wait here with your valet until we can send help back to collect them, and you can take his mount.’
Dauntry accepted her solution with obvious relief, but he was still stiff with mortification. Tom waited for the other men to mount, then
