She held the apple she’d filched from the kitchen while the horse bit into it, slobber coating her hand. She turned it, careful to keep her fingers out of the way so Velvet could take another bite.
She was still in the stall fussing over the mare when she heard Bennett pointing out the strong points on a team her father-in-law had recently purchased.
‘Sturdy legs, wide chests, large heads. The whole team bred and broke by General Iverson. He’s got the old horse magic the Irish go on about. Never starts out a team too soon. Never ruins their mouths. I’ve never driven an Iverson team that wasn’t superb. He’s been crossing his Cleveland Bays with a huge black he imported from Friesland, and the result are these beauties here. If you’re really interested in a good, stout team I’d be happy to give you his direction.’
‘I’d appreciate that.’ Dauntry’s voice sounded loudly in the peaceable silence of the barn. Every sense stretched out to where the two men stood. Awareness caused the hair on her arms to raise.
‘I’ve no intention of setting up strings on all the major roads, but I do think I’d like to have changes in place between London and Ashcombe Park. Can’t stand the bony nags and break-downs the posting inns pawn off on you.’
George finished feeding the last of the apple to Velvet, trying to quiet the sudden shaking of her hands. There didn’t seem to be enough air in the barn, and what there was smelt of dung and straw and warm horse. When the apple was gone she slipped the headstall over her shoulder and emptied the grain bucket into the trough.
Dauntry really hadn’t yet adjusted to his new station. No posting house was likely to give such poor mounts to Morpeth, or her father-in-law, or even to herself. If you weren’t known, they’d give you the worst they thought they could get away with. He really was going to have to learn how to come the earl in public, distasteful as he might find it.
She gave the mare one last slap on the rump and exited the stall, being careful to latch it securely behind her. Velvet was a consummate escape artist, and once loose, was the devil to catch. The sly thing had spent more than a month loose in the home woods over the summer before being caught.
Without glancing towards the end of the barn where Dauntry was, she strolled slowly down to the tack room. Inside were trees filled with a varied collection of saddles: gentlemen’s saddles, ladies’ side saddles, children’s saddles of every description and size, even a couple of beat-up cavalry saddles. The walls were lined with tack boxes, hung with grain pails and pegs holding a vast array of headstalls, lead ropes, bridles and bits.
The tack room smelled of horse sweat, saddle soap, dust, and hay. A homey, comforting smell. The stable had always been the place she went to think, to calm down, to simply be.
She shook her head, wishing she could settle the roiling uncertainty within her, reaching up to hang the headstall with its mates with unsteady hands.
Footsteps, loud and heavy, sounded on the wooden plank floor behind her. She took a deep breath, let it out with a huff, overly conscious of the other presence that filled the tack room.
She turned to find Dauntry directly behind her, eyes intent. He was just standing there, staring at her. If he’d been another sort of man she’d have said heart in his eyes. But it wasn’t his heart, it was simply lust. Pure unadulterated lust. And she could feel its response well up inside her.
She cocked her head and stared back at him appraisingly, refusing to give ground.
He took one step closer, booted foot pushing between her own. Another that forced her back against the wall. His lips covered hers with a sureness that caught her off guard. With her head trapped amongst the headstalls, her feet tangled among the dangling lead ropes, she didn’t have anywhere to go.
Dauntry leaned in, hands going to either side of her waist, deepening the kiss. His tongue stroked hers enticingly, inviting her to play. Damn the man, but she missed him. Humiliating as that was.
Then, just as suddenly as he’d pounced, he ended the kiss, leaning forward farther, forehead resting against the wall beside her, body holding her in place. He was breathing heavily, each exhalation shuddering out of him.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ George pushed her arms up between them so that her hands rested on his chest.
‘Our bargain hasn’t been fulfilled.’ His lips were right against her ear, breath scalding her skin. His hands tightened, thumbs pressing into her ribs, squeezing her stays in tight.
Her knees nearly buckled.
‘It’s as fulfilled as it’s going to be.’ She thrust her hands out, pushing past him, swallowing down the urge to slap him, to ball up her hand into a fist and break his nose.
Our bargain hasn’t been fulfilled.
What an ass he was.
Ivo cursed under his breath and threw one hand out to catch her, then thought better of it. Her fingers were flexing in agitation. If he touched her now, she’d gouge out his eyes.
He sank down onto a convenient tack box.
That wasn’t at all what he’d planned. Wasn’t what was supposed to have happened.
When he’d seen George sauntering down to the barn, he’d excused himself and followed her, thinking it was the best chance he was going to have to speak to her alone. Perhaps the only chance.
She spent most of her time with the children, or with that damned colonel, and now he’d gone and made everything worse, clutching at her like some soldier on holiday.
He really had meant just to talk to her, to clear up the misunderstanding his grandfather had created. Instead he’d pushed her up
