Blake had needed to escape the house.
All through dinner, he had churned with anger and conflicting feelings. Tara would have jilted him for the horse master. A horse master!
Did she see Blake and all he’d worked for of such little consequence that she would lust after a man who was only a step above a servant? And the irony was that Penevey insisted Blake marry Tara because the marriage would supposedly raise his status in the world. Obviously, all he’d worked for was of little value to her.
But he felt it was Aileen who had betrayed him . . . and he couldn’t quite define why. She owed him nothing. Her first loyalty should be to her sister. Still, he heaped on her the blame even while realizing he was being irrational.
And it was for that reason that as soon as the meal had ended—a dinner during which the only conversation had consisted of the earl and his lively widow’s amorous repartee—he’d changed clothes and gone in search of exercise. He needed to clear his head. No good ever came from his losing his temper. He’d lost it recently when he’d learned Tara had run away, leaving him to public humiliation, and now look where he was—angrier, more lost and more unsettled than he had ever been in his life.
A fine decision it had been to go after her.
The horses in Annefield’s famous stables were either young stock in training or hot-blooded stallions, all expensive livestock and not suitable for a Sunday’s ride. There were only two geldings in the stables; one had thrown a shoe, so Blake had taken the other.
He now rode Thomas Aquinas, a strong bay Thoroughbred who wanted a run, which was fine with him. Blake was on the beast’s back because he needed the wind in his face and the demons chased out of his being. He pulled his hat low and gave the horse his lead. Off they went.
For a good hour, all he did was ride. Thomas knew his business, and he wasn’t some ladies’ mount. A man had to think when he was on this horse.
When Blake and Thomas were both out of breath, they began trotting down a sheep’s path that soon led to a meandering road along Loch Tay.
In front of them, a boy was driving a shaggy beast of a bull with huge horns. The bull eyed Thomas as they passed, as if deciding whether he could take him on or not. The lad’s stick and Thomas’s snort of disdain seemed to make him think twice.
The boy pulled a forelock, an ancient symbol of respect. Blake nodded in return and, for a second, felt quite the country gentleman.
The air going through his lungs was sweet and clear, a striking contrast to London’s thick soot. The views were astounding. The mountains made him feel as if he’d been cupped in God’s hand, while Loch Tay’s silver waters gave him a sense of freedom.
But then the road took him through the village of Kenmore and past the kirk he had attended that morning. His anger, his discontent, came thundering back.
If he was wise, he would ride this horse to London without a backward glance at Lady Tara or Lady Aileen. He would return to the life he had . . . yet he wasn’t certain he wanted that either.
Indecision made him uncomfortable. He always knew what he wanted. At one time, it had been just to survive. Then his goal had become earning Penevey’s respect.
And now?
Why was he here? The question didn’t pertain to why he was in Scotland; it carried a heavier weight—one his life had not encouraged him to ponder until this moment.
He had everything most men would desire, yet a part of him felt empty. Incomplete.
Blake was not a man given to introspection. It made him uncomfortable. And so he put his attention to riding, to turning Thomas in the direction of where he had no choice but to return—Annefield.
He decided to abandon the road and ride across fields. Thomas was game for it. All it took was a touch of Blake’s heels for the big horse to clear the stone dyke edging the road and they were off again, jumping fences and both of them enjoying the independence of making their own way. Some of the tension in Blake’s shoulders started to ease.
When he was certain they were close to their destination, he pulled Thomas into a walk to let him cool down. The house came into sight, but Blake found he wasn’t ready to return.
He stared at Annefield’s stone facade. Beyond the drunk, self-seeking earl of Tay and his two headstrong daughters, the Scots he’d met had appeared willing to measure him by his accomplishments instead of his connections. That’s when he realized that the disquiet, even the fury, he felt was directed at himself.
He had no love for Tara.
She was a bauble, a pretty thing that other men had wanted and he’d won. He’d been caught up in the gamesmanship in the chase for her. He also understood that his money had played a large part in her choice. Tay had driven a hard bargain, then asked for a considerable advance on the funds.
The money did not bother Blake. He would have risked it all to please Penevey.
However, he now understood he would never be accepted. Not completely. Arthur and his other half brothers had nothing to fear from him. They would always be the duke’s first choice.
Perhaps the time had come for Blake to start pleasing himself first.
The idea was radical.
A lad needed a mentor, and Penevey had served the purpose . . . but perhaps the time had come when Blake should consider what he wanted out of life.
Discovering he still wasn’t ready to return to the house, Blake directed Thomas to a path leading through the woods on the far side of the stables. They were about to come into a clearing a good distance from the house when Blake heard Lady Aileen’s voice. Thomas had heard it as well and obviously liked his mistress, because his ears picked up, as did his pace.
As they came through the woods, Blake realized Lady Aileen was pleading with someone, begging that person to do as she asked.
Jealousy was a new emotion to Blake when it came to women. He’d never cared deeply enough for any one of them to be territorial. Yes, Tara provoked him. It was outrageous to have one’s intended openly mooning over another man for all to see, but he wasn’t jealous.
However, he discovered he envied the man who could make Lady Aileen plead with such open emotion and fond affection.
And he wouldn’t be human if he didn’t want to know to whom she spoke.
He nudged Thomas forward.
On the far side of the clearing, close to a line of trees, was a small, wooden-rail paddock of the sort that was hastily built and could be torn down quickly.
Lady Aileen, looking very attractive in a straw hat and serviceable day dress of a deep green, was trying to coax a lovely gray mare to come to her and eat from a small pail. The mare stood at the far end of the paddock, eyeing her mistress with disgruntled distrust.
Aileen was so intent on her task that she didn’t detect Blake immediately, so when she turned from the mare in frustration, she was startled by his presence and almost dropped the pail.
“I didn’t mean to alarm you,” he said as an apology, urging Thomas closer to the fence.
She shook her head and pressed a hand to her brow. The action caused her hat to fall off her head, the green ribbon around her neck keeping it from tumbling to the ground. Her hair had come loose from her pins. She gave a discouraged sigh.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
“My mare, Folly, she’s angry with me. She is refusing to eat.”
Ah, here was a problem Blake could help her solve. Blake swung down from the saddle. He tied the gelding’s reins around a fence rail.
“Perhaps she doesn’t like being alone?” he suggested.
“I’m certain she doesn’t,” Aileen said, “but I need to keep her separate from the other horses in the barn.”
Folly trotted over to sniff noses with Thomas. “If you put a mate out here for her, she’ll be happy.”
“I know that,” Lady Aileen retorted. “But all the other horses must be kept in their stalls in case the earl decides he wants a reckoning.”
“Won’t he miss this mare?”
“He believes Folly is dead,” she said. The mare seemed to understand she was being discussed and eyed them with the disdain of an offended dowager at a party.
“He sent the order two months ago to have her put down,” Lady Aileen continued. “He doesn’t like feeding horses that can’t earn their keep. Heaven forbid a penny is wasted that he can’t gamble.”
“Could she not have been sold?”
“No, she’s mine.”
Lady Aileen took an agitated step toward Folly and ran her hand along the mare’s neck. “The earl doesn’t believe animals have souls. He says they are put on this earth to serve man and when they are done, well, we have no obligation to them.” She turned stormy gray eyes on Blake and demanded, “Do you believe as he does?”
“I don’t,” Blake said truthfully. “I assume all creatures that feel pain or can show loyalty must have a soul.” As if approving of him, or letting him know he’d like to graze, Thomas bumped Blake’s shoulder with his head. But the gelding’s response was nothing to Blake compared to Lady Aileen’s approval.
“That is how I feel,” she said, her earlier guardedness toward him vanishing. In its place was a vulnerable, troubled woman, the sort that would tug at any man’s sense of honor.
“Then that is what you should tell your father.”
Her response was an undignified sound of disgust. “If I thought the earl had any cares for anything beside himself, I would have. The last time he met Angus, our head groom, in Newmarket, Father questioned him about the horses in the stables that he rarely visits and sent word he wanted Folly destroyed. Angus knows what Folly means to me, and, of course, I countermanded the order. It wasn’t hard to do. The servants are loyal to me. No one was worried. The earl’s last visit was years ago. But now he is here, and Angus is most anxious that the earl not discover that his direction has been ignored, or else he could be sacked.”
“Why would Lord Tay want to put down the mare? The animal looks fine.”
In answer, Lady Aileen handed him the pail of grain and raised her arms, shooing the mare away from Thomas.
Folly’s head came up and she snorted her impatience. This was no obedient animal. She had some spirit to her. Blake liked Tay’s bloodstock. He preferred smart horses and used his elbow to shove away the nose Thomas was leaning toward the grain bucket.
Again Lady Aileen waved her arms, and the mare started to turn away with an angry swish of her tail. But instead of trotting, she hobbled a step or two.
“What is wrong with her?” Blake asked as she took the pail away from him.
“Age. In her hips, or at least that is what Mr. Jamerson believes, and he’s usually right. She can’t be ridden. She’d be in too much pain, so we just let her be.” Unshed tears welled in Lady Aileen’s eyes. “But now, alone, she is refusing to eat. She is such a stubborn mare. She’d starve to death just to spite me.”
“No horse will starve to death. Put the pail down and leave it here. She will eat sooner or later.”
“Not Folly. Not when she is in one of her moods. She’s upset being out here by herself. Every time I go after her with grain, she turns away. If I leave it, the pail remains untouched.” With a distracted hand, Aileen brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over one eye.
“Then let’s find a mate for her,” Blake answered. “Borrow a horse from the neighbors, a horse your father doesn’t know.”
“And run the risk of some neighbor mentioning such a thing to Father? No. He doesn’t pay attention to anything at Annefield except the horses. They are his claim to fame. Since he arrived, he has walked the stables every day, counting the stalls.”
The mare had lowered her head, looking like some aged crone stubbornly waiting to die. But she was also paying attention to the humans standing close by, as if she understood what they were saying.
“If she is in pain, letting her go may be the kindest thing for her,” he suggested, trying to keep his tone tactful.
“Some days, yes,” she agreed. “And then others, she acts like her old self, and I don’t have the heart to take her life from her. I’ve prayed that she would die naturally and peacefully without any action required from me. I hope to come to her stall one day and see that she is gone, happy and content and all by God’s will. But that hasn’t happened yet, and I need her here. She is my mooring.”
“In what way?”
“You will think me silly.”
“I doubt that.”
Lady Aileen looked up at the blue sky with its fat white clouds before confessing, “She knows my secrets. She has seen my failings, heard my fears, my doubts, and yet she has never betrayed me, unlike most people. She’s always been faithful. Why should I not be at least half as loyal to her? See? She hears us. She understands. And I doubt if she is in pain. Putting her down would be an expedience.”
Blake understood what she meant. How many times had he wished he’d had just that sort of support? His friends were boon companions and trusted . . . to a point. What Lady Aileen spoke of was someone closer than he’d allowed anyone in his life to be before.
“Where is the gate to this contraption?” he asked, meaning the fence.
“To your right. What are you going to do?”
“Make Folly eat,” he replied as he led Thomas to the gate. “She’s already shown a preference for Thomas.”
“As long as he is on his side of the fence. She does not like them in her field.”
“Perhaps a bit of annoyance is what she needs,” Blake said.
“This will not be pretty, Mr. Stephens. She really doesn’t like males.”
He unhooked the gate. “Like her mistress?”
Lady Aileen made a sputtering sound. “I don’t dislike men.”
He hummed his different opinion as he twisted Thomas’s reins, unhooked the throat latch strap and threaded them through it before fastening the latch again. In this way, there wouldn’t be a danger of the gelding breaking the reins.
Blake turned Thomas loose into the pen.
Lady Aileen hurried to the gate, opening it so that she was out of harm’s way. The paddock was small. “This is not a good idea,” she warned, “Folly can kick, bad hips and all.”
“I need the grain,” he answered. He was not surprised that she had not followed his instructions and still had the pail. He took it from her, shaking it so that Thomas knew what was in it, as if the horse had any doubt. Indeed, the gelding fell into step behind Blake as he moved to the center of the enclosure, stretching his neck to nose the pail.
Blake set the grain pail on the ground and backed himself toward Lady Aileen, closing the gate behind him.
Thomas started gobbling away. Folly’s ears perked, and she decided to assert her authority. Lady Aileen had not been jesting. The mare was truly offended by the gelding’s presence, and she came at Thomas with her teeth bared.
“She will kick him with all her might,” Lady Aileen warned. “She could break his leg.”
“He’s not that stupid,” Blake answered. “He won’t stand for it.”
A ladylike snort was her answer.
Blake frowned at her. “He isn’t.”
“Men can be very foolish when it comes to something they want. He doesn’t know the danger he is in.”
“We all know we are in danger around women, my lady,” Blake replied. “We just don’t mind the risk.”
Before she could answer, Folly kicked her back legs at Thomas with surprising force.
She missed, but she had come very close to Thomas’s head in the grain pail. The gelding moved away, but Folly was not content. She stalked him.
“We need to stop this,” Lady Aileen insisted. She started through the gate, brushing past Blake, but he stopped her, grabbing her by both arms and pulling her back just as Thomas regrouped and made another foray toward the grain pail.
Folly began bucking without any sign of lameness, and Lady Aileen could have been caught in the battle.
Blake kept his arm wrapped around her, her straw hat crushed against his chest, and he wasn’t about to let her go. She felt good this close to him. Very good.
“We must let it play out now,” he said.
“He’ll be hurt.”
“He could be, but he’s wise. Have you noticed the mare doesn’t act all that lame now?”
“She’ll be worse than ever on the morrow,” was the tart reply.
“Folly won’t overtax herself,” Blake said confidently.
Thomas now trotted the paddock fence, his head up, as if challenging Folly to come after him.
Instead, the mare went right to the feed bucket that had been knocked over during her kicking and began eating for all she was worth.
“She’s eating,” Thomas pointed out, his mouth close to Aileen’s ear. Her hair smelled of the summer flowers and Scotland’s sweet air.
Lady Aileen didn’t respond. She didn’t move from his arms. Was it his imagination, or had her heartbeat kicked up a notch?
His had . . . as had another part of him. He wondered if she was aware.
An hour ago, he’d been furious with her. Right now, she was where he wanted her.
Slowly, she turned in his arms. Their faces were so close that he could see the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes, but she was not smiling. “That was dangerous,” she whispered.
“No, they were doing just what animals do. It’s all a game. Attraction, rejection, and on and on it goes.” He waited, half expecting her to push away and praying she wouldn’t.
He leaned forward. She seemed to move closer to him as well. The air around them hummed with excitement—
“No,” she whispered, her eyes troubled. “No,” she repeated, saying the word with more force. She pushed back from him.
He understood what she meant, but for a second, he was ready to pretend ignorance. He held her, craving her heat, and then he, too, let go.
She stumbled and regained her balance.
For a long moment they stood, facing each other. Tension whirled in the air around them, but its cause wasn’t one of anger. No, they feared themselves.
“I’m not that woman,” Aileen said before spinning on her heel and walking as fast as her legs could carry her toward Annefield. Her hands tried to bring order to her hair, and she replaced her hat with distracted, anxious movements.
Blake watched her until she was out of sight, and only then did he realize he’d been holding his breath.
God, his knees were even weak.
He moved, needing to make his senses work.
What had just happened both puzzled and embarrassed him. He prided himself on always maintaining control . . . and yet, with her, he was powerless, even over himself.
He glanced round. Thomas and the mare watched him. They stood side by side, grazing. Apparently their differences had been settled.
“Don’t look at me that way, old man,” Blake said to the gelding. “You’re as stupid around them as I am.”
Was it his imagination, or was there a glint of commiseration in Thomas’s eye?
Blake walked over to the now empty grain pail and picked it up, shooing off Folly as he did.
If Aileen feared her father’s discovering the mare’s presence, and if the earl was as interested in his horses as she claimed, then having all grain pails accounted for was necessary. Folly ran with a hobbling gait to the far corner of the paddock. She’d used all she had on schooling Thomas and was once again a broken-down mare in need of a champion.
But Thomas would not be her defender. He had to be taken back to the stables.
Unlatching Thomas’s reins, Blake led the horse out of the paddock and mounted.
Folly came running to them then. She did not want to be alone. She called after them, her lament of loneliness echoing in the clearing as Blake rode away.
Blake was disappointed he didn’t come across Lady Aileen. She must have taken a different path. He had planned on showing her that he’d picked up the feed pail, that he had been thinking of her best interests. What better proof would she need?
Except she’d see through him to his true motives.
Just as he’d seen through hers.
Geoff Hamilton had done all he could to blacken her name. A woman scorned was no match for the temper of a man cuckolded. Blake had believed the stories. A woman having an affair in London was not a novelty. Having a husband angry enough to cry adultery was.
There was more to the tale. He knew that now, and he wanted to know her story, because he didn’t believe she could be an adulteress. She was like him. She understood honor. She had a code. Moments ago, she had wanted to kiss him as much as he’d wanted to taste her, and yet she’d pulled away. She’d forced herself from him because of her sister, because of her family honor.
This was not the action of a woman who would cheat on her marriage vows.
When he arrived at the stable yard, not even the lad who had helped him saddle Thomas seemed to be around.
Blake led Thomas through the passageway and into the square. Horses stuck their heads out over their stall doors. Thomas called out to them, no doubt bragging about his time teasing Folly, and received several answers.
Blake placed the grain pail next to one of the stall doors before going about the business of untacking Thomas. He had removed the saddle and was rubbing down the horse when a stall door from the other side of the square opened and, to his surprise, Tara walked out.
She was dressed for riding.
Thinking that perhaps she had come looking for him, Blake called out, “Tara.”
The woman jumped at the sound of his voice, her eyes wide, as if his presence shocked her.
“You didn’t hear the horses calling to each other?” he asked, bemused by her surprise—and then he realized something was not completely right. There was a hint of worry in Tara’s eye. Or was that guilt?
She also appeared softer to him, less tense than she had been over the past several days. Her complexion even had a rosy glow.
Then he perceived movement inside the stall. A man’s white shirt.
Tara caught the direction of his glance and said, “I was going to ride, but Dirk had thrown his shoe.”
That was true. Blake knew that.
“I called for Mr. Jamerson,” Tara finished.
Jamerson.
The horse master with dark good looks came out of the stall.
“Mr. Jamerson’s banns were announced this morning,” Tara was saying, her voice slightly breathless in that way she had when she was pretending very hard that all was as it should be.
Blake knew. He’d heard her speak that way often over the last three days.
“Yes, I know,” Blake said, measuring his competition. “Congratulations are in order, Jamerson.”
“As they are for you, sir,” Mr. Jamerson said with humble diffidence, and Blake had a very masculine urge to pick the man up and toss him into a water trough . . . because he now understood what was different about Tara. She appeared more relaxed because her lips were rosy, full, swollen . . . well kissed.
And she thought him such a fool that he would not notice.
An anger he didn’t know he had inside him erupted. “What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?”