“We managed with the gig yesterday,” she said.
“We’ll need to go cross country.”
“Nell, James is right. Doesn’t the idea of galloping over the moors thrill you, even just a little?” Regret that she usually fought gallantly to hide filled Lady Leath’s voice. “I remember as a bride riding for hours beside James’s father, discovering the estate. I’ve never felt so free.”
Odd. Free was the word the marquess had chosen to describe his reaction to the moors too. “Horses are so big.”
“Don’t tell me you’re frightened, Miss Trim,” the marquess said. “I’m convinced that not even a herd of charging elephants could ruffle a hair on your head.”
Little did he know that her attraction to one difficult marquess made her quake with terror.
He surveyed her down his long nose. “Or perhaps that’s the devilish unbecoming way you pull it back.”
It was her turn to protest. She raised a hand to where her hair strained from her forehead. “My lord!”
“He’s right, my dear,” the marchioness said. “I wish you’d let Nancy arrange it for you.”
Nell hid a shudder. Nancy, Lady Leath’s maid, was so jealous of Nell that she was more likely to tear out every hair on her head than create a becoming style. “It’s not fitting.”
“Nonsense,” the marchioness said. “You and my son dwell too much on questions of rank.”
“My mother is a revolutionary,” the marquess said drily. “She’d happily march me off to the guillotine in the name of liberty, equality, and fraternity.”
“Don’t be silly, James. But sometimes you’re ever so stuffy.” She sent Nell a disapproving glance. “And that stuffiness has rubbed off on you, my girl. I’m disappointed.”
Reluctantly, Nell smiled. When she wanted her own way, the marchioness was more formidable than her formidable son. “I’ll try riding.”
“Excellent,” the marchioness said.
Nell hadn’t finished. “But if I show no aptitude, I ask that you both drop this subject.”
“And if I need to visit some isolated corner of the estate?” Leath asked.
“If you’re not home for supper, we’ll arrange a search party.”
To her surprise, he laughed properly. She’d never heard him express full-scale amusement before. The sound was wonderful. Liberated and joyous and rich. She found herself smiling at him.
Then she caught the marchioness’s speculative expression and her smile faded to nothing. What on earth was she doing? Anyone would say she flirted with the marquess. And anyone would be right.
Already they spent too much time together. She told herself that she sought the diary, but it was days since she’d looked for it. Instead, she fell victim to Lord Leath’s charm and intelligence. Now, heaven help her, she’d just agreed to riding lessons which she feared must involve physical contact. And she was too susceptible to the touch of those strong, elegant hands.
As Leath approached the stables the next day, the sun crept over the horizon. He wasn’t surprised to see the woman who was his torment and his fascination waiting. Why the devil he did this, he couldn’t say. In truth, he’d manage quite well without someone at his side in his estate’s less accessible areas.
But when they’d shared the gig, he’d recognized Eleanor’s longing as she’d gazed across the hills. She might repress her fiery spirit, but he knew its power. Her wildness called to him, just as the wild, magnificent landscape did.
“Miss Trim,” he exclaimed, slamming to a standstill.
Strengthening light revealed one of those damned beguiling blushes. “Her ladyship lent it to me.”
He told the reckless heart that always raced at the sight of her that Miss Trim in a scarlet riding habit was nothing extraordinary. “Those gray dresses are almost as much of an abomination as your hair.”
The habit was old-fashioned. Of course it was. His mother hadn’t been well enough to ride since Sophie’s birth twenty years ago. But that didn’t take anything away from the fetching ensemble.
“You’re so rude.” Self-consciously one leather-gloved hand touched the fiercely restrained hair. He winced to see it. She’d been extra severe this morning, as if to defy yesterday’s criticism. A high-crowned beaver hat tied with a jaunty red scarf dangled from her other hand.
“You strike me as a woman who appreciates frankness,” he said.
“Perhaps you should check whether I also appreciate a few kind lies,” she snapped back.