For a moment, he surrendered to its power. More than anything, he wanted to stay, but he never went back on his word. He owed it to Beauworth and Le Clere to go home.
A week had passed. One of the most blissful Garrick had ever known. And he wanted Ellie to be happy, too. He’d thought of the perfect thing. So now with her at his side in the gig, he felt as nervous as a lad facing his first day at school. Ridiculous. And yet he hadn’t felt this excited in years. Even the unpredictable weather had cooperated with a sunny summer day.
They turned on to the track winding to the barn where he’d been held captive. ‘Where are we going?’ The nervousness in her voice indicated she’d guessed their destination.
He kept his voice gruff. ‘You’ll see.’
Her body stiffened as if she expected some sort of trick. Perhaps he shouldn’t tease, but he couldn’t resist. She’d love his surprise. They turned through the gate. He tried to hold back his smile as her mouth dropped open at the sight of the two horses tied to the rail outside the barn.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Mist.’ She grabbed his arm. ‘You remembered.’
‘That you stabled him at Brown’s farm? Yes.’ He brought the horse to a halt and she leapt down without waiting for help. Skirts ankle high, she ran to the little white gelding, reaching out to him, petting his neck, murmuring soft words into his ear.
A huge warmth filled his chest, marred by a twinge of something small and mean. Jealousy for the damned horse? ’Struth. He must be losing his mind if he envied a bloody gelding.
Forcing a smile, he jumped down and strode to join her at the fence. ‘Dan collected him this morning.’
‘I never imagined you would do something like this.’ Her laughter bubbled like champagne, even as her words cut through his joy and when she flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, he forgave her careless dismissal and basked in her happiness. She could not have been more pleased than if he had brought her diamonds.
‘Oh, I wish I had known, I would have worn my riding habit.’
‘I can do better.’ Garrick didn’t try to hold back his smirk. He took her hand and led her into the barn. There, in a corner, was a suit of boy’s clothes very much like those she had worn when they had fenced, and beside the pile, her sword leaning up against the wall.
She hugged him with abandon. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Well, Miss Brown, first we ride, then we practise. I will teach you my sword trick, if you wish.’
Her face shone in the dim cool light. ‘I do wish. Leave me, so I can change.’
Imperious and charmingly modest. A strange delightful mixture for a creature of passion and adventure. Laughing, he tipped up her face with his knuckle. ‘Do you need my help?’
‘I’m used to doing for myself.’
Of course she was. Women of her ilk did not have maids to help them dress. Yet he would have liked to help her out of her clothes. Heat rushed to his groin. He could insist, of course. It was his right. But this was her day, and so he left and strode out into the sunshine where he paced in front of the barn, imagining her slipping out of her gown and into her other guise with increasingly lascivious thoughts.
When she emerged, her stride and the way she held herself reminded him what a great little actress she was, a woman who changed her persona with her clothes. Now, she was more boy than girl, swaggering in her form-hugging breeches with the sword belted at her waist and the cocked hat pulled down over her hair. The costume left nothing of her body to the imagination and the sight of luscious hips and thighs thickened his blood.
If he hadn’t known how much she was looking forward to going for a ride, he might have pulled her down on to the grass where they’d kissed days before and teased her right out of her breeches. Instead, breathing hard, concentrating on the control he’d learned as a boy, he held his desire in check, merely nodding when she glanced from the horse to him.
In a flash, she mounted, a boy-like leap into the saddle, and urged the little white gelding into a gallop. Ah, but he would not let her get too far. He swung up on to Bess. The mare needed no urging to catch the fleeing pair. And when he came up on her, they rode side by side across the field. Not the sedate trot of an afternoon in Hyde Park, but a wild canter.
‘A race,’ she called out.
He grinned and dug in his heels. Bess easily outstripped the smaller gelding.
He looked back to gloat. Damn her. She’d cut off at right angles. Headed straight for the field’s low stone wall. His heart rose in his throat. She’d break her neck if she fell at that speed. He wheeled Bess around and followed. He roared a warning. The gelding took the wall with a playful little kick of rear hooves, clearing the coping with inches to spare.
Even as his heart swelled in admiration, Garrick wanted to take his crop to her backside. He wanted to shake her. Make her promise never to risk her life in that fashion again. He had to catch her first.
Never had he seen a woman ride so hard, better than many men he knew. Admiration outstripped anger as he watched the perfect harmony between horse and rider. She rode like a madwoman, but she knew her horse and by the time they were heading back to the barn, he’d forgiven her madcap dash. He laughed out loud when she raised a brow in question from beneath her cocked hat.
As they walked the horses cool, a feeling of contentment washed through him. It was as if some great weight had gone from his shoulders, or some dark shadow had been erased from his soul. She made him feel…happy. A gift beyond price.
A happiness he didn’t deserve, but would enjoy as long as it lasted.
‘I’m starving,’ he said.
‘Me, too.’
‘Lucky I thought to bring lunch.’ He retrieved the hamper he’d left in the barn’s cool interior and spread out a red-and-green plaid blanket on the grass over-looking the pond. She laid out the feast, small meat pasties in a feather-light crust, bread, cheese and fine red wine. Neither said much while they ate. It was good to see a woman eat with such gusto, unlike the ladies of his acquaintance in London, who picked at food as if it might be poison.
Crickets chirped a merry tune in the grass. A dove on the barn roof cooed softly. Appetite sated, Garrick stretched out, leaning on one elbow so he could watch her face. She sighed and, resting against his thigh, sipped her wine. ‘Thank you for a most wonderful surprise,’ she murmured.
The pleasure in her voice filled his heart with unaccustomed warmth. It burned like frozen fingers brought back to life. ‘I’m glad it pleased you. Tell me, how on earth did you learn to ride and fight with a sword like a boy?’
She hesitated.
Would she lie? The warmth dwindled, but he tried to hold it fast. After all, he had his own dark secrets.
‘I told you I was brought up with the Castlefield children,’ she said. ‘We spent a year or two in India. While travelling in some parts it was safer to dress the girls as boys. I took fencing and riding lessons with William…I mean, Lord Castlefield. I loved it. Sometimes I wished I’d been born a boy.’
William. Her familiarity with the man sent the heat of anger flooding to his brain even as he analysed her slight hesitations and carefully chosen words. No doubt about it. She was lying.
He kept his expression cool, detached. ‘I envy you. I have never been outside England. The war with France made the Grand Tour impossible.’ Not to mention his uncle’s protectiveness.
She set down her half-full glass and stared at the rolling vista. ‘It was the same for the oldest son, the heir. He hoped to go abroad once the war was over. He was killed in a carriage accident not long ago. Now William