‘Neither. We’ve come to an agreement. That’s all there is to it.’
‘But that can’t be all there is to it,’ she persisted. ‘He could not possibly have raised that kind of money immediately. I know he couldn’t. What has he sold you, exactly? The house?’
‘Ask him,’ he said, knowing it would get her nowhere.
‘I will.’
‘Good. Now, perhaps we can talk about pleasanter matters.’
‘Pleasanter than the sound of wagers being paid? Why, sir,’ she said, acidly, ‘what could be sweeter than that?’
‘The sound of your singing, Miss Chester, for one thing.’
She could not bring herself to snub him again while accepting his protection, so, rather than bite back, she bit her tongue instead.
It was not far from Sheen Court to Paradise Road and, as they skirted the edge of Richmond Park with a stretch of open road before them, Sir Chase drew the horses to a standstill beneath an old oak whose branches were barely in leaf. Keeping the reins in his hand, he slewed round on the seat, placing one foot on the top of the footboard, looking into her angry eyes.
For a few conflicting moments, her antagonism flared. She had never taken kindly to being placed in a situation against her will but, while she would like to have asked him why they had stopped, she would not give him the satisfaction of doing what he would expect of her. Her wait gave her another chance to glare at him and to notice again his penetrating arrogant eyes narrowed against the sun, seeming to read the language of her silence like an expert, and it was her eyes that swung away to avoid any further reading. Even then, she felt his scrutiny as she had done during her performance earlier; she felt his long legs much too close for her comfort, and she was aware of his deep chest and disconcertingly powerful physique. She gulped, suddenly breathless.
‘Well, now, madam,’ he said, softly, ‘tell me how well acquainted you are with Rayne. Is that bickering you do a cover for something deeper between you, or is it a brother-sister affair?’
Even from a friend, she might have found this question impertinent. From him, it was brazen interference. ‘Sir Chase,’ she said, as sweetly as her anger would allow, ‘being my father’s creditor does not allow you free access into my affairs, however much you may wish to the contrary. When I begin to show an interest in how many affaires you’ve had in the past year, then you may ask me again about my private life. Is that agreed?’
His mouth, firm and well shaped, broke into a wide smile just short of a laugh, his eyes widening at her bold set-down. ‘Hah!’ he yelped, throwing back his head. ‘How I love it when you bite so. How many affaires have I had? Is that what bothers you then, madam? Eh? Do you really want to know?’
‘No,’ she snapped. ‘I do not.’
‘I thought not. Do you often use that kind of language?’
‘I rarely have the need to speak to people of your sort.’
‘My sort? What is my sort?’ His voice was intimately teasing, unlike the brotherly teasing of Lord Rayne.
‘This is a ridiculous conversation. Please drive on.’
He lowered his head a little to look into her face, where a slow surge of colour had almost reached her ears. ‘Well, then, let me tell you, Miss Chester, since you raise the question, that I never seduce chits, jades, tabbies or dowdies. There, now, that should put your mind at rest. Any other concerns?’
‘Please…’ she whispered, looking away. ‘Take me home.’
‘Have you ever handled a team of four?’
She shook her head.
‘Would you like to try?’
She would, but it would give him pleasure to teach her, and she did not want to encourage his friendship, even at her own cost. She had always wanted the chance to drive a four-in-hand, and now she looked lovingly down the reins at the beautiful restless chestnuts, at the track ahead leading to Paradise Road, to Red Lion Street, along King Street and on round The Green where strollers would see Miss Caterina Chester driving a curricle and four. They would not see a sight like that too often. Damn the man. Why must it be him, of all people?
Her too-long hesitation was her answer. Without another word, he took her left hand and placed it on top of his own. ‘Now,’ he told her, ‘take the reins up from my fingers, off-wheel between these two, near-wheel and off-lead between those two, and near-lead on top. That’s it. Now, just do as you’d do with a pair and we’ll walk them, then we’ll turn them. Use your right hand to loop the reins up when you turn, as usual. Start up the wheelers first when you’ve given the command to walk on, or the leaders will pull them off their feet. Don’t worry, I’ll take over when you start to tire.’
Talking her through each move, he murmured encouragement and instructions as the horses responded to her light contact with their mouths, walking until they reached the first bend, then turning as she drew up the reins with a roll of her hand. One hand, never with two. ‘You’re good,’ he said. ‘Very good. Are you getting tired?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Keep going. Another right turn ahead. Keep well to the left…well done.’
As if by mutual consent, they passed Number 18 Paradise Road without a glance, following the route into the town along a series of right turns to bring them along the side of the large Green, bordered by houses, where she had to admit that her arm was aching from the strain. Drawing the curricle up, she handed the reins back to Sir Chase with some reluctance, thankful that he had not insisted on changing places, but when they turned on to Hill Street instead of heading for home, she understood that he had not finished showing her the joys of driving a curricle and four.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, quietly.
He put the horses to a brisk trot up the hill. ‘They need exercise,’ he said, ‘so I thought we’d take them across the park. And you look as if you enjoy having the wind in your hair.’
‘Do I?’
He turned to smile at her before giving his attention to the horses, as if he knew how she would have protested if she had not so wanted to fly up the hill in the sunshine behind a matched team with an expert whip at her side. She did not return his smile, but her glance told him he was not wrong, and that although she was nowhere near liking him, she would put up with him for such an adventure.
Caterina was thinking that she had never seen such skill, that the thrill of hurtling along in an over-powered light curricle was rather like being shot from a bow, flying, soaring on the breeze. Past the Roebuck they went, past the workhouse, the Wick and the Queen’s until Sir Chase slowed down to pass through Richmond Park Gate.
Then he pulled up. ‘Now you,’ he said. ‘First a trot, then we can try a turn or two.’
She took the reins, searching her mind for a middle way between a show of enthusiasm and her former disapproval. The park road was open to them, the horses responsive and keen, and she would have liked to let them go. But Sir Chase knew. ‘Keep them to a trot,’ he warned her. ‘They don’t break that rhythm until you tell them to. You’re in charge, not them.’
Her arm began to ache again, but it was exhilarating, exciting and completely engrossing, not allowing her mind to wander or to think over the disturbing events that had led to this, or about what might follow.
After a mile or so, Sir Chase took over once more to gallop the team at top speed through the park where other drivers and riders stopped to watch. He was recognised by a group of the militia from the barracks at Kew who called and waved, while ladies out walking watched in admiration the lovely young woman with the flying red hair. He had no need to warn her to hold on when she swung and swayed into every turn, careering like a comet towards some distant target, bracing one foot