Did he mean it, or was he just being polite? She found him difficult to read, but she wanted to stay, and so decided to take him at his word. ‘He’s very beautiful. What is his name?’
‘Burkan.’
‘Is he a true Arabian? I have never seen one, they are very rare are they not? How on earth did you come by him?’
‘He is only half-Arabian. He was a gift for my nineteenth birthday.’
‘You see!’ Caro exclaimed. ‘Your father is clearly not as black as you have painted him if he is capable of such a generous present.’
Sebastian may as well have donned a suit of armour, so clear was it that he had no desire to say any more on the subject. Curious as she was, Caro bit her tongue. ‘May I ride him?’ she asked instead.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’s barely broken.’
It was her one talent. She had not Celia’s diplomacy nor Cassie’s looks, nor Cressie’s brain nor Cordelia’s wit, but she could ride. ‘I’m not being ridiculous. You saw how quickly I gained his trust. He won’t throw me. I am certain of it.’
‘Lady Caroline...’
‘Caro.’
‘Caro. You are barely broken yourself. You are simply not up to handling a horse of his size and power.’
‘I can do it.’
Sebastian smiled down at her. A frowning smile. A dismissive smile which was both hurtful and annoying. ‘You are the strangest girl I have ever met.’ He touched her cheek. ‘But I cannot take the chance. If you fell and were hurt...’
The rebellious mood in which she had set off from Killellan returned. Confused by the way Sebastian’s touch made her feel, knowing that he would laugh at her innocence if he knew the effect he had on her, Caro broke away. She was tired of being dismissed. In one leap she was over the fence, the bridle in her hands. The stirrup was high, her petticoats a major obstacle, but she had scrambled into the saddle before he could stop her, and was away, urging Burkan into a canter and then a full gallop around the paddock. A fleeting glimpse over her shoulder gave her the satisfying view of Sebastian standing confounded, hands on hips, unable to do anything but look on helplessly.
The horse was nervous, but Caro was not. She sat straight astride in the saddle, heedless of her skirts. It was a talent she had discovered while very young, her affinity with horseflesh. She had never, however, ridden any animal so highly strung nor so powerful. Burkan took all her strength and determination to control for two circuits of the paddock. Confident that she had proven her point, Caro tried to rein in. The stallion however, was enjoying his freedom and refused to co-operate. Leaning over his neck, Caro tightened the reins and tried to soothe him, but the slender thread of communication between them seemed to have been severed. The horse bucked. She clung tight, but he bucked again and Caro found herself soaring over his head, landing with a horrible thud on her bottom.
Sick with mortification, dizzy with pain, she was struggling to her feet when Sebastian reached her. ‘Devil take it, are you hurt?’
She hurt all over, if truth be told, and her pride had been severely dented, but there was no way on this earth that she’d let him know that. ‘I’m perfectly fine.’
Sebastian swore. He swore a lot, it seemed to Caro. She envied him the freedom. ‘You’re quite pale, are you sure you’re unharmed.’
‘It’s my hair. Red hair and pale skin always go together.’
‘Your hair isn’t red, it’s copper, and you are not a healthy shade of pale. Are you going to faint?’
She gritted her teeth and breathed deeply. ‘No. Absolutely not.’ Trembling now, at her own temerity as much as anything, she realised, too late, how childish her behaviour must have looked. ‘Burkan, is he hurt?’
‘He’s fine. I was rather more concerned about you. You could have been killed.’
‘Oh, I’m a lot less fragile than I look, I assure you.’
Sebastian caught her as she staggered. ‘You’re a bold little thing, I’ll grant you that. Weren’t you scared?’
‘No.’ His hands were warm on the thin sleeves of her muslin gown. She hadn’t realised until now how tall he was. And how solid, compared to her. He smelled of sweat and horse and summer, a heady, intoxicating combination. Her heart was racing. She felt strange. ‘I’m sorry,’ Caro said belatedly.
Sebastian smiled his frowning smile. ‘No, you’re not.’
She couldn’t help but smile back at him. ‘I would be, if Burkan had been harmed by my poor horsemanship.’
Her hair had escaped its ribbon. She could feel it, hanging in long straggles over her face and down her back. Her hands were dusty. Her gown must be filthy. Caro was not usually aware of any of these things, but now she wished—she wished...
What she wished, she realised with a horrible sense of shame and excitement, was for Sebastian to kiss her. She’d never been kissed. She had never found the idea of kissing someone anything other than repugnant until now. The way he was looking at her though—was he thinking the same? It was absurd. ‘I should go,’ Caro muttered, blushing, hiding her blush beneath the fall of her hair.
Sebastian blinked and released her. It seemed to her he did it reluctantly, but she knew she must be wrong. She was not much more than a child to him—he had said as much—though she didn’t feel anything like a child just at the moment. ‘I’ll walk you back,’ he said.
‘No, thank you, I shall be...’
‘I wasn’t asking for permission.’
She had nothing to say to that and so, terrified of appearing gauche or worse still, betraying her shocking thoughts, instead simply shrugged in a very good impression of indifference, and began to clamber over the paddock fence, quite forgetting that she could easily have opened the gate.
They walked through the woods in silence. There was between them an awkwardness, an awareness which she could not describe. She did not want their walk to end, but it did, and too soon. ‘This is where I leave you,’ she said, pausing to the wall at the edge of the woods, waiting—for what?
Nothing, it seemed. Sebastian held out his hand. ‘Goodbye, Caro.’
She took it briefly. ‘Goodbye, Sebastian.’ Without another word, she climbed over the wall and took off through the woods, refusing to allow herself to look back.
Chapter Two
Crag Hall—August 1830
Caro slowly came round to consciousness. She felt as if she had swum to the surface of a deep, dark pool, exhausting herself in the process. Her head was thumping. Her eyelids were gritty and sore, as if she had been rubbing sand in them. What was wrong with her? Pushing herself upright, she opened her eyes, wincing as the room spun sickeningly. The ceiling was ornate, with rococo gilding on the cornicing. The bed hangings were green damask, as were the curtains. Tulip wood, she thought distractedly, running her trembling hands over the bedstead with its gilt carving. A dressing table set by the window was draped in white lace. The walls were painted a pale green and hung with a number of portraits. A white marble mantel upon which a large French clock sat, was carved with cupids.
It was, or had been, an elegant room. As her senses slowly unscrambled Caro began to notice the shabbiness, the fine layer of dust which covered the furniture, the faded fabric, the musty air of neglect. Where was she?
Breathing deeply to quell her rising panic, she threw back the sheets and stumbled over to the window, pushing open the casement. Fresh country air flooded in. She