‘When I described her she was still a girl.’
‘She’s no girl now.’ James wondered if such a woman had ever truly been a girl or if she’d simply sprung from the foam of the sea.
‘I’m glad to see you find her so interesting. Staying at Knollwood will give you a chance to get better acquainted. Who knows what you might discover?’
James shifted the haversack on his back, resisting the urge to run his fingers over the jagged scar on his left shoulder. ‘Must we go to Knollwood?’
‘Yes, it’s all been arranged. Besides, by the end of the day it’ll be more like a shipyard here than a house and, with the weather turning, you don’t want the rain leaking on your head.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve lost track of the number of storms I’ve slept through at sea.’
‘And my guess is you won’t miss it. We wouldn’t have stayed here last night if we hadn’t dallied so long at Admiral Stuart’s dinner, but I hated to disturb everyone at Knollwood so late at night.’
James laughed. ‘I wasn’t the one who insisted on opening another bottle of port.’
‘It doesn’t matter who caused the delay. I’ll be happy to sleep in a comfortable room that doesn’t smell like a cooking fire. And here I’d thought those bedrooms had escaped damage.’
‘You’ve gone soft.’
George shrugged. ‘You will, too, in time.’
James didn’t respond, this revelation not improving his mood. He’d already lost too much since resigning his commission to contemplate losing something as simple as his hardiness. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before we left London that the house wasn’t fit to live in?’
‘I think I greatly underestimated the damage.’ They stopped as two men carrying a large plank walked past them. ‘Besides, the ladies are quite excited at the prospect of meeting a new gentleman.’
‘You know I came here to escape such affairs.’
‘Does any man ever truly escape them?’
‘You seem to have avoided it.’
‘And you wish to follow my lead?’
James scrutinised his old friend, suspecting more to all this than the extensive fire damage simply slipping his mind. ‘What are you about, George?’
‘Nothing.’ George held up his hands innocently but only succeeded in looking guiltier. ‘I want you to enjoy yourself while you’re here. Now hurry and change. We’re expected at Knollwood.’
George pulled Percy off to the stables and James headed around to the back of the house, his footsteps heavier than before. Reaching under the loose jacket, his fingers traced the raised scar on his left shoulder through the thin fabric of his hunting shirt. Unconsciously, he flexed his left hand, feeling the weakness and cursing it. He stomped on a large clump of mud, mashing it into the earth. This was exactly what he didn’t want, the whole reason he’d allowed George to convince him to come to the country.
He cursed his luck and George’s carelessness. If his friend had extinguished the lamp instead of leaving it to overheat, James could have spent the next two weeks here, not forced into Artemis’s cave waiting to be ripped apart by her wild beasts. He’d experienced enough clawing and tearing in the ballrooms of London. He had no stomach for it here in the country. Give him a French fleet any day; it was preferable to a matron with a marriageable daughter.
A flash of movement on the opposite hill made him stop at the rear door. He watched the young woman ride at a full gallop over the green downs, the horse moving like a shadow, her amber hair a streak of sunlight through the dark clouds. The memory of the little Artemis astride the black beast, face flushed with anger, pert breasts rising and falling with each excited breath, filled his mind. His loins stirred with desire before he checked himself. It was one thing to idle away hours with the willing widowed sister of a provincial governor; it was quite another to dally with the niece of his best friend.
Besides, no spirited creature wants a broken man. He pushed away from the wall, angrily slapping the door jamb. The rough stone stung his palm, reminding him that any interest in Miss Howard could only be to learn from her estate management skills which, according to George, were considerable. If James decided to follow his friend into the life of a country gentleman, he’d need to know more about it than what little he’d learn from books.
* * *
Manfred reached the crest of the hill, breathing hard, his dark coat glistening with sweat. Julia eased him into a slow walk and they ambled down the bridle path tracing the top. A thin mist crept through the crevices of the valley while sheep grazed quietly in the green meadows. The three estates situated on the three high hills overlooking the rolling valley came into view. Creedon Abbey, the smallest, stood on the hill closest to Knollwood. Though some five miles off, the tips of the turrets were just visible above the surrounding trees. All the land here had once belonged to the old monastery before the Reformation and some debt-ridden descendant saw it sold off to create Knollwood and Cable Grange. There was little difference between Creedon land and Knollwood land, but drastic changes marked the boundary between Knollwood’s lush, well-tended meadows and Cable Grange’s weed-choked fields. Cable Grange stood on the third-highest hill in the area. Farther away than Creedon, she could just see it sitting on its hilltop perch, the distance obscuring its neglected state. Being so close to Knollwood, she knew Cable Grange could be one of the finest houses in the county.
If only it were mine. She didn’t know who to curse more, her brother Charles for inheriting Knollwood or Mr Wilkins for ruining Cable Grange.
Adjusting her leg against the pommel, she wished she’d chosen her standard saddle instead of the side-saddle. It was still early and the rest of the house had yet to rise, making it unlikely Emily would catch her riding astride. Soothed by Manfred’s gentle gait, she settled into the seat, her mind wandering back to the woods and the handsome stranger.
He called me attractive, she mulled, remembering the heady way his blue eyes raked her body, their heat warming her skin. Four years ago, standing against the wall during London balls, she’d seen gentlemen examine other young ladies with similar hot eyes, nudging each other knowingly. For all her London finery, not one gentleman had cast a single amorous glance in her direction. How strange to garner a lustful stare while dressed in her old riding habit.
If only he weren’t one of the Wilkinses’ good-for-nothing friends. She sighed, wondering what it would be like to feel his lips tease her neck while he whispered forbidden things in her ear. A strange thrill coursed through her before she forced the wicked daydream from her head. He was a scoundrel and not worth a second thought.
Digging her heel into Manfred’s flanks, she drove him hard across the open ground, guiding him towards a hedge separating the fields. Pulling back on his reins, she sat forwards as he leapt and they easily cleared the bushes before landing on the other side.
‘Well done, Manfred!’
She slowed him to a walk and, coming to another path, looked longingly east. A smooth mound stood out against the flatter fields, the ruins on top silhouetted by the rising sun. At a full gallop, they could reach the old fortress in a few minutes and she might spend a quiet hour picking through the high grass searching for relics. Her heel itched to tap Manfred, but she resisted, reluctantly directing him back to Knollwood. Emily expected her at breakfast. Why, she couldn’t imagine. Neither Simon nor Annette, her stepcousins, had risen before noon since their arrival and when they were awake, they only complained about the country.
What could Uncle Edward possibly hope to accomplish by sending them here? she wondered, wishing he’d hurry up and recall them to London.
They trotted into the paddock, greeted by the fresh scent of hay and the sharper smell of horses.
‘I see you’ve had another fine ride, Miss Howard,’ John, the head groom, remarked,