Rising, Athena pushed back her shoulders and told herself she’d done what she could. She’d tried to make up for her wrongdoing – had attempted to convey her sincere regrets and had even offered to make amends. It wasn’t her fault if the marquess refused to accept any of it.
Back straight, she exited the dining room with dignity and went to collect her outerwear garments from the foyer. Footsteps followed her every move and when she glanced back, Darlington was there, his expression as stony as ever.
“Where are you staying?” he asked while the butler helped her don her cloak.
“At Foxborough Hall.” She hooked the closure at the neck and began putting on her gloves.
Stepping past her, Darlington opened the front door. Annoyance flared inside Athena. She’d not even finished readying herself and already he was showing her the way out.
But rather than wait for her to step over the threshold, he turned to his butler. “Send a message to the stables, Dartwood. Have the grooms ready my horse as well so I may accompany Miss Townsbridge.”
Athena spun toward Darlington. “That’s really not necessary.”
“The weather is getting worse. It would be wrong not to see you back safely.”
“I’m sure you would rather stay here.”
“What I want became inconsequential the moment you decided to come here.” He grabbed his greatcoat with angry movements and shoved his arms through the sleeves. “Now, if you would be so kind, let us not linger any longer.”
ATHENA – MISS TOWNSBRIDGE – parted her lips as if prepared to protest, upon which Robert served her the most withering stare he could manage. She promptly snapped her mouth shut and brushed past him, stepping into the chilly outdoors with a frosty mien to match her high temper.
Robert took a fortifying breath and prayed he’d survive the upcoming ride, because the truth was, there was something entirely too enticing about the spirited woman Athena had become. And the fire that burned in her eyes when she spoke – the passion behind her convictions – had seared him to the bone.
Muttering a curse, he followed her out into the cold. He could not – would not – allow himself to wonder what she might feel like in his arms, if her lips would part beneath his own in welcome surrender, or if she’d kiss him back with fervor. It was wrong to have such musings. She was his former friend’s baby sister for crying out loud. Except she was all woman now, and damn if his body wasn’t responding with uncomfortable awareness.
The safest way forward was to keep distance. Stay angry. Show her no mercy. Allow for no closeness. Get her back to Foxborough Hall posthaste. And leave.
Their horses arrived and Robert immediately frowned. “No sidesaddle?”
“I prefer to ride astride,” she said.
She’d done so as a child, but as an adult? It seemed outrageous. But the concept was nothing compared with what happened next. With swift movements Athena hefted the front of her skirt and cloak all the way to her waist and raised one booted foot.
Robert stared as she placed it in the stirrup; her entire leg, clad in snug buckskin leather, was put on daring display. His fingers twitched and his muscles flexed. She swung herself into the saddle. He forced his feet into motion. Bloody hell. He’d never be able to get that image out of his head. The shape of her thigh and the curve of her bottom would be imprinted upon his brain forever. He shook his head and mounted his horse while heavy flakes fell with increasing speed.
“Ready?”
Athena gave a curt nod and then they were off, racing through the gates and out onto the country road. A gust of wind swept toward them, tossing snow in their faces.
“I came over the hills to the right,” Athena yelled.
It was the quickest route. Robert nodded and steered his horse off the road and across the field. He glanced at his companion to make sure she was all right. Of course she was, he thought wryly. This was Athena Townsbridge, not some delicate flower who couldn’t withstand a bit of harsh weather. An odd bit of satisfaction bloomed in his chest. In spite of everything, she was a woman to be admired. Her courage, however destructive it might be on occasion, knew no equal. She’d stood up in church and risked her own reputation to see her brother happy, she’d sought him out at his home when she must have known she’d not be welcome, had risked her reputation again for the sake of making amends, and had voiced her regrets in spite of his censure.
No doubt Athena Townsbridge had more grit than most fully grown men. He did not doubt she’d call out anyone who dared insult those she loved. She’d fight them to the death, because that was the sort of person she was. He knew this – had always known this. She was a force to be reckoned with, and he needed her out of his life right away before he began getting stupid ideas.
“We’ll cross the river over there,” he shouted, his voice weakened by the increasing wind. Turning slightly in his saddle, he made sure she was still with him. She leaned forward and urged her mount into a faster pace, passing Robert as she raced toward the spot he’d suggested.
With a shake of his head, he followed, only to watch with helpless horror one moment later as her horse reared on its hind legs and threw Athena from the saddle.
Robert reined in his own mount, leapt to the ground, and grabbed the harness. He whistled for Athena’s horse as he hurried toward her, pulse leaping with frantic movements at the sight of her looking so still, but the beast was gone.
“Athena.” With a groan, she pushed herself into a sitting position, and Robert expelled an immediate breath out of pure relief. Thank God. “Are you all right? No. Wait. Don’t get up.”
“My thigh hurts like the devil, but I think I’ll survive.”
He crouched beside her. “No sprained ankles then or broken limbs?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“You’re not sure?” His concern for her increased tenfold. “Can you feel your legs?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“And the rest?”
“My bottom is getting a bit cold from sitting here,” she confessed. “I’ll probably have an ugly bruise tomorrow, but other than that, I’m fine.”
He blew out a breath and offered his hand. When she clasped it, he helped her up slowly, then took a moment to assess their surroundings and saw that their path was blocked by branches. “The low visibility masked this fallen tree. If I’d been ahead of you I would most likely have been the one thrown.”
“Can we go around it?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure we should.” The wind was howling, sweeping snow up off the ground to mix with the flakes that were falling. White mingled with white, obliterating all recognizable landmarks. Thankfully, they were still on his land – an area he could navigate with his eyes closed. “I think we ought to turn back.”
“What?”
“Most of our ride still lies ahead. Proceeding in this weather would not only be unwise but extremely foolhardy.”
“But I cannot return to your home with you. I mean, coming for a brief visit when no one would be the wiser was one thing. Remaining there until this storm passes is something else entirely. Lord Darlington, I cannot possibly do so.”
“I’m sorry, but your safety must come first.”