He was prying, and she shot him a glance that told him so. “In Madrid, we knew a stable lad who had a tendre for Eva.” She smiled at the memory. “Then he was called off to—” War, she didn’t finish. She recovered herself. “Riding is the only activity where I’ve been able to best Eva.” A smile played about her mouth. “I beat her in every race.”
Percy wanted to encourage that spring bud of a smile into full bloom. “So, I’m dealing with an undefeated rider?”
She flashed him a saucy smile. It was all the reward Percy needed. “No one has ever come close.”
Competition sparked between them, and Percy’s stomach fluttered with anticipation, the delicious feeling shimmering through his veins. Like the night she’d sat across from him at the card table, he detected a will to win.
She leaned over her mount’s neck and whispered into the gelding’s ear, then she gave her tongue a few clicks and flapped the reins. The horse needed no further encouragement to lengthen its stride into a gallop. Her woot of pleasure carried to Percy as her bonnet slid off her head, saved only by the ribbon at her throat, and the wind blew through her hair, long sable tendrils whipping in her wake.
Percy was left breathless in her dust with a decision to make: to pursue or not to pursue.
It had been so long since he’d experienced the freedom she was offering. That feeling of racing for the simple joy of it, no other motives. In truth, he’d never thought to experience it again. But here it was, beckoning, and he was powerless to resist its wild call. A squeeze of his knees was all it took for his stallion to jolt into a gallop.
The chase was on.
As he raced to catch her, he considered letting her win, just to see the triumph in her eyes. But she was a true competitor and wouldn’t accept a false victory. She wanted the genuine article.
Let her take it.
Ahead, she must have heard the relentless pounding of his stallion’s hooves closing the distance between them, for she encouraged her mount into a full gallop. Still, Percy gained on her. When he’d drawn level, he risked a quick glance to find her smiling, unreservedly. He couldn’t help but respond in kind to such full-throated joy.
They topped a short hill, and the stables, with the manor house beyond, rose into view. He pulled ahead by half a stride, then a full stride, with ease. Still, Isabel dug in, like he knew she would, even though she surely knew the race was lost.
She was a fighter.
He liked that about her.
This heady joy, it was the first pure joy he’d experienced in years. He’d forgotten how good it felt in his body, all the way to the cockles of his soul.
The race won, he tugged on his stallion’s reins. “Whoa,” he commanded, slowing to a trot. Breath heaving and ragged, he circled to face her as she approached. Her smile hadn’t abated a whit. Even with night encroaching on the day, the world felt bright within and without.
“Before you crow victory,” she called out, “keep in mind that you, good sir, are riding astride. I, on the other hand, am riding sidesaddle. Hardly what I would call an irreproachable victory.” An easy laugh escaped her. It butterflied through and warmed him.
“There is no such thing as irreproachable victory where winners and losers are concerned,” he retorted. “And you, my dear, are the loser in this scenario.”
Laughter bubbled up and overflowed from her. He’d delighted her, and he wanted to do it again. He wanted to reach out and draw her to him and kiss her light laughter into something deeper.
Increment by increment, his smile fell away. And, increment by increment, the laughter drained from her in response. He’d forgotten who he was, who she was, and who they were in relation to each other.
He cleared his throat. “I must attend an estate matter. Watkins will see to you at the stable.”
With that, Percy circled his mount and galloped away, leaving the confused furrow of Isabel’s brow and the pleasure of her in the dust. Into its void expanded the familiar emptiness.
What choice had he? She was the means to an end, and that end was Montfort. In a few days’ time, he would never see Isabel again.
He could ignore that the thought only compounded his emptiness.
Chapter 14
Under the cover of darkness, Percy walked the grounds from the stables to Rosebud Cottage, and his stomach growled dissatisfaction at its state of emptiness.
Tonight, he’d declined dinner with the family, citing concerns about a mare that was ready to foal. The truth, but not the entirety of it. In all honesty, he didn’t want to sit next to Isabel for the hour it would take to sup.
Didn’t want?
Oh, he wanted.
The fact was that he didn’t trust himself to sit next to Isabel. Somehow, the woman had snuck into his bloodstream.
He needed to speak with her in private, not in front of his family in his role as infatuated husband, a role that, in truth, he might find too easy to play.
In addition to all he’d learned about Isabel, he’d received confirmation: Montfort was, indeed, holding something over her. A debt, she’d said. And then she’d said naught more.
Blast.
Patience, he reminded himself.
Then he’d gone and botched the rest of the conversation. When she’d asked why he would help her, he’d responded with the truth—quid pro quo—but it wasn’t the entire truth. Another truth lay deeper and closer to the heart of the matter. He didn’t like seeing this woman shouldering the burden of handling Montfort, alone. She would do anything for her family, that was clear, but that she was doing it alone, sat wrongly inside him.
She didn’t have to be alone.
That was what he should have told her this afternoon.
To his right appeared the conservatory. He stopped to take in its stone and glass magnificence illuminated from within like a water globe held to the light. Legend had it that his mother had personally overseen its construction, ensuring it attached to the south-facing wall of Gardencourt and was constructed of ground-to-roof glass with just enough stone and mortar to hold the panes in place.
Deeper inside, movement caught his eye. Isabel, lit like an actress on the stage, meandering and weaving through greenery and statuary. Her face wore an unguarded expression, as if she ambled through an enchanted forest and desired nothing more than to become lost in its mysteries.
She was transfixingly lovely, he could admit, but not in the way so many women wrapped themselves in the cold fortress of their beauty. This woman was appealing, a warm humanity radiating from her that was rare. He’d spent too many years around people who had either forgotten or purposely discarded their humanity, who regarded it as weakness. This woman used it as a strength, as a guiding compass.