The Virgin Huntress (The Devil DeVere #2)(8)

Diana entered the drawing room a few minutes before seven, gloves in hand. She cocked her head at Vesta. “Is that a new riding hat?”

“No. It’s my hair. I had Polly put it up for me.”

“Well, it’s very becoming, my lamb.” Diana beamed. “We will make of you a young lady yet.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that? I am not a little girl anymore!”

“Dearest, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“I know what you meant,” Vesta said. “And after this morning, I refuse to leave this house again until I have new clothes.”

“But of course, my pet! I quite understand your eagerness. We’ve already had our fittings. The first few gowns should be delivered later today. Will that make you feel better?”

“I hope so.” Any further reply was cut short by the arrival of Pratt and Captain Hew, each with two mounts.

“Good morning, ladies. ‘Tis a fine day for a gallop in the park.” Hew beamed at Diana. Before Vesta could even return his salutation, he had his hands about Diana’s waist and was hoisting her onto her horse. He then held it in check while she settled her skirts, leaving Pratt to assist the incredulous Vesta. This time, fury seared her rather than tears. By heavens, she swore she would make him notice her if it was the last thing she ever did.

While Vesta tried her best to keep her mare in step with Hew and Diana, she had to keep circling her mount that jigged and frothed with nervous energy. Laughing and chatting about some race Hew had once rode on Diana’s horse, they seemed to hardly take any heed of Vesta at all. How dare Aunt Di monopolize him like this!

“Are you aright wi’ the mare, miss?” Pratt asked her with solicitude not forthcoming from any other quarter.

“I am fine, Mister Pratt. It’s just that she has been deprived of her normal gallop since leaving Yorkshire over a sennight ago. She is accustomed to frequent and vigorous exercise and can be a handful when denied.”

Vesta continued to fume. Although she could handle her mare just fine, she wondered how they all would feel if some horrible accident befell her. They would both be sorry then!

That’s it! Vesta couldn’t believe the answer was right before her eyes. It only wanted the proper timing and a distraction for Pratt. Determined to put her plan into action, Vesta held back, letting the others ride farther ahead. When Pratt’s head was turned, she saw her chance.

Whispering a prayer of supplication to her mama, her ever-diligent guardian angel, Vesta plucked out her hat pin and tossed the riding cap to the ground. “Oh dear, Mister Pratt,” she exclaimed, “I’ve lost my favorite hat!”

“Ne’er fret, my lady,” the elder jockey said, dropping to the ground with surprising agility. In that precious, desperate moment when he knelt to retrieve the hat, Vesta dropped her reins and spurred her mare.

Artemis, who never needed strong incentive to begin with, took off down Rotten Row like a bolt of dappled-gray lightning. Vesta hung over her mare’s neck, clutching the mane as if fearing for her very life, but all the while whispering sweet endearments to her most cooperative conspirator. She knew it would be a mistake to look back. Instead, she urged and cooed and waited for the sound of thunder, for her knight in that lovely, crimson crested helmet to come to her rescue and prayed fervently that her savior would not be the grizzled, little Pratt.

When she saw Captain Hew’s big bay stallion gaining on the right, Vesta once more thanked her watchful mama. Knowing he would try to grab the bridle to bring her horse to a halt, Vesta nudged the mare, urging more speed, with the cue of her left heel concealed by her voluminous and billowing petticoats. Her hair had fallen in a wind-whipped tangle about her face and neck. She felt the flush in her cheeks and her blood roaring with excitement. It was the most gloriously wild ride she’d ever had, and it was all she could do not to laugh aloud!

“Can you reach the reins?” Captain Hew cried, coming upon her.

“No. I’m afraid!” Vesta whimpered.

They approached the entrance to Kensington Gardens with its myriad hedgerows. “Hell and the devil!” he exclaimed, surging forth, but still unable to claim the bridle. “Trust me, Vesta,” he commanded. “Let go of the horse!”

Trust him? He was a god among mortals. She would trust him if he said she could fly! And that’s exactly what she felt when he swept her off her horse and onto his own. Throwing her arms about him, Vesta burrowed into his neck and simply breathed in the heavenly essence of Captain Hewett DeVere.

***

“I fear she’s fainted.” The low rumble of Hew’s voice, magnified by the position of her head against his chest, tickled Vesta’s insides, yet she tried to remain completely impassive and still, breathing deeply as if she slept.

“Impossible! That child has never fainted in her life,” Diana exclaimed.

Vesta had to keep from grinding her teeth. Child, indeed!

“Nevertheless, she has obviously suffered a great shock. I question her father’s reason in over-mounting the girl.”

“But Vesta is a very accomplished equestrienne. She has ridden that same mare on hunts for almost two years.” Vesta noted the overt skepticism in Diana’s voice. “I’m confounded how one of her experience could have lost control like that.”

“That little mare was full o’ piss and vinegar from the start, and then the lass lost her cap.” Darling Pratt came to her defense. “Mayhap she let loose the reins to catch it, thus spooking the mare.”