A Taste of Desire(50)
By the time she managed to halt her horse, Lord Armstrong atop his mount, had thundered up alongside her.
“What the blazes are you doing?” His eyes flashed with fury. “Trying to get yourself killed and maim my horse in the process?”
Amelia turned the mare until she faced the irate, red-faced lord. “There is no need to shout. My leg slipped, that is all.”
“You should have better sense than to jerk your leg like that while sitting atop a horse.”
“Well, if you’d removed your hand from my leg, there would have been no need for me to jerk it.” As soon as the statement was out, Amelia would have given anything to snatch it back. She’d just given him enough ammunition to arm an entire cavalry. And the lazy smile that replaced the anger on his face told her it was a fact he was well aware of.
“I will remember that for next time.”
“There won’t be a next time,” she growled.
His smile broadened. “Come, let’s commence our ride,” he said, edging his horse forward.
What followed was sure to be the highlight of her stay thus far at Stoneridge Hall. Lord Armstrong took her on a tour of the most picturesque acreage she had yet to see.
Unlike their usual encounters, today they managed to surpass civility to venture cautiously into the unknown realm of mutual cordiality. Ever the efficient guide, the viscount pointed out the various crops growing on the leased properties. They passed through a meadow, rode by a valley, and skirted a pond well stocked with fish.
By the conclusion of the tour, the two hours had felt like a mere twenty minutes had passed. The groom met them upon their return to the stables.
With her inauspicious start with the horse still fresh in her memory, Amelia hurriedly dismounted before Lord Armstrong could offer a hand. She might have required aid in mounting, but she could get down fine on her own. His rueful smile told her he well understood her haste.
“I’ll take ‘em, milord,” the young man said, retrieving the reins from Lord Armstrong, one in each of his sunburned hands. Then he led the horses to the side of the building, where they drank from a large tub of water.
“Come, I imagine you’ll want to clean up some and eat before you resume your duties this afternoon.”
Amelia could only imagine the sight she made. Despite the cool temperatures, she was flushed hot and strands of hair lay wet against her forehead. She could think of nothing better than a long soak in a warm bath.
He, of course, looked no worse for the wear, his golden locks ruffled in a manner that only made his strikingly handsome visage all the more compelling. The light sheen coating his face didn’t make it shine in an unbecoming manner, but made it glow that golden hue that was so much a part of his Greek god image. It was really quite unfair that he managed to look good after several hours on horseback while she felt as attractive as a dairy maid milking a cow.
On their return to the main house, the viscount led her on a small detour to show her a shedding elm tree he claimed to have planted as a young child.
“Let me show you where I carved my initials.” He grasped her hand and led her toward the tree, their boots crunching the dried leaves around the thick, knotted trunk. Amelia tried to ignore the spread of heat where his hand lightly clasped her arm.
He didn’t release her when he stabbed his finger at the area on the trunk that clearly had the initials TPA etched in it.
Without thinking, Amelia asked, “What does the P stand for?” Then she could have kicked herself three times for expressing any interest in him whatsoever.
“Phillip. It is a family name,” he said.
Amelia knew, from her father, that his father had died when he had just reached his maturity, and he had carried his title and the responsibilities that went with it since he was only a young man. It was one of the things her father most admired about him. One of the many, she reminded herself, tamping down an acridness rising silently within her.
“We both lost a parent young,” he continued, holding her gaze.
Swallowing, Amelia could only nod while unobtrusively trying to ease her arm from his hold. She preferred it much better when they were either ignoring one another or shooting daggers at each other. When he was nice to her, she didn’t like how tongue-tied she became, or the way she tensed up at his proximity. And right now he was much too close for her equilibrium.
It was at that moment that Amelia realized that there were far more frightening things than being on his bad side. And that was being on his good side.