Beauty in Breeches(10)
Leaning forwards like a jockey to get every inch of speed from Major, urging him on harder and harder, Beatrice was after Lord Chadwick in a mad, downward dash. The hooves pounded, sending divots of earth up behind. She urged Major onwards, then there was a giant hedge before her, white with summer blossom. His body flowing easily with his horse’s stride, Lord Chadwick held the advantage and cleared it first. Beatrice felt Major’s hind quarters bunching up beneath her and with one giant leap she cleared it with an effortless, breezy unconcern and hit the ground on the other side. Lord Chadwick glanced around and waved his hand, laughing jubilantly on seeing her several lengths behind. With a laugh in her own throat, Beatrice recovered and was off again, pounding into her fastest gallop once more.
Racing across the soft parkland grass, Lord Chadwick was just ahead of her, his attention fixed on winning the race. But Beatrice was gaining on him. She could feel the ripple of her hair as it loosed its pins and laughed recklessly to feel the wind in her face. Major’s ears were back to hear her laugh, then forward as they came to another hedge with a ditch before it. She checked only for a moment and then they soared over it as one. She could smell the scent of summer flowers and crushed woodbine as Major’s hooves clipped the top of the hedge and then they were moving on, even faster.
With the meadow and the finishing post within sight, there were only two lengths between them now and with a surge of energy, knowing exactly what his mistress wanted, Major, confident, trusting and elated, sailed past Lord Chadwick’s beautiful grey, the crowd shouting, ‘Go on, Miss Beatrice!’ They flew past the winning post, at the point where they had started.
The crowd erupted, everyone laughing and cheering. Julius pulled his sweating horse to a halt and took in Beatrice’s mud-spattered face and tumbling, tangled hair. Her golden skin was flushed with heat and excitement and her eyes—winner’s eyes—were a sparkling, brilliant green. Dragging in a deep breath, exhilaration coursing through their veins, their wide smiles were mirror images. Julius couldn’t help thinking that it was worth losing the race to see her laughing with such unfeigned delight. It was a warm, husky, rippling sound. His eyes locked on her lips, on the column of her slender throat. Instinctively his hands tightened on the reins.
He dismounted and went to her, placing his hand on her horse’s foam-flecked neck. ‘It was a good race. Quite splendid. You win. You rode well,’ he conceded. ‘Congratulations.’
She sprang from the saddle and stood close to him, her smile shamelessly triumphant. She was able to feel the heat of his body as he could feel hers. Fuelled by the breathless excitement of the race and her win, and the pleasure of standing so close to his strong manly body, she was aware that she was trembling.
It was a long time since Julius had enjoyed a ride as much, or as fast and unrestrained, with company that could handle the going as well as he. ‘George was right. You’re an intrepid horsewoman.’
Tossing her head, she laughed happily. ‘I couldn’t let you have the advantage of me now, could I?’
‘I suppose not. So, Miss Fanshaw—the forfeit? What is it to be?’ He stood without moving, awaiting her pleasure.
Unsmiling, she met his gaze and held it. He was looking at her with quiet patience—like a cat before a mousehole. Having puzzled on how to approach him, she chose directness, calming herself and saying, ‘By his own actions my father gambled away everything he owned to you, causing him to lose his self-respect and his sanity. Now you are the only person I can think of who can help me.’ She could sense he was wary, that his guard was up. There was a distance between her and this man which might never be closed. The startling amber eyes rested on her ironically.
‘Of what help could I possibly be to you? What is it that I can do? My curiosity is aroused as to why you should go to all this trouble to take me up on my wager. I detect a certain recklessness in you, and if I know anything of feminine vanity it will be something of value that you think only I can give you. Will you please put us all out of our misery and tell us what it is?’
Beatrice drew a deep breath, then fired her salvo. ‘That you marry me.’
Chapter Three
Julius was deaf to the collective gasps that followed this statement. Suddenly his entire body tensed. His fists clenched on his riding crop and then convulsively tightened. His features, about to relax into lines of arrogant satisfaction, froze and his face became a hard, cynical mask.
‘Either you are carrying pity for me in losing the race to an unbelievable extreme, or else you’re not playing with a full deck.’
‘I am neither dim-witted nor crazy,’ Beatrice stated, ‘and pity has nothing to do with my reasons for wanting this marriage.’
‘Marriage? Come, Miss Fanshaw. Think about it,’ Lord Chadwick intoned in silken menace, as though his brooding eyes and smooth voice and his slight, dark smile could mesmerise any unsuspecting female. ‘Admit it. You were having a lark.’
‘Oh, no, Lord Chadwick. I never lark about, as those who know me will tell you.’
Gazing at her directly, Julius searched her face for some indication that she was joking, but her expression was completely unemotional. The soft pink lips were tantalising and gracefully curved, vaguely smiling. It stirred his imagination no small amount.
‘Despite what you say, I think this really must be some kind of charade you play. You are asking me to do the impossible.’ She remained silent, holding his gaze, and the fire that had sprung in her eyes convinced him that this was no charade and that she was deadly serious. ‘Good God!’ The words were exhaled slowly, but otherwise he simply stared at her. Then the corner of his mouth twisted wryly in a gesture that was not quite a smile. ‘I suppose I left myself wide open for that.’
As everyone looked on with shocked, incredulous expressions, he smiled coolly. ‘You must forgive me if I appear shocked. Naturally I am flattered by your proposal, Miss Fanshaw—in fact, I am quite blown away by it. Well—if this isn’t the most peculiar marriage proposal I have ever heard. You are without doubt a most shameless, impulsive creature.’ He was now amused. ‘You expressed admiration for my horse earlier. Will you not take him instead?’
Beatrice shot him an indignant look, straightening her back. She recognised that her impromptu proposal had taken him completely unawares, but she played the game on. She shook her head, tossing the curling tresses that had become loosened by the race enticingly.
‘Please have the good sense to take me seriously. Am I so ugly, sir, that you would prefer to rid yourself of your precious horse than to be wed to me?’ His bold gaze stirred something deep within her and the sensation was not unpleasant.
‘On the contrary,’ he answered with an apparent ease he was far from feeling, ‘your beauty so blinds me, I fear I must be led to the altar by the hand—should I accept your proposal. Now, about my horse. What do you say?’
Disregarding the sarcasm in his tone, Beatrice pinned a brilliant smile on her face. ‘But I couldn’t possibly take your horse. I recall you saying that you could not possibly part with him, in which case I would not dream of taking him from you. So I will settle for you instead. Come, Lord Chadwick? What do you say?’ She flicked a glance around the bystanders within earshot. They were waiting to hear what he had to say with baited breath.
Julius let them wait a while longer as he faced the open challenge and measured the power of her will in her green gaze. There was plenty that he wanted to say, but not here, not now. In her resentment, if this young hellion thought to make a fool of him and believed she had him cornered, then she didn’t know who she was dealing with. She would find out, but in the meantime he would play along with her game—for knowing how she held him in absolute contempt, that’s all it could be. However, he was intrigued, all his senses completely involved with her. There could be worse things than being married to this beautiful, feisty firecracker.
‘Then what can I say except that I consider myself fortunate to find myself betrothed to the most beautiful young lady in Essex.’ Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips, and in so doing played the forfeit, as if young ladies proposed to gentlemen in this way every day of the week.
After a good deal of laughter, disbelief and hesitant congratulations, Julius and Beatrice, accompanied by a thoroughly bemused George, rode back to Standish House.
Clattering into the stable yard, the two men swung from their saddles and Julius tossed the reins to George, who led both horses away. Beatrice turned in the saddle, but before she had a chance to dismount, Julius’s hands closed, strong and sure, about her waist. He lifted her as if she weighed no more than a child, lowering her slowly until her feet touched the ground.
Beatrice felt a blush tinge her cheeks—it was all she could do to meet his gaze fleetingly. It was the first time a man had touched her, had dared take such liberties.
‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said tightly, ‘but the time has not yet come when I cannot get off a horse without assistance.’