Mistress of the Hunt (31 page)

The duke and dowager, riding far enough ahead that they were already committed, made the jump, but Rochford, slightly behind her, wheeled his mount at the last moment and slid quickly down from his saddle to rush to her side.

“Philippa, are you hurt? What a ridiculous fall! My good child, one must pay heed when one is in the field. Here, can you get up?”

Angrily shaking his arm away, she said, “Leave me be, Rochford. Of course I am not hurt, and you need not say anything more about how heedless I was. I know that without your pointing it out to me, but I daresay that you will throw this up to me if I am ever so cork-brained as to ask you to let me hunt again. This fall proves, does it not, that there is no place for ladies in the hunting field. Though you know perfectly well that I merely suffered a momentary lapse of attention, such as might happen to anyone after a long day’s hunting when one’s concentration has been intense, but you will no doubt continue to be the greatest beast in nature and will—”

“I say, Lady Philippa, are you all right?” It was the duke, peering at them from the other side of the thorn hedge.

Recalled to her surroundings, Philippa reluctantly allowed Rochford to help her to her feet, and forced a smile for the duke. “I am indeed quite unharmed, sir, since this field has so fortunately been recently plowed.”

“Not recently,” he corrected her. “Before the freeze, actually. And the fog, of course. But like as not, when it thawed again, only the outer crust was hardened—fortunately, as it happens.”

“Please, sir,” Philippa said dryly, drawing the reins through her fingers and congratulating herself on not having released them as she fell, “don’t you begin to scold me for my inattention. I assure you that Rochford has already said all that is necessary.”

“Oh, not by any means everything that is necessary,” corrected Rochford in a low tone, sterner than any she had heard him use before. Raising his voice, he said, “I hope, Rutland, that you will not take it amiss if I tell you that your presence has become infinitely
de trop
.”

Philippa looked at the viscount and saw that he was regarding the duke with a challenging look in his eye.

The duke responded with an amused grin, “You will understand, I hope, that I shall more willingly take my congé from her ladyship, Rochford. She is a guest in my house, after all, and therefore entitled to demand my protection.”

“Rutland, take a damper,” recommended his mother outrageously, bringing her mount to his side. Straightening her hat, she regarded the two on the ground with a sympathetic eye, and added dryly, “You must forgive him, my dears. He has an unceasing sense of the ridiculous, which is why he so much enjoys making it clear to disbelievers that he gives his duchess her head in all things. He is roasting you, Rochford, but I cannot say you have done nothing to deserve it. You have been a fool, my lord.”

“Indeed, I am grateful for your grace’s generous reading of my character,” began Rochford with gathering wrath, “but I should—”

“You would think me more generous if I would but take my precious offspring and disappear with him as quickly as possible,” the dowager finished for him, still twinkling.

Reluctantly he returned her smile. “Indeed, your grace. That’s the nut with no bark on it.”

“Well, I shall do so, then, but you will displease me, sir, an you return to Belvoir without having settled your affairs in a suitable fashion.”

“Wait, your grace,” Philippa called. “You cannot truly mean to leave me here. I assure you I have no wish to be alone with him. I
do
demand your protection!”

Rutland looked hesitant, but his mother put an end to further discussion by snatching the reins of his hunter into her own hand and wheeling her mount toward the castle, thus forcing the mighty duke to follow.

“I say, ma’am!” was all they heard of Rutland’s protests before the hoofbeats faded into the distance, leaving the field wrapped in silence.

True silence was only momentary, for Philippa was quickly aware of the sound of her own breathing. Then came the noisy screech of a magpie, followed by a black-and-white flash of movement as the bird, or another like it, took wing from the nearby thicket. A moment later, a trilling chirp heralded the appearance of a small goldfinch, recognizable by the gold and red markings on its black head and wings as it shot from the hedge a little way from where she and Rochford stood. For a long moment Philippa focused her attention on the hedge, noting dried brown stems and heads of cow parsley among the thorny green branches and, below, a soldier beetle struggling to climb a plowed ridge of earth at the foot of the hedge. Even as she watched these fascinating things, however, Philippa was entirely too conscious of the tall, silent man beside her. In an effort to break the gathering tension between them, she looped her reins in the hedge, shook her skirts, and began to brush dirt from her hips.

“Here, let me help you,” said Rochford dryly, and before she knew what he was about, one of his strong hands had clamped itself to her upper arm and the other was brushing energetically at her backside.

“Rochford, stop that!” She wriggled, trying to pull away from him, but all she got for her trouble was a harder smack on the area he was attempting to dust for her. “Ouch, you beast, that hurt!”

Without having the slightest understanding of how it came to pass, she suddenly found herself wrapped in his arms, her face pressed against his broad shoulder. She could smell the masculine scent of him, mixed with the warm-wool odor of his dark jacket, and she could feel his breath soft against her cheek. Then one of his hands moved to her hat, pulling it loose, and when she looked up at him in protest, he said, “It’s most damnably in my way, you know, though I fear I’ve mussed your hair badly.”

“In the way, sir?” she repeated, clinging to important matters.

“Yes, for I mean to kiss you before we have our little talk, sweetheart.”

“Do you? I thought you were angry.”

He spent the next moments proving to her that he was nothing of the sort, and not much to her own surprise, she could discover no wish to stop him. Instead, as warmth spread rapidly through her body, she discovered she had a great desire to urge him on. When one of her hands found its way inside his jacket to the softness of his shirt, Rochford drew a long, ragged breath and reluctantly set her back on her heels. He regarded her ruefully.

“Perhaps I should not have done that,” he said. “I keep telling myself I ought not to press you—”

“It is not thought of Wakefield which keeps me from encouraging your suit,” Philippa murmured, looking now at Rochford’s patient horse, still standing where he had been left.

“Then what?” the viscount demanded. “Does this hunting business mean so much to you? Because if it does, I can tell you—”

“It isn’t that,” she said quickly. “Not the hunting alone, although at one point I did think that was it. But the dowager came nearer the mark, sir, when she described herself as one who clings to independence. ’Tis my own independence I guard, my need to make decisions for myself, even if they prove to be the wrong decisions. ’Twas my greatest gift from the baron, you see, and I cannot give it up so freely, even for love of you, my lord.” She would have gone on then to attempt to explain her relationship with Wakefield, but Rochford stopped her with a gentle finger to her lips.

“I do wish you would learn not to interrupt, sweetheart. Someday I hope you will come to understand that my opposition to ladies in the hunting field stems not from mere male arrogance but from my care for their safety.”

“But, Rochford—”

“No,” he said, giving her a shake, “you will listen to me, if you please. I was wrong to let my concern for you keep me from hearing the things you were saying to me. The one time I actually saw your prowess in the field, I let my anger keep me from realizing that I was becoming as stubborn as you over what was essentially a petty argument. No, no, you will listen until I have quite finished.” He glared at her, waiting to see if she would again attempt to speak. When she remained meekly silent, she was rewarded with a smile of approval. “You were right to be angry with me, sweetheart, but you also made a few mistakes. I need not point them out to you. Indeed, I have said I will say nothing further on that head, but there is one thing I must say, for it covers a broader range. You made it clear enough when we discussed annuities with Alvanley that you have a good head for matters of business. You do not, however, approach more emotional matters with that same clear head.”

“No,” she said forlornly, “you are right. Cousin Adeliza says I don’t think matters through. Wakefield said the same on occasion, but I thought I had learned better, and the business of the hunt was important to me. It still is, for all that.”

“Then let me say at once that I should have to be the greatest of nodcocks not to admit that if a lady of the dowager’s years can hold her own in the field, you can do as well if not better. You are a bruising rider, sweetheart, and even if you were not, I have indeed come to recognize your need to discover that fact for yourself.”

“You have?” Her eyes widened.

He smiled at her. “I have. I was trained to a habit of command, Philippa, so seeing myself as you do has not been easy for me. I went from a household where my father made all the decisions, to the army, where I had only to give an order to see it obeyed. But I have seen changes, even in my home, where my sisters now make decisions of which my father is not even aware, out of concern for his health. They deferred to me, of course, and to their husbands, so I was not quick to see the change, but I did note that they are not nearly so dependent on masculine authority as my mother was. Then I saw how Rutland is with his amazing duchess. If ever a lady gave the appearance of being a sad shatterbrain, that one does, but she is nothing of the sort, for the duke is no namby-pamby dandy, but a man as sound as a roast who was raised knowing he would wield great power. And although his mother is a demanding lady who knows her own mind, she would never have made the mistake of raising a duke who could not make decisions. Therefore, ’tis plain as a pikestaff that the duke gives his duchess full rein only because he wishes to do so.”

“The dowager said it amused him to do so,” Philippa reminded him.

“How amused do you suppose he would be if she made a mull of it?” he asked.

“But she doesn’t. She was trained to her position, too, sir.”

“Certainly she was, but so were you. The more I learn of your late husband, the more I realize that he prepared you very well for life without him. I wouldn’t trust Lucy to make a decision, I can tell you that, nor would I have trusted Margaret or Catherine before now. I knew how they were raised, you see, and I judged you by what I knew of them. It was unfair, Philippa. Perhaps you will find it difficult to believe that I have learned so much, but I should like to have the opportunity to prove myself to you. Then, when you have got far enough beyond your bereavement to see what others have seen—that we love each other and that you are not so averse as you think to the married state—perhaps you will be willing to agree when I ask you to be my wife.”

The humming had begun in her head again the moment he said what he did about Wakefield preparing her for life as a widow, and now she had all she could do not to grin at him. She had never expected to find him capable of such understanding. Had it not taken years before she had reached that understanding for herself? Yet, here he was, putting into words things she had only begun to think out fully. He was right, too, about others having seen what she had not. Even Mr. Brummell and Lord Alvanley had seen from the outset that it was a case between them. Next there had been the duchess with those arch little looks whenever she mentioned Rochford. And finally, today, the dowager had ruthlessly drawn the duke off and ordered Rochford to settle his affairs suitably.

Taking herself firmly in hand, Philippa looked up at the viscount from under her long lashes and asked demurely, “Tell me, my lord, after all this roundaboutation, if I marry you, will you allow me to hunt regularly with the Wyvern?”

His eyes widened and he regarded her much as though she had changed shape under his very gaze. “Hunt with the Wyvern?”

She nodded, lowering her lashes before he could see the twinkle in her eyes.

The viscount’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I thought I had spoken to that point already. It is palpably clear that you are not meek enough to agree to remain placidly behind with your knitting while your husband and sons go hunting—”

“And daughters.”

“While the rest of your family goes hunting,” he amended obligingly, beginning to smile. “Therefore, since it has likewise become obvious that I should be wise to keep you where I can watch over you, lest you begin a crusade against the Quorn or the Cottesmore, thus bringing the wrath of every sporting man down about my ears, I suppose I must give my consent.”

“Sensible of you, sir,” she said, “but I have not agreed to become your wife, you know, so this talk of sons and daughters, let alone of hunting, is rather premature.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “I am a patient man, sweetheart, as you have seen.”

“Have I?”

He grinned. “I didn’t wring your pretty neck over those damned no-trespassing signs, did I?”

“No, sir.”

“And,” he added, his voice growing gentle, “I truly have tried not to press you, sweetheart. I know that from time to time you must still miss Wakefield.”

“I don’t miss him,” she said simply, watching him carefully the while. With pleasure she observed growing awareness in the viscount’s eyes and felt a responding warmth invade her body. The humming in her mind grew louder than ever before, and when Rochford opened his arms, she cast herself into them.

“Are you quite certain?” he muttered near her ear.

“Quite,” she replied. “I will always remember him fondly, Andrew, for he taught me much and was kind to me, but I no longer feel an obligation to his memory.”

His arms folded around her crushingly, and it was several moments before she made any attempt to free herself. Then, pushing hard against his chest, she looked him straight in the eye and said, “Don’t think for a moment that I have merely given way to your stronger will, sir. I made up my mind to marry you weeks ago. I just didn’t think to do it right away.”