The Outrageous Debutante (16 page)

Yes. It looked like home. And had been over the centuries. A settled place, something of which she had no experience in her short life.

Agnes, seated beside her on a stolid gelding, interrupted her reverie. ‘I think we should go back, Miss Thea.’

‘No. I want to go closer.’

‘It is not wise. His lordship might be here. And then where shall we be?’

‘No.’ Thea was certain. ‘He visits only rarely, when business permits.’

Before Agnes could object further, she kicked the little mare into a descent from their vantage spot. All she wanted was to see what lay so close to Nicholas’s heart. To know a little more about him, even if it would increase the pain, even if they were destined to live apart. She nodded in quick decision. It was worth the risk.

At close quarters the house was just as entrancing. Gardens carefully tended without being fussy, perhaps lacking the hand of a woman, Thea found herself thinking before she stopped herself. Voices from the further side of the house drew her to approach a small paddock where two mares with their new foals grazed, watched by a pair of grooms who leaned on the fence. But no sign of Nicholas.

Well, she was here. She would see what enthralled him about this place. She walked The Zephyr up to the paddock, leaving Agnes and their escort some way behind, and brought her to a halt.

An elderly man with grizzled hair and weatherbeaten face, with some authority on his shoulders, emerged from one of the barns at her approach. Touched his hand to his hat as he took in the quality of the visitors, and, more importantly, their horseflesh. Thea dismounted.

‘Good day, miss.’ He came over to hold her reins, a little bent with age. ‘Can I be of help?’ His voice held the soft Marches’ burr.

‘No. I was passing … visiting in the area … a cousin lives near
Tenbury. I am a little acquainted with Lord Nicholas Faringdon. Is he perhaps here?’

‘No. Expect he’s over at Burford. I’m Furness, his lordship’s head groom ‘ere at Aymestry.’

A curious mix of relief and disappointment flooded through her. Deciding that relief was the more apt of the two, she smiled at the groom. ‘It is lovely here, Master Furness.’

‘It is that.’

‘Lord Nicholas has spoken often of his horses.’

‘Prime beasts, miss.’ He turned back to admire his charges, pride clear on his lined face. ‘We hope to do well on the turf. Good lines in this breeding, y’see. These little ‘uns are both thoroughbred. Much in demand in the hunting field too.’

‘I can see.’ She smiled at his enthusiasm and stretched out her fingers to scratch the forehead of an inquisitive mare.

‘His lordship—he doesn’t get enough time to concentrate on ‘em. Not as much as he’d like. Too much business over at the big house and estate.’

‘It takes a lot of his time?’ The mare pushed at her hand, perhaps hoping for an apple. She laughed and shook her head.

‘Too much, I’d say. His’re the only shoulders to bear it, y’see—the Marquis being only a little lad and in foreign parts an’ all.’ Furness searched his pockets to find a wizened fruit, which the mare promptly crunched.

‘Yes. I see. He is a conscientious landlord?’ Thea discovered that she had no pride when it came to questioning the groom about his master. She flushed a little at the realisation. Thank God her mama was not within hearing distance!

‘Aye. No hard feelings round here. Or none to speak of.’

‘No. I suppose not. Is there much unrest?’

‘Some. We hear rumour of it on Lord Westbourne’s estates, which run between here and Tenbury. And in Leominster, o’ course. But not at Aymestry. Or Burford. Even when we’ve had hard times—harvest bad and famine at hand—he cares for his own, does Lord Nicholas. Puts money from his own pocket back into the land. Keeps rents down, d’you see. Not like some I could
name round ‘ere. Lord Westbourne, for one. Them as thinks of nothing but their own comfort and pleasures.’ Furness spat on the ground. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, miss.’

‘You are fortunate indeed, Master Furness.’

He nodded. ‘Not all agree. The markets are bad, but we do well enough. The cattle and sheep are sturdy breeds. Ryelands over there—see.’ He pointed with gnarled fingers. ‘And Here-fords in the far pasture. New blood brought in to improve the stock. Lord Nicholas keeps up with the trends—always reading some pamphlet or other. Different from in my dad’s day—when he was groom ‘ere.’ The old groom, it seemed, needed no encouragement from Thea to express his admiration. ‘His lordship now—he’s done it since he was nobbut a young lad, as well, his brother dying so young and Lord Henry being in New York.’

‘Yes. Of course.’ Thea found words difficult. Her heart swelled within her breast and emotion tightened its hold on her throat, surprising her with its intensity. To hear such praise from Master Furness. And she had to admit to the sly finger of guilt that touched her spine. She had been more than ready to condemn Nicholas as a frivolous, self-serving landlord with no thought for his tenants. And living on his nephew’s inheritance too! How far, it seemed, she had been from the truth.

‘I must go,’ she decided eventually, giving the mare a final caress on her soft nose. ‘I have enjoyed our meeting, Master Furness.’

‘A nice horse you have there, miss.’ He cast his eye over the grey, then leaned down to run his hands down her forelegs. ‘His lordship could make good use of some swift Arab blood in the breeding. I reckon she runs well.’

‘Yes. Like the wind. Sometimes she is difficult to stop.’ Memories were suddenly stark in her mind. She had stayed long enough. It would not do to tempt fate further.

‘I must go,’ she repeated.

‘Who shall I say that called, miss?’

‘No matter. Goodbye, Master Furness.’ She turned to go, suddenly aware of a hiss of expression from Agnes Drew.

And there he was.

On his return from London, Nicholas had found himself seamlessly absorbed into estate matters. It was not difficult. Lambing and calving continued apace at Burford and he was readily involved. Riding the family acres, a small glow of satisfaction touched him that he had thwarted Beatrice’s less than subtle plans. He fervently hoped that she was feeling put out that he had escaped her clutches. Without doubt, he had enjoyed the pace and glamour of the London scene, but he was not sorry to be back. The stern lines of his face relaxed into a smile as he watched a pair of swans with their fluffy if unmanageable brood take to the water on the mere.

But the smile faded.

Theodora.

He would not think of her! She meant nothing to him. He looked down, a line developing between his brows as he rubbed at the skin on his hand where the mark of her whip had just faded to the slightest discoloration. A woman who was volatile and unreliable, spoilt, privileged and indulged from childhood. A lucky escape indeed to see her in her true colours when he might have been in danger of allowing himself to enjoy her company too much.

So why did the thought of her, the memory of her laughter, the sparkle in her magnificent eyes, still heat his blood? And trouble his sleep? Unwise enough to recall the softness of her mouth against his in those few stolen kisses in Vauxhall Gardens, the muscles in his loins tightened uncomfortably. Desire ran hot through his veins. He bared his teeth and kicked his horse into a canter. But the speed of the animal did nothing to distance him from the apparent hold Miss Wooton-Devereux continued to exert over his very masculine reaction to her. Against all logic, all good sense, he continued to be driven by the thought of taking Theodora to his bed, of claiming her lips in a furious possession that did not include gentleness. Igniting all that fire and energy in his arms. If only she hadn’t been so irresponsible and wayward. Frustration made him groan and set his teeth. It could, he decided, be the death of him!

When matters at Burford allowed, Nicholas decided on impulse to spend some time at Aymestry Manor. It was a fine day and an easy ride through undemanding country. He did not need an excuse, but if he did, some of his mares would be ready to drop their foals. Furness would deal with it, of course—he had worked with horses all his life, and his father before him—but Nicholas wanted to see the fruition of his long-term planning for himself. He dropped down through the woods behind the little Manor, remembering boyhood adventures there with his brothers, and so was perhaps, a trifle melancholy, only to see a little group of visitors with their horses standing beside one of the paddocks. This was nothing out of the way. Most likely lost travellers stopped to ask direction. A lady was in conversation with his groom, another female companion and an escort in attendance. His first thought was that the lady held the reins of a prime piece of horseflesh. He cast an experienced eye over the short arched neck and glossy, deep-chested body, the powerful, glossy flanks. A pretty animal—and perhaps not unfamiliar? Then the lady turned, gathering up the reins and taking hold of the saddle to mount. At the same moment, as if on cue, the sun emerged from behind a little cloud to illuminate the scene.

Nicholas reined in his horse sharply, with a less-than-smooth gesture, causing his mount to toss its head in immediate resistance to the unusual treatment. Then he simply sat and stared through narrowed eyes.

Golden hair, curling neatly into her neck, a rakish little hat trimmed with a soft feather that curled to brush her cheek. A deep blue riding habit in some soft material that draped and clung to her tall, elegant figure. A heart-lifting smile as she turned her head to reply to some comment from Furness.

Oh, God! No!

Nicholas closed his eyes against the vivid scene. It was bad enough seeing her in his dreams, imagining her dancing in London in some other man’s arms. Probably the damned Earl of Moreton! But not here! Not now!

But when he opened them, the vision was still there. The sun
felt too hot on his skin, the light around him too bright to bear. Everything was in sharp focus as he heard her soft, infectious laugh, as his heart beat heavily against his ribs. Then, with a touch of his heel, he urged his horse forward.

Thea had no presentiment of his approach until the sharp hiss of warning from Agnes Drew caused her to turn her head. A figure mounted on a magnificent dark bay thoroughbred rode toward her, came to a halt, the sun behind him gilding his outline, casting his face into shadow. But she knew immediately—and froze, hands tight on her reins. He dismounted.

They simply stood and looked at each other. As if they were alone in the universe.

It was almost a month since they had set eyes on each other. Thea felt that it could have been yesterday as her gaze searched his familiar features.

Tension held them silent in its grip. Eyes locked as emotion arced between them. Attraction or latent hostility? A nameless desire? Neither could or would have named it, but it held them captive, unaware of either their surroundings or the more-than-interested audience. Until it was suddenly brought to Nicholas’s mind, the recollection of the almost physical charge between his brother Henry and Eleanor, the love of his life, when they were in the same room together. No. There was nothing similar here. It could not be! And Thea found herself dissecting her motives in proposing this visit. Had she wanted this meeting all along? In honesty, she did not know. But her heart seemed to be lodged somewhere in the region of her throat. She could find no words to say.

Furness coughed respectfully. ‘There now, miss. Here’s his lordship. Timely come, I reckon. Just as you was about to leave, an’ all.’

It broke the spell. The focus softened and the actors in the little scene fell back into accustomed responses. Lord Nicholas stepped forward, handing his horse over to Furness. Bowed formally in acknowledgement of Thea’s presence. Inclined his head to Mistress Drew. Thea curtsied. Neither smiled.

‘Miss Wooton-Devereux. Mistress Drew.’ His bow was impeccable, worthy of a town withdrawing room, no indication of the churning surge of emotions through his body. They might have been the casual travellers he had first thought them to be. ‘Welcome to Aymestry Manor. I would not have expected to see you here in this part of the country.’
Why are you here?

Thea determined not to show her discomfiture. She could be just as cool as he. ‘I am visiting an elderly relative, my lord—a cousin of my mama—in Tenbury Wells.’
I should not be here. What a terrible faux pas
. ‘I remembered your description of your home here, and since it was so near … Master Furness has been telling me about your horses.’

‘We are proud of them.’
It is too painful you being here. I wish you had not—and yet …

‘And rightly so. I have been admiring the foals …’
He is so cold, so stern. As if my sudden appearance at his door holds no significance for him. So what do I read in his eyes when he looks at me, when I am unable to look away or hide my own feelings?

‘Ah, yes. We have a new stallion. We are breeding for speed as well as endurance …’
She is so polite and composed. As if it is nothing to her that I have discovered her at my home. And that there is a passion which runs between us, almost visible as a shimmer in the air, which cannot be gainsaid, however much I would deny it
.

He was just as she remembered. Tall, imposing, his dark hair lifted by the light breeze. The straight nose and fine brows of all the Faringdons. Absurdly handsome in a distinctly masculine fashion, features dramatically sculpted with light and shadow. She had been used to seeing him elegant in town clothing. Now he wore the double-breasted riding coat, breeches and riding boots of the country gentleman, just as becoming, the dark green cloth of the coat emphasising his lithe, well-muscled build and broad shoulders. But his mouth was stern, his eyes cold, blue fire that held no warmth. Whatever flashed between them, shattering in their mutual awareness, was not a welcome—but of course she had destroyed the possibility of that, had not she?

‘Perhaps you will stay for some refreshment, Miss Wooton-Devereux? Before your return to Tenbury.’
It would be better if you did not!

‘Why no. Thank you, my lord, but we must go back. My cousin …’
Once he would have called me Thea
.