The Rebellious Twin (7 page)

At last they came to an open meadow. Robert reined in Sham and swung off. With Jasper by his side, he found a fallen log, and sat, allowing himself to relax, and take in the beauty of the verdant green meadow, tall trees, and the river beyond.

He heard the sound of pounding hoofs. Swinging his gaze to the opposite direction from whence he’d come, he saw a galloping chestnut horse — Irish Hunter, he should imagine — burst from the wooded path into the meadow. Atop him sat a young woman, blonde, in a black riding habit, riding astride. Most unusual was his first thought. In fact, he could not recall when he had ever seen a woman…

“Jasper, come back!”

The dog, ordinarily obedient, had left his side and was streaking across the meadow, bent, it appeared, on nipping at the horse’s heels.

“Jasper! Jasper!”

Too late. The horse spied the approaching dog and its eyes went wide with fright. In a twinkling, the horse shied one way and the rider flew another — a blur of black and green, hurtling off the horse’s back, striking the ground hard, rolling over — over — over.

“Dear God,” Robert exclaimed, as he ran toward the small, still figure. She could be badly injured. She could be dead.

When he got close, he heard her gasping. The grunting, heaving noises sounded awful, but hearing them, he rejoiced. She was alive! He willed his heart to stop its hammering and the invisible shaking in his limbs to go away as he knelt beside her and asked, “Are you all right?”

In the bottomless, black whirlpool that had enveloped her, Clarinda could hear lung-deep, desperate gasping, punctuated by pitiful, inhuman wails. What weird sounds! Then she heard a deep, masculine voice asking someone if they were all right. As the voice kept repeating the question, the distressing noises faded away. Gradually, she became aware she was lying on soft grass, that her eyes were closed, the sun was warming her face, and her entire insides felt shaken and nauseous. She tried to open her eyes, but nothing happened. She tried again, willing them to open, and they did.

A strange man knelt over her, holding both her hands. In the bright, early morning sunlight, she could see his face — quite handsome, she noted, but drawn with concern. With an effort she asked, “What were those awful noises?”

“You were making them. You had the breath jolted out of you.”

“I did? Where am I?”

“You’re lying in the middle of a meadow.” Robert briefly looked around, relieved to see that her horse was standing nearby, peacefully grazing, as if nothing unusual had occurred. “You fell from your horse.”

“I did?” She looked surprised and slightly indignant. “But I never fall.”

He hastened to repair her wounded pride. “You are not in any way to blame. The horse shied. Because of my hunter, I regret to say. For some reason, Jasper decided to chase after your gelding. Most unusual. He doesn’t usually…” This was no time to make excuses for his dog. “Tell me, are you all right?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“Then shall we find out?” He helped the girl to a sitting position. Her beaver hat had fallen off. “Allow me,” he said, and brushed away twigs and pieces of dried grass entwined in her hair. There was a slight cut on her forehead. He reached for his handkerchief. “You’ve a cut,” he said.

“Is it bad?” Her voice was unsteady.

“Not really.” While he daubed the bleeding area gently, he could not escape a keen awareness that he was but inches away from a beautiful young woman whose hair tumbled down her back in a mass of soft gold; who had skin of soft ivory and eyes of angelic blue. There were dimples at the corners of a mouth so rosy, so temptingly curved, it begged to be kissed. She was like a Dresden doll, he thought.

A waft of her light perfume, jasmine he’d wager, reached his nostrils. From out of nowhere he felt a wrench of desire deep within himself. Bloody hell, where did that come from? Control yourself, Stormont! With an effort, he put away his lustful thought, but when he accidentally touched her hair, and felt how smooth and silky it was, again something intense flared deep within. What am I thinking of? Chagrined with himself, he quickly told her, “Move your arms — your legs. Does anything hurt?”

She did as he requested with no winces of pain. “Really, I am fine, although I feel as if somebody kicked me in the stomach with their Wellingtons on.”

He felt a vast relief. “What luck you landed on soft, grass-covered ground. Except for that small cut, and getting the breath knocked out of you, you don’t appear to be hurt.”

She looked down at herself, discovering that her skirt had ridden up over her riding boots, revealing a long, rather extensive, stretch of her slender legs. Unconcerned, she pulled her skirt down, remarking with a faint grin, “It appears I have lost my dignity along with my breath.”

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am Clarinda Capelle, from Graystone Hall.”

“Ah, one of the twins.”

Instantly she stiffened. A gleam of annoyance flashed through her eyes. Puzzled, he asked, “Have I said something to offend you?”

“You would not possibly understand,” she answered, though not unkindly. “Would you help me up?”

“You’re sure you feel all right?” he asked, just as Jasper, wagging his tail, bounded up to the girl and gave her a friendly lick on her cheek.

*

“Jasper, stop that!” he commanded. Cursed animal. If he expects his extra treat tonight…

She stared at the dog, then burst into laughter. “Now he wants to be my friend.” She wrapped her arms around the dog and hugged him tight. “That’s all right, Jasper, you didn’t mean it, did you, boy?” She turned her magnetic blue eyes up at Robert. “Don’t be mad at him.”

“I … no, of course not.” His heart had recommenced its pounding, but this time for a reason that had nothing to do with alarm. Now he was the one who was breathless. It was as if this beautiful young creature had cast some sort of spell over him. Dammit, man, pull yourself together.

She extended her hand. “Help me up?”

When she was on her feet again, he could not fail to notice that concealed beneath her prim black riding habit were a tiny waist, finely curved hips, and firm, full breasts. She was taller than most, although because of his own great height, the top of her head came only a touch above his chin.

She bent, busying herself brushing bits of grass from her skirt. When she raised up, she asked, “And who are you?”

“I am Robert Stormont.”

“Lord Stormont?” The friendliness in her eyes vanished. “The one who stole Hollyridge Manor from Lord Westerlynn?”

“The very same,” he said, ardently wishing he could deny the fact. “But see here, I didn’t steal Hollyridge, I won it. There’s a difference.”

“Not to me.” She looked at him as if she’d just discovered him slithering out from under a rock. She backed a step away, an unconscious response, he supposed, yet a clear indication of her hostility. Coolly she said, “I had planned to visit Sara Sophia this morning. I must be on my way.”

“Very well.” He watched as she retrieved her hat from beneath a bush and set it firmly atop her head. She walked to her horse, which stood quietly and made no fuss when she gathered up the reins, then patted him on the nose and whispered something no doubt soothing into his ear.

“May I help you up?” he inquired pleasantly. Not for the world would he let her know he had taken note of her incivility.

She hesitated. He knew exactly what was going through her mind. It was clear she did not want him to help her, but if she didn’t, he, a complete stranger, would be witness to what would have to be, at best, a most unladylike leap. He hid a chuckle. Surely her parents were not aware she rode astride.

So what is to be, Lady Clarinda? Will you leap, skirts flying, onto your horse, as you would like to do, and usually do, or will you…?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said, her pert little nose high in the air, “I should like a boost.”

“My pleasure,” he said, and walked to the horse where she stood, ready to mount.

“When I first saw you, you were riding astride,” he said. “Is that how — ?”

“You are mistaken, sir,” she replied without mirth. “A lady always rides sidesaddle.”

“Really?” He took a long, leisurely look at the Irish Hunter’s bare back. “Then if you are riding sidesaddle, would it not be a good idea to put a sidesaddle on the horse?”

A frown line appeared between her golden brows. “Could you kindly put your hands together?” she tartly requested. “No doubt you are as anxious as I to be on your way.”

“Quite so.” If she expected him to form a loop with his hands that she could step into, she was sadly mistaken. “Bend your knee.”

Startled, she asked, “What are you — ?”

“Bend your knee,” he commanded again in his no-nonsense voice, the one reserved for the occasional bullheaded servant. Without another word, she did so. He bent down, placed his large hands beneath her skirt, and firmly grasped her ankle, directly above her boot.

“Up you go!” With consummate ease he gave her a boost. She, instantly cooperating, lifted herself up, perching atop the horse in a movement both fluid and graceful. For an extra long moment, his hands refused to let go, and their contact with the smooth skin of her slender ankle caused that sudden heat within to flare again. Finally he let go, though sorely tempted not to. She looked down, gravely regarding him. Their eyes locked. He could swear she knew what he was thinking. He backed off a step, keeping his face inscrutable, observing how she was sitting, both legs dangling on one side. “Well?” he inquired. “Surely you’re not planning to ride sidesaddle without the saddle.”

She was silent a moment, as if gravely considering the question he had posed. “No, I am not,” she said, and with a short kick and a whirl of skirts, slung a leg to the other side. Triumphantly she looked down upon him. With a perfectly straight face she said, “In case you were not aware, sir, there are times when even a lady does not keep her legs together.”

Why, the little minx! It was all he could do to keep from bursting into laughter, but he kept his face a blank. “But if she does not keep her legs together, then perhaps she is no lady.”

She regarded him solemnly, although he would swear he caught a slight gleam of amusement in her eye. “I do believe we have exhausted that topic, m’lord. Good day.”

Before he could say a word, the chestnut gelding began a skittish dance. With an expert nudge of her knees, and with a firm hold on the reins, the girl whispered, “Let us be off, Donegal.”

Robert watched as the horse sprang away. At full gallop, he and his beautiful rider fair flew across the meadow and disappeared into the trees toward Hollyridge Manor.

Lady Clarinda Capelle. An unwelcome surge of excitement ran through him as he stared after horse and rider. But this will not do. If there was anything he did not need right now it was an attachment to a young chit like this one. His life was complete, unshakeably so. What more could he want than his thoroughbred hunters, an occasional trip to London to gamble, and, of course, an occasional visit with his current lady bird?

And yet … there was something different about this girl. She did not appear to be the simpering, bubble-headed belle he was accustomed to in London. Clearly she was no Dresden doll. This girl loved horses, that was clear…

Robert laughed to himself, remembering her saucy, most unladylike remark about ladies and their legs. He also remembered her hostile pose when she discovered he was the villain who had stolen Hollyridge from old Lord Westerlynn.

That girl does not like me, Robert mused. But all things considered, that was for the best, and hardly worth worrying about. In a few days he would be leaving, soon as he’d stripped Hollyridge of what he most wanted — those magnificent horses — and arranged for the sale of the estate. Never would he return.

So why even bother to think about her? Chances were he would never see her again.

*

Clarinda held Donegal to a gallop until she was sure she was well into the trees, out of Stormont’s sight. Relieved, she slowed Donegal to a walk. Although she’d been loathe to admit it, the fall had jarred her considerably. She was sure no bones were broken, but various parts of her body already ached, and would probably get worse.

She patted Donegal. “It was not your fault,” she said aloud.

When she reached the stables at Hollyridge, she was relieved to see Sara Sophia in the courtyard, saddling one of the thoroughbreds. “I can’t have Sham this morning,” she called wistfully. “Lord Stormont has taken a liking to him.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Clarinda said as she slid from her horse. “Wait ‘til you hear what happened…”

She related every detail of her early morning encounter with Lord Stormont, from the attack of his dog to that extra long moment when Stormont had boldly gripped her ankle while helping her back onto her horse.

You’re not hurt?” Sara Sophia asked after Clarinda had finished her tale.

“Only my pride. What do you think of him?”

“He seems quite civil.”

“You wouldn’t think badly of anyone,” Clarinda said thoughtfully. “You know as well as I, he practically stole Hollyridge. The man’s a villain.”

“But a very handsome villain.”

“True, he’s not bad looking by half,” Clarinda grudgingly admitted.

“By half? The man is devilishly handsome. He must spend much of his time out of doors in order to have acquired that tanned skin.”

Clarinda wrinkled up her nose. “It’s not the least fashionable.”

Sara Sophia laughed. “That sounds like something Rissa would say. Admit it. The man is most attractive.”

Especially when he smiles that rakish smile, thought Clarinda, and shows those straight, strikingly white teeth contrasted against his dark skin. “It was extremely brazen of him to grab my leg as he did. He held it extra long, and was not a gentleman. Papa would throw a fit if he found out.”

“There’s a conundrum!” Sara Sophia exclaimed. “You might wish to tell your father, but if you do, he’ll doubtless discover you were riding without a saddle.”

A new thought struck Clarinda. “Do you suppose Stormont was aware of that?”

“Probably. I find him exceedingly bright, and quite perceptive.” Sara Sophia’s eyes twinkled. “And I suspect he has a bit of the devil in him, too.”