The Women of Eden (34 page)

He spied her at the far end of the path where it veered to the right and passed beneath a solid canopy of yew trees.

Urging the horse to greater speed, he passed the other horses on the path, striving to keep the beaver hat in view, but feeling beneath his boot now an ominous slippage, the stirrups easing further and further down, the entire saddle loosening. The horse, sensing trouble, began spinning. Several riders passed him by, giving him a wide berth, their English faces censuring a novice so amateur as not to take the time to make certain that the saddle strap was securely joined.

Sensing disaster moments before it happened, Burke relaxed his grip on the reins and was just attempting to swing his legs over for a quick dismount when suddenly the saddle slipped completely loose and, as he was in the process of jumping, the accelerated movement pitched him forward and down, where he landed unceremoniously on his backside in the soft mud and dead leaves of Rotten Row.

A ruddy-faced and rotund old Englishman rode close and grinned sympathetically down. "Really tough luck," he commiserated, failing to hide a smile. "I say—you're not injured, are you?"

"No," Burke muttered, lifting his hands gingerly from the damp mud and spying Rendezvous munching placidly on an unscheduled feast of summer grass across the way.

"Faulty strap would be my guess," the old Englishman added. "Can't trust the workmanship these days, you know. Everyone's giving short shrift."

Aware that his audience was increasing, Burke pulled himself up out of the soft mud, examined his backside with new embarrassment and bobbed his head at the gaping faces surrounding him.

"No damage." He smiled, lifting the saddle from the mud. He backed across the bridle path, relieved to see the small crowd dispersing.

The horse restored, he whispered, "Let's do it proper this time," and the animal lifted his head, responding beautifully to the reins, and started oflf down the long bridle path.

For almost an hour Burke rode up and down the paths of Rotten Row, straining his eyes through the sun and shadow, thinking. That's her! But it never was. Once he even returned to the stables on the possibility that she had completed her ride and had departed. But there was no sign of the black stallion in any of the stalls, and only the sly, slightly suspect smile of the old stablemaster, who sucked on his pipe and said nothing.

Where in the hell was she? Would she abandon the bridle path and take off into the heart of the park? If that were the case, Burke didn't stand a chance of finding her. There were hundreds of secluded walks and paths. He might as well return his horse to the stables and take up his vigil again on Number Seven.

Then that's what he would do, after one more brief turn about the path. There was always tomorrow and, in spite of his disappointment, he found himself enjoying the sport, this stately though leisured parade, surrounded by magnificent horses and graceful ladies and gentlemen, the entire ambience one of ripe summer luxury, a mild breeze blowing across him.

Amazed at the speed with which his spirits had risen, he looked up at the sound of voices and saw that he was approaching the place where the horse-breakers plied their trade.

Drawn forward by fascination and with nothing else to do, Burke guided his horse into the crowd of men, some on horseback like himself, others on foot, a solid line of waiting carriages stretching the length of the Serpentine. A marketplace, that's what it was, where gentiemen came to look and to buy.

Finding a good vantage point, Burke released his grip on the reins and settied back to enjoy the parade, the ladies in their ravishing riding habits and intoxicatingly beautiful hats, roguish wide-awakes and pretty cocked cavalier's hats with plumes.

From time to time he saw a gentleman step out of the crowd, walk toward a particular horse, exchange a few discreet words with the lady and, after a nod of her head, lead her animal to a waiting steward, assist her down, then walk a step ahead of her through the crowd toward one of the carriages.

Fascinated by this accepted form of bartering flesh, Burke watched

a moment longer, thinking that in some future column it might be a suitable subject for Lord Ripples.

Now he was weary, having been up since dawn, and disappointed at the futility of the long day. How doubly frustrating it was to have had her so close and lost her. No matter. He knew where to find her again.

Just as he was guiding Rendezvous out of the press of gentlemen, he heard a disturbance on the far side of the circle, a gentleman on horseback reaching aggressively forward for the reins of another horse, shouting something which sounded like "Whore!" Several of the ladies halted their march to draw closer to the altercation.

From where Burke sat, half-turned in the saddle, he thought that some pretty someone had changed her mind or raised her price and now had a disgruntled client on her hands. As the unpleasantness continued to attract more attention, Burke hoped that they could settle it peacefully, for there were no police about, this being the one area in the park beyond their jurisdiction.

He was about to turn away when he heard the gentleman's voice rising in anger shout, "Bitch!" At the same time he saw several of the ladies angle their horses between the gentleman and the target of his wrath. Battle hnes were being drawn.

Not until he had moved to a position of relative safety at the outer edge of the crowd did he look back, his curiosity getting the best of him, and from this line of vision saw the mane and head of a stunning black stallion, its eyes showing white, several of the ladies interceding in curious protection of the young woman who clung to her saddle, her pretty little beaver hat with flowing veil dislodged and knocked awry in the struggle, her eyes as white and as fearful as—

Godl

Struggling to steady his horse, Burke brought him around until he was facing directly toward the disturbance. Briefly the interfering ladies obscured his vision of the young woman. Surely he'd imagined it. What would she be doing here?

But once again the crowd shifted, the gentleman trying to explain himself to one of the ladies, speaking full-voiced, his protest clear. "We struck a bargain, we did," he shouted. "I offered and she agreed. Now all I ask is—"

Burke did not wait to hear the gentleman's specific request, knowing full well its nature and seeing the young woman clearly for the

first time. Good Lord, does she make it a habit of getting herself into awkward, potentially dangerous situations?

Suddenly he flattened his heels into the stirrups and galloped rapidly about the circle, not certain what he was going to do when he got to the trouble spot.

Approaching from the other side, he penetrated through the riders. Taking advantage of the element of surprise, he rode forward and grabbed the reins from the gentleman's hand and led the frightened black horse to the center of the circle, paying no attention to the young woman, concentrating instead on the protests coming from the gentleman.

"I say, you have no right!" he shouted, a rather elderly gentleman Burke observed close at hand, no real threat except for his indignant moral outrage.

"My apologies, sir." Burke smiled, guiding the black stallion into a position of safety behind him. "I believe if you had taken the time to listen to the young lady's protest you would understand. You see," Burke went on, not daring to look at the young lady behind him, "she struck a bargain with me late yesterday afternoon. Cash in advance, I might add, but as I had a pressing appointment and could not see our bargain through, she vowed to wait for me here today. The nature of her protest to you, sir, instead of being dishonorable, is quite the contrary, is honor itself."

My God, I'm even beginning to talk like the bloody English! he thought. Apparently it worked, for the old gentleman, while still grumbling, was retreating, and at that moment one of the enterprising young horse-breakers, spying the wad of pounds in his pocket which he'd been in the process of giving to Mary, moved close with a whispered offer. A few minutes after that, the old gentleman, smiling now, was leading the young lady triumphantly through the crowds toward his carriage, where a footman stood waiting to take possession of both their horses.

Thinking that now was the time to leave, and still without a backward look at the young woman behind him, he guided their horses through the crowds of grinning men, heading not toward the pavement of the Serpentine but following a narrow path which led into the heart of the park.

They rode in silence for several minutes away from the laughing men and at last, curious about his "bargain," he looked back and saw

her head bowed, the httle beaver hat clutched in one hand, the veil torn in the scuffle, her long hair mussed and loosed.

"You're not—injured, are you?" he asked softly, bending low in an attempt to see her face.

She said nothing.

"Do you remember me?" he asked, thinking that she might not.

Still no response, and he sensed a siege of gloomy embarrassment settling over her.

Although he had at least a hundred questions, he refrained from asking any of them and turned about in his saddle to plot a course for them. He didn't want to compromise her further by taking her into a deserted area of the park, yet he longed for an interval alone with her. Convinced that she was unable to give him a direct answer, he led her horse into a sheltered arbor beyond which a garden of summer flowers was in full bloom, a quiet, now deserted though public part of the park where an arrangement of stone benches flanked the gardens, and the generous branches of an ancient oak offered shade.

Quickly he dismounted and tied their horses to the trunk of a near tree and turned his undivided attention to her. For the first time he saw tears.

Moved, Burke lifted his arms to assist her down. "Please don't. Lady Mary. You're safe now."

Something, his tone of voice, the words themselves, caused fresh grief, and she accepted the offer of assistance, and more, clung to him once she was on the ground, burying her face in his jacket and pressing close, as though for admittance into the shelter of his arms.

Eagerly he provided it, though he felt as though his breath were failing him, never believing that he would be holding her so soon. Though he tried to think of additional words of comfort, words seemed entirely unnecessary. At last she stepped away from him, fumbling through the pockets of her skirts and producing a handkerchief.

She wiped at her eyes and walked a few feet around the garden, her head down, struggling for control.

He followed a respectful distance after her, wanting to give her all the time she needed, praying that this small, secluded garden would remain secluded, at least for a while.

"Are you certain you are not harmed?" he asked.

At last she turned. "I'm fine." She nodded, studying the handkerchief in her hand. "It—all happened so fast—"

Growing brave, Burke kindly suggested, "Here, why don't you sit for a while?" and was pleased as, without protest, she permitted him to take her arm and guide her toward one of the stone benches.

Once or twice she looked up at him, making eye contact, then concentrating on the embroidered edges of her handkerchief. She seemed to want to speak, but something was preventing her.

"You—do remember me?" he asked politely.

"Of course." She smiled. "Mr.—Stanhope, I believe—"

"Burke Stanhope, yes."

"And I am Mary Eden," she replied, a tinge of color warming her cheeks. Oh, yes, Burke thought, amused that she was ignorant of the fact that for the last two days he had rearranged his life to fit her schedule.

Then the mystery itself loomed large before him. What in the hell was she doing there? Surely she knew the purpose of that unique circle of females. Impossible to believe she had wandered into their midst by mistake.

"Lady Mary," he commenced, moving a step closer, "if I may ask —one question—"

"I knew what I was doing, Mr. Stanhope," she said, anticipating his question. "What I did not know was that someone would take me seriously."

It seemed a weak answer, therefore probably an honest one. She seemed to have a propensity for underestimating situations. Apparently the vast stretches of boredom in her life had produced a capacity for vast amounts of witless daring.

"I am most grateful to you again, Mr. Stanhope," she said, seeming to relax for the first time. "How curious it is to know so little about the gentleman who seems to have a habit of rescuing me."

"No thanks are needed." He smiled, fascinated with the play of sun upon her face. Lord, how beautiful she was, the tip of her polished riding boots just visible beneath her dark brown skirts, the restlessness of her small hands as they continued to play with the handkerchief, the delicate fringe of stiffened lace about her throat, framing the face itself, wisps of fair, curly hair surrounding that perfect cameo of wide-set dark blue eyes and flawless skin.

"Please feel free to sit if you wish," she invited. "You, too, have

had a strenuous afternoon. I see from the back of your trousers that I was not the first mishap of the day,"

He laughed, seeing the humor on her face, having forgotten about his eariier spill on the bridle path. "A confession," he said, seating himself on the end of the bench, a safe distance away. "I am not by nature a horseman."

"Then why on earth—**

"As long as I'm forced to pass time in England, I decided that I might as well do as the English."

"Still, it could be dangerous. I mean, training is so important."

"Oh, I've ridden before. Lady Mary, but simpler beasts and under simpler circumstances." He decided that he had said enough. It was not his intention to delve into his own splintered past. The afternoon was too perfect for that.

Neither spoke, though the raucous conversations of the birds in the trees above adequately filled the silence.

Then, as bad luck would have it, they both started together, he thinking to ask if he could fetch her something, she saying something which was lost in the muddle of their voices.