“Liar.” Priscilla shot him a reproving glance. “You’d have gone riding.”
“How—?”
“Your sister.”
“Eloise?”
“Isadora.”
And then he fell into a thoughtful silence until… “You don’t ride,” he said.
Priscilla rode. In fact, Priscilla loved riding, but Allison wasn’t all that fond of horses. How could she have forgotten this pertinent piece of information?
“No,” she agreed cautiously.
“I thought that perhaps with the right horse,” he glanced over, “and some gentle instruction, I could show you some of the estate while you’re here.” He didn’t press her for an answer.
He, no doubt, was likely wondering if his ankle would allow him to sit his horse properly—beating himself up for an accident that could have befallen anyone. Perhaps in his pain, he hadn’t comprehended that she’d admitted to riding.
“I’d like that,” Priscilla said.
If she were busy pretending to learn to ride, that would give her an excuse to miss some of the social gatherings, which would allow for fewer opportunities to slip up with his sisters.
All things considered, the less time she spent in conversation with this man and his family, the better.
“Hello down there!” A deep voice floated down from above.
Priscilla’s instinct was to draw away from Lord Hardwood in what, taken out of context, could easily be deemed inappropriate—ruinous, even.
But he needed her support.
Nonetheless, he loosened his hold on her and reached out his opposite hand for support from a short tree adjacent to the path before shouting up a response.
“Down here! Have a care. The rocks dislodge easily.”
A moment later, Captain Edgeworth, who was not wearing his uniform but well-worn riding clothes and dusty boots, along with Emerson’s cousin, Viscount Bloodstone, dressed in a spritely morning suit, appeared. Followed by, not surprisingly, Chloe, who could not have looked any more censorious.
Which was how any chaperone worth her salt ought to look, although Priscilla guessed that Chloe’s disapproval had more to do with their mission than with Priscilla’s reputation.
“Why didn’t you wake me? You know I would have loved to join you for an early morning constitutional.” Chloe’s words sounded friendly enough, but the look she shot Priscilla was quite the opposite.
And her gaze narrowed even more accusingly when she pointedly flicked her stare to where Priscilla had kept one arm around Lord Hardwood.
Priscilla winced as she considered how this scenario could be interpreted. And that with two lofty gentlemen as witnesses, Lord Hardwood could very well use this moment to force her hand.
Instead, he merely shook his head and grimaced. “I’m afraid I’ve twisted my ankle.”
The two other men glanced at one another and shrugged, and Chloe looked like she might faint in relief.
“So you’re a gentleman in need of saving.” In no hurry, Edgeworth cocked one brow while Lord Bloodworth was already hurrying down to relieve Priscilla of Hardwood’s weight.
“We had quite the storm last week,” the viscount said. “I’m surprised the trail wasn’t washed away entirely. Pardon me, miss….” The handsome blond gentleman eased his way close to replace her arm on Hardwood’s back with his own.
“It’s the left one. He twisted it something fierce when the rock slipped out from beneath it.” She stepped back reluctantly. Without Hardwood’s weight, she need not endure the burden any longer.
So why did she feel bereft?
Unsmiling in a very military manner, Edgeworth was crouched down now, examining Hardwood’s foot. “Might have to cut these off when we get you back to Cliffhouse.”
