Eyes of amber and of green, a courageous heart and a noble mien.Eliza thought of the silly childhood love spell she had cast to the wind so many years ago—in the days when she still believed in magic, true love, and the fantastical.
“Miss Sullivan, how eagerly I’ve awaited this evening.” Malcolm offered his hand as she descended the stairs.
When they touched, the same powerful kick of attraction she’d felt the night they met soared through her. “Lord Havenwood. I’m ever as pleased.”
They went out, and Eliza was grateful for the coolness of the evening air on her flaming cheeks. Two horses stood tethered to the hitching posts in front of the house—one as massive and dark as fresh coal and the other as pale and fine-boned as a goat.
“This is Apollo,” Malcolm said, leading her to his horse. “He looks like the devil but he’s gentle as a lamb.”
“He’s a Friesian, isn’t he?”
“Yes. How astute of you.”
“If there’s one thing I know, my lord, it’s horses.” She stroked the arching line of Apollo’s neck and he whickered at her softly, then bent his head to snuff her other hand.
“He thinks you might have a carrot,” Malcolm said, laughing. “I’ve got him a bit spoiled.”
“Just like my Hercules. Only with him, it was sugar cubes.”
“You’ll surely conquer him if you ever offer him sugar, and I may jolly well find myself without a horse. Shall we?”
“Of course.” Eliza went to Star, Theo’s little Arab gelding. At her gentle touch on his flank, he raised his pale head and looked at her with wary eyes. Eliza stepped into the stirrups, then swung her leg over Star’s back. She took her time settling into her saddle under Malcolm’s gaze. “Still think me a lady?” she asked, arching a brow at him.
He mounted Apollo and winked at her. “I think you’re every bit my match.”
“We’ll see.” She returned his wink and nudged Star with the heel of her boots. He was off, his white tail arching into the air as she urged him on with her crop, rising up in her stirrups and racing down the long driveway. Mr.Mason jumped to attention, cranking the gate open just in time.
Apollo’s heavy stride pounded the earth behind her as they galloped into the shaded expanse of the birchwood forest. At times, the big horse’s breath was hot upon her neck as Malcolm began to gain ground—but unlike Star, his horse was meant for long journeys pulling artillery carts and carrying warriors in armor, not for speed. After running on a bit with the lead, Eliza let off her crop, content she’d proved her prowess.
As they came out onto the meadow’s wind-ruffled grass, Malcolm overtook her. He galloped on for a bit, then slowed Apollo to a high-stepping trot at the bottom of a low hillock, its edges touched with orange light from the fading sun. He dismounted as she brought Star up next to him. “You let me win,” he teased.
“Perhaps, but I’ve never had so much fun letting someone win, my lord. I’ve been longing to go on a proper ride ever since I arrived. Thank you for taking me out of that musty parlor and its endless cups of tea.” Eliza pitched forward to dismount. As she’d hoped, Malcolm grasped her by the waist as she swung her leg over the saddle, easing her gently down, just as Jacob had always done after her riding lessons.
“Are our proper English courtship rituals boring you already?” Malcolm asked, his hands lingering on her hips.
“Yes,” she said, tapping his shoulder playfully with her riding crop. “And I’m quite ready to be done with any kind of boredom.”
His lips quirked up in a smile. “We’ll not have any, then.”
“We’re already leagues ahead.” Eliza reached into the pannier buckled to Star’s saddle and brought out a bottle of claret, handing it to Malcolm, along with two tin cups. He uncorked the wine and poured as she spread a blanket on the ground and settled there, tucking her legs beneath her.
He folded himself down next to her, clinking his cup to hers. “Cheers to adventure and drinking much more wine than tea.”
They sat for a while in companionable silence, enjoying the pastoral beauty of the countryside. The sun was a sultry glow in the distance, turning the skies to a streaming, mottled fuchsia and the distant hills to the shade of plum worn in mourning. Great birds of prey shrieked and called as they chased one another, darting and diving into the feathered heads of Queen Anne’s lace and yarrow before night forced them to their nests. The wind, with its earthy midsummer fragrance, brought a redolent sensuality to the moment. Eliza reached up to remove her hat, then unbound the twist of hair from her nape, letting her thick waves fall free.
“A proper lady would never let down her hair in front of any man but her husband, you know. It’s incredibly seductive.”
Eliza lay back with a sigh. “Well, I’m not a proper lady and I’m tired of rules and etiquette. It’s all I’ve heard since I was a girl and my mother began grooming me for society.”
“Mothers only want what they think best for their children, don’t you agree?”
“You’re far too generous. My mother only wanted what was best for herself. I disappointed her as a daughter. She wanted me to marrya wealthy Creole planter from an old family—to have a fine house and well-dressed children she could trot out to her society friends.”
“And yet here you are in the hinterlands, mingling with the mongrel nobility and defying her still. You should set your sights a bit higher. A London duke, perhaps.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. His features were almost feminine in their fineness—there was something of the Renaissance in his face. Eliza imagined his lips pressing against her own, and her skin warmed at the thought.
“I’m certainly not an Astor. But if you happen to know a London duke in need of a wife, perhaps you could be of assistance. It seems I’m to find a husband after all, although that was the least of my concerns upon coming here.” Eliza was stunned at the flagrance of her own words. Words any suitor would take as an invitation.
“Isn’t it common for a woman of your age to be searching for a husband?”
