The old woman nodded; Sally didn’t move.
Hector settled down when Mia came out, but he stayed alert. An old man mounted on a bulky black pony, one Mia judged both aged and weary, came to a stop and slid to the ground using his only hand to steady his dismount. She reached up to offer the pony comfort while the man pulled his forelock and nodded, his attention directed to the door. “How is Sally?” he asked, eyeing Hector nervously and untying a rough sack from his saddle.
Mia, distracted by a second rider, didn’t answer. Gideon Kendrick was once more clad entirely in black. He stopped several feet away. He did not immediately dismount, nor did he greet her. His inscrutable gaze bore into her, and Mia thought questions lurked behind his coal-black eyes.
What a rude man he is.He was not the half-wit Selina called him, however. Intelligence burned in his countenance. Two could play at rudeness. Mia met him stare for stare.
The old man, who stood forgotten at her side, spoke up. “I’ll just pop in on Erma, then,” he said, stepping toward the door.
“She isn’t well,” Mia said belatedly, answering the old man’s original question before he could enter the cottage. “Sally, that is. Are you a friend?”
“Aye,” the old man said grimly. “I’m that. Needs a few.”
“Pritchard, is that you?” Erma called from inside.
Friend, then.Mia nodded at him, wondering fleetingly why she hadn’t seen him here before. She turned back to Kendrick and caught him heaving himself up and off his horse, powerful arms and shoulders bearing his weight. She couldn’t help admiring his strength, obvious in spite of whatever caused his odd posture, as he let himself down gently on his left foot.
What she now realized was a custom-made saddle with a tall back, built to cradle the rider and hold him steady, complicated the process. She suspected his clumsy, if impressive, dismount accounted for his earlier hesitation. He did not wish her to watch him do it. Even now he glowered when he caught her gaze.
To break the uncomfortable silence, she said the first thing that occurred to her. “That is a magnificent animal. A Welsh cob, is he? Bit of a big fellow for that breed, though.” She walked directly to the horse.
Kendrick raised a hand to warn her away, but she reached her own up for the horse to snuffle.
“Hannibal is not a lady’s pet,” Kendrick growled.
“I should say not. He’s powerful and dependable enough to cross the Alps in winter, I’ll warrant. An altogether noble beast,” she said.
Hannibal snorted and took a step back. He raised his head and peered over at her as if to acknowledge the praise as his due and to signal the end of his patience with her ministrations.
She smiled up at him. Standoffish he might be, but she liked him. She deferred judgment about his master. “What brings you here?” she asked.
“I could ask you the same, Miss Selwyn,” Kendrick retorted, yanking on the cuff of his riding gloves.
“The Anders are Selwyn tenants,” she replied, irritated that he expected her to defend herself.
Kendrick glanced up at the ramshackle cottage with its peeling shutters and sagging roof and raised his eyebrows.
Selwyn Court’s care for its tenants is pathetically poor.He didn’t need to say the words.
The urge to defend her uncle died in her throat. The judgment was fair enough, but who was Gideon Kendrick to make it? The impulse to stalk off in high dudgeon almost overtook her, but her reticule and bonnet were inside the cottage. She turned her back to him and went to retrieve them, ordering Hector to stay.
*
Gideon watched theSelwyn girl walk away, drawn in spite of his good sense by the sway of her hips, the glint of sun on her honey-brown hair, and the grace of her movements. He felt a fool for ogling her, and for the memory that he still owed her an apology for the encounter on the road. He’d been rude again, and now he owed her another apology for that. He couldn’t express regret for the surge of attraction that had flooded him when she approached Hannibal, however, not without embarrassing her by revealing it. He hadn’t had such a sudden uninvited surge of lust since his wife had died five years before, and it had shocked him.
He followed her into the hovel, hovering near the door while his eyes adjusted to the shadows, regretting his decision to come. Pritchard insisted he see this; he hadn’t expected the neighbors to observe his arrival.
Pritchard’s voice penetrated his thoughts. “…wouldn’t let me borrow a pony even much less bring nutthin. Sorry it has been so long. Master Gideon here made it right. He’ll see to it I kin come more.” Gideon’s old friend knelt on the dirt floor next to a rocking chair, patting the hand of an elderly lady where it held a small baby.
The woman glanced up at Gideon, her expression pained. “Who’s this one, then?”
“The old duke’s other son, Erma. Remember?” Pritchard said.
“The one what…”
Gideon definitely should not have come. He waited for the words, jaw set.Half-wit. Cripple. Monster. Brute.They didn’t come.
“Don’t go believing nonsense. He’s a kind gent, Erma. He gave them grooms what for. Told them I could take all the coal I wanted and use the pony, too. On hisauthority. Authority, he said. I thought they’d balk, but he had such a look on his face. Made him come so he could meet you.” Pritchard glanced back with a cheeky grin.
