But it did matter. It mattered toher.
She clutched her skirts in her hands and rose to her feet.
“Iris!” Violet hissed. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I need some fresh air. I’m going for a walk.”
Violet caught hold of a fold of her skirts to stop her, but Iris yanked it away, and in the next breath she’d crossed the drawing room and joined Lord Wrexley in the hallway. He held out his arm as she approached, and she took it, and let him lead her into the darkness beyond the terrace doors.
* * * *
“Good Lord, it was as dull as a tomb in there, wasn’t it?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t care for the pianoforte, Lord Wrexley.”
“I’m utterly indifferent to the pianoforte, Miss Somerset, though I grant you my cousin plays very well.” He smiled down at her. “Nearly as well as you, I believe.”
“Much better, I think. Lady Honora truly loves to play, whereas I—”
“Don’t? Thetonhas spent the entire season raving about your skills on the pianoforte, and you mean to say you’ve been fooling them all this time? How shocking.”
He sounded more amused than shocked, however. Iris raised an eyebrow at him. “Technical skill isn’t love, my lord.”
Oh, dear. Perhaps she shouldn’t be speaking of love to Lord Wrexley, especially not when she was out here alone with him on a dark terrace.
But he only laughed. “No, it isn’t. But tell me, did you enjoy our ride today, Miss Somerset?”
“I did, only…” She hesitated. It wasn’t proper to reveal the details of the argument she’d had with Lord Huntington to Lord Wrexley.
“Only you wanted to ride Chaos. I confess I was surprised to see you’d chosen another horse. I suppose Lord Huntington insisted?”
“He did.” In the end she’d chosen one of the mares, but she hadn’t any intention of giving up her plans to ride Chaos. After all, Lord Huntington couldn’t watch her all the time, could he? No matter what Lady Beaumont might think, she wasn’t a child on leading strings, her straps caught in Lord Huntington’s fist, her every step dependent on his whim and pleasure.
A little shiver chased up her spine at the thought of being bound to Lord Huntington, his hazel eyes following her everywhere, uncovering her secrets, but Iris shrugged it away. It was hardly anything to shiver in pleasure over.
“Ah, well. We’ll have to leave Lord Huntington behind next time. Shall we try again tomorrow morning? I spoke to Captain West, and he’s given his permission for us to take out Chaos. We should go early in the morning, I think.”
Iris hesitated. It was one thing to walk on the terrace alone with Lord Wrexley, but quite another to dash off into the countryside with him.
“Good Lord, Miss Somerset. Don’t tell me you’ve let Huntington’s blather about Chaos dissuade you from riding him. When anything pleasant is afoot, Huntington’s always the first to disapprove of it. He was the same way at school.”
Iris looked up at him, surprised. “You knew Lord Huntington in school? What was he like?”
Lord Wrexley snorted. “The same spiritless, dry old stick he is now, though I’ll grant you the other boys didn’t give him an easy time of it, what with that scandal about his mother.”
Scandal? Both of Lord Huntington’s parents were dead, and Iris had never heard a breath of scandal about either of them, but then today, in the stables, she’d been certain he’d been about to say something about his family before he’d stopped and abruptly changed the subject.
“Now I think on it, Miss Somerset, perhaps Huntington is right, after all, and you can’t handle a horse of Chaos’s temperament. My cousin assures me you’re an excellent rider, but Chaos is a challenging mount. He may prove to be too much for you.”
Iris’s lips thinned with irritation. First Lord Huntington doubted her equestrienne skills, and now Lord Wrexley did, as well? The minute she’d touched that horse, she’d felt an instant connection to him she’d never had with any other animal aside from Typhon, and she ached to ride him.
“I haven’t yet found a horse I couldn’t manage, Lord Wrexley.”
“You know, I believe you haven’t.” He grinned down at her. “You’re rather a remarkable lady, Miss Somerset.”
She forced a laugh. “Oh, not at all, my lord. I assure you, I’m quite dull and ordinary.”
Except there had been a time, when her father was still alive, when she’d felt as if she were—well, if not remarkable, then utterly and completely herself. Every now and then she felt a trace of it again, but holding onto it was like catching fog in your hand. As soon as her fingers closed around it, it vanished into the air.
