“No, indeed, Your Grace. You must let me down at once. I’m perfectly able to ride.”
“No, you’re not. You’re trembling all over. Now stop arguing, and do as I tell you.”
“Do as you tell me? Why, how dare—”
“Enough.” Jasper strode over to Phoenix, lifted Miss Thorne into the saddle, and before she could offer any more protests, he swung up behind her and put a hand on her hip to steady her. “Hush, Prue. Your fussing is unsettling the horses. Hasn’t poor Sampson suffered enough for one day?”
He couldn’t have said whether it was his use of her Christian name or his appeal on Sampson’s behalf that silenced her, but she didn’t say another word as Collins made it to the bottom of the hill at last, panting. He took Sampson’s reins from Jasper, then turned an admiring look on Miss Thorne. “There aren’t more than a dozen men in England who could’ve got Sampson down that hill without injury.”
Jasper couldn’t argue with that. The lady couldride, by God. He’d never seen a more skilled horsewoman in his life. The chit put half the men in England to shame. “Yes. That was well done, Miss Thorne.”
He might have paid her a different compliment. He might, for instance, have told her she had the prettiest hazel eyes he’d ever seen, and it would have been nothing but the truth, but somehow, he knew nothing else he could say would please her half as much.
She didn’t reply, but the tension drained from her, her stiff body turning softer, pliable, relaxing by degrees until she was leaning against him, her back pressed against his chest.
They made their way back to Basingstoke House thus, with Phoenix plodding along steadily beneath them, and Prudence Thorne balanced on the saddle in front of him, her lush bottom nestled between his thighs.
CHAPTER9
“The Duke of Montford tried toshootyou?” Franny was pacing from one end of Prue’s bedchamber to the other, wringing her hands. “That’s why your horse bolted? Because Montfordfiredon you?”
Something of that sortmayhave slipped from Prue’s lips, yes. She maypossiblyhave uttered a few other phrases that weren’t strictly true, as well, like “showers of birdshot,” and “murderous rampage.” “Well, there’s a chance he didn’t precisely . . . that is, heclaimshis shotgun malfunctioned, but—”
“Prudence Thorne.” Franny ceased her pacing and turned to face Prue with her hands on her hips. “Tell me the truth this instant.”
Dash it, the tips of her ears were heating, just as they always did when she was burdened with a guilty conscience. “Oh, very well, if you must know. There’s a chance—a mere sliver of a chance, mind you—that it was an accident.”
“Thank goodness.” Franny let out a long sigh and dropped onto a silk settee. “I confess I thought it unlikely Montford would make an attempt on your life. Now, if you’dshothim. . . yes, I might have believed that. It would have made more sense.”
“Me, shoot the Duke of Montford? Shame on you, Franny. Why, I’d never do anything so drastic as that.” Though it couldn’t be denied shooting the Duke of Montford would solve a great many of the problems plaguing her. Still, the crown tended to frown upon murdered dukes.
Franny patted the space beside her on the settee. “Come, sit down. I imagine you’re still shaking after that charge down the hill.”
Her knees were a touch wobbly, but she eyed the pale gold silk settee and shook her head. “I can’t.”
“What? Whyever not?”
“Because I’m covered in dust and dirt, and I don’t want to spoil your settee.” Prue pointed a dramatic finger at the pale gold carpet under her feet. “Look there! I’ve already left grass stains on your carpet.”
“Never mind that.” Franny caught her by the wrist and tugged her down onto the settee. “Giles is forever wandering about in here head to toe in dust and dirt, just like every other Duke of Basingstoke before him.”
“Yes, but His Grace owns the furnishings, and may destroy them if he pleases. That’s the difference.” Still, the settee was a lovely fluffy one, and sinking down upon it was rather like being embraced by a cloud. Now that she’d succumbed, she may never get up again.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have chosen Sampson for you.” Franny sighed again. “One of the mares in the stables might have been a safer choice, but I know you prefer a challenging mount, and I couldn’t resist your having a chance with him.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you did! You mustn’t blame Sampson, Franny. He’s a wonderful horse. The two of us got along brilliantly until the poor thing was startled by the gunshot.”
“Still, I wish I’d considered—”
“Hush. You couldn’t have known the Duke of Montford would take it into his head to wander about the grounds with a shotgun before grouse season begins.” Really, Montford seemed to court trouble.
“I saw you come flying down the hill from my sitting room window.” Franny turned back to Prue, her eyes glistening. “The descent seemed to go on for hours.”
Prue reached for her hand. “Oh, my dear. I’m so sorry you were frightened.”
Franny took a shaky breath. “I can’t imagine how you managed to hold on for so long.”
“Sheer terror, I think. I grabbed Sampson’s mane just as he bolted, and I swear my fingers just froze there. I’m surprised I didn’t come away with a handful of black horsehair.”
