Four grooms rushed out into the rain to assist them. Kempton slid down from the saddle, taking charge even before her chilled mouth could open.
“Lady Coylton’s horse threw a shoe—check the hoof and see that it is taken care of.”
“Aye, M’Lord,” grunted Hamish, the most senior of the grooms.
In a firm, even tone, Kempton instructed that the horses be thoroughly dried and warmed, as well as offered heated mash. He glanced at poor Faye, who, despite being soaked to the bone and muddied nearly all the way up to her belly, still seemed happy to have had her exercise.
“And the dog. She will need to be bathed and warmed as well.” Amelia didn’t know why watching Kempton have the thoughtfulness to ensure Faye was cared for moved her so, but it did.
In fact, she was so distracted by it that, before she could attempt to dismount, Kempton was there, pulling her down and into his arms, cradling her against his chest as if she weighed nothing.
“Put me down,” she hissed, keenly conscious of her servant’s curious eyes upon them and beginning to panic.
“What sort of gentleman would I be if I did that?” Kempton murmured. “I will not allow you to tromp through the mud and further ruin your…interesting riding attire.”
Reluctantly, Amelia hooked her arms around his neck to keep herself balanced so he would not slip in the rivulets of mud running through the courtyard. She heard one of the grooms issue a sharp whistle to Faye and invite her into the stables for a good scrubbing and a treat.
Amelia’s skirts were heavy against her legs, and she suspected it would be a chore to walk to her chamber to bathe now that the heavy wool finally gave up the fight and was completely sodden. It must have added at least another ten or fifteen pounds to her weight, yet Kempton carried her to the steps and through the front door as if he did not notice at all. She felt the hardness of his chest and the arms that held her, themuscles flexed and steady against her body. Had he always been so strong?
She risked a glance up at him from beneath her water-speckled lashes and examined the sharp line of his jaw, the tendrils of dark hair rendered black by the rain and flattened to the angular planes of his face. He should have looked ridiculous and bedraggled, but, somehow, his dishabille was…attractive? Amelia wrenched her eyes away and chided herself for her foolishness.
She told herself she felt relief when he finally set her down inside the great hall. Grahame and two of the maids greeted them with warm, dry linens with which to dry themselves.
As she swiped at her face and neck, Kempton spoke for her again, making her freeze in her task. “Lady Coylton will require a hot bath, so she does not catch a chill. Please see to it that one is immediately prepared for her.”
“Right away, M’Lord,” Grahame said with a nod and sent one of the maids to the kitchens to begin preparations.
Amelia shot Kempton a glare of indignation at his highhanded manner—it was one thing to order care for the animals, but who was he to speak for her about bathing, of all things?—but he missed it entirely. He was too busy toweling off his hair with rapid, rough swipes of the toweling. When he reappeared from beneath the fabric, his hair hung in damp curls; normally perfectly groomed, he was devilishly disheveled. What caught her eye more, however, was the transparency of his soaked linen shirt.
While he still wore his waistcoat, his arms and upper chest were visible through the sheer fabric. Her lips parted as she admired the swell of his arms as he moved, the rhythmic bunching of the muscles as he dried the back of his neck above his limp cravat. She swallowed hard and tried not to run up the stairs and away from him; she was also painfully aware of howher nipples pebbled against the wet, chilly fabric of her bodice. When Kempton’s dark gaze casually skimmed the length of her body, she was reminded of how he’d touched her and held her on the ride back to the castle. Had he really kissed the side of her neck? She shivered, and the twitch of Kempton’s lips told her he knew it wasn’t solely from the cold.
“Thank you, Grahame,” she said hoarsely, handing the towel back to her butler. Stiffly, she gathered up her heavy skirts and, without another glance at the marquess, she turned on her heel and walked to her chamber as calmly as her body would allow.
As much asAmelia hated Dorian’s high-handed command of the household, she appreciated the outcomes. Something was reassuring in knowing her animals were being cared for, and that her needs had been predicted before she could even voice them. None more so than when she sank chin-deep into a bronze bathing tub, filling the room with steam and the scent of her vanilla oil. It took almost until the water cooled completely, but the chill finally left her bones, and her entire body flushed pink and healthy. She hadn’t realized that her fingers and toes had begun to go numb in the rain until sensation was returned to them.
After a long soak, she dried and wrapped herself in her embroidered blue-and-green dressing gown, bare toes peeking out from beneath the hem. She curled up on the chaise positioned to face the pocket window of her chamber, arranging the long hem around her legs. She watched the rivulets of water cascade down the panes, further distorting the blurry view through the old, imperfect glass.
There was a scratch at the door, and Clara entered. Amelia smiled at the pretty young woman who seemed relieved to find her in one piece after her ride.
“I was concerned when you did not appear for luncheon,” Clara explained, smoothing the skirts of her mint-green, long-sleeved morning gown. “When Dori remained absent as well, I truly began to worry. Your butler informed me you’d gone out riding, but the rain had just begun by then. I thought perhaps one of you had killed the other and was busy disposing of the evidence.” She spoke lightly, but Amelia could tell there was genuine concern there.
Clara was no longer a child—she wasn’t blind to the volatile emotions simmering whenever Amelia and Kempton were in the same room. She tried to assuage Clara’s fears. “My horse threw a shoe, and we were simply slowed by the weather. Both of us are alive and well—at least, your brother was, when last I saw him after we returned. I will not be held responsible if he happened to slip and fall while changing into dry clothing.”
Clara giggled and seemed to be placated some.
“Other than worrying about me, how have you spent your day thus far?”
Clara explained that she and Archie had played some games together before the midday meal, and she’d helped him hide from his nurse and his tutors. “Just like you taught me,” Clara said with a wink.
This made Amelia laugh, loud and free. She should have been more upset about her son skipping his lessons, but she knew he was in good hands, and besides, little boys needed to have some fun.
The two of them continued their sisterly chatter until there was another scratch at the door. Faye entered and loped over happily, tongue lolling and wiry grey-and-brown fur a frizzy mess. She was finally warm and dry thanks to Dorian’s instructions, and she was clearly pleased to be reunited with her mistress as she stepped up onto the chaise and lay atop Amelia’s feet like God’s perfect foot-warmer. A maid came in next, herarms laden with a tray filled with food and tea. Amelia’s stomach emitted a powerful growl at the sight and delicious smell.
“Thank you for your thoughtfulness,” Amelia said to the maid. She suddenly realized she still hadn’t broken her fast and was ravenous as she eyed the offerings.
“’Twas all Lord Kempton,” the maid said with a cheery grin. “He said ye cannae go much longer without warm food tuh heat ye up from tuh inside out.” This made Amelia freeze. This was another of Kempton’s efforts. “An’ he insisted ye drink pipin’ hot tea so you willna’ catch a chill.” She set down the tray and unloaded it onto the nearby table. Along with the fragrant tea currently steeping in the pot, plates of ham and thick slices of warm bread, sweet cream butter, steaming porridge, freshly baked shortbread, and rich bone broth had been prepared and delivered. “Is there aught else I ken bring ye, M’Lady?”
“Thank you, no.”
