Page 37 of A Stroke of Luck
And pigs might fly!
Not even the most skilled of seamstresses could make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear! Her ungainly height, suntanned skinand unruly tresses would never allow her to resemble a demure London miss. And even if, by some small miracle, she managed to masquerade as a fine lady, the cat—so to speak—would be out of the bag as soon as she opened her mouth. Expensive fabric and clever stitching might cover a number of flaws, but they would be of little use in keeping her headstrong nature and barbed tongue under wraps.
Unless, of course, the needle was used to sew a gag over her lips.
With a wry smile, she lifted the gate latch. It was good that she could laugh at her own faults, for they were legion, and the alternative was much too depressing …
A hoot of laughter brought her chin up. To one side of the main stable, she spied Perry perched on the top rail of the paddock fence. From her angle, it was impossible to see what had elicited such mirth, but after a step sideways she caught sight of her other sibling just as he hit headfirst into the soft earth, his nose only inches away from the massive hooves of a big bay horse.
Instinct caused her to cry out in alarm.
“There is no need for worry, Miss Greeley. Memphis possesses a placid temperament and your brother possesses a hard skull.” Prestwick shifted the leading rein from one hand to another. His coat hung on one of the nearby posts and he had rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, revealing lithe forearms, the muscles smooth beneath a light dusting of golden hair. “He will come to no harm.”
Realizing her mouth was still half agape, Zara snapped it shut and wrenched her gaze away from the intriguing sight of his bare flesh.
Nonny’s boot was already back in the stirrup. “I nearly made a full circuit that time around, sir!”
“Aye, you are doing quite well, lad,” nodded the duke. “This time, remember to keep your heels angled down and your weight more centered over your knees.”
“Yes, sir!” Unmindful of the liberal amount of mud now adhering to his person, Nonny gathered up the reins with unbridled enthusiasm.
“Soften your hands,” reminded Prestwick. “A good horseman does not jerk at his mount’s mouth. The commands come more from the pressure of your thighs.” With a flick of the long line, he set the gelding into a steady trot.
Zara watched in some surprise as Nonny rose smoothly up and down from the saddle in rhythm with the horse’s gait.
“Excellent!” Prestwick’s expression broadened into a smile that set her pulse to galloping. “Another lesson or two and we shall be able to take a ride through the south meadows.”
“And me, sir?” piped up Perry. “You did say I might have a lesson, too.”
“So you shall, imp. Tomorrow, after breakfast we shall begin to put you through your paces. I don’t doubt that the two of you will soon be racing neck and leather over the heath.”
Both lads grinned from ear to ear.
Repressing a strange little lurch of her insides, Zara leaned up against the fence. Once again the duke had thrown her off stride. Why, it actually appeared as if helikedher brothers, though his own family ties should dictate the opposite. A moment ago, she had been on the verge of snapping out an ugly accusation concerning his motives, but after watching his face as he worked with Nonny and Perry, it was impossible to question his intentions.
His words, too, had a genuine warmth to them. “They are nice lads, with more pluck and intelligence than most grown men,” he murmured as he stepped back to join her at the rail. “You should be quite proud of them.”
“Oh, I am,” she answered. Then, for some odd reason, she found herself blurting out an impetuous admission. “Though I cannot say the same for myself, sir. My behavior of late has been far from laudable. I acted very churlishly earlier this afternoon. And just now, I—I stood ready to think you capable of plotting to harm Nonny.”
She rather expected a gruff rebuff, but instead he remained silent, his brows drawing together in a pensive tilt. With a tug of the rein, he brought the gelding to a halt. “That is enough for now, Nonny. Why don’t you and Perry take Memphis in to the stable and have Givens show you how to give him a proper rub down. A gentleman should know how to care for his mount.”
As soon as the lads had led the big bay from the paddock, Prestwick switched back to the more serious topic. “You can hardly be blamed for suspecting the worst, Miss Greeley. But I assure you that you have nothing to fear from me.”
“No?” It came out halfway between a question and a statement.
“No,” he said flatly. “And while it is obvious you don’t like me at all, I wish that you might at least trust me.”
“I don’t … That is, I?—”
Ignoring her stammering, the duke continued. “I assume you carry some proof of Nonny’s claim. I would ask that you allow my secretary to see it, in order that we may help ensure that the just decision is made.”
Zara hesitated. Lowering her lashes, she pretended a sudden interest in the grain of the weathered oak when in truth she was slanting a probing look his way. It was the look she saw in his eyes that decided her—a calm that plumbed to the very depths of their blue green hue. “Yes,” she said slowly. “I have proof, though my father’s solicitor has warned me it may not stand up to a legal challenge.”
“How so?”
“I have a copy of the marriage lines, and my father’s Bible, in which the union is recorded. However, the church and all its records were destroyed in a fire.” Zara could not help the note of bitterness that crept into her voice. “A rather convenient happenstance for your relatives.”
“I was told something of a fire, but it is my understanding that it occurred a number of years ago.” His mouth thinned in tight-lipped cynicism. “Aunt Hermione is a vain, encroaching mushroom and Cousin Harold would toadeat a slug if he thought it might bring him some consequence. However, neither of them possesses the brains or the foresight to plan anything quite so cleverly malicious.”
