Page 3 of Tremaine's True Love
Mary bobbed an awkward curtsy, the baby in her arms. “Yes, Lady Nita.”
Then Nita had nothing more to do except climb onto Atlas’s broad back and let the horse find his way home through the frigid darkness.’
* * *
“They are charming, the lot of them,” Tremaine said. “I’d forgotten what a big, happy family can do to a man’s composure.” Particularly a big, happy, healthy family with Saxon good looks and a thriving appreciation for life’s finer comforts. “Bellefonte is besotted,” Tremaine went on, scratching William’s hairy withers. “As is his countess.”
“I’m told it works better that way.”
William hadn’t spoken—William was a gelding and the voice was decidedly feminine.
A tall, blond female, rosy cheeked from the cold, led a saddled specimen of plow stock down the barn aisle. The flame of the stable’s single lantern gilded red and gold highlights in her hair, and the hem of her dark blue riding habit was damp.
She brought the beast to a halt outside William’s stall. “I don’t recognize you, sir.”
Tremaine recognized her though. The sculpted cheekbones, defined chin, height, and bearing—and the muddy hem—proclaimed the late-night arrival to be Lady Nita Haddonfield, oldest of the earl’s sisters, and the selfsame woman who’d marched across the barren gardens hours ago.
“Tremaine St. Michael, at your service, my lady. I am visiting your brother to discuss common business interests.”
Something about his recitation bothered her. She was too tired to hide it, or perhaps she didn’t care if she offended him.
“May I take your horse, my lady?” Though why the grooms weren’t thundering down from their quarters above the carriage house, Tremaine could not guess.
“Why would you do that?” she asked, stuffing her gloves into a pocket. She wore a man’s coat, well made but too big, as if sized for one of her brothers. The cuffs had been turned back to accommodate her shorter arms, the collar turned up.
The great beast at her side let out a gusty sigh, as if to say debate and discussion could wait until he’d been unsaddled.
“I’d see to your horse because you are a lady and I am a gentleman,” Tremaine said, which was half-true, “and you should not have to manage your own mount at this late hour.” She should not beallowedto do a groom’s work at any hour.
Her ladyship patted the horse’s shaggy neck. “Atlas and I have kept much later hours than this. I’ll unsaddle him, but if you’d make sure he has hay and water, I’d appreciate it.”
What manner of lady went about unescorted after dark with what looked like bloodstains on the cuff of her sleeve?
Tremaine made short work of the hay and water, and Lady Nita was equally efficient removing the horse’s saddle and bridle. Atlas ambled into his stall without being haltered or led, and commenced a friendly sniffing through the bars with William.
“Your gelding is very handsome,” Lady Nita said, closing the stall door. “Atlas’s charms are more subtle.”
Nothing about Atlas was subtle. He had feet the size of tea trays and quarters suitable for displaying an entire service.
“Charms such as?” Tremaine asked.
“Atlas has never been known to buck or spook. Steadiness in a fellow is a fine quality.”
Very likely the horse was too lazy to buck or spook, though he applied himself to his fodder with singular diligence.
While Lady Nita’s eyes were shadowed with fatigue. “Your absence was remarked at dinner, my lady.”
“You know who I am, then. Nobody warned me you were coming, Mr. St. Michael, or I might have sent my regrets to dinner.”
Suggesting her ladyship would not have attended, even if she’d known the family was entertaining.
“May I escort you back to the house?” Tremaine asked. “I’ve assured myself William’s not kicking down a wall or dying of thirst, and the day has been wearying.” Dinner with the Haddonfields had been every bit as wearying as the trip down from London, though significantly warmer.
“My thanks for your courtesy.”
Her ladyship’s thanks were tired though sincere. Why had no one come out from the house to see to her well-being? Tremaine took the lantern down from its peg, causing shadows to grow and dance. He did not offer his arm. A woman who could ride the countryside by moonlight was well equipped to negotiate the paths of her own garden.
“Is my presence at Belle Maison an unpleasant surprise?” he asked.
