Page 68 of The Captive Duke
Unlike Lady Greendale. Worse yet, the countess was riding to the left, as most women did if they had only one sidesaddle, and Chessie was on Damsel’s right, so the countess’s face was visible only in profile.
“Helene said she wanted you to resign your commission, but knew you wouldn’t abide by her wishes if she asked.”
“She knew that, did she?”
And if Helenehadasked him? Would he have come home, tried again, swallowed his pride? Would they have become friends in truth, forged some sort of meaningful truce? To think maybe they would have was reassuring, to think they both might finally have matured enough to become something of a family.
Except that now, Helene was gone, Evan was gone.
“Must I apologize again?” the countess asked. “I did not mean to turn the topic so melancholy.”
“Thoughtful, not melancholy.”
She nodded, accepting his absolution. Before Christian could think of another conversational gambit, her lips turned up in a positively wicked smile.
“I’ll race you to the bridge.”
The mare shot forward before Christian could decide whether accepting such a challenge was gentlemanly. Chessie, however, considered it his equine duty to stick with the mare, so off they went. The larger gelding quickly came up on the mare’s flank, and Christian caught a glimpse of a grinning countess, bending low to whisper encouragement to the mare.
And then she wasn’t smiling.
“Christian!”
Over the pounding of hooves, Christian perceived the fear in Gilly’s cry. Her seat slipped a hair to the left, and he caught sight of the foregirth banging loose against the mare’s side.
He urged Chessie next to the mare, snaked an arm around Gilly’s waist, and hiked her out of the saddle just as it tipped sideways, then slid down to hang under the galloping mare’s belly. The bias girth kept the saddle on the horse, inspiring the beast to a flat-out run in her efforts to escape the nuisance beneath her.
“You’re safe. I’ve got you.” And he did, had her firmly around the waist as he hauled Chessie to a halt. “Merciful God, Gilly.” He dropped the reins from his right hand and tightened his arms around her. “Merciful, everlasting… That might have been the end of you.”
She leaned into him, her arms around his neck. “It wasn’t. I’m fine, I’m just…”
She shuddered, then let out a great sigh and stayed in his arms atop the horse, clinging to him while he clung to her.
“I can walk,” she said at length.
“Nonsense.” He hiked himself over the cantle then slid to the ground over Chessie’s rump. “Your mare has regained her senses by the bridge. You stay right where you are while I fetch her.”
They returned to the stables with Christian riding the mare bareback, her saddle left behind for thegrooms to retrieve, while Gillian remained awkwardly perched on Chessie. When Christian assisted the lady from his horse, he paused, arms around her again, this time in full view of the lads and the house.
“Christian?” Her voice as she burrowed against his chest was tentative. “Your Grace?”
“Hush, you’ve had a fright. I’m reassuring you.”
“Quite.” Her tone held humor, enough to suggest she was as reassured as she would permit herself to be.
“I think a medicinal tot is in order,” he said, not stepping back but turning her under his arm and starting her off toward the house.
“For my nerves?” The woman seemed utterly composed but for the slight dishevelment of her hair.
“Yes, damn it, for your nerves.”
“That’s what I mean, about regaining your passions.”
“I beg your pardon?” She was going on about his passions, when less than thirty minutes ago, that damned saddle…
“When I met you in London, earlier this summer, you would not have sworn at me. You were too controlled.”
He could not grasp her point, and it was all he could do to refrain from graspingher. “I wasn’t swearing at you. I was swearing at the situation.”
