Page 30 of When the Marquess Was Mine
Cautiously he lifted the cloth from his face, relieved that his head felt much better. Georgiana was marking her spot in the book. The lamplight made her hair shine like gold, and when she glanced up at him, her face was illuminated as if she had been painted by Rubens.
“Scheherezade was a clever minx,” he said, mesmerized. “I’ve only heard the one tale and I would do anything to hear more.”From you.
She wrinkled her nose. “She’d married a sultan who thought so little of women he married a new one every day. Cleverness was required if she wished to live.”
“That does seem rather excessive. Much easier to marry only once.”
She smiled but didn’t meet his gaze. “Let me send for a tray. You’ve slept through so many meals...”
“It can wait. Come here a moment.” He snagged her hand. “Let me tell you a story,” he added.
She sat on the edge of the mattress. “What kind of story?”
“Lie back and listen.” He gingerly moved to the far side of the bed and plumped up the pillows invitingly. Georgiana hesitated, then slowly swung her feet onto the bed and lay back.
God. She was in his bed—fully clothed, atop the blankets while he was beneath them, but still, she was in his bed, beside him. Her golden curls spilled across the pillow, and he made a fist to stop himself from touching them. Trustingly she clasped her hands at her waist and closed her eyes. “What story?”
Rob inhaled deeply. “About a man and a horse.”
Her eyes opened. “What sort of horse?”
“Shh.” He stroked her temple and she closed her eyes again. A stray wisp of her hair curled around his finger, and Rob went still. He had to clear his throat and gather his thoughts to avoid falling into a fascinated study of that tendril.
“The best horse in the world. Beautifully proportioned, strong and well-tempered, with a gait as smooth as silk and as fast as the wind. The sort of horse any man would want to ride.
“The man did not know this, of course. He fancied getting himself a horse, saw this one at Tattersall’s, and thought it was a handsome creature. He sent his steward to buy it, and the steward brought it home to the stable, where everyone congratulated the man on acquiring such a beautiful animal.
“And yet, the fellow treated it like any other horse. He left the stable boys to groom it and exercise it. He took the horse to London with him, but he was busy in town and the horse was even more neglected there.
“One day, after many, many days of not riding his fine horse, he sent for it. The footman came back and said the horse had run off—burst the lead rope and disappeared into the fields and woods. Well, the man was indignant. Why had no one told him?
“No one could answer, not the footman or the steward or the head groom. Finally a kitchen maid, who had been fond of sneaking to the stables with carrots for the horse, piped up and said no one had told him because no one thought he would notice. He didn’t ride the horse, nor care for it, nor even understand how excellent a horse it was.”
Georgiana opened one eye and gave him a suspicious glance. Rob grinned and touched a finger to her lips before going on with the story. “This fellow fell into a fury over that. Not care for his horse! He’d provided feed and a warm stable, and what more did a horse need?
“Did he know the horse could do tricks, asked the kitchen maid bravely. Of course he didn’t. Did he know the horse would let the stable cat lie upon his back? He’d never heard of such a thing. Did he know the horse had saved a groom’s life by refusing to ride down a certain path, where the stream had overflowed its banks and washed away the road? He’d no idea.
“By now this fellow began to feel sorry for having lost this horse. Even worse, a terrible storm was brewing, and he couldn’t leave any animal, let alone his fine, proud, clever horse, out in it. He sent for another—very inferior—mount and set out to find the missing horse. He looked far and wide, but when a bolt of lightning struck a tree in the wood, the horse he was riding bucked him off and bolted, leaving him lost in the dark, with a turned ankle as well.”
“Why didn’t he take a groom along with him?” she asked.
“We’ve already established that our hero isn’t the brightest lad,” he said. “That’s not the point of the story.”
“What is the point?” Her lips were curved into an enchanting little smile. He thought about kissing her, then thought about losing all the ground he’d gained, and refrained.
“I’m getting there.” He settled his elbow on the pillow next to hers and propped his head on his hand. It gave him a perfect view of her face. Her eyelashes were a thick, dark fringe against her cheeks, and her eyebrows were perfect arches, darker gold than her hair.
He kept talking to prolong the moment. “Our chap, on foot and feeling like a complete idiot, trudged along before realizing he was utterly lost. No idea which way was home. He decided to take a rest, empty the water from his boots, and sort out what to do. Perhaps he didn’t deserve that horse, and should content himself with another one.
“But hehadliked that horse, even though he’d not been a good owner. What’s more, the poor animal was lost in this wretched wood, exposed to the rain and lightning and at the mercy of any lions or bears who might be about.”
“Lions and bears?” Her eyes flew open again. “In London?”
“They escaped from the menagerie,” he said. She raised her brows and he made a stern face and shushing sound. “It was this fear that drove him onward. He had to know if the horse would like to come home with him, now that he knew to be more caring, or if the horse still wished to be free. He trudged onward for what felt like a year, until finally he heard hoofbeats. And there, through the trees... why yes! It was his very excellent horse, trotting toward him.
“The horse stopped well back from him, and when he went to stroke its neck, the animal danced away. When he tried to mount it, it ran off again. Finally he stood still in despair, and simply held out his hand. And slowly the horse returned to him, and took the carrot he’d brought along as a token of his goodwill.
“Now the fellow started to learn. He followed the horse without trying to catch it, and the horse led him through the trees, away from a deep pit in the ground. The rain came down in torrents, and the horse guided him safely across the only bridge for miles. At long last they came in sight of the streets of London, and still the fellow let the horse guide him. Straight to his own house the horse led him.”
