Page 7 of Needs Must
Melanie Seymour was, he conceded, pretty enough but she giggled incessantly and blushed scarlet whenever he spoke to her. She had been out for two seasons and as far as Cal was aware she had not received an acceptable offer. Why his mother thought that Cal would be interested in a woman who had failed to make an impression upon his peers was a mystery to him. Even so, he would do his duty for a few hours and make the best of things.
‘I’m going to clear my head,’ Cal said, the moment the door closed behind Celia. ‘I’ll take a look at the roofing that’s underway at the main barn while I’m about it.’
‘Good idea,’ Jules said, watching him go.
Cal strode towards his stable yard at a brisk pace. The trees were shedding their leaves in a rainbow of colours that crunched beneath his boots. The sky was clear, the air cold and crisp. It was perfect riding weather. The wind whipped his hair across his eyes and made him feel alive and thankful to be the master of such a vast estate, despite the problems that maintaining it sometimes threw up.
His grey stallion, Emperor, was led from his stall, saddled and raring to go.
Cal mounted and gave the horse his head the moment they cleared the yard. Putting in a massive buck, Emperor took off at a gallop, eating up the hard ground with his long stride. They went some distance, following the track along the periphery of the estate, and Emperor didn’t slow. Cal didn’t try to rein him in, aware that he’d reduce his pace himself when he ran out of steam. What he didn’t expect as they negotiated a rise in the ground and a sharp left turn was for his horse to stop dead in his tracks and rear up when a gig approached from the opposite direction.
‘What in the name of Hades is that contraption doing on my land?’ he asked aloud.
Cal only narrowly avoided slipping backwards over Emperor’s quarters as he gradually brought the horse under control.
‘Steady, boy,’ he said soothingly. The highly strung stallion was bathed in sweat and trembling, but calmed gradually in response to the sound of Cal’s voice.
He dismounted and went to the aid of the gig’s driver. The cob had been spooked too, had stopped dead in its tracks and was attempting to snatch the reins from the driver’s hands. It was a woman, he realised as he approached, leading Emperor by his reins. Cal grasped the cob’s bridle and brought the creature under control.
‘Thank you,’ the woman said ungraciously, ‘but we would not have almost broken our necks if you had not been riding so recklessly. You spooked poor Bertram and ought to be ashamed of yourself.’
Cal was so taken aback that it took him a moment to gather his wits. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said curtly.
‘I believe you heard me perfectly well.’
The woman lifted her skirts and alighted from the gig with agility and grace. She fussed over the wretched cob, who seemed perfectly indifferent to both her attentions and the near collision with Emperor now that he had got over his initial surprise. A mass of dark blonde hair fell about the lady’s shoulders, agitated by the wind, either because she hadn’t troubled herself to put it up or because it had escaped its pins during her struggle to reclaim control of the gig. It now blew about her shoulders, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care about her appearance. His sister, he knew, would have been devastated to be seen in public in a state of disarray, and without a hat too! Despite his annoyance, Cal admired the woman’s independent spirit.
She was young, and judging from her tone of voice she was clearly a lady of quality. Cal had never seen her before. He would not have forgotten such a trim figure, those piercing blue eyes, that pert little nose and creamy complexion, or her willingness to blame him for a near accident that had not been his fault. Well, mostly not. He couldn’t recall the last occasion upon which anyone of either sex had taken him to task for his behaviour, but he knew that rather refreshing situation would not endure. The moment he introduced himself she would be struck dumb with embarrassment. No one – but no one, especially not a female – addressed a belted earl with anything other than the upmost respect.
‘I most certainly heard you, madam,’ Cal said in a haughty tone, ‘but I have yet to decide how any part of this unfortunate situation could be attributed to me when you are trespassing upon my land.’
‘Nonsense! This is a public track. I was told to follow it. It leads to my cottage and saves a good mile or more than if I had taken the actual road.’
‘You are the lady who has taken Denmead Cottage,’ Cal said as the penny dropped.
‘You have the advantage of me, sir.’
‘Arndale at your service.’ Cal offered her a sweeping bow, still holding the impatient Emperor with one hand. ‘May I know your name?’
‘You are the earl?’ She made it sound like an accusation. ‘This track is part of your estate?’
Cal said nothing, waiting for her to introduce herself.
‘Oh, excuse me. I am Donna Harte. Mrs Jonathan Harte. I am sorry if I was trespassing,’ she added, not very graciously and not sounding the least bit sorry. ‘Mrs Cooper at the Ship told me this was the best way to come. She did not mention that I would incur the wrath of an earl for trespassing. I am of course mortified.’
‘You don’t look particularly mortified,’ Cal replied, his anger giving way to amusement, partly because she still didn’t seem the slightest bit awed to find herself in his presence.
‘I cannot help the way I look,’ she said waspishly, smoothing the cob’s neck with one gloved hand.
‘I did not say that there was anything amiss with your appearance.’
She gave a wry little smile. ‘No, I suppose you are too well bred to remark upon my dishevelled state.’
‘Where is your husband?’
‘In his grave,’ she replied with equal verbal economy.
‘Then you have my condolences, madam.’
