The Earl's New Bride (Entangled Scandalous) (9 page)

A cry from the front of the party signaled the beginning of the ride, each of the horses in front of her taking off with spirited gaits. Her mare followed in kind, lurching Henrietta forward, forcing her to grip the edge of the saddle.

Individual trees began to blur together as the landscape passed and the wind licked her heated face. The horse began to slow, finding its gait and settling into an easy walk. Keeping a steady pace behind the rest of the party, Henrietta’s thoughts once again veered to the earl, his sudden indifference, and his current conversation with Miss Saxton.

While she was too great a distance to hear the words spoken between them, she could certainly see the earl’s head tilting back with laughter and the radiant smile spanning the width of Miss Saxton’s face.

“A pence for your thoughts, Lady Henrietta?”

She lifted her gaze to the rider on her left. She hadn’t heard anyone come up beside her.

“Lord Satterfield. You startled me. I-I-I thought you were with my sister, Lady Albina.”

His storm-gray eyes caught hers, and he smiled. He was attractive, she supposed, his strong jaw and dimpled chin making it easy to see why her younger sister had been so easily taken with the notion of becoming his wife.

But he did not hold Plumburn, And while Polcrave Heath, his prosperous family seat in Surrey, was quite possibly the best the county had to offer, it was not her ancestral home.

Not to mention, Albina would never converse with Henrietta again if she sought to capture the marquess’s attentions.

And she did so enjoy Albina’s conversations. At least when they were not centered on the earl’s kisses.

“Your sister is quite comfortable with her horse, and well acquainted with the area. I thought to ensure the same was true with you.”

Henrietta clenched her reins in an attempt to steer the errant mare away from a clump of horse-appealing weeds. “It is, thank you, my lord.”

And she was, though it likely did not appear that way—not with her mare ignoring her direction, and making for the purple blossoms of clover to her right.

Henrietta shifted on her saddle, pulling on the leather ribbons, and getting nothing but a disgruntled whinny in return. The horse was completely immune to her nudges, her clicks, her pulls. In fact, the blasted beast was quite content to jerk Henrietta forward, jostling her precarious seating on the well-oiled sidesaddle.

Lord Satterfield had the good grace not to laugh at her ignored attempts to rouse the animal from its grazing. He did, however, deepen his smile.

“Lady Henrietta, might I assist you? It seems your mare has become quite…distracted.”

“Oh, no. I-I-I would not want to take you from the rest of the party. I am certain, once the mare has finished grazing, she will be more…inclined to accept my direction.”

With another jerk on the rein, the horse relented, lifting its head. “See there? She simply needed her fill. Shall we rejoin the rest of the group?”

He frowned and sighed, his face one of frustration and displeasure. “Yes, I suppose, though, Lady Henrietta, I had hoped—”

The mare bolted, the sharp jab of Henrietta’s heels into its sides a ready enough incentive for the beast to canter away from the marquess and his unwelcome advances.

Leaning forward, she urged the mare to go faster. She had to get away from the marquess. She wasn’t certain which was more unsettling, his misguided attentions or the earl’s sudden indifference.

Both were enough to make her nerves taut and her stomach ache.

Closing her eyes, she held tight to the ribbons, the wind roaring past her ears—and ceasing altogether.

With a loud whinny, her horse bucked beneath her, tossing Henrietta off the saddle and into the waist-high grass.

Pain sliced up her sides, the impact of the solid earth against her back, taking her breath away.

“Lady Henrietta.”

The words were muffled, barely audible over the ringing in her ears wrought by her fall. Her eyes, however, were unaffected and took in the concerned face of the dismounting marquess—along with her stomping mare, happily munching on buttercups and clover.

She lifted her arm, pointing toward the surly equine. “The horse,” she wheezed.

The marquess stilled and turned to the mare. “A stubborn creature to be certain. Rather a lost cause I would say.”

Henrietta’s stomach twisted. “I-I-I—”

“There is nothing for it, Lady Henrietta. The horse is ill suited for riding and quite happy as she stands. You, on the other hand, require looking after.” He stepped toward her, pushing aside the grass, to where she sat catching her breath.

The sound of pounding hooves had her lifting her head. A dark stallion, lean and black, rode toward them—with a handsome, roguish man atop the beast’s impressive back.

The Earl of Amhurst cantered up beside Satterfield’s horse, his brown eye flicking first at Lord Satterfield and then toward her. “Lady Henrietta, Lord Satterfield, we have all been quite concerned with your absence. Are you in need of assistance?”

Henrietta flushed. Both from his presence and his remark. She could only imagine what the rest of the guests thought of her position in the rear, with the marquess beside her. Not only did she appear inept in her horsemanship, but in her manners as well. Alone with a man, good gracious.

Lord Satterfield nodded to the mare. “The horse was rather disgruntled with Lady Henrietta’s direction and tossed her off its back.”

The earl immediately dismounted, a look of concern settling over his features as he strode toward her.

Henrietta dipped her chin and stared at the swaying grass. She didn’t dare lift her gaze for fear she might see pity in either man’s eyes. Or their awkward amusement at seeing a woman helpless on the ground.

A buckskin covered knee appeared in the corner of her vision, lowering onto the grass next to her. “Are you hurt?”

The earl’s rich voice sent her pulse racing. Goodness. She needed to ahold of herself. “I am fine.” Her reply, however, was not spoken with the confidence she had intended, but a hoarse, ragged wheeze.

He grunted a low oath and clasped her elbow.

“What are you doing?” she asked, rather horrified. First his cool reception, now his harsh censure? She didn’t need his help.

“Assisting you to my horse.”

Henrietta wrenched her arm from his grasp. “I am more than capable of walking back to the house.
Alone
.” To prove her point, she stood, unaided, and brushed the dirt off her skirt. Stiffening her spine, she took a step and winced as pain, sharp and sure, sliced into her side in the form of broken whale bone on the left side of her stay.

“I have heard quite enough.” With a swift fluid motion, he lifted her in his arms, cradling her against his firm, hard chest.

“My lord,” she gasped, certain he could feel the damaged stay through her gown.

“Amhurst, what are you doing?” asked Lord Satterfield.

“Lady Albina has inquired after you, Lord Satterfield.”

“Well, yes, I’m certain she has. But what of Lady Henrietta? She is in distress.”

And by heaven, she was. Distress did not begin to describe her current state of existence between the earl’s capable arms, his limbs lifting her onto his horse, and settling her atop his saddle. Her head swam with the idea of it all. And her heart, dear goodness. It raced at the earl’s boldness.

“I-I-I cannot ride astride, my lord.” Henrietta reached out to steady herself on the massive stallion.

“You can, and you will. We are well behind the others, and at least an hour walk from the estate, facts Lord Satterfield no doubt mentioned after inquiring after your health.”

“I did not yet have the opportunity, Amhurst,” the marquess said sheepishly.

The earl shot Lord Satterfield a disapproving glare. “We will head back to the stables and send a boy to see to the mare.”

Henrietta adjusted her bottom. “Y-y-yes, but—”

The earl’s eye flashed. “There are no buts, Lady Henrietta. You are injured and not fit for walking. As your host, it is my duty to see to your health and wellbeing.” He flung his leg over the stallion’s back and pulled Henrietta against him, forcing her left leg over the top of the saddle.

Her skirts rose to her calves, revealing her ankles and her white silk stockings.

Dear God, she wished to disappear. Her embarrassment could not be more profound. Henrietta pulled on her skirt to ensure her legs were well-covered, unlike her ankles, which were bared for all to see.

“Amhurst, my mare is more compliant. Allow me to take Lady Henrietta to her family.” Lord Satterfield shifted, his gaze falling to her wretchedly exposed stocking.

Heat enflamed her skin. She wanted nothing more than to fall to the ground so she might run away. Preferably now.

“You will inform the rest of the party to the situation and instruct them to continue on their ride. There is no sense in delaying anyone’s enjoyment on the account of an ill-tempered horse.”

Henrietta wiggled, her position against the earl secure, despite her attempts to lean forward to pull her skirt down. “Honestly, I-I-I am more than capable of returning on my own, Lord Amhurst. I can walk. There is no need for concern.”

The entire situation had been thrown out of proportion. She was simply bruised, with a damaged stay poking into her ribs. How had that warranted a rescue of her person? Or the showing of her stockings?

His mouth lowered to her ear, his breath stirring the curls at her nape, raising little prickles over her flesh. “You shall ride to Plumburn with me while Lord Satterfield rejoins the rest of the guests.” He straightened, clutching her against him. He nodded at the marquess. “Satterfield.”

The marquess gaped, his classical aristocratic features frozen into an expression of horrified surprise. “Amhurst, y-you are the host,” he sputtered. “Your guests demand your company. I, on the other hand, will not be missed. Allow me to escort Lady Henrietta to her mother.”

“Lady Henrietta is my kin,” the earl said in a tight, clipped voice. “She is, therefore, my responsibility. Inform the others of the situation and assure her sisters Lady Henrietta is being looked after.”

He clutched the reins and urged the stallion forward with the strong grip of his thighs. Thighs that rested against her bottom.

Her face blazed. She was a brazen woman, riding astride, trotting through a pasture with the hard planes of the earl’s chest against her. She could smell him, too. Leather, yes, and the earthy, heady scent of sage and horseflesh.

The horse transitioned from a trot to a gallop, the quickened pace sending her fingers groping for something to grasp. The earl’s arm weighed heavy around her, his hands, while still holding the reins, now clamped onto her ribs, just below the bottom of her stays.

She would not have thought it possible, but her face burned hotter. She could likely cook an egg on the surface of her cheeks.

“Is it necessary to ride so fast, my lord?” Henrietta bent her fingers over the edge of the saddle, her breath coming in quick little pants.

A throaty chuckle emanated deep in his chest, his apparent amusement at her enquiry rumbling against her back.

“The sooner we arrive at Plumburn, the sooner you may dismount and seek treatment for your injuries, Lady Henrietta. Unless, of course, you would like to continue to ride astride, with the wind in your hair, and the horseflesh between your—”

“No. You are quite right, of course.” The sooner they arrived, the sooner she could get off this horse and regain a measure of her dignity. Until that time, she had to sit with her dress lifted to her calves, creating quite the spectacle for anyone who happened to glance their way.

Goodness, it was hard to breathe. But whether the restriction of air was due to the earl’s physical nearness or his hands atop her ribcage, she did not know.

“While I-I-I am…thankful for your assistance, it was not required.”

His arm clenched tighter around her. “And your assistance in the garden was not required. But I am grateful for it, nonetheless.” His breath tickled her ear, his words warm against her skin.

So, why then, did she shiver?

“Yes, but I-I-I do not want you to think I-I-I am incapable of finding my way home.”

“The only thing I think you incapable of is gratitude, Lady Henrietta.” He shifted, pulling her even tighter against him. Every button, every wrinkle of his coat, every hard line of his chest, pressed against her. She was both hot and cold; mute, and impossibly verbose.

“I-I-I am grateful, though I-I-I fear my mother’s retribution when she sees the condition of my arrival. It is not…decent.”

And neither was the direction of her thoughts every time the earl pulled her near. Her pulse quickened, deep seeds of longing sprouting whenever her bottom rubbed against his—well, she could cook more than eggs on her cheeks. She could sear a side of meat on them, too.

“I will take all precautions to ensure your reputation and your appearance remain intact. No one will see either of us in our present state.”

“But what of Lord Satterfield? If he said something to the others?”

“Lord Satterfield is a loyal friend and one who will remain mute on the subject.”

The earl’s assurances brought with them some relief. But only some. The heat he placed behind the marquess’s name, the way he bit out each syllable of the marquess’s title, prevented her from full contentment.

“Do you not trust Lord Satterfield?”

The earl stiffened. “I do. But on his silence only.”

His tone was firm. Solid. With no room for question.

She tilted her head back to view the earl, but her position afforded nothing more than a blurred glance of the countryside.

“You are friends with the marquess.” She said the words as a statement and not the question she wished to ask.