The Duke's Challenge (5 page)

She felt her
earlier breakfast threaten to return and swallowed vigorously. Her eyes blurred
and she groped in her reticule for her handkerchief. Why had neither Annie nor
Betty mentioned it? How could she have been so naive, so stupid? How long had
she been resident at Thurston Hall? Almost a week now- a whole week
unchaperoned - living under the roof of a bachelor of uncertain habits and a
careless attitude to proprietary. She was ruined, her reputation gone,
compromised beyond redemption. She doubted the fact the duke was her legal
guardian would be enough to mitigate the scandal.

She sniffed
and blew her nose loudly. Well, too late to repine. She hadn’t had any
alternative; the choice had been Thurston Hall or the poor house. She wondered
if the duke realized he had, albeit through no fault of his own, compromised
her? Good grief! Her hands flew to her mouth in shock. What if he felt obliged
to offer for her? She shivered, not sure if antipathy or anticipation coursed
through her.

She stood up, the folded sheet in her, and walked slowly to the grimy
window. Idly she rubbed a circle clean with a fingertip and gazed, unfocused,
into the garden. Her mouth curved as she spotted Beth running around amongst
the trees. The children were playing hide and go seek. Harry was a master at
secreting himself.

A tap on the door
turned her attention away from the garden. ‘Come in, Jenkins. I have the note
for Dr Andrews here.’ She handed it to the waiting young man. ‘If the doctor is
at home, then wait for reply. If he is not, leave the note and return.’

Jenkins took
the letter and retreated. Charlotte returned to her pad. What was first on her
list? If she kept herself fully occupied maybe she would have no time to
consider the awful implications of her discovery. She was a ruined woman and
only nineteen years of age!

She giggled;
at least she need no longer bother with proprieties—far too late for that. From
now on, if she wished to walk alone, then she would do so. She could not damage
what was already gone. She would ride astride a she had as a child, she had no
habit anyway. Many years had passed since she had had the opportunity to ride
for they had kept no horses in Romford.

Harry had
said there were four carriage horses, as well as the two stallions that the
duke rode. Perhaps one of those beasts would do. She had been an accomplished
rider; Papa had often told her she had a natural seat on a horse. Although five
years had gone by since she had ridden but she was certain this was a skill you
never forgot.

She left the
Hall by a side door she had discovered in the corridor which led to the kitchen
and servants’ rooms. Outside the warm sunshine restored her optimism. She
stared up into a cloudless blue sky; the weather was more like summer than
autumn. The dry, green leaves rustled overhead as she strolled down the path that
led, she hoped, to the stables, which were situated somewhere to the rear of
the building.

Ahead was an
archway and there was the welcome sound of hoofs on cobbles. Pleased to find
she was heading in the correct direction she increased her pace, eager to discover
for her herself what kind of horseflesh the duke kept.

On emerging
into a large yard she looked around with delight; the ground was swept, no
piles of horse dung to negotiate. There were individual loose boxes and
inquisitive equines peered over the doors. Grandfather had not stinted on his
stables, they were obviously of recent construction and housed every
convenience.

She spotted a
pump in the corner, so there was obviously a stable well. The sound of
shovelling came from an open door and, raising her skirt, she went over to
investigate. A young groom appeared, shirt sleeves rolled, cord britches tucked
neatly into stout boots.

‘Good
mornin
’, Miss Carstairs. Have you come
to look over the nags?’

She nodded.
‘You must be Jim, for I understand Jethro is an older man.’

‘That’s
right, miss. He’s head groom, but has taken Othello to be shod, down at the
smithy in the village.’

‘I’m sure you
can answer my questions just as well as he, Jim.’ She glanced into the box.
‘This is Othello’s stable?’

He grinned.
‘It is, ma’am. The only time it can be mucked out is when he’s absent. All
teeth and flying hoofs is that young man.’

Charlotte
turned and walked up to the first of four grey-heads, all appearing eager to
make her acquaintance. ‘These are the carriage horses?
The
animals that pull the curricle or phaeton?
Do any of them go under
saddle as well?’

‘Yes, Star,
the mare you’re stroking now, she’s fine, but not side saddle mind, she
wouldn’t be happy with that.’

The soft lips
of the horse nipped playfully up her arm. She reached out and scratched the
horse between the ears and the huge animal instantly lowered her head, resting
it trustingly against Charlotte’s shoulder. ‘I wish to ride Star myself, Jim. I
am perfectly comfortable astride for it is how I learnt to ride many years
ago.’

‘In that
case, Miss Carstairs, there’s no problem. She’s taken to you already, and she
don’t
like many people.’

‘Excellent! I
shall return in twenty minutes; can you have her ready for me then?’

‘That I can, miss.
Will you
be wanting
me to come with you?’ He made it clear from his tone he would rather not
accompany her.

‘No, Jim, I’m
quite happy to ride alone. I don’t intend to go out of the park. It’s some
years since I last rode, so I don’t wish to overdo things on my first outing.’

He beamed.
‘If you follow that path over there, it leads round the park, about a mile or
so, and it goes through a pretty beech wood.
Easy going and
no ditches or hedges to jump.’

‘I am
relieved to hear that. I am sure that jumping anything would be beyond my
abilities today.’

In her room
she ferreted about in her trunk, sure her old breeches, shirt and waistcoat
were in there somewhere. She held the garment up. They looked smaller than she
remembered, but they were all she had and would have to do. Glad Annie was
occupied elsewhere, for she knew exactly what her maid’s opinion would be on
the matter of riding astride in boy’s apparel.

Charlotte
carefully draped her discarded gown over a chair back, one of the two that had
been found from somewhere. The shirt was loose and easily accommodated her
ample curves - the waistcoat also - but the
inexpressibles
were a different matter.

It took all
her strength to pull them up and when she had finally wriggled her way in, and buttoned
up the front, they felt decidedly snug. In fact, if she bent down, she feared
they would split down the rear. She tugged the waistcoat, hoping to drag it
down over her bottom but this was too short. Finally she decided to
untuck
her shirt-tails and leave them flapping at the rear.
It looked untidy, but at least that way she was decently covered.

Next she
needed a head covering of some sort. She believed there had been a hat to go
with her outfit. She delved further into the depths of the trunk and emerged
triumphant with a flat cap. Hastily she crammed it on, bundling any stray curls
inside.

She stepped up to the mirror, the only one she had discovered so far.
Satisfied she was ready she left the room and almost ran back through the
house, down the ornate carved oak stairs and across the hall.

She did not
hear the drawing-room door open or hear Lord Thurston’s loud exclamation of
surprise as she whisked past, the contours of her pert
derriere
clearly visible beneath the floating shirt-tails. Neither did
she know that, with a predatory gleam in his eye, he was following close
behind.

Chapter Five

Charlotte had
come barely half the distance to the stables when she realized that not only her
breeches were too small; her boots were also. By the time she reached the
archway she was hobbling, her toes horribly pinched.

Star was
tacked and standing ready in the yard. She tried to ignore the groom’s grin but
felt her cheeks redden. Perhaps she should have waited until she had had time
to let out seams and order new boots. She patted the horse’s neck and gathered
up the reins, glad the mare went in a snaffle bit which required only one pair;
juggling with two sets of reins on her first venture might have proved too much
for her.

She turned
her back and bent her leg. Jim, his eyes carefully averted, hoisted her into
the saddle. She adjusted the leathers and tightened the girth and then gave her
horse the office to move. Less than two minutes after her arrival in the yard
she was away down the path at a brisk trot, eager to distance herself from the
sniggering groom.

The path soon
meandered under a canopy of leaves and she lowered her hands and sat back in
the saddle. Instantly the mare responded and dropped down to walk.

‘Good girl,
Star; well done - you are a wonderful horse,’ she crooned, patting the smooth
muscled neck beneath her gloved hand. The horse shook her head as if agreeing
with the praise.

In the cool darkness beneath the trees she relaxed pleased her
equestrian skills had not deserted her. She could hear the soft cooing of the
pigeons and the harsh call of a pheasant or two. She looked around with
interest, seeing further signs of neglect and mismanagement. The wood had not
been coppiced and a tangle of undergrowth and nettles grew where there should
have been clear space

Star’s ears
pricked and the mare skittered sideways, almost unseating her. Quickly she
regained her seat and stared around. She could see nothing untoward. Then the horse
whinnied loudly. The animal’s muscles bunched under her. Something was
definitely wrong, but what was it?

She recalled
the moment when she had felt that someone malevolent was watching her outside
the Hall. Nervously she glanced from side to side but still could see nothing
out of the ordinary. She could hear the birds singing - surely that was a good
sign? Then she knew what had disturbed Star. In the distance she could hear the
sound of galloping hoofs approaching.

She had to
escape. She wasn’t safe in the woods. She shortened her reins and dug in her
heels. The agitated mare needed no further urging, but took hold of the bit and
bolted. Charlotte was being run away with but could do nothing. The path was
too narrow to attempt to circle the horse; all she could do was
concentrate
on ducking branches and praying the animal would
slow of its own accord before she was unseated.

Fully
occupied she forgot why she had wanted to gallop in the first place. She
crouched over the horse’s withers, taking a handful of flying grey and white
mane in with the reins for added security. She found she was beginning to enjoy
the experience.

Ahead was lighter, they were coming to a clearing, or maybe an open
expanse of grass where she could attempt to turn the mare. No longer in danger
of falling, all she needed was to remain calm.

‘Steady girl,
steady. There is nothing to scare you.’

She tried
easing back on the reins, transferring her weight to the rear of the saddle. To
her astonishment Star appeared to listen, the ears flicked back and the wild
gallop slowed to an extended canter.

All might
have been well if the duke had not chosen that precise moment to thunder
alongside and reach across to take Star’s bit. Neither Charlotte, nor her
horse, had realized that they were about to be overtaken, their flight had
masked the approaching hoof beats.

The mare,
panicked by the sudden appearance of the hand by her head, shied violently,
sideways into the trees. Charlotte was swept from the saddle by a jutting
branch and deposited headfirst, but unhurt, into a large patch of undergrowth
and nettles. She forgot the precarious state of her britches and launched
herself backwards. There was an ominous ripping sound and, to her horror, she
felt the rear seam give way completely.

The duke, having vaulted from his saddle, arrived by her side at the
precise moment the material parted exposing her bottom to his appreciative eye.
Trying not to laugh out loud he reached down and hauled her upright.

‘Are you
hurt, Miss Carstairs?’ His enquiry was polite enough, but she could his sense
his suppressed amusement.

‘No, I am
not,’ she snapped, scarlet with mortification. ‘If you want to make yourself
useful go and catch my mount.’ She could hear him chuckling as he swung himself
back onto the second of his fiery stallions.

As soon as
she was sure he had left the vicinity she peered over her shoulder to assess
the damage. She had guessed from the draught things were bad, but it was far
worse than she had imagined. The seam had ripped from top to bottom and all
that was holding the garment up was the waistband. Hastily she tucked her shirt
inside; there was plenty of room for it now.

She rather
thought the tail was long enough to pull right between her legs and then she
could secure it by pushing it into the buttonholes on the front flap. She
managed to poke the slippery fabric down to hide her bottom, but soon realized
she would have to grope down the front in order to complete her manoeuvre.

Her hand
would not fit between her britches and waist. She dare not tug too hard or she
would be in an even worse predicament. There was nothing for it, she would have
to undo the buttons and pull the recalcitrant shirt through that way. She
stared up the narrow path, no sign of him returning, so she was safe for a few
moments.

Hastily she
unbuttoned herself and reached down between her legs; triumphantly she grasped
the material and yanked it hard. At this point in her activities she distinctly
heard the sound of jingling bits and the unmistakable sound of horses returning.
Frantically she spread the shirt across and was safely restored just as the two
horses cantered into view.

Lord Thurston
dismounted his expression bland. ‘Are we ready to return, Miss Carstairs? Err…
have you completed your repairs?’

She felt heat
travel from her soles to the tips of her ears. How dare he mention her dilemma!
Rigid with embarrassment her answer was forced from between clenched teeth. ‘I
am quite ready, thank you, my lord.’ She stepped up to him and held out an
imperious hand for Star’s reins. Silently he handed them over, his mirth barely
under control.

‘Would you
like a leg up, Miss Carstairs?’

She was about
to present her boot for him to toss her into the saddle when something occurred
to her. What if her makeshift repairs came adrift as he did so- her bare behind
would be inches from his
face.
She would not risk that
happening.

‘I don’t
intend to ride back. I shall walk.’

‘As you wish,
my dear; permit me to walk alongside. It is such a lovely day and I shall enjoy
the stroll.’

‘You shall not—’ she burst out.
‘I beg your pardon. I mean
to say that I would not dream of imposing upon you any longer, my lord. Please
feel free to continue your ride.’

He bowed and a
lock of dark hair fell across his face obscuring his scar. She caught her
breath. He must have been a veritable Adonis before his injury.

‘Then I shall
bid you good day, Miss Carstairs. It is only a mile or two back to the Hall.
You should be safely home in less than an hour.’

He vaulted
into his saddle and the huge horse stamped and shook his head, eager to be off.
Charlotte remained where she was until all was quiet again. She looped Star’s
reins over her arm and rubbed the mare’s velvety nose.

‘Come along,
you bad girl, we had better get on.’

Her face
still burned unpleasantly from the nettles stings, but apart from that and a
few bruises, she had come through the experience remarkably well.

She hoped she
would be able to return to her chamber undetected. As she pictured the
spectacle she must have made, face down - naked bottom up - laughter bubbled
inside. Did this make her a
fallen
woman as well as a ruined one? She laughed at the absurdity and the noise
startled her horse afresh. The animal half reared, lifting Charlotte off her
feet.

‘Steady,
Star, nothing to shy about.’ All desire to laugh vanished as her crushed feet
thumped back onto the path. How could she walk back in these boots? She knew
she could barely hobble a few yards. She had no alternative. She must remove
them. Walking in stockings, however uneven the ground was preferable to having
every toe broken.

She spoke
aloud to the waiting mare. ‘I have to remove my boots, sweetheart, they are so
small I’m crippled and cannot walk.’ The horse nuzzled her shoulder, leaving a
trail of slobber behind. ‘Good girl! You must remain still whilst I pull them
off. Do you think you can do that for me?’

Charlotte
leant, experimentally, against the horse’s solid flank and the animal didn’t
move. She attempted to lean forward and raise her leg but found she was unable
to do so. Her shirt tails were so securely tucked in this was impossible. She
wriggled and fiddled but soon understood she had but two options. She could try
and walk home in her boots or risk undoing her britches and temporarily
exposing
herself
to the elements whilst she released
her shirt.

She had no
choice. She would walk even if it broke all her toes in the process. Then a
third option occurred to her; she could remount Star and ride home. She glanced
around, looking for something suitable to stand on, but could see nothing.
Maybe if she lengthened the stirrup leather to its fullest extent she could
manage to put her foot in unaided.

Unwanted
tears spilled down her cheeks. Even if she did find something to stand on, or
could get her foot in the iron, she could only manage it by undoing her shirt.
Her head dropped and she swallowed a sob of frustration.

She gritted
her teeth and set off. The pain after only a few minutes was appalling. She rested
her face against Star, unsure how to proceed, or even if she could do so.

*

Jack
continued along the path his mood sombre. Miss Carstairs obviously found him so
repellent that even walking beside him was too much. She was a lovely girl –
delectable images of her anatomy began to drift before his eyes. He chuckled as
he recalled her embarrassment. She had handled it well, he could think of no
other woman of his acquaintance who would have shown such aplomb. And she was a
bruising rider; the fall had not been her fault, but his. He should have
apologized not teased her. Was it too late to do so now? She couldn’t have gone
far on foot.

Decision made he reined back and expertly turned his mount. As he
cantered round the bend he spotted her, further down, leaning against her
horse, obviously in some distress. What was wrong? Had he so upset her she was
unable to continue? If this was the case his presence would not be welcome.

He stopped. He would not intrude, but he wanted to be sure that she
didn’t need his assistance before he continued his ride. He watched her
straighten, scrub her eyes dry with her gloves and attempt to walk. Instantly
he understood. Urging his mount forward he rode alongside. Stretching down he
lifted her easily onto his saddle and positioned her in front of him.

‘You goose - why did you volunteer to walk home if your boots are
crippling you?’

He heard her
sniff inelegantly before she answered. ‘I had forgotten about the boots.’

He tightened
his arm around her, drawing her close, loving the soft feel of her back against
his chest.

*

Charlotte
stiffened and he immediately slackened his hold. She realized she still had
Star’s reins in her hand.

‘Give them to
me; I can lead your mount.’ His voice was brusque, all sign of his previous
good humour gone. Had it been her involuntary recoil? Did he not understand she
was inexperienced, unused to being held so intimately by a man? This was not to
do with his face. She hardly noticed that anymore.

Forcing herself
to relax she settled back into his embrace just to reassure him she was not
repelled by him. He responded by pulling her back so that she could feel his
body heat through his shirt, inhale his masculine scent. He smelled good, a
great improvement on their first encounter.

‘You smell
much better now you have bathed, my lord.’ Her thoughts had, of their own
volition slipped out of her mouth. How could she have mentioned his body or his
ablutions? A lady should not appear to even be aware of such things. Horrified
she tried to make amends. ‘What I mean – is— Oh! I am sorry. What I said was
unpardonable.’

‘But, my
dear, perfectly true,’ he replied dryly.

‘I should not
have…’

‘Enough; let
us talk of something else. The matter is closed.’ His mouth was so close to her
ear his words were tickling her neck. ‘Perhaps, Miss Carstairs, you could
explain to me why you did not wish to ride back to Thurston Hall in the
circumstances?’

Good grief!
This was an even more unsuitable topic of conversation. Her face coloured and
she attempted to move away, to place a decent inch or two between them. She
failed as his hold was too strong. Holding herself straight, she eventually
answered. ‘No, I could not. And a gentleman would not ask.’ Had she gone too
far- again?

The silence
lengthened, the only sound pad of hoofs in the grass and the birds singing in
the trees. Why didn’t he answer? Becoming worried she had once more, mortally
offended him, she twisted her head round to see his expression. She regretted
her decision.