Recklessly Yours (11 page)

Odd, but he hadn't behaved this way toward her earlier. If anything, he'd seemed unduly interested in Lady Sabrina. . . .
Ah
.

Understanding washed over her. Stuart Bentley wasn't any more interested in her than he was in the white-socked chestnut that presently entered the paddock and shied from the first obstacle. She'd wager it was Lady Sabrina's notice he hoped to attract, even if he must do so at Holly's expense.

That certainly changed matters . . . although perhaps not from the earl's perspective. She peeked over her shoulder, then pretended merely to be brushing a curl off her cheek when she discovered him still watching, almost—goodness—seething from beneath the fringe of golden hair the breeze had shoved across his brow. A sudden and unquenchable urge rose up inside her to comb that forelock back through her fingers, to press her lips to that intelligent brow, to assure him—

Of what? That she could never return the attentions of any man who did not have the distinction of being him? That she would rather die alone than spend a moment of her life with a fop like Stuart Bentley?

Good heavens, where had that come from? She didn't love Colin Ashworth. She couldn't; she didn't even like him. Well, she supposed she did, but
he
didn't like
her
. Not that he was ever unkind or treated her as Mr. Bentley did, without the proper respect. But . . .

He never treated her as he treated her sisters. He showed her none of the easy, brotherly affection he always showed them. He never ran to fetch things for her, or joked with her, or invited her to stroll among the shrubbery, as he had with Willow the last time they had all been at Ivy's home of Harrowood, in Cambridge.

When Holly had remarked upon his oversight, Ivy had told her she might have gone with them if she'd spoken up sooner. But she hadn't wanted to speak up, hadn't wanted to impose her company on a man who clearly didn't seek it. She had wanted . . .
still
wanted . . .

An ache pushed its way from her heart to her throat, and she swallowed, blinking sudden moisture from her eyes. Mr. Bentley had kept up a steady stream of conversation that had required little more from her than the occasional nod, until now.

“My home is always open to you, Miss Sutherland,” he said in a less-than-decent whisper.

She drew back and raised an eyebrow in her best imitation of Victoria. “Why, thank you, Mr. Bentley. Should my sisters and I fail to find the right horse here,
we
”—she emphasized the word—“shall certainly accept your gracious invitation to visit your stud. However, I confess I do have trouble believing Newmarket can offer anything superior to what may be found here in Ascot.”

Bentley's jaw stiffened. “That remains to be seen.”

“Indeed.” Still smiling, she turned her back on him as a dark bay with black points entered the paddock. From the platform, Lord Shelby tugged his coat into place and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, Lady Sabrina Ashworth riding Sport o' Kings.”

Holly pressed forward, Mr. Bentley all but forgotten behind her. She was curious to see how well the noblewoman rode, not to mention a little envious of any woman fortunate enough to have such opportunities at her disposal.

Apparently, not everyone agreed. “Blast Drayton for allowing his sister to take such risks,” Mr. Bentley murmured.

Perched sidesaddle, Lady Sabrina cantered once around the paddock, catching Holly's eye as she rode past her and flashing a grin Holly couldn't help returning.

She flinched when Mr. Bentley, moving up beside her, called out, “Do have a care, Lady Sabrina!”

If the young woman heard the warning, she gave no indication. Mr. Bentley waited until she came round again, then raised a hand in a salute as she did. Again, she made no response, but steered her mount toward the first of the obstacles.

The horse glided in and out of the posts, its stride smooth and steady. “Oh, Lady Sabrina is quite good,” Holly exclaimed, her pulse accelerating even as the young woman quickened the pace.

Beside her, Mr. Bentley grumbled, “If their father were at home, he'd never allow it.”

“Allow what?” Holly tilted her head at him, though she kept her eyes on Lady Sabrina. She had neared the end of the first row of obstacles without mishap, and was about to come around again and take the first jump. “Why do you fret, sir?”

Eyes narrowing, he mumbled his excuses and pushed away. He soon disappeared behind the guests crowded along the fence.

Holly returned her attention to Sabrina Ashworth. She took the first jump smoothly, but as she approached the next, the animal balked, threw his head up, and swerved hard to the right. Unprepared, Lady Sabrina wobbled in the saddle. Gasps shot through the spectators. She quickly recovered her balance, but the horse's footing remained erratic. It shied away from the next obstacle and again, the sudden motion threatened Lady Sabrina's balance. She hung on and tried to steady the animal, but to no avail.

“She's in trouble,” Holly announced to no one in particular.

“Good God, not again,” replied a voice she hadn't expected.

Lord Drayton stood at her shoulder, his brow knotted in a scowl of concentration.

 

Sabrina came around the paddock toward them, her horse kicking up enough dust to attract first Colin's attention, then his concern. He studied the animal's stride, heard the faltering beat of its hooves striking the ground. Around the fence, spectators pulled back and covered their mouths to ward off swirling clouds of earth.

The filly, Sport o' Kings, was the half sister of the colt that had replaced the one his father had given the queen. Marked with the same Ashworth star across her brow, she represented the finest of the Ashworth stock, destined to become a star of the turf.

Then why was she struggling to maintain a smooth canter as Sabrina tried to maneuver her back toward the obstacles?

“It's become a battle of wills,” Miss Sutherland said softly. The breeze shifted, bringing her spicy scent to tantalize his senses. For a moment he forgot his sister and thought only of the beauty beside him. What had she and Bentley been talking about?

Bentley—if ever a man had been in danger of having his neck snapped,
he
had in those minutes he'd claimed Miss Sutherland's hand. And yet what business was it of Colin's whose hand she held? She wasn't his. She could never be. Period.

“My lord, your sister is typically a proficient rider, is she not?”

The urgency in her voice snapped him back to his senses. “This isn't at all like Sabrina,” he said. Not until yesterday, at least, when his sister had lost control of the carriage team. Now she seemed to be doing all the wrong things and making matters worse. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Sabrina, ease up and go with her, not against her.”

The filly stopped, lurched, and attempted abrupt changes in direction while Sabrina fought to hold her on course. Miss Sutherland leaned forward over the rail. “Something must be done. If she doesn't loosen the reins, she risks rendering the animal head shy.”

The term set off an alarm inside him. “I'm not about to let that happen.”

He strode to the gate, swung it open, and entered the paddock. Sabrina came round again, still clearly struggling, the filly increasingly agitated. Colin moved into their path, his arms extended to attract the horse's attention. The animal knew him; he'd conducted the greater portion of her training and had long since won her trust. He could have approached her in any field, held out his hand, and within moments had her nibbling oats from his palm.

Not today. When she saw him, her eyes rounded and her nostrils flared. Colin sensed her apprehension just before she whinnied and swung wide. The filly reared and Sabrina's little plaid riding cap flew off. Colin's gut clenched as he expected his sister to tumble to the ground after it, but her well-honed sense of balance kept her in her seat. Even so, confusion and fear flickered in her eyes.

Colin started toward them again. He was still some yards away when hoofbeats surged from behind him and a lengthy shadow swept past him.

H
olly didn't wait to see if Lord Drayton would meet with success. As he hurried to his sister's aid, she hefted her skirts and ran to the opposite enclosure, where other horses awaited their turn in the paddock.

The closest horse to the gate was a bay, already saddled and tied to the rail. The animal didn't bear the star, but everything else about him suggested he hailed from the Ashworth stud.

“Miss? Excuse me, but what on earth do you think you're about?”

Holly ignored the groom as she hastily unwrapped the reins from the fence and pulled herself into the saddle. With no time for niceties such as adjusting her skirts so she could approximate a sidesaddle position, she slipped her feet into the stirrups. The youth's face was a streak of ruddy color as she urged the colt past him.

“Miss! Come back here! You can't—”

She cantered the colt through the open gates and into the larger paddock. A shocked twitter rippled through the crowd, but she ignored the gasps and set her sights on Lady Sabrina and the filly.

The colt's energy pulsed beneath her like surging ocean waves. She must be careful or she could just as easily lose control and find herself in the same predicament as Lady Sabrina. She glimpsed Lord Drayton's face as she rode past him, saw his surprise give way to consternation and then anger. She took no heed as he shouted her name.

Sport o' Kings danced about, shaking her head and pulling at the reins, giving Lady Sabrina a jolting ride. It appeared the young woman could barely manage to hang on. Praying she could keep the colt calm, Holly urged him to the filly's side.

“Give her her head and allow her to follow my lead,” Holly called softly to Lady Sabrina. The girl nodded and carefully loosened the reins.

Holly wagered on a horse's instinct to run in a pack, and on the filly and the colt having a rapport. The filly acknowledged the colt's presence with a twitch of her ears and a momentary easing of her erratic movements. Holding her breath, Holly stole the opportunity to squeeze with her knees and set the colt to an even, comfortable lope.

With a burst of triumph she watched the filly take her cue from the other horse. Matching his pace, she fell in beside him, her stride smoothing and elongating. After a lap around the paddock, Holly ever so gradually slowed the colt to a trot, then a walk, and then finally brought both animals to a halt.

Sport o' Kings's fatigue showed in her snorting breaths and her quivering, sweating flanks. Holly leaned over to run the flat of her hand along the filly's damp neck. Lady Sabrina's hands shook where they lay in her lap, still clutching the reins.

Lord Drayton ran up to the filly's side. “Are you all right?”

Her brow furrowed, her gaze pinned on the black mane in front of her, Lady Sabrina nodded faintly. Her brother raised his arms to grasp his sister about the waist. She leaned in to him and allowed him to lower her to the ground.

Around the paddock, the onlookers called out their relief for Lady Sabrina and the filly. Both Lord Drayton and his sister ignored them. Having witnessed Lady Sabrina's haughtiness in the past, Holly waited for her to heft her chin, glare into her brother's face, and make excuses. She did none of those things, but continued to stare downward, a ridge of perplexity scoring her brow.

“You were fighting her, Sabrina,” her brother said quietly. “You know better than that.”

“She has never behaved that way before. . . . I don't understand it. . . .” Lady Sabrina regarded the filly, standing calmly now and rubbing her head against the colt's neck.

As Lord Drayton and his sister continued their murmured conversation, Holly became aware of the twittering onlookers.

She glanced around at the shocked and curious faces, her cheeks heating. The urgency of the situation had sent her scurrying for a remedy, the only one she could think of. Only now did she realize how she looked to the others, sitting astride in the saddle with her skirts tucked round her legs and her ankles on display.

And where was Ivy? Or Willow, who should have been back by now? Had she so embarrassed them that they'd slipped away somewhere? She remembered the earl's angry look as she had ridden by him. Her heart sank and her cheeks flamed hotter.

“Miss Sutherland?” He had moved beside her horse, and stood with his arms extended to her.

“Lord Drayton, I am sorry. I only thought to—”

“Yes, but not now, Miss Sutherland. Please, just let me help you down.”

His hands braced her sides at her waist, and what should have been a simple gesture of assistance set off a firestorm of confusion inside her. She forgot to lean and set her hands on his shoulders so he could lift her from the saddle. She knew only that he touched her as he had never touched her before, and that she wished him to go on touching her, touching more of her, touching her endlessly. His hands were strong and warm and sure, as she had always known they would be, all those times she had peeked at them and tried to imagine them on her.

She'd gotten her wish, but to what purpose?

“Miss Sutherland, is something wrong?” Oblivious to her untoward musings, he lowered his arms. “You seemed in control, but perhaps you were injured?”

She shook her head, more to clear it than in reply, so aloud she said, “I was not hurt, my lord.”