Page 25 of The Mistletoe Dare

Ozzie gave her an odd look but said nothing, only taking her arm and leading her on a walk about the room. Georgie followed like a lamb, too focused on unravelling the conversation with the duke to object.

“I think he’s taken a fancy to you,” Ozzie whispered.

Georgie snorted. “He said I was a graceless, mannerless baggage,” she said dryly. “Obviously he’s head over ears in love.”

Ozzie laughed but refused to give up on the subject. “Everyone but you is terrified of him, I think. I admit I find him dreadfully daunting. I’ve not spoken a word to him yet, which vexes me, for I do not wish to be the kind of woman who judges by appearance. Indeed, I never thought I was, but every time I try to gather the nerve to attempt a conversation, I get all tongue-tied. I’m sure he thinks me a horrid creature.”

“I shouldn’t worry, he thinks that of everyone,” Georgie reassured her, and then considered that. Why oughtn’t he think that, if even kind-hearted people like Ozzie wouldn’t speak to him. Perhaps he did not realise how intimidating he was. Or perhaps he did it on purpose, to keep everyone away, like a dog with a thorn in its paw, snarling at anyone who tried to help it.

“You’re awfully quiet, Georgie.”

Georgie looked up, startled to discover they’d done several turns of the room in complete silence.

“I beg your pardon, Ozzie,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I shall try to do better.”

Georgie woke early the next morning after an uneasy night’s sleep. Her head felt muzzy and no clearer than the previous evening, so she dressed in her riding habit and went to the stables. A good hard ride ought to clear the cobwebs and give her an appetite for breakfast.

The grooms knew her by now and didn’t quibble over her choice of mount, a big sturdy gelding who would not ordinarily be thought suitable for a woman. She had learned to ride with her brothers, though, and she had always been too stubborn to be left behind by them. It had taken her a lot of falls and bruises, and even a broken wrist, but she had learned to keep up and eventually even outride them. She could manage the same horses that they could, but was far lighter in the saddle, and she was also an excellent markswoman. Though she did not enjoy hunting, she could hit a target in a bullseye with far more accuracy than most men. Her brothers respected her abilities and treated her little differently than they did each other. She’d enjoyed that fact as a girl. As she had grown, though… not so much.

She wondered what they were doing now and imagined them getting under Mrs MacLeod’s feet and stealing Bannocks in the deliciously steamy fug of the kitchens at Wildsyde.

Georgie rode hard, enjoying the chill bite of the wintry morning air upon her skin and her hair whipping about her face. The grounds at Beverwyck were so extensive it was easy to forget you were in London. The noise and the bustle seemed far away from her here and calmed her uneven spirits. The horse, a fine beast named Apollo, was eager for more and so Georgie let him have his head, exhilarated by the speed and power. This had to be the closest thing there was to flying.

Out of the corner of her eye, Georgie noticed a dark shape looming behind her and turned her head. Impossibly, Rochford was gaining on her, his huge black Percheron charger eating up the ground. Her heart did an odd little flutter in her chest, which she tried hard to ignore.

“Oh, no,” she said aloud. “We can’t have that. Come on, my lad.”

Rochford watched in consternation as Lady Georgina put on another burst of speed. He had only wanted to speak to her, hoping to slow her down, for surely she’d break her neck galloping upon that enormous horse. It was full of juice still and far too powerful for her to handle.

Helplessly, he called after her, trying to get her to slow, but she either did not hear or ignored him. Not that he could blame her for trying to give him the slip. He’d acted like a damned lunatic since the moment he met her. She had turned everything upside down, and he hated her for it. Yet he could not stay away. Dancing with her had been a mistake. She had felt so right in his arms that the rest of the world had fallen away. He’d forgotten the judging eyes of the ton were upon them, had forgotten everything for that brief space of time. He’d even forgotten he was hideous, for she had looked at him, truly looked at him, not with horror or pity or forbearance, but as if he were a man, just a man.

You’re still just a man, and an ill-tempered, rude one at that.

Whenever he remembered her words, it made him smile. She’d said he was pompous. She’d called him an obnoxious arse. Why such insults should please him so, he couldn’t fathom, but there it was. He was a lunatic.

Rochford hung back, afraid it would only spur her on to greater folly if he tried to catch her. So, he was too far away to shout at her, to tell her to have a care when he saw her galloping towards a thick, high hedge.

“Georgina!” Her name left his lips anyway, fear a cold sensation gripping his heart as he watched the horse gather itself for the jump.

Please, please, please, don’t break your pretty neck.

He watched, helpless with terror, as she sailed perfectly over the hedge. Rochford followed her, wild with fury, which only grew as he landed safely and discovered her waiting for him, a smug grin on her impossibly beautiful face. Damn her.

“You irresponsible bloody halfwit!” he thundered. His heart was still skittering in his chest and wasn’t certain if he’d be able to catch a proper breath for the rest of the day. “What the devil were you thinking? You could have broken your stupid neck.”

She stiffened, glowering at him. “Thank you for your concern, your grace, but I was in no danger.”

“You can’t go around throwing an unfamiliar horse at unknown obstacles. He’s far too powerful for you. Christ, you were lucky he followed through. If he’d refused, we’d be picking your broken bones up off the floor as we speak.”

Her expression grew colder. “You forget, your grace, that this is my godmother’s property. I have been riding here since I was a little girl, and Apollo and I are well acquainted. I am an excellent horsewoman, and need no advice from you. I most certainly do not need a scolding. You saw me take that jump, and you know very well I did it to perfection. I am a proficient sportswoman and can outride and out-shoot most men, so I’ll thank you to keep your blasted opinions to yourself.”

Rochford heard her words and knew in some rational part of his brain that she was likely spot on, and he owed her an apology. Another apology. The jump had been impressive, and executed perfectly, just as she said. But his heart was still careening about; terror had infected his blood and he was very far from rational.

He leaped down from his horse and grabbed hold of her mount’s bridle.

“Get down,” he said through gritted teeth.

“No! And take your hands off my horse.”