The Husband Campaign. Regina Scott

to care for him, whatever happened. And John would never let him down.

      At the moment, however, he could do nothing more for the horse. John knew Magnum had eaten plenty earlier that day, for rich pastures surrounded the farm. As soon as the rain let up, John could send Lady Amelia on her way and take Magnum back to the main stables and bed. With any luck, the others would have found Contessa by now. He had never met a horse who knew more ways to escape a fenced pasture, or one more determined to do so. Normally his men kept an eye on her, but a new groom had been preoccupied with learning his duties, and the mare had slipped away.

      Now lightning set shadows in sharp relief, and he saw Lady Amelia shudder. “You would be wise to sit down,” he advised.

      She glanced about as if trying to determine where. What, did she think stables came with gilded chairs or cushioned benches? To John’s mind the most likely spot to sit was on an old grain bin along the back wall. She must have reached the same conclusion, for she went to settle her skirts about her on the bin as if ready to pour tea.

      “Won’t you join me, my lord?” she asked, patting the other side of the wooden slats.

      She was only being polite. He could not conceive that she would truly wish his company. But he moved closer and convinced himself to sit beside her. Through the musty scent of earth and straw came the incongruous perfume of orange blossoms. Was that the scent of her hair? Surely it was poor manners to bury his nose in the silky-looking tresses as if they were a feed sack. Yet some part of him was tempted to do just that.

      “I didn’t realize this was your property,” she said by way of conversation. “How far do your holdings stretch?”

      It was an expected topic, and a gentleman was supposed to prose on at great length, he was certain. He didn’t prose. “Far enough to provide food and a good run,” he replied.

      “I’m sure that must be very gratifying for your horses,” she said. “What brought you out in the storm, my lord?”

      Thunder boomed, and she shuddered again. In fact, he could feel her least movement, the moment she yawned behind her hand, the shiver that went through her. Was she cold? Hungry?

      Whatever you did for the least of my brothers, you did for me.

      The remembered verse demanded his attention. But he couldn’t believe the Lord would answer a prayer half formed. He hadn’t answered any of John’s prayers since before his brother had died.

      Still, John pulled his greatcoat from his shoulders and draped it around her.

      “Oh, Lord Hascot, I couldn’t,” she protested.

      “Take it,” John insisted. “I must see to my horse.”

      He slid off the box and started forward, but he couldn’t help glancing back at her. Her fingers, as long and elegant as the rest of her, clutched at the wool as she pulled it closer. Her sigh of thanks was as soft as a kitten’s.

      Something inside him melted.

      John lifted his head, turned his back on her and forced himself to march to Magnum’s stall. His horse eyed him.

      “Don’t start,” John said. He sank onto the straw and put his back against the stone wall. Drawing up his knees, he crossed his arms over the top of his chamois breeches.

      He didn’t have to speak with Lady Amelia, tend to her like a nursery maid. He’d play the gentleman and protect her, but nothing more. He’d already had his heart carved from his chest by a beautiful woman who’d claimed allegiance. He wasn’t about to offer the knife to another, even the lovely Lady Amelia.

      * * *

      Amelia didn’t remember falling asleep. Certainly, she knew it her duty to keep Lord Hascot company, though he had abandoned hers. She tossed out a few polite questions, all of which were met with terse responses from the other stall. She might have thought she had offended him, only he’d been as short with everyone else when she’d visited his farm with Lord Danning a few days ago. Apparently Lord Hascot did not like people nearly as much as he liked his horses.

      But one moment she’d been yawning on the grain bin, and the next she was waking up on a bed of straw. She frowned at the change and couldn’t help wondering how she’d reached this spot.

      Then the day’s events rushed back at her. She’d been at Fern Lodge keeping Mr. Calder busy so her new friend Henrietta Stokely-Trent could chaperone her other new friend Ruby Hollingsford on an outing with their host, Lord Danning. She thought she’d done rather well to follow Mr. Calder’s instructions and affix a creature of feather and horsehair he called a fly onto a brass hook and toss it into the river by way of a long, jointed pole. But Mr. Calder had forsaken his fishing lesson to search for Henrietta, and Amelia had been disappointed with herself for failing to keep him occupied and away from the courting couple.

      Her disappointment was nothing to how her mother had reacted.

      “And why are you keeping company with Mr. Calder in any regard?” she’d demanded after she’d found Amelia changing into her riding habit with the idea of going after the group. “He is the son of a second son, a nobody. We came here for Danning.”

      Her mother had come for Danning. Lady Wesworth had decided the wealthy earl held promise for her daughter. Amelia had had hopes Lord Danning might have the makings of a good husband. He was kind, considerate and affable, everything her father was not. It had been rather exciting to be one of three women invited to a house party to determine which was best suited to be his bride. But it was quickly evident that he favored Ruby Hollingsford, and why not? Ruby was outspoken, fearless, bold.

      Everything Amelia was not.

      But some of Ruby’s boldness must have rubbed off, for Amelia had answered her mother, “I do not intend to marry Lord Danning. If I marry, I will marry for love.”

      Her mother had puffed up like a thundercloud gathering. It was truly a fearsome sight, and one Amelia had witnessed only a few times in her life and never with good results.

      “Your father will have something to say about that,” her mother had threatened.

      The subsequent argument had so overset Amelia that she’d run for the stable at Fern Lodge, called for Belle and ridden as far and as fast as she could, seeking only escape.

      Escape from a mother who could not understand.

      Escape from a father who could not care.

      Escape from expectations she could not meet.

      Only when she’d felt the rain cooling her tears had she sought shelter, which was where Lord Hascot had found her.

      She sat up, and his greatcoat slid down her form.

      “Lord Hascot?” she asked, climbing to her feet and tucking her riding train up over one arm.

      The door of the stable stood open, a shaft of sunlight stabbing through the darkness. A man stepped from the shadows into the beam of light. She recognized him immediately—that thatch of midnight-black hair, the sharp planes of his features, the still way he held himself as if ready for anything.

      “Easy,” he said. “There’s no need for concern.”

      Oh, there was every reason for concern. She knew what must happen next. If she hoped for any peace, she would have to apologize to her mother. She had long ago learned the many ways to turn criticism into commendation.

      Unfortunately, this time would be more difficult. She knew what her mother wanted, what her father expected. They insisted that she marry a wealthy, titled gentleman who would bring further acclaim to the name of Jacoby, the House of Wesworth. No amount of positive thinking, prayer or discussion had changed their minds.

      But wealthy, titled bachelors of marrying mind, she had learned, were not at all plentiful, and the competition to secure them was stiff. While she’d enjoyed the glittering balls, the witty conversations that were part and parcel to a London Season, she had not liked participating in the marriage mart.