The Reluctant Viscount. Lara Temple

am fine, Jem, and, more importantly, so is Thunder. We took a spill near Mare’s Rise and Miss Drake was kind enough to come to our aid. Could you have a gig brought round to take her back to Drake Cottage? And have Thunder’s foreleg seen to? I’ll come by the stables in a moment. Oh, and send someone to ask Mr Beauvoir to join us in the stables as well.’

      Jem cast Adam a searching look, but merely nodded and took Thunder’s reins, leading him away. Adam pulled off his gloves, inspecting the damage to them ruefully.

      ‘Thunder’s foreleg and my favourite riding gloves. I’m beginning to be quite annoyed with whoever conceived of this prank. Come, we’ll wait over here by the garden gate. I think it best we stay outdoors.’

      She sat down next to him on a bench by the ornate gate leading to the gardens. He cast the gloves, muddy rope and silken pouch on the bench with a carelessness that amazed her.

      ‘Concerned for my reputation, or yours?’ she asked, ignoring the urge to remonstrate against his casual treatment both of what had just happened and of the precious coin.

      ‘Mine, of course. There’s a limit to how much abuse it can take.’

      ‘You passed that limit eons ago, Lord Delacort.’

      ‘Well, there’s always hope I might come full circle. Who knows? I might even take to writing sermonising poetry like your esteemed sire. Put all my classical learning to good use.’

      She shook her head, holding down hard on a smile, and stood up as a groom pulled out of the stable yard in a gig. Adam stopped her by moving between her and the stables, holding her arm lightly.

      ‘About what happened today...I want to keep that between us.’

      She looked up at him, realising she had been mistaken. There was something in his eyes that was anything but casual—he might have treated it lightly, but she could see past that to the implacable determination that probably accounted for his survival so far.

      ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

      The hard look in his eyes lightened.

      ‘Well, I won’t be galloping Thunder for a while.’

      She frowned, not in the least reassured by him reverting to humour. She didn’t speak because she knew there was nothing she could say he would listen to. He watched her, his smile turning sardonic.

      ‘You are a suspicious little thing, aren’t you? But I am serious. I am asking you not to mention anything about this. All right?’ he repeated, still holding her arm. She could feel the rough callouses on his palm and realised what strength it must take to ride a horse like Thunder. His grasp was impersonal, but his fingers were warm on her skin, and despite the fine weather she wished she had worn a long-sleeved dress. She didn’t answer immediately and his grasp tightened slightly as he turned her to face him more fully.

      ‘All right?’ he asked once more, but his voice sounded distant. She nodded and he drew her towards the gig. She let him hand her up and settled herself beside the groom and didn’t look back as they drove away.

      * * *

      Adam watched the gig pull away, absently rubbing his hand. When the gig had disappeared behind the trees he glanced down at the peculiar collection on the bench and went to gather the items up. He put the small silken pouch into the pocket of his muddied buckskins, picked up the rope and headed towards the stables.

      Nicholas was already there, crouching down next to Thunder as Jem applied a sticky salve to the horse’s scrapes. Nicholas pushed to his feet at Adam’s entrance, but Jem kept at his work. Adam noted, thankfully, that the groom had cleared the stables of its many inhabitants.

      ‘How is he, Jem?’

      ‘Lucky, My Lord,’ Jem replied. ‘He’ll mend quick. But I’m curious as to what did this.’ He indicated a long scrape along the front and side of Thunder’s leg and Adam held out the rope.

      ‘This. Tied low between the trees on the narrow stretch near Mare’s Rise,’ he replied calmly and Nicholas’s brows rose. Jem glanced up, but then went back to applying the salve.

      ‘I know I am not very popular in these parts, Jem, but do you think there is someone here at the Hall or on the estate who has such a grudge against me? I am asking you to be honest. I won’t hold it against you.’

      Jem finished with the salve and rose stiffly to his feet, rubbing his hands thoughtfully on a rag.

      ‘I know you wouldn’t, My Lord. If you ask me, it is no one at the Hall or on your grounds. They live in hope you’ll stay here permanent like. There’s not a man or boy on the estate who wants to see Mr Somerton in your shoes.’

      Adam smiled tightly.

      ‘Somehow I don’t consider that much of a compliment. But I take your point. Most likely not someone from Delacort. A child’s prank, perhaps? Though somehow this does not quite strike me as a very childish act.’

      ‘Any youth that malignant is likely to have done similar acts in the past,’ Nicholas added.

      ‘My thinking as well, Mr Beauvoir, and I haven’t heard of any such mischief in Mowbray. May I see the rope, My Lord?’ Jem asked.

      Adam handed it to him. ‘It looks like simple enough rope, I can’t make much from it.’

      Jem shook his head. ‘Nor can I. Could find such rope anywhere. I don’t like it, My Lord. Miss Drake isn’t one for gossip, but the stable hands saw the state of your clothes and there’s no hiding Thunder’s leg. There’s bound to be talk again.’

      Adam frowned.

      ‘Again?’

      Jem sighed and handed back the rope.

      ‘When Lord Ivor died so soon after Lord Timothy there was talk of a curse on the Delacorts. Nonsense, but you know countryfolk. There’s no avoiding it.’

      Adam frowned.

      ‘I thought Ivor was thrown by his horse. And Timothy died of inflammation of the lungs.’

      ‘So did I, but there was some talk at the time. And now you were thrown from your horse as well. These things do happen. I am just saying you be careful. If I might be so bold, I’ve been in service at Delacort for more than forty years and this is the first time I’d be sorry to see a change of hands. We know what’s said about you in Mowbray by those above us, but for all that work here at the Hall, what you’ve done since you came here has got people hopeful things will be different from here on out. So I’d as lief not see you carried back on a hurdle or worse, My Lord.’

      Adam felt an uncharacteristic flush rise to his face. He almost told Jem not to count on him too much, but kept his peace.

      ‘Not my favourite image either, Jem. Let’s keep this between us for now. I need to think. And if you think of anything, let me know. Come on, Nick.’

      Nicholas nodded and followed Adam out of the stables. Once out in the open and away from the building, Adam glanced at his friend.

      ‘You have been unusually quiet, Nick. Impressed by the Delacort Curse?’

      His friend’s ready grin appeared.

      ‘Hardly. I’m no more inclined to the supernatural than you, Adam. I’m just trying to reconcile this...prank, as you call it, with your very foppish cousin.’

      ‘Not an easy thing to do. I was wondering the same. Somehow I find it hard to imagine Percy scrambling around the forest setting traps. And even though Ivor was unlucky enough to be killed when he was thrown, Percy was raised in the country and he should know the chance of that happening again is pretty slim. Most people don’t break their necks being thrown from a horse. At best he might have hoped I would break a limb or be knocked unconscious. Just petty revenge for cutting him off?’

      Nicholas shrugged.

      ‘Stranger things have happened.