A Man For All Seasons (4 page)

“Morning Miss,” said Shelley cheerfully.

High colour stained Seraphim's cheeks. A hand hastily covered her open mouth. “Oh, please excuse me,” she gasped. “So sorry. I'll… see you in the morning room.” She backed away hurriedly and disappeared swiftly down the corridor.

Chad hustled a still giggling Shelley out. He shut the door softly, sank down onto his bed, and let out a deep groan of despair.

Four

Seraphim galloped down the corridor and bounced down the stairs. She didn't stop running until she entered the morning room. Thankfully it was empty, although tureens of steaming food were waiting in the long bain-marie. A coal fire burned softly in the wide marble fireplace; flames flickering and dancing gaily.

Above the mantelpiece Seraphim's great-grandmother peered down at her, and her dark slanting eyes seemed to laugh. A great beauty in her time, (Seraphim's great-great-grandmother had been the toast of India). Seraphim liked to pretend that she looked a little like her, especially around the eyes.

As she poured herself a glass of orange juice her heart began to settle. Sitting down, she tried to regain her composure. Not an easy task. She was disturbed on a number of levels. Firstly, she was furious with Shelley. Honestly, the girl was practically a nympho. Fancy hopping into bed with a near stranger! To say nothing of the fact he was a guest of her employer. Such blatant sexuality was perturbing. Seraphim tried hard to suppress the small twinge of jealously that lurked in her heart.

But she couldn't. Why on earth should she feel envious of the girl? After all, Shelley was not even a very good maid. She sighed and put down her glass. It seemed to be another day for introspection. Of course, if she were really, really honest, it was because the incident only served as a reminder of her own lacklustre love life.

And, if she were going to carry on peeking into her psyche, there was the man himself. Chad Cherub. Her throat tightened and she felt heat radiate through her core. She'd never imagined such a body lurked beneath the casual attire he wore. The wide spread of his chest, and the flat, ridged belly. Above the waistband of the cotton boxer shorts a dark line of hair had curled. His legs, long and muscular, added to the overall impression of power and agility. A body honed by hard work, not hours in a gym.

She leapt guiltily as the door behind her hissed softly over the carpet. It was Nanny Moira, affectionately known as Nanny M. She'd been her father's nanny before she had been her own. “Morning Nan,” she said, keeping her voice as breezy as possible. Sometimes she felt as if the old woman could pick thoughts from her brain at random. This proved to be a particularly alarming prospect right now. Suddenly she felt a wave of guilt. What right had she to disapprove of Shelley? At least the young maid had the honesty to act on her impulses.

“And how's my darling girl this morning?”

Seraphim smiled at the elderly woman, warmed by the affectionate tone and genuine concern in her voice. Still as fit and active at seventy-five as she had been at forty, Nanny M seemed as indestructible as the giant Lebanese cedar tree that graced the back lawn. Suddenly Seraphim had an overwhelming desire to rest her head in her old nanny's lap as she had as a child, and tell her all her troubles. But of course, she didn't. She smiled instead. “I'm very well thank you. I'm taking our guest out for a ride this morning.”

Nanny sniffed. “Is his nibs going too?” There was no denying the disapproval in her soft Welsh accent.

Seraphim shook her head. “No, he's not really the outdoors type, is he?”

Another sniff. “Indeed he's not.”

Seraphim knew that Nanny disapproved heartily of her match with Barry. She'd always assumed it was simply an old lady's natural reaction to losing her charge rather than any personal discord toward her fiancé. After all, Barry was eminently suitable. Everyone said so, especially her mother. But suddenly doubt flooded through her and she felt utterly out of sorts.

“Did you hear about Julian and Georgia?” Seraphim watched Nanny's face carefully. She noticed how the soft complexion had become webbed with tiny lines, like a piece of ancient porcelain.

By way of reply Nanny sniffed loudly again, and began banging lids up and down on the bain-marie, making no secret of her displeasure. “I heard,” she said.

There didn't seem much point in pursuing that particular theme. It seemed that the subject of her suitors was fraught with disapproval. “What do you think of Chad? I mean Mr Cherub,” she added hastily. Immediately the words slipped out, she regretted them.

She felt Nanny's eyes hone in on her like a pair of lasers. But to her surprise the old lady stopped slamming around and observed her quietly. “Seems like a decent enough body.”

Seraphim giggled. With her good humour restored, she decided she was hungry and hopped up to ladle kedgeree onto a plate. As she did so the door swung open and Chad appeared.

“Help yourself, there's toast, bacon, eggs, kedgeree, and kidneys,” she said, lifting her plate in greeting.

He smiled and she caught a flash of teeth behind the beard. “What's kedgeree?”

Holding out her plate for his inspection, she explained. “It's a mixture of kippers, rice and egg, mainly. It's good.”

“I'll have to have some then.”

He served himself up a generous portion and sat down opposite her. Nanny busied herself serving out juice and coffee despite Seraphim's insistence that it really wasn't necessary. It was a quiet meal. Seraphim entertained herself trying to imagine what the young man would look like without the beard and conjured up wicked visions of acres of disfiguring acne scars and no chin.

He ate methodically. She noticed his hands were deep brown, the nails short and clean. When he reached out to accept a refill of coffee, she saw the skin was patterned with scars. His fingers accidently grazed hers when she passed him the sugar. They were callused and hard. She wondered how they'd feel against her skin. A little bitterly, she figured she could always ask Shelley.

He made no effort to engage her in polite conversation, a fact that she found surprisingly restful. In fact, he seemed to be a man of refreshingly few words. She got fed up with the continual rounds of dinner dances, fundraisers and business dinners that seemed to be her lot in life. Thank goodness she could escape into the arena for a few hours a day and get some peace.

“Your riding set up is pretty fancy.”

He had a deep, lazy voice. Its unfamiliar accent intrigued her, making her think of long, hot days beneath clear blue skies. She realised that some response was necessary. “Thank you, I'm very lucky.”

“You reckon?”

She sat up a little straighter. Was he being rude? But the dark amber eyes regarded her seriously, with no hint of irony.

“Well of course there are few other dressage riders who can ride all year round like I can. What more could a girl ask for?”

He turned his glass slowly in his hands as he pondered her words. “Well, I guess it suits your purpose, but …” He stopped with a small shake of his head.

Seraphim was irritated as she guessed what was being left unsaid. After all, it was widely acknowledged that hers was the best private equine facility the whole length and breadth of England. She should just let it go, but her mouth wasn't listening. “But what?”

He smiled slightly and fiddled with his serviette and she sensed his discomfort. Served him right.

“It's a bit… tame.”

That did it. Now she was really cross. Why did every other equine discipline write off dressage as a wimp's sport? Sure it didn't hold the same risks as steeple chasing or eventing, but it held its own challenges. It really did.

Suddenly she wondered who she was trying to convince. Although unfair, his observations were closer to the truth than was comfortable. That's what really irked.

“So what's your ideal 'set up'?” she asked, her voice tight with irritation.

He placed the glass down and stared into space. “Well now, I guess I'd have to say unlimited horizons. And a bloody good horse.”

The unexpectedly poetic words surprised her, but she hardened her heart, feeling a childish desire to bring him to heel. Good horse indeed. She'd find him a good horse all right!

“Have you finished?”

He nodded.

“Better get going then.”

Chad followed her quietly down the back of the house to the laundry where the outdoor apparel was stored. He accepted her offer of an oiled coat.

“Use these back home a lot in the wet,” he said.

In her mind's eye Seraphim pictured the rows of stables and the many and varied horses that resided in them. She only listened with half an ear as her mind darted around. “Where's home?” she asked automatically.

“Central Queensland.”

A sudden jolt made her feel as if she'd been unexpectedly hotwired. Queensland. Oh my God. Julian was in Queensland. She pulled on her boots with tremulous hands. Julian. All alone Julian.

Her heart fluttered in her chest and she felt a momentary pang of anxiety. Pausing, she held her breath, but soon realised it was just a normal reaction to the sudden flood of emotion that surged through her. It was the thrill of excitement, a flash of fear, but most urgent of all, a sudden vision of escape. Although she refused to identify exactly what it was she desired to escape from. One thing at a time. She brought her chaotic thoughts back on track.

Yes, of course. This was surely a golden opportunity. Could it really be coincidence that on the very same week that she discovered Julian was single, this young man dropped into her lap; who just happens to be from Queensland? Surely not.

She picked up her helmet and headed out the door, oblivious to the sharp stab of the wind. Then she stopped. Where were her manners? “I'm sorry, would you like a helmet?” she asked, pointing to a stack on a wide window ledge.

“No thanks, never worn one before.”

And then it struck her just how wide the gap was between them. He'd never worn a safety helmet. Strangely, this awed her. She thought back over the years. There was not one single instance that she could recall not wearing protective gear. She laughed suddenly. “My parents would have a fit if I didn't wear one. I was born with a heart deformity and had lots of surgery as a young child. I guess they are a little over protective at times.”

“I see,” he said.

She waited for the polite inquisition that inevitably followed on from these personal revelations. But there was none and she felt a little deflated at her presumption. After all, why would he care anyway?

Without another word they travelled across the back garden, through the gate in the wall and down past the arena to the yard. She was oddly grateful for his reticence. It's not like she'd ever felt delicate. Not really. She turned to observe his reaction to his new surrounds.

Even in the half-light of dawn the yard buzzed. Lights spilled out of stable doors. Hooves clattered on the cobblestones, and the half dozen staff members rushed around, breath white in the cold air. She felt the usual waves of pleasure tinged with regret wash over her as she took in the familiar scene.

He looked around, his intense eyes slightly narrowed. His gaze travelled swiftly over the stables and she saw him run his sights over a huge dark bay who snaked out his big head at anyone foolish enough to pass him close by. Even over the medley of noise around them, the snap of the animal's teeth was quite distinct.

Chad Cherub looked at her and grinned. “Who's that?”

“That is a very promising, very nasty, two-year-old Dad bought cheap from the doggers. Goes by the name of Dresden.”

“Can I ride him?”

She opened her mouth to clue him up, but a small devil reminded her of his less-than-complimentary attitude toward her sport. Besides, her father had told her he could ride anything he wanted to. “Sure,” she said. Glancing around, she spotted one of the more gormless faces of the stable lads. “Gordon, please help Mr Cherub to saddle up Dresden.”

From beneath his untidy haystack of hair, Gordon's chubby face screwed up in surprise. “Dresden?”

“Yes, yes Gordon,” she said impatiently, “Dresden.”

Gordon stared at her, his pale blue eyes blinking. “But miss…”

Seraphim hastily cut him off. “Quickly please, Gordon.”

The young boy nodded and beckoned to Chad. “Come on.”

Her father's headman, Jeff Adams, paused beside her. “Are you taking out Pollyanna this morning Miffy?”

She smiled at the older man. “I guess so.”

He nodded. “I'll get her ready for you.”

She felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her cheeks. For some inexplicable reason it occurred to her that Chad Cherub would never let anyone else saddle up his horse. “Don't be silly Jeff, you're busy. I can do it myself.”

Jeff's black eyebrows drew together. “Your Dad won't be happy if he finds out.”

For goodness sake. Usually she'd back down, unwilling to create any bad feeling, or to put her father's excellent employee into a compromising position, but then she caught sight of Chad loaded up with saddle and bridle and she set her jaw at a stubborn angle. Why did everyone treat her as if she were made of bone china? It was just silly. It was her that should have been christened Dresden.