A Regency Match (20 page)

“Have you ever had one of those … er … more serious affairs?”

Sophy laughed. “Several,” she answered promptly.

“
Several
? But you've never even been betrothed!” Bertie, much shocked, stared at her in confusion.

Sophy tried to clarify the matter. “Well, you see, the feeling didn't last long enough to lead to a betrothal.”

“Then I still don't understand. Why wouldn't you call that flirting?”

“Because while it lasted, it
felt
serious.”

“I see,” Bertie said thoughtfully. “What you're saying is that Stanford doesn't feel anything serious toward you, while on the other hand, someone like Dilly does.”

“Dilly?” Sophy asked curiously. “Are you speaking of Lawrence Dillingham? I'd forgotten all about him. Are you suggesting that the idiot fancies himself in
love
with me?”

Bertie shrugged. “So he says. And from what little I know of the matter, it seemed so to me. Of course, the clunch hasn't written a word to me since we left, so he may have gotten over it by this time.”

“I sincerely hope so,” Sophy said fervently, “or we shall not have the least pleasure in his company when we get back.”

Bertie was not interested in matters so far into the future. It was the present that concerned him. “Does one always
know
if one is flirting or involved in something more serious?” he asked, carefully casual.

“No, not always,” Sophy answered, looking at him curiously. “Bertie, are
you
thinking seriously of—?”

“Of falling in love? No, of course not. Besides, she doesn't even
look
at me, especially if Stanford's anywhere in the vicinity.”

Sophy's mouth dropped open. “Fanny? You've taken a fancy to little
Fanny
?”

“Confound it, that's what I don't know!” he burst out. “Until yesterday, I'd have laughed at the mere suggestion. But last night, Mama made me dance with her while Stanford was busy flirting with you, and—”

Sophy's lips twitched. “And—?”

Bertie shook his head in bewilderment and self-disgust. “Dashed if I know. She kept looking over her shoulder at Stanford. I might have been a piece of furniture for all the notice she took of me. Made me so blasted angry, I wanted to wring the chit's little neck!”

Sophy was about to laugh, but something in his tale struck a chord, and the laugh caught in her throat. She stared at her cousin in sudden fascination. “You wanted to wring her neck, and you think it might be …
love
?”

“Sounds idiotic, I know. But it
felt
like love. Something like. And today, I can't seem to get her out of my mind …”

This engrossing subject so absorbed them that they didn't hear hoofbeats until Marcus and Iris were almost upon them. It was with real reluctance that they dropped their conversation and turned to greet the other riders.

The bridle path was not wide enough for four abreast, so Iris rode ahead with Bertie as Marcus drew up alongside Sophy. “How do you like Picaro, Miss Edgerton? He's one of my favorites, you know.”

“Is that his name? Picaro? Is it Spanish?”

“Yes. It means rascal. Has my rascal been behaving himself?”

“Oh, yes, just beautifully,” Sophy assured him, patting the horse affectionately.

“It was wise of you to start off your acquaintance with him with this easy canter. When you get to know each other, after a couple of days, you'll be able to gallop with him quite easily. You'd be quite amazed at the speed he can reach.”

Sophy stiffened and turned a pair of glinting eyes at him. “
Would
I?” she asked coldly. The wretched man had done it to her again. He'd assumed she needed days to know her mount, when she'd had his measure in minutes!
Why, you overstuffed pomposity
, she wanted to say,
I've already raced him
! But she held her tongue. “Why don't we go out in the field,” she suggested brightly, “and try a slightly brisker pace right now?”

Marcus looked a bit dubious, but he suspected that a show of caution would offend her. “Very well, if you like,” he agreed. “Iris? Bertie? Do you want to have a little run across the field?”

The four turned off the path into the field and began to canter. The pace was mildly brisk, far slower than Sophy had earlier raced Picaro, but Marcus made the mistake of cautioning Miss Edgerton “not to overdo it.” She responded by flashing Bertie a speaking look and surreptitiously giving her horse a sharp jab with her spur. The horse broke into a flying gallop. Sophy threw out her arms dramatically and screamed.

Bertie, who knew perfectly well that she was shamming, swore viciously under his breath, but Iris cried out in alarm, “He's
bolting
!” Marcus immediately spurred his horse into action, shouting back over his shoulder at Bertie, “Go and fetch the groom!”

Bertie, with a snort of disgust, turned his horse and started for the stables. But Iris remained immobile as she watched the riders rapidly disappearing from view. Her eyes were distended in alarm. “Oh, my God!” she breathed, gripping her reins with white-knuckled tightness.

Bertie drew up beside her. “Don't worry, Miss Bethune,” he said, a slight edge of sarcasm coloring his tone, “you can take my word that Sophy will be quite all right.”

Iris turned her head slowly in his direction. Her eyes had taken on a blind look, and it was a long moment before she seemed to bring him into focus. “I wasn't thinking about her,” she said.

Sophy's hat had blown off, and she laughed in sheer pleasure as the wind whipped her face and hair. She heard the thunder of a second horse behind hers, and she knew Marcus was following. She leaned forward, putting her arms about the horse's neck, pretending to be hanging on for dear life. Feigning an expression of terror, she cast a look behind her. It was Marcus, all right, pushing his mount to the limit. But she had no intention of letting him catch up with her just yet. Let him suffer, she said to herself viciously.

They thundered across the fields like the wind. They sailed over stone walls and hedges as if they were winged. Sophy had not enjoyed such a wild ride since her devil-may-care childhood. With Marcus close behind to add to the tension, her blood raced with excitement. She would have liked to ride on forever. But looming up before her was a wide creek—too wide to jump. There was no time now to let Marcus catch her. She wouldn't be able to continue with the pretense that the horse had ridden away with her. She would have to rein in her horse and end the game. Stopping now would reveal to Marcus that she'd had control of the animal all along, but she had no other choice. She had to end the game.

Marcus, intent on closing the small gap between them and plucking her to safety, was completely unprepared for Picaro's abrupt halt. As he thundered up alongside the horse, he saw clearly that the girl was reining in. “
Sophy
, you—!” he burst out furiously, taking no notice of the stream just ahead. But his horse noticed. The surprised animal instinctively reared up in rebellion, sending his rider flying through the air. Then the disconcerted beast charged ahead, splashing through the creek and galloping off to parts unknown.

Marcus landed heavily on the bank of the creek. He felt a sharp crack of pain and knew no more. When a series of strange sensations began to creep into his consciousness, he had no idea how long he'd been senseless. His first awareness was of a blinding pain in his head and another in his leg. Something cool and wet had been laid across his forehead. And an urgent, tearful voice was murmuring brokenly, “Please don't be dead! Please,
please
don't be dead!”

“Sophy, shut up,” he muttered grumpily, not attempting the tremendous effort of opening his eyes. “I'm not dead!”

“
Marcus
!” she gasped joyfully, and he felt his shoulders being lifted. It took him a moment to realize that he was being pressed against her in a tremulous embrace. He had evidently been lying with his head on her lap before she'd hugged him. The movement caused his head to throb more violently, and even his leg seemed to respond adversely to the shift of his position, but he made no complaint. Despite the pain, there was something eminently satisfying in being clutched against her breast. Her softness was a luxurious pillow, and he could smell the fragrance of her skin. She was gently rocking him, making small, crooning noises of relief. He sighed and snuggled against her, not aware that his arms had tightened around her at the same time. He refused to think. He wanted only to stay just where he was, snuggly ensconced in her embrace. There would be plenty of time to think later.

“Marcus, you haven't gone off again, have you?” she asked hesitantly after a while.

“No,” he murmured, not moving.

“Do you think you might try to stand? To see if you're all right?”

She was certainly an irritating female. Couldn't she leave well-enough alone? He stirred and tried to sit up, but his head swam alarmingly.

“Oh, Marcus, you
are
hurt!” she said in horror.

He opened his eyes and frowned in pain. “What did you expect, you little wretch?” he muttered, feeling the back of his head to determine the source of his pain.

“Oh, dear,” Sophy moaned, “you've a dreadful lump—”

“I'm quite aware of that, ma'am.” A wave of resentment washed over him. The girl had not only caused this painful injury; she'd made a complete fool of him, tricking him into believing the horse had bolted with her. They might both have been
killed
! “I suppose I ought to be grateful to you,” he added sullenly, rubbing the throbbing lump on his head, “for the fact that my skull is still intact.”

“I … I'm so
sorry
!” she said in abject misery. “I never
dreamed
that such a thing would happen.”

“Are you trying to pretend that you set off on this mad chase without intending to do me
some
sort of injury?”

“Marcus! You can't believe—! Please don't look at me so. I
never
intended to do you harm!” But here her eyes wavered under the glare of his anger. “Not
this
sort of harm.”

“No? Then
what
sort of harm had you in mind?” The pain in his head and ankle was becoming more intolerable, he was becoming aware of a soreness in his shoulder and arm, and the only source of comfort seemed to come from venting his spleen on the person who had brought him to this fix. “You'd
already
abused me, insulted me, embarrassed me, scalded me, set my house afire, endangered my guests, terrified me nearly out of my wits, and driven me to the brink of madness. What is there
left
, short of outright murder?”

Sophy lowered her head, her eyes overflowing with tears which rolled down her cheeks unheeded. Marcus made a shaky attempt to get to his feet. She rushed to his side to assist him. “Don't touch me!” he growled, having worked himself up to a real fury. “
Just don't touch me
!”

He dragged himself to a nearby tree and pulled himself up by clinging to its trunk. Sophy followed behind him, arms pathetically outstretched to assist him if he fell. But he managed without her help, the effort so exhausting him that he leaned against the tree, panting.

“Do you think you could climb up on P-Picaro?” she asked timidly, indicating the horse who was munching placidly on the grass nearby.

He shook his head. “If you want to help me,” he said to her curtly, “find me a branch or a stick that I can use as a cane.”

“You can't mean to
walk
home! That ankle may be broken! You'll do yourself terrible harm.”

“Oh, will I?” he asked with a twisted, ironic smile. “How convenient that would be for you. You could then say, with impunity, that all this is
my
fault!”

One look at the girl's white, anguished face told him he'd gone too far. “I shan't have to walk home,” he said in quick explanation. “My groom must be on the lookout for us by this time. I only mean to get out in the open where he can find me.”

“B-But your ankle—!”

“Isn't broken. Only a sprain.”

She found a branch, stripped it of leaves and gave it to him. He took it wordlessly and, without a glance in her direction, started to limp homeward. Sophy hurried alongside, pleading with him tremulously to lean on her. He waved her aside. “Get on the horse and ride ahead,” he ordered. “There's no earthly use in your hanging about.”

But Sophy wouldn't leave him. As Marcus limped out of the shelter of the trees and started across the field, Sophy ran to pick up the horse's reins. She led the animal into the clearing and fell into step a few paces behind her crippled victim. They made a bedraggled, pathetic procession: Marcus, hobbling and wincing with each painful step, led the way; Sophy, dishevelled and tear-stained, the embodiment of mortified anguish, followed meekly a few paces behind; and, bringing up the rear, the horse, Picaro, plodded along peacefully, completely indifferent to the human distress in front of him.

Chapter Fifteen

A
T LEAST HER
grandmother had agreed that it would be advisable for them to leave. That decision had been made at the conclusion of a very long, very difficult discussion between them. It had been painful enough, earlier that day, to have to sit, humiliated and miserable, in the corner of the drawing room, shunned by everyone in the household while they'd waited for news of Marcus's condition. But when everyone else was relieved by the doctor's report (he'd suffered only a mild concussion, a sprained ankle and various minor bruises and would be up and about in a day or two), Sophy still had ahead of her the ordeal of facing her grandmother.

Exhausted, red-eyed, and wracked with sobs, she had confessed the entire story to the tight-lipped Lady Alicia. She had spared no detail, from the circumstances leading to the eavesdropping at the theater to the events of the wild race to the creek. When she began, she'd hoped that her grandmother would grant that she had some justification for her behavior—that Marcus's consistent disparagement of her character would be a sort of vindication. But even to her own ears, her motivation sounded flimsy, and as the story unfolded, she became more and more ashamed.