In the Brief Eternal Silence (3 page)

St. James turned with a raised brow. “But,
sir, this could not possibly be your daughter, for she has gone
visiting, you know.”

“Be that as it may,” the Squire continued
with a darkening expression, “I know who ye are and I'll not stand
for any of your shenanigans with any of mine.”

“Indeed?” St. James said. “My reputation
precedes me, I surmise.”

“Father?” Lizzie faltered.

“Never you mind, Lizzie, love. Are you able
to get up?”

“Yes, of course. I only need a moment, as I
was saying. . . It's just all this blasted mud.”

“Miss Murdock,” St. James said, “as I now
gather is your name, if you deem your father a reasonable
substitute, I shall go and see about your horse.”

“Yes. Indeed. Thank you,” she answered.

He arose and her father stooped to take his
place and Lizzie watched as St. James strode to where Ryan and
Bertie had managed to calm her horse. He moved lithely and his
voice was compelling and yet he was slender and did not seem
powerfully built.

“Who is he, father?” she asked.

But he did not answer her question, only
said, “I'd not have him here at all if it were not business.” He
gave her a glance. “Stay away from him, Lizzie.”

She gave a short laugh. “I'm sure you have no
worry upon that head. It is only the mud covering me that made me
palatable in the least for if he saw me as I really am, he would
have saved his concern for the horse.”

“Aye. Well I daresay his tastes be a little
more exotic. All the same, Liz. . . But here,” he added before she
could interrupt, “try to get to your feet now, if you feel able.”
And he held out his arm to her.

Lizzie took it and between the two of them,
they got her standing. “Let's get you to the house, lass, before
you freeze.”

“Leaf, first,” she said.

He sighed, but moved them in the direction of
the horse. Ryan was still at her head and Bertie seemed to be
heatedly protesting St. James' suggestion that he help with
removing the boards. “Nonsense,” Lizzie heard him saying. “I'm sure
there are grooms who will be out momentarily to help. I can't see
mucking about in all this mud.”

“Save your vanity, Bertie,” St. James
responded. “There is no one here to see you, save young Miss
Murdock, and I am sure she will be happy to overlook any marring of
your attire considering she is dressed as a man and disgustingly
filthy.”

“Thank you,” Miss Murdock interjected.

He turned, startled, at her voice. “Miss
Murdock, I apologize,” he said. “It's just that Bertie is being
difficult.”

“What?” she asked, and then waved an
irritated hand. “No. I meant thank you for helping.”

His gold gaze arrested upon her for a
thoughtful moment. “I see.”

Then he turned back to consider Bertie. That
man stood with his hands upon his hips, studying the scene of
broken boards and downed horse with a grim shake of his head.
“Bertie,” St. James said, “allow me to relieve you of the cause of
your reluctance.”

“Now, St. James. No. No, please, don't do
that.”

But St. James stooped down and fisted a great
handful of the mud that surrounded them and, straightening again,
gave it a calculated fling onto the front of Bertie's yellow coat.
It splattered neatly in the center of Bertie’s chest, hung for a
mere second and then slid slowly down to drop in front of him.
Bertie took a dignified step back to save the tops of his
boots.

“Damn you, St. James,” Bertie said, looking
down at his sopping coat. “I utterly loathe you when you are this
way. It was I that brought you here, you might remember.”

“And, indeed, I am grateful.”

“Oh, bloody hell take you. I'm sending you
the bill for a new one.”

“And I shall pay for it. Now grab a bloody
board if you please.” St. James stooped to his own work and Bertie,
his concern for his attire now useless, moved to the other side of
the horse and began pulling the broken boards from around it.

Miss Murdock, with the aid of her father,
moved to where Ryan Tempton knelt at her horse's head. She managed
to crouch down beside him, her limbs protesting and her body
shivering. “There now, Leaf,” she told the filly, “all will be
well. I've a warm blanket waiting for you and we will get you out
of this silliness soon enough.” The horse made a small snuffle of
resignation. Its neck muscles relaxed from the straining they had
been exerting. Her ears pricked forward as Lizzie continued to
croon soothing nonsense to it.

“Squire,” St. James said as he worked at
clearing the boards, “you'd best get your daughter to the house
before she dies of the pneumonia.”

“She'll be fine, milord,” the Squire
returned. “I've seen her take worse spills, and she's been colder.
T'is not your concern.”

But St. James turned with sudden ferocity at
the Squire's answer. He grabbed the older man by the collar of his
wool coat. “Let me make this very clear,” he said. “I am not
impressed with your daughter's inability to ride and the fact that
between the two of you, you may have ruined a promising horse. Be
that as it may, I am even less impressed with your lack of
consideration for your daughter's safety or health. You show an
exaggerated concern in regards to me possibly sullying her in some
manner, but you have no care at all if her neck should be broken or
if she should die from the freezing cold—”

“You can take your damned hands from me and
keep your mind on the horse, miduke—” The Squire made an effort to
remove St. James' hands from his collar. St. James, although he was
in fact several inches shorter than the other man and a good deal
lighter, held him fast and shook him.

“I should throttle you,” St. James said, his
voice savage. “When a perfect stranger such as I seems to have more
care for both your daughter's and your horse's necks than you do,
you need throttling.”

“Here, here, St. James. You really can't be
murdering the chap, you know,” Bertie Tempton tried to soothe.

“And give me one reason why I should not, for
I am looking at two reasons why I should.”

Lizzie broke in, making an effort to remain
calm. “Would you please kill him some where else if you must, for
you are upsetting Leaf. Mister Tempton?” she said to the tall one
with red hair. “Can you, at least, endeavor to help me in getting
this poor horse out of this mess instead of throwing a tantrum and
making everything worse? Thank you. I could see that at least you
had a modicum of sense to you, however much everyone else seems to
be lacking it.”

St. James dropped his hands from her father's
coat. He and the Squire squared off for a tense moment, and then
St. James said, “Squire, be so kind as to start pulling boards from
that side away from the animal. I'll take this side. Ryan, stay
with Miss Murdock, for I can not believe she is in any condition to
control that horse if it should panic again.”

The Squire turned and walked stiff-legged to
the boards indicated. Miss Murdock turned her attention back to
Leaf and Ryan returned to his original position with her. Bertie
muttered, “This all could have been avoided if only the damned
grooms had come out to help as they should have.”

“There are no grooms,” Lizzie jerked out.
“Just old Kennedy and he's in no condition to be doing any of
this.” And she wondered why she felt like crying again.

Then St. James was there, holding a
handkerchief down to her. “Use it, Miss Murdock. If you insist upon
remaining out here, you should at least clear the mud from your
face. It's packed about your nose, you know, and I can not see how
you are even able to breathe.”

Lizzie took it less than graciously.

Chapter Two

Lizzie wiped her face with the handkerchief
and returned her attention to keeping her downed mount calm. We
need a good showing in this, her father had said. Well, they had
not had a good showing. She wasn't even certain if Leaf were all
right. There were no obvious fractures, but they wouldn't know
until they attempted to get her to her feet.

She turned to the raw-boned young man at her
side. “It is Mister Tempton, isn't it?”

“I beg pardon,” the youth replied. He stuck
an awkward hand out to her from his crouched position by her side.
“Yes. I am Mister Ryan Tempton. That is Lord Bertram Tempton, my
brother, and the other is Milord Duke of St. James.”

“Mr. Tempton,” Lizzie acknowledged. “I won't
muddy your hand. I am Elizabeth Murdock and, as I am sure you have
gathered, that is my father, Squire Edward Murdock.” She peered
with frank curiosity around to the man designated as the Duke of
St. James. “So that is the infamous Duke,” she commented to her
companion. “He is hardly as threatening looking as I would have
expected from all that I have heard of him. More like a spoiled
bully.”

“I rather like him myself,” Ryan confessed.
“And normally he does not throw such a fit, but he had been
drinking rather indulgently last night, so I fear he is a bit short
of patience today. But his reputation, I fear, is rather daunting.
If I had not come to know him through my brother, I would probably
have steered clear of him as so many of the peerage do.”

Miss Murdock turned her attention back to the
red-haired young man at her side. “It is true then that he owns
Behemoth?”

“Yes. That is why he was naturally interested
in seeing your filly. He wishes to turn Behemoth to stud soon and
he is looking for quality mares to purchase.”

“I see,” Lizzie said, but she frowned.
“Although we had hoped to keep Leaf and allow him only the foal. If
the duke is interested in her, which I can barely credit after the
performance we gave.”

“Leaf?” Ryan Tempton inquired.

“Gold-Leaf-Lying-in-the-Sun,” Miss Murdock
elaborated. “A tad long-winded, but it was the only name that could
adequately describe her beautiful coloring. Strangely, it suits her
disposition also. She's always ready to be blown by whatever
prevailing wind comes along, and lacks any real stability. In
short,” Miss Murdock laughed, “I fear she is a complete
featherbrain.”

“She also travels like the wind,” Ryan
offered.

Lizzie smiled and patted the filly's wet
neck. “Yes, she does. And usually without running amuck into a
fence. But she is not used to a muddy track and she was startled by
her own reflection in a mud puddle. Not that that is any excuse,”
she clarified self-consciously, “for a rider should always be
prepared, and I am afraid she caught me quite flat-footed. I should
have realized she would react so foolishly.”

Ryan paused and then asked, “May I ask what
you were doing up on her on the track? It just seems a little. . .
unusual.”

Lizzie ducked her head, but before she could
make known her reasons, St. James' voice broke in. “Yes. I was
wondering the same. I take it you have no suitable groom, but there
must surely be someone more qualified for this type of work
available to your father. Someone, perhaps, more used to wearing
breeches,” he ended on a dry note.

Lizzie's cheeks were burning beneath the
smears of mud that remained. “I understand, milord, that you are
quite used to, I am certain, a deal of scraping and bowing, but
please do not think that every one you meet is eagerly awaiting you
to order their lives for them. Leaf is my horse. I have trained
her. I ride her. I am sorry if this does not suit your overzealous
sensibilities. Indeed, I am a little surprised, I admit, to find
the infamous Duke of St. James lecturing anyone on proper
décorum.”

“Are you quite finished, Miss Murdock?”

“Indeed, I am most decidedly finished.”

“Then allow me only to say that perhaps as I
have more knowledge than most of what costs there are to pay for a
damaged reputation, I am better suited than most to lecture, Miss
Murdock.”

Lizzie met his eyes for another moment, her
own brown ones rather large in her muddy face, then she turned back
to tending her mount, unable to find any words that would help her
to come back from that oh-so-casual set down. Her knee was aching,
the cold had her teeth nearly chattering, and she had managed to
not only have a Bad Showing with her horse but had managed to
outright offend the man they had hoped to impress.

Ryan gave her a slight, sympathetic smile.
Then the duke was crouched there between them. His coat spread,
revealing his riding pants and polished black boots, now splattered
with mud. Miss Murdock kept her attention carefully away from the
muscles that showed beneath the tight material of his clothing. It
was unlike her to be self-conscious, but she became very aware that
she was wet and muddy and not in a proper dress. Her hair had come
partially undone from the tight bun it had been in and the tendrils
that hung down were as muddy as the rest of her.

“Shall we try to get her on her feet now,
Miss Murdock?” St. James asked, and she was relieved to have his
question interrupt her thoughts. She gave herself a sharp reminder
that even if she had been dressed appropriately and cleaned of all
mud, that she would not have warranted a second look from this man,
or any man. Never had and probably never would. If she wasn't
exactly resigned to being a spinster, she was certainly not going
to be entertaining foolish thoughts about an uncommonly handsome
man, that despite his reputation, she would wager, had enough
females throwing themselves at him, without adding her plain, muddy
self to the list. So when she replied, her voice was a little
short, and her words were a little testy. “Certainly, milord. If
you and Mister Tempton would kindly leave me room, I shall have her
up in short order.”

He raised his brows at her tone, but she was
only grateful that he and Ryan Tempton did as she asked. Miss
Murdock pulled on the bridle and coaxed the animal until the filly
stood trembling, legs splayed apart. Then she took a minute to pat
her, speak softly to her, and congratulate her on her success.