The Trouble with Anna

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

I T WAS A THOROUGHLY BEWILDERED Anna who found herself, several days later, ensconced in the finest guest room at Mayne, its pale blues a startling contrast to the ugly crimson damask of her room at Chatham. It had taken much less time to pack up her things than it had to overcome her many howling objections, but the Dowager, Julian, and even Charlotte were all united that she couldn’t stay at Chatham by herself.

Never mind the legions of servants who watched over her.

“Is that all you have?” said Charlotte, frowning over the three trunks, four hatboxes, and one large parcel the footman handed down and placed in a neat line on the drive. “All your gowns, habits, pelisses, cloaks, linens, wraps, jewelry boxes, books, paintbrushes, sketchbooks, and, I don’t know—ceramic figurines? That’s it ?”

“Oh yes,” Anna said dryly. “My vast collection of ceramic figurines.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Well, I couldn’t choose which books to take so I left them all, and it didn’t seem practical to bring saddles when I’ll be over at Chatham every day. I did bring my mother’s portrait.” She and Hutchins had wrapped it themselves, covering it carefully in three layers of linen. “You don’t think my cousin will make a fuss, do you? I suppose it belongs to the estate, but—”

“If Simon Laughton dares say one word, he’ll answer to me!” said Charlotte.

Anna looked at her doubtfully.

“Well, he will. Your cousin is afraid of everything, and my tongue especially. Don’t pay him a bit of attention.”

“I can’t stop thinking of him.”

Charlotte came up and tucked her arm in Anna’s. “I’d much prefer you think of the next races so I can get our picks to the courier in time. Who looks good for Ipswich?”

Anna answered, but she couldn’t get Cousin Simon out of her mind. He occupied almost as many of her thoughts as Lord Ramsay, and that was quite something. She’d seen Ramsay every day without fail, and even when he wasn’t directly in front of her, he loomed on the edge of her consciousness, threatening to propose again, or to kiss her. Anna wasn’t sure which would mix her up more.

No, that was a lie. It was the kissing that had her thoroughly befuddled. She couldn’t look at him without being tossed back into the woods again, his eyes on fire and her belly full of heat. How was she meant to drink her tea in the morning? How could she butter a crumpet as if nothing had happened? One kiss, and it felt like Anna’s insides had turned into syrup.

Her only hope was to turn her attention to Chatham, which was why, at the crack of dawn on her first morning at Mayne, Anna crept down the hallway in her riding habit, trying her hardest not to step on the creaky bits of the floor and wake the household.

Too late. A door swung open far down the hall and Lord Ramsay appeared through it, tying the sash of his dark-green robe unevenly around his waist. His eyes were drunk with sleep, his hair deliciously rumpled. “You’re up early.” He yawned. “Planning to make a run for it?”

“I’m so sorry to disturb you!” Anna tried not to stare, but his nightshirt gaped at the top to reveal a deeply intriguing sliver of skin where his neck met his shoulder. “I need to be up early if I’m to get to Chatham and go out with the string.”

“Good god, out with the string? Have the grooms exercise the horses.”

Anna shook her head. “I always ride out with them.”

He rubbed his face and Anna could hear the rasp of his stubble against his hand. How would it feel against her—

“Wait ten minutes and I’ll ride over with you.”

“There’s no need, my lord!”

He squinted down the hall at her. “Can you really manage to argue this early? I can’t. I’d count it as a favor if I could accompany you.”

Anna knew when she was cornered. She gave a small nod and fought the urge to collapse against the nearest wall.

“Soussi, his lordship will ride Hannibal.”

“No,” the stablemaster said flatly. “Not Hannibal.”

Anna laughed. “Don’t be fooled by his lordship’s polished boots. I’ve seen him ride—he’ll do.”

Ramsay’s eyebrows rose. “I’ll do?”

“Either you’ll do or you’ll break your neck. This is a racing stable, my lord. We require more than simply charging around on black stallions, as you noblemen seem to prefer.”

His eyebrows rose higher. “Are you challenging me to a race, Lady Anna?”

“No.” She flashed him a smile. He was in her domain now, the one place she was entirely comfortable. “I’m challenging you to keep up.” She turned to the stablemaster. “Soussi?”

Soussi muttered under his breath, but he shouted the order, “Hannibal for the Earl!”

A few moments later there came a great clattering and a stamping of hooves, and the grooms jumped back and flattened themselves against the stable walls.

“Walk him to the ring!” Anna called and stepped sharply out into the yard.

The horse that appeared was massive and muscled, but he was also young. When he yanked his head up, he nearly dragged the groom off the ground. A stableboy opened the gate to the ring and Hannibal shot inside, hooves flashing out wickedly.

“We start the young ones in the ring and when they’ve settled, we go for gallops,” Anna explained. “Mount up?”

Hannibal chose that moment to try to rear, but the groom held on grimly and the big horse bucked with frustration.

Ramsay let out a low laugh. “There are easier ways to get rid of me.”

Anna reached for his sleeve. “I wouldn’t put you on him if I thought he was too much. I wouldn’t do that, to you or to Hannibal. Would you prefer a different horse?”

He shot her a grin. “Don’t you dare deprive me.”

Ramsay entered the ring, and Anna climbed up on the first rail to watch.

Soussi came to stand beside her, shaking his head. “I don’t like it.”

She kept her eyes on Ramsay. “He’ll manage.”

At least, she hoped he would. Anna had no doubt that Ramsay could ride—she’d seen him herself, and her grandfather had once said in passing, “That Ramsay is no ham-handed cawker!” which was perhaps his highest compliment.

Oh lord . Was that why her grandfather had written his ridiculous will?

She put the appalling thought aside and concentrated on the spectacle in front of her. The groom held Hannibal by the throatlatch and Ramsay took hold of the reins and swung up into the saddle, settling his weight into the stirrups as the young horse skittered beneath him. The groom jumped back and Hannibal reared high on his back legs, snorting his displeasure.

Anna’s hands tightened on the railing.

Be gentle , she begged, but she wasn’t sure if her plea was for the man or for the horse.

Hannibal kicked out and darted for the rail, but Ramsay kept his feet under him. He gathered the horse up and turned him, urging him into a run. They circled the ring twice, at a blistering pace, and then Ramsay shifted his weight to sit heavy in the saddle and Hannibal began to slow. Another lap and they were cantering, in rhythm together.

Soussi grunted. “Soft hands.”

“Soft hands,” Anna agreed, and for some reason her eyes pricked. “I told you he’d do.”

She watched horse and rider go around again, the early morning sun lighting them up so Hannibal’s coat shone and Ramsay seemed to glow. Or maybe that was just his expression, so intent on the horse that everything else fell away.

Oh, damn it. She could so easily fall, too.

Ramsay looked over. “Are we going to ride today or do you plan to stand there and gawk at me?”

Anna stepped down from the rail and swung up onto her own horse. “Let’s ride, my lord.”

“My god, do you run that hard every morning?” Julian jumped down off Hannibal, whose coat was stained russet with sweat. He gave the horse’s shoulder a pat and turned him over to the waiting groom.

“You did well with him. Soussi wasn’t sure you would.”

The wind had teased color into her cheeks and reached its fingers into her tight, joyless bun to tousle her up, leaving her looking alive, electric. They’d run in a pack, the horses leading with their noses, their tails streaming out behind them. And in front of them all rode Anna, like a streak of dark lightning.

He laughed. “I’m glad Soussi approves of me. Now, do you intend to give me breakfast or are the horses the only ones who get fed?”

“Yes, of course, in just a moment. But after breakfast, I’ll need to stay at Chatham for a while. I’m afraid I have quite a few hours of work waiting for me at the main house.”

Julian’s forehead furrowed. “Hours of work?”

Her odd eyebrows flattened. “Why are you staring at me like that, my lord? You take your responsibilities seriously—should I neglect mine?”

“Of course not,” he said, as if it wasn’t exactly what he’d been thinking. “But as your guardian, I ought to have a sense of what your responsibilities are.”

Anna studied him. “All right. Give me a few minutes more and breakfast is yours.”

Julian leaned against the cold stone wall as she dashed off, as light and lithe on her feet as she’d been in the saddle.

“William!” she called to a young groom with a bleary face and a thatch of blond hair that grew up from his head like a sheaf of wheat. “A word?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“In private.”

Anna led William into a stall and lowered her voice, but Julian crossed the stable and eavesdropped shamelessly. “Sloppy riding this morning. Was it a hard night?”

William’s tone darkened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

That was it for Julian. He pushed off the wall and started forward, but Anna’s voice stopped him.

“Poor Prado. The way you rode him today made you both look drunk.”

“On my aunt, I never touched a drop!”

“It’s a shame—just as I was planning to try you on a two-year-old. It’s about time, don’t you think?”

“Tacitus?” the young man ventured.

“Caesar, even. Think you could teach him some manners before the Ipswich Cup?”

William’s hair waved back and forth above the wood of the stall with violent enthusiasm. “I could indeed, my lady.”

Julian was conscious of a strange warmth in his chest as Anna emerged from the stall. If her eyes were sharp, it was because they missed nothing, not a loose cinch, not an off gait, not a feed bag that was lighter than it should be. If she sometimes went silent in the drawing room, it was because she used up her voice here calling out rapid-fire instructions. The great, bustling estate of Chatham revolved around this one prickly young woman.

Who, Julian noted with a grin, once again had a thick stripe of mud on her hem.

William led his horse into the yard, wincing at the morning sunlight, and a voice from the courtyard called out, “Listen to you, young William, licking her boots good and clean. She’ll be out on her arse in six months’ time!”

Anna whirled, her skirts wrapping tight around her and her face so pale that rage roared up in Julian’s chest.

“Who said that?” he yelled. The grooms whipped their heads to their tasks as he stalked down the length of the stables.

“Lord Ramsay, wait!” called Anna.

But Julian was already out in the yard.

“Your name,” he said softly to the man standing there. “What is it?”

“Hoyle, my l-lord.” The man darted a look over Julian’s shoulder toward Anna.

“Look at me, Hoyle, not her. Shall I dismiss you?”

The groom’s face went slack with horror.

“No!” Anna yelled crossly. “You shall not dismiss him.”

Julian wasn’t listening. “Understand this, Hoyle. One wrong word, one unpleasant look at Lady Anna, and you answer to me . Is that clear?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then get out of my sight.”

Only when the groom darted away, the other men clearing a path as if he were a contagion, did Julian turn to face the woman standing behind him.

Seething, in a rage that surpassed his own.