Chapter Two #2
“Your Grace.” One of her companions had greeted him with cool formality, but it was clear from her sidelong glance at Lady Emmeline that she was just as confused about the situation as he.
He’d inclined his head in greeting to each of them in turn, not bothering to expend the power to even attempt to remember their names—with any luck, it would be only a matter of seconds before he was once more on his way.
“Is there something you require, Lady Emmeline,” he’d asked flatly. Caesar, sensing his hidden annoyance and wariness, sidled from side to side. The gelding had been born ten years ago in the Stanhope stables, so they knew one another as well as brothers.
“I was concerned that you were being dragged about by your mount,” Lady Emmeline began, false concern dripping from her every word. “Wouldn’t want any bodily harm to befall you.” She spoke as if he’d been anything less than comfortable and confident in his seat.
Grey had gritted his teeth in an expression more closely approximating a snarl than a smile.
“As you can see, I am fine.” The statement was confusing since he hadn’t been in the least bit of distress, but he’d decided long ago that it wasn’t worth trying to decipher the inner workings of the Lowin girl.
“Are you, though?” She’d tilted her dark head with its pearl-tipped pins and ebony ringlets. “That horse is awfully large for you; are you certain you can control him?”
Grey had nearly snorted. Yes, Caesar was a sizable horse, but Grey was also a sizable man. To insinuate that they were a mismatched pair was an injustice. “Quite,” he’d gritted out, taking his reins in hand and preparing to leave that absurd encounter behind.
Her burnt chocolate eyes flashed just before she leaned in and added in a loud whisper, “You do know what they say about men and their chosen horses, don’t you?
They are overcompensating for some deficiencies elsewhere.
” The chit then had the temerity to glance toward his crotch and raise a perfectly sculpted, suggestive brow.
At least her companions had the good grace to gasp in shock at her boldness.
Narrowing his eyes at her, Grey had pivoted Caesar and came up alongside Lady Emmeline so he towered over her.
Even her mare could sense the grave misstep that had been made; her velvety ears twitched and flattened.
He’d lowered his voice to a dangerous octave and said, “You speak like a woman who has knowledge of such carnal activities. If I were you, I’d be more careful, lest someone assume you are as free with your favors as you are with your viper’s tongue.
Now that would certainly bring shame to the House of Lowin, would it not? ”
Her affronted gasp was as lovely as music to his ears.
It wasn’t often that he was able to one-up Lady Emmeline. Most of his unfortunate interactions were with her elder brother, the heir to the Goffin Dukedom, and the man’s intelligence was so many steps below that of his sister that it almost took Grey’s enjoyment out of it.
“How dare you…” Lady Emmeline had hissed, only making Grey’s smile broaden.
He would have—should have—kicked Caesar into a canter, but Lady Emmeline had quickly gathered herself.
“If that bit of horseflesh of yours isn’t only for show, then you should have no trouble winning a short race to the willow on the hill.
” She’d lifted her chin in the direction from which she and her companions had come.
“Lady Emmeline,” the blond one with impishly plump cheeks had whispered nervously. Neither Grey nor Lady Emmeline acknowledged her.
“You are mad if you think you and your mare can outpace us—you’re riding sidesaddle for goodness’ sake,” Grey had said with a bark of laughter. “You’d best be returning home lest you break your neck, and more blood is spilled between our families.”
“Coward.”
Grey had whirled so fast that Caesar whickered in surprise.
Lady Emmeline turned to her friends. “I knew my assessment of His Grace’s manhood—or lack thereof—was accurate. Why else would he shy away from a challenge that should be so simple a victory for him?”
The blond young woman blushed furiously at Lady Emmeline’s boldness; her other companion feigned interest in the seams of her riding gloves.
Lady Emmeline had pivoted her mare so they were as near as face-to-face as they could be given their size discrepancy.
“If you disagree, then prove it.” A wicked smile curved her full lips the same instant she urged her mount into explosive motion.
The woman had an unnatural talent to remain seated in such circumstances, but Grey had no time to appreciate it.
Instead, he’d foolishly given in to his masculine pride and kicked Caesar to follow.
It would have been reckless had they been in a busier part of the park, but the late hour and deserted paths worked in their favor.
Grey quickly began to gain on Lady Emmeline; the thunder of hoofbeats erased every other natural sound from the world around them.
As he watched the flexing flanks of her mare and the whipping cascade of her seafoam riding habit, Grey swore he could hear a faint ring of laughter above the din of their race.
He was so distracted that he didn’t notice Lady Emmeline swerve as she rounded the next corner, the view obscured by the hedges lining that stretch of path.
He didn’t see the massive pond of mud and filth until it was too late.
Caesar shied, dipping his head down with an unhappy screech and skidded on his front hooves.
As Grey soared through the air, his thoughts had not been of his own safety or his anger at himself for his stupidity, but the fact that it had been quite the wet spring that year, and he really should have known there would be horrendous puddles in that less-traveled part of the park.
He’d landed with a very unpleasant smack and squelch; mud and filthy water filled every crack and crevice, soaking him in foul-smelling muck.
At best, it was dirt and runoff from the daily storms…
he tried not to think about the worst case.
Angrily swiping his eyes and mouth clean, Grey saw that Caesar was unharmed except for his own healthy coating of mud from his rider’s significant backsplash.
Grey was spluttering and giving himself a mental once-over for injuries when a grinning Lady Emmeline trotted over.
She looked down her fey little nose at him and said with mock concern, “You really should be more careful! These paths can be quite treacherous—especially to a man whose good sense is even weaker than his masculinity.” She gave a flick of her head and headed back to her companions.
With a growl, Grey realized precisely what she had done.
Having just ridden that way, she would have known of the puddle’s existence.
She couldn’t have known of Caesar’s dislike for unfamiliar water hazards, but many horses would have balked when faced with such sudden uncertainty.
She and her bay had known precisely how to maneuver to avoid it, leaving Grey and Caesar to suffer the mess.
Caesar snuffled at his shoulder, only serving to spread the mess and coat the white blaze on his muzzle in the stuff.
Grey did his best to ignore the faint female laughter he caught from up the path as he stood and realized just how hopeless his appearance was.
Of course, he was at the furthest end of Hyde Park from Mayfair, and he had an uncomfortable distance to traverse before he reached home.
Even the thought of the number of eyes he would pass made him slightly nauseous.
“Are you well, boy?” he murmured to Caesar and patted his forelock.
He sighed, and the whiff he caught of them made him wrinkle his nose.
That had most certainly not just been mud.
“Let us get this over with.” With a grimace, Grey swung himself up into the saddle, his seat emitting the most horrifically rude sound as he sat.
And, just like that, he began the miserable journey home.
All the while, he stared straight ahead, ignored inquiries and wide-eyed stares, continually plotting a creative demise for the Lowin girl.
A lice-infested hat delivered to her house by an “admirer”?
Bribing a servant to loosen the seams of her gown so it began to fall apart as the evening went on?
Hiring a man to loosen her family’s carriage wheel just enough—
No.
Grey wouldn’t resort to murder; he refused to stoop to the Lowins’s level.
That ride home had been the longest journey of his life, and now he had to deal with a valet who was amused by the whole bloody thing.
“I assume the news reached the servants’ quarters even before I requested my bath.”
“Before you even set foot in the mews,” Michaels replied. “There. I do believe you are ready for your evening, Your Grace.”
“Lovely,” Grey sighed sarcastically. He was so looking forward to spending the night paired with someone whose identity he did not know, surrounded by all the people who likely relished his earlier embarrassment.
At least Lady Emmeline never attended the Benton masquerade, and he would be free of her noxious presence for the evening.