Chapter 16
The rest of the musicale was uneventful.
Owen continued to lavish her with attention, which only egged Hartford into a silent competition to see who could flirt with her more, but after the meeting with her uncle, some of Owen’s flippancy had vanished.
He no longer seemed as irritated about his role in their charade.
It was as if he finally understood what was at stake for her and was taking their objective seriously.
Ivy glanced at the clock on the library mantel where she was reading with Diane.
It had been two days since the musicale.
Hartford had formally called upon her the morning after and stayed with her for over an hour, chattering about poetic meter while her mind had drifted to what Owen was doing at the moment.
Probably on a horse. Most certainly scowling.
Ivy had then spent hours regaling the girls, who were now all in on the ruse, with every detail of the party.
Jolting at the late time, she made her excuses to Diane and hurried to her chamber. She wriggled into a pair of breeches before letting the fabric of her dress fall over them again, then crushed her riding hat to her head, snatched a pair of gloves from beside her bed, and snuck out to the stables.
The sun was descending behind the horizon, and the air was laced with wood and coal smoke. Wind rippled across the dry grass and plastered her skirt to her legs. She clutched her hat to her head and entered the barn, where the stud groom she had befriended, Bernard, stood with her saddled mare.
“Bernard, you waited for me!”
“You are later than usual, Miss Bennett.”
“I lost track of time.”
Bernard handed her the reins to Tansy the Temperamental.
The mare had been the least-loved beast in the stables when Ivy had arrived, thanks to a penchant for snacking on sleeves and nipping at hats, so of course Ivy had taken an instant liking to her.
After a weeks-long campaign that involved feeding the mare sugar cubes every day and cooing her praise, Ivy was now the only person the mare tolerated.
Ivy adored Bernard equally. His hair was as gray as Tansy’s mane, and his knuckles were thick with arthritis, but it was clear he treasured the horses, living and breathing to take care of them each day.
What was more: He had never once asked Ivy where she went every Tuesday evening or looked askance at her for riding astride.
Ivy stroked Tansy’s neck, and the mare nickered and butted Ivy’s shoulder. She slipped a sugar cube from her pocket and discreetly fed it to her. “I will take care of her as usual when I return. There is no need for you to get out of your warm bed at such a late hour.”
When Ivy would have pulled herself into the saddle, the groom stopped her.
He chewed on his lip for a moment and, apparently deciding it was worth the risk, dropped his hand and said, “Mayhap the young miss might consider that should the master discover she is traveling alone in the dark, he would be verra displeased.”
Bernard turned his head out of respect when Ivy threw her leg over the saddle.
Once she had readjusted her skirt, she grasped the reins.
Owen had caught her leaving her class once before when he was visiting an acquaintance, but as far as she knew, his being in town was a rare occurrence.
“I do not think I have to worry, Bernard, although I appreciate your concern. I am sure his lordship is in his study by now, drinking himself surlier over my brother.”
“Miss Bennett,” Bernard whispered, his lips barely moving.
“Or mayhap he is planning his audition for the circus, where he will growl with the best of the beasts.”
“Miss Bennett…”
Ivy snapped her fingers. “I have it! The viscount is surely writing to an American orphanage, offering to scare the children on all hallows eve with his legendary frow—”
“MISS BENNETT!” Bernard roared, his eyes as wide as saucers.
“Heavens, Bernard. No need to shout.”
Bernard swallowed heavily, and that was when Ivy noticed his eyes were not focused on her at all, but rather on something over her shoulder.
Oh, no.
“Wrong on all accounts, Miss Bennett,” a cool voice said. Ivy’s stomach dropped straight to her toes, and she closed her eyes. “The viscount is, in fact, spending his evening hours in his stables.”
It took Ivy a moment before she worked up the nerve to turn her head, and when she did, she blushed at the inscrutable green gaze of the viscount.
“Yes, of course you are, my lord.”
Owen was leaning against a rough-hewn post, his arms crossed.
His shirt sleeves were rolled halfway up his forearms, revealing the powerful muscles of a man used to taming wild animals.
His chestnut hair was tousled, and once again he had not allowed his valet to shave him, leaving his square jaw shaded with growth.
Ivy could not help observing how well his trousers fit him, or how his boots were scuffed and there was dirt on the side of his thigh.
She should have known he would escape the confines of the house the moment he had the opportunity.
He was not a lord who enjoyed sitting about smoking and clutching crystal glasses.
“What brings you to the stables at eight o’clock in the evening?” His gaze fell to her legs, and Ivy was acutely aware of the fact that once again she had been caught riding astride.
“I am exercising Tansy. I have missed her company the past few days.”
His gaze bore into hers. “You intend to exercise a horse after dark, when she might misstep and throw you?”
“That will not happen.” She fondly petted Tansy’s neck. “The lady is quite surefooted.”
“I agree that it will not happen.”
Ivy’s smile faltered. “If you are about to tell me where I may and may not travel, then we had better call off this faux—”
“Bernard, would you leave us?” Owen cut in sharply.
Bernard tugged on his cap and disappeared with a look of relief on his face.
Owen dropped his arms and strode forward, sliding his hand down Tansy’s neck.
Instead of nipping at him, the traitor nickered in delight and lowered her head for more.
He continued onward, dragging his palm over the horse’s withers and stopping at the saddle, just inches from Ivy’s knee.
His voice was gravelly when he said, “You were saying?”
Ivy swallowed hard. What had she been saying?
Oh, yes, she had been close to revealing their farce in front of Bernard.
It was clear the viscount knew she was lying about exercising Tansy, and so rather than doubling down, she decided to tell him part of the truth in hope that her candor would soften his attitude.
“I am visiting my modiste friend in town. I have a standing appointment to see her on this day.”
“Although I am occupied tonight writing to the circus about joining the lion exhibit”—Ivy suppressed a grimace—“the letter can wait while I escort you.”
Her lips parted in surprise. He was not going to fight her about riding into town at night? She thought for sure he had been about to forbid her from going, and she had been prepared to let him know she would not tolerate such restriction.
“You are not going to tell me I cannot go?”
His hand slipped forward until only centimeters separated his fingers from her knee. “Why would I tell you what you can and cannot do?”
“Because you are domineering.”
“Perhaps in some areas of my life.”
“I do not need an escort. I am capable of taking care of myself.”
“Nevertheless, I shall escort you tonight, and every week from herein out.”
“I—”
“Ivy, if you think I would let the woman I am courting ride alone on a dangerous road, then you do not know me at all.”
“But the courtship is not real,” she argued, lowering her voice. “You do not have to pretend to care about me.”
His expression was blank when he removed his hand and turned his back on her. “I am saddling Saxony. I will meet you outside.”
True to his word, he joined her outside the stable a few minutes later, and they took off toward the road.
The stars and moon were bright, which made for surer footing for the horses.
Ivy tugged her navy cloak tight and slid a glance in Owen’s direction.
He was frowning, as usual, and appeared deep in thought as the moon slicked over his hat and the gleaming flanks of his horse.
The minutes passed in silence save for the sound of the horse’s hooves and snorts, when Owen finally spoke. “Are you ready to tell me who you are really meeting tonight?”
Ivy stiffened, and wariness flashed in her eyes.
Now he was certain there was more to this “visit” with her modiste friend.
Why else would she sneak out of the house every Tuesday night?
Why not take the carriage out in the open?
Could she be meeting a gentleman? Had his original assumption the first time he had met her on the road been accurate after all?
Something hot and potent stirred in his belly.
He was intensely driven, whether it involved breeding the best horses or pleasing the woman in his life.
He did not juggle tasks well and he never had, which meant he was unshakably faithful in his chosen pursuits.
His bullheaded attention—and possession—had become a legendary part of his reputation, which meant if he and Ivy were going to successfully trick the ton into believing this was a real courtship, she had to know she could not keep an outside lover.
He told himself it was only because if it were discovered, it would expose their ruse and ruin her reputation, and not because that “something” in the pit of his stomach was jealousy.
“I am going to the modiste shop,” she answered carefully.