Chapter 13 #2
“If I win,” he said softly. “Then you need to stop complaining about the furniture.”
Lavinia laughed and nodded.
“If I win,” she replied, “you shall restore my writing desk.”
“It is a deal,” he grinned.
They pulled the horses from the stables and saddled them up. Lavinia reached behind her head, tightening the pins in her hair in the vain hope that they would not fly off into the wind again before mounting her horse.
“Ready, set…” she glanced over at Mr. Vale and grinned. He met her gaze and nodded. “Go!”
For one brief moment, the fields surrounding Briarwood Hall were filled with the cacophony of hooves against earth.
Grass flew up behind them in tufts. Mud splattered around them, sending worms and other insects flying.
Birds scattered from trees. They pushed their horses hard, knowing that neither of them could afford the blow to their pride if they were declared the loser.
Wind whipped past them. Lavinia felt the air clawing at the curls in her hair, trying to rip out the pins.
She leaned forward, not allowing the elements the satisfaction of stealing the pins that time.
The gelding snorted, trying to push itself harder for Mr. Vale as they rounded the side of the estate.
Lavinia’s mare remained silent. They raced around the side of the house, Lavinia making sure to avoid the path tracing around Briarwood Hall. S
he heard the trampling of plants behind her and managed to look back quickly enough to see the spray of red petals erupting from under the gelding.
Finally, the ancient oak came into view. Lavinia flicked the reins, trying to force a lead. Mr. Vale did the same. Their horses were neck and neck. Both riders looked at each other. They were practically face to face. For a moment, all Lavinia could do was laugh.
Of course they were evenly matched. Despite her recklessly pushing her horse harder, Mr. Vale pushed the gelding to meet the same strides, but he could not force a lead.
Lavinia tried one last time to urge her horse on.
The mare whinnied and stomped harder into the ground, its strides lengthening.
For a split second, Lavinia thought she had pulled ahead.
As she got next to the oak, her mare almost skidded across the ground, however, she watched Mr. Vale do the same.
A… tie?
They panted hard, faces flushed from the wind and the excitement.
“You,” he said between breaths. “You knew this horse had been ridden today. That is how you knew I would not be able to win.”
“And you,” she gasped, “trampled the roses, aiming to cut the corner and take the lead.”
Mr. Vale paled and looked over his shoulder. A perturbed gardener was running toward a rose bush lining the path around the house. He sheepishly turned back to Lavinia.
“I did not notice I had come so close to the house,” he admitted.
“Perhaps you should be more aware of your surroundings,” she said as she slipped off her mare’s saddle. Mr. Vale dismounted and walked toward her.
“I would argue that your crime is the more egregious one,” he said, stepping into her space.
“Allowing you to use a horse that you have earned the trust of is a crime?” she asked with a grin. “Perhaps you should have used another horse if you knew that one was in no condition to ride.”
“You—” he stepped closer, almost nose to nose with Lavinia.
He opened his mouth again but said nothing.
She watched as his eyes searched hers. Her cheeks warmed as she realized she could count the freckles on his nose from that distance.
The heat of competition melted into something just as warm, but significantly more pleasant.
“You ride like someone with nothing to lose.”
Lavinia looked into his eyes again.
“Perhaps I do not,” she said, her voice almost breathless.
“And I suppose you will blame me for that?” he asked. She chuckled.
“Partially,” she replied.
“I will accept partially,” Mr. Vale said softly. She nodded and finally took a step back.
“I will be taking my horse to rest now,” she said, saddling up again. She looked over her shoulder as she left. “I believe we can call the results of that race a draw, can we not?”
“I suppose we can,” he agreed. “But next time I will be choosing my horse more strategically, and I will win. I will have you stop questioning my choices of furniture.”
A laugh bubbled out of Lavinia and she shook her head.
“And I will have my writing desk restored!” she said, before the horse took her away at a gentle canter.
As she traveled over the grass that was suddenly potted and would need re-turfing, she could not help but notice the way her heart slammed against her ribs.
She put a hand on her chest, as if willing her heart to stop thudding.
You cannot react like this. You cannot want a man who is attempting to take your home. You cannot think of him in any other way than the man who has turned your life into a nightmare.
She tried, briefly, to summon her anger. Lavinia recalled the dinner where he had suggested she remarry, the day she found her desk moved, and when he had attempted to evict a tenant. She tried to hold the image of the careless, stubborn, and inconsiderate man she had known him to be…
But the image would not hold. Instead, all she could think of was the man who had pressed his forehead against the black gelding.
Both versions of him could not possibly be Mr. Vale…
And yet, infuriatingly, they were. As she walked her horse back to the stables, she could feel his gaze on her.
She closed her eyes, trying to take a breath to calm herself.
He is going to become a problem for me…