Janice Preston - Cinderella And The Duke

Leo loosened Saga’s girth as Rosalind led Kamal into his stall and started to unsaddle him.

‘Where is your groom?’

‘We do not have a groom at present, but a lad from Foxbourne Manor comes in twice a day to help.’

Before she knew it, Leo was inside Kamal’s stall, setting her nerves tingling again as he brushed past her to take over the unsaddling.

‘I can manage.’

‘I make no doubt you can, but a lady should not have to do this sort of work,’ Leo said, removing the saddle and starting on Kamal’s bridle. ‘Could your brother not take over during the absence of your groom?’

‘No. Freddie is... He is not strong.’

She moved back to give Leo space, still jittery over her reaction to his touch.

‘Does he not ride?’

‘Not at present. He took a fall shortly before we came here and he has not ridden since.’

Yet another thing she could thank Sir Peter for...him and his cronies...mocking poor Freddie and deliberately spooking his horse until it bolted in sheer terror. Pure rage at that memory burned in Rosalind’s heart. She hated that Sir Peter had won...had driven them from their home... She had failed to protect Freddie, deserted their loyal servants, abandoned Jack’s inheritance. But at least she had protected Nell from marriage to that lecher Bulbridge. Her come-out had been all planned for last year, before Step-Papa became ill. Surely Sir Peter could not object to Nell coming out with her aunt as chaperon?

Rosalind gradually became conscious of stillness and silence, and refocussed on the present to find Leo standing in front of her, Kamal’s bridle and saddle in his arms. He was studying her face and she quickly schooled her expression.

‘The harness room is at the back,’ she said, pointing.

‘So you only have Kamal to care for?’ Leo spoke over his shoulder as he went to the saddle room.

‘Yes.’

Rosalind turned to leave, but Leo lingered, gazing around at the empty stalls.

‘No carriage horses? No vehicle of any kind?’

‘Not at present.’

The Lydney carriage and horses were now at Nell’s disposal in London. She sensed Leo’s attention on her.

‘Come.’ She gestured to the stable door, eager to forestall more questions. ‘Let us go indoors and dry your boot.’

She felt him on her heels as she crossed the yard towards the back door. ‘I hope you will not object to entering the house this way?’

‘Not at all. Before we go in, however...’

Hard fingers gripped her upper arm, pulling her around to face him. Rosalind’s breath grew short as Leo gazed down at her and her cheeks heated. She swallowed and tentatively tugged her arm from his grasp. He released her immediately, but she remained pinned in place by the command of those silver-grey eyes. Up close, she could see the shadow of dark whiskers on his jaw and cheek. It gave him a dangerous, almost piratical, air and yet her fingers twitched with the urge to feel their rasp.

Leo touched the tip of her nose—gently, fleetingly—with his forefinger.

‘What is your name?’

His voice was low. Husky. Rosalind caught the faint scent of cologne—musky, with a trace of orange and cinnamon—beneath the smell of fresh air, horse and leather. Her insides swooped like a swallow in flight and her breathing hitched.

‘Rosalind.’ It emerged as a croak. She frowned, cleared her throat and spoke with more force. ‘Rosalind.’

‘Rosalind...’ The mellifluous way he rolled the syllables of her name created shivery waves over her body. ‘It is a beautiful name.’

His eyes darkened and Rosalind felt another quiver run through her, as though he had gently tugged on an invisible cord attached deep within her core. It was as though she were a musical instrument and a mere look, or the sound of his voice, could tease a tune from her body as surely as a harp would respond to the plucking of a string.

This will not do. This is dangerous.

The thought that she was out of her depth swam through her thoughts. She squared her shoulders, spun on her heel and marched over to the back door. She would dry off his boot and then send him on his way.

Her steps faltered. Was that a chuckle? Arrogant rogue. Exasperation flamed at her involuntary responses to him and her inability to hide them. More than ever she wished she had left him standing by the bridge, wet foot or no wet foot.

‘Penny,’ she called as soon as she set foot over the threshold. ‘Penny, where are you?’

He was right behind her. She could feel him. She cast her still-wet hat on to the kitchen table and then crossed to the fireplace, where a lazily steaming kettle hung to one side. She swung it over the centre of the fire and bent to grab the poker to stir up the coals, conscious the entire time of his eyes upon her. Where was Penny when she had need of her?

‘Take a seat, sir.’ Rosalind indicated the Windsor chair set to one side of the hearth, keeping her attention on the fire. ‘I will help you—’

The door flew open, interrupting her, and she glanced round as Freddie came in, Hector at his heels.

‘Ros, have you seen my—’ Freddie fell silent. His brows lowered. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’

Chapter Five

Roused from his appreciation of Rosalind’s beautifully rounded derrière, Leo twisted to find a scowling young man of slender build standing in the kitchen doorway. There was enough resemblance to Rosalind for him to guess this must be Freddie. The swish of fabric and her jasmine scent told him Rosalind now stood next to him. The dog he had seen the other day in the lane padded around the table. He appeared not to share Freddie’s misgivings, for he swaggered over and thrust his wet nose into Leo’s hand.

‘Freddie! That is no way to speak to a guest.’

‘And I,’ said Leo, scratching behind Hector’s ear and curbing his instinct to slap down the young man’s presumption, ‘cannot imagine what I have done to arouse such...er...vitriol.’

Freddie’s scowl lifted, but only slightly. He moved away from the door, rounding the table awkwardly, supported by a crutch jammed into his right armpit. Was that the result of the tumble from his horse Rosalind had mentioned?

‘My apologies,’ Freddie said as he approached Leo. ‘For a moment, I thought...that is, you have the look of our new neighbour, Mr Lascelles, but I see now you are not him.’

A gasp, quickly stifled, whispered past Leo’s ear and he sensed the woman by his side stiffen. She was right to be wary of his cousin.

Leo smiled at Freddie. ‘Ah...in that case, I shall excuse your caustic welcome. I am Boyton. Cousin to your new neighbour, although I hope you will not hold that against me.’

‘I shall endeavour not to do so.’ A fleeting smile crossed Freddie’s face. ‘We all have family connections we should prefer to forget.’

Almost the exact same words his sister had used. Leo tucked that knowledge away for the future. They shook hands.

‘Allen. Frederick Allen.’ The younger man’s cheeks flushed. ‘Of sound mind, if not body.’

‘Fr-e-e-ddie...’

Rosalind’s protestation suggested this was not the first time her brother had used self-mockery in such a defensive way. A mixture of hurt and anger flashed across Freddie’s face. Sympathy for the young man bloomed as Leo concluded Freddie’s impairment was of longer standing than the recent fall of which Rosalind had spoken. At close quarters the lines of stress on Freddie’s face were visible. They made it hard to guess his age, but Leo would lay odds he was younger than his sister.

‘I am pleased to meet you, Allen,’ he said, ‘and I apologise for this intrusion, but my boot is full of river water and your sister kindly offered me the opportunity to dry off.’