Regina Scott - The Husband Campaign

She talked to her horse as if the mare was a person. She might be the only one besides him who treated a horse like a friend, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t the typical Society miss, self-absorbed, fixed on marrying the finest. She would have no use for a country baron, which was all for the best.

“Why are you here, Lady Amelia?” he asked, locating a nail in the beam above his head and hanging the lantern from it.

Her hand fell away from Belle, but she didn’t look at him. “I was caught in the rain and sought shelter.”

In an old building that contained only straw left over from the last cutting? And she stated the fact carefully, as if unwilling to offer more information. Yet he wanted more. He wanted to understand her as he understood his horses. “Where is your groom?”

She met his gaze, arching delicate brows more golden than the hair gathered in a bun behind her head. “I haven’t needed a groom when riding since I was five, sir.”

Neither had he. Yet the rules were different for women. That much he knew. “Even so far from Lord Danning’s lodge?” he argued. “He’s still hosting that house party, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” she said, so faintly he had to move closer to be certain. “Yes,” she repeated with more conviction, as if to forestall other questions. “We visited your farm early in the stay, so I expect the party to last another week.”

He could not help remembering that visit. He didn’t care for people who came to visit his farm merely to ogle the horses, with no true concern for the animals’ well-being. That sort of visitor reminded him of the shallow Society he had left behind when he’d exiled himself to Hollyoak Farm two years ago. Then he’d wanted only to escape, away from the woman he’d loved, away from the brother who’d betrayed him. But he’d known Whitfield Calder, Earl of Danning, since they’d been boys together at Eton. Calder understood the value of a good horse, and something about his friend’s note requesting a visit had hinted of despair. John knew something of despair. He could not be the agent to visit it upon another, nor would he walk away without attempting to resolve it. So he’d agreed to the visit, and five women and four men had descended upon him, expecting entertainment.

He was never entertaining.

His guests, to his surprise, had been. Over the years, he’d learned to watch people, to know what he might expect from them, to be prepared to respond. A man who insisted on riding with spurs was often a man who mistreated his horses. There was never enough gold for John to sell to him. And a lady who fluttered her lashes and smiled behind her fan was to be avoided at all costs. She was too much like the woman who’d preferred his brother to him.

Lord Danning’s lady visitors were not like that. Two were older wives, one with a doting husband in tow. The other three were clearly eligible misses, and unless he was off his game, their quarry was the earl himself. Indeed, Danning seemed to have his hands full with an outspoken redhead.

And choosing the redhead, John had thought at the time, was a mistake. He knew bloodlines—strength in the limbs and a loyal heart—would tell in a person’s behavior, and it was clear to him which lady had those traits in abundance.

Lady Amelia Jacoby.

She’d been so far above the others that John could only wonder why she was even part of the group. He wondered the same thing now. Had she set her heart on marrying Danning and been so crushed when he preferred another that she’d run away? The drops he saw glistening on her cheeks now that he was closer could as easily be from tears as rain. Why else would a woman who had everything—family, wealth, beauty—cry herself to sleep?

“Has Lord Danning made his decision, then?” John asked.

She drew herself up. “I am no gossip, sir. You would have to ask the earl that question.”

She might not be a gossip, but she had answered the question. The stiffness in her shoulders said Danning had chosen a bride, and it wasn’t her. Why should that fact please him?

Thunder rumbled again, drawing nearer. She set about soothing Belle once more. John glanced at the big stallion across the way, and Magnum raised his head as if with pride. He trusted John to care for him, whatever happened. And John would never let him down.

At the moment, however, he could do nothing more for the horse. John knew Magnum had eaten plenty earlier that day, for rich pastures surrounded the farm. As soon as the rain let up, John could send Lady Amelia on her way and take Magnum back to the main stables and bed. With any luck, the others would have found Contessa by now. He had never met a horse who knew more ways to escape a fenced pasture, or one more determined to do so. Normally his men kept an eye on her, but a new groom had been preoccupied with learning his duties, and the mare had slipped away.

Now lightning set shadows in sharp relief, and he saw Lady Amelia shudder. “You would be wise to sit down,” he advised.

She glanced about as if trying to determine where. What, did she think stables came with gilded chairs or cushioned benches? To John’s mind the most likely spot to sit was on an old grain bin along the back wall. She must have reached the same conclusion, for she went to settle her skirts about her on the bin as if ready to pour tea.

“Won’t you join me, my lord?” she asked, patting the other side of the wooden slats.

She was only being polite. He could not conceive that she would truly wish his company. But he moved closer and convinced himself to sit beside her. Through the musty scent of earth and straw came the incongruous perfume of orange blossoms. Was that the scent of her hair? Surely it was poor manners to bury his nose in the silky-looking tresses as if they were a feed sack. Yet some part of him was tempted to do just that.

“I didn’t realize this was your property,” she said by way of conversation. “How far do your holdings stretch?”

It was an expected topic, and a gentleman was supposed to prose on at great length, he was certain. He didn’t prose. “Far enough to provide food and a good run,” he replied.

“I’m sure that must be very gratifying for your horses,” she said. “What brought you out in the storm, my lord?”

Thunder boomed, and she shuddered again. In fact, he could feel her least movement, the moment she yawned behind her hand, the shiver that went through her. Was she cold? Hungry?

Whatever you did for the least of my brothers, you did for me.

The remembered verse demanded his attention. But he couldn’t believe the Lord would answer a prayer half formed. He hadn’t answered any of John’s prayers since before his brother had died.

Still, John pulled his greatcoat from his shoulders and draped it around her.

“Oh, Lord Hascot, I couldn’t,” she protested.

“Take it,” John insisted. “I must see to my horse.”

He slid off the box and started forward, but he couldn’t help glancing back at her. Her fingers, as long and elegant as the rest of her, clutched at the wool as she pulled it closer. Her sigh of thanks was as soft as a kitten’s.

Something inside him melted.

John lifted his head, turned his back on her and forced himself to march to Magnum’s stall. His horse eyed him.

“Don’t start,” John said. He sank onto the straw and put his back against the stone wall. Drawing up his knees, he crossed his arms over the top of his chamois breeches.

He didn’t have to speak with Lady Amelia, tend to her like a nursery maid. He’d play the gentleman and protect her, but nothing more. He’d already had his heart carved from his chest by a beautiful woman who’d claimed allegiance. He wasn’t about to offer the knife to another, even the lovely Lady Amelia.