Annis was tempted to shove the monstrosity off its support into the straw, but she resisted. She was a guest and wanted to be courteous, but Jermyn’s sour expression gave her a pang of longing for Robbie’s cheerful face.
James hung on every word Annis uttered about his horses and their special qualities. He led out Dancer when she had made her choice, and went into the tack room for the cross saddle Annis had used before. He saddled the mare himself while Jermyn, stony faced, stood by.
When James helped her up into the saddle, his hand lingered on her calf and slid down over her ankle, fingers trailing over the bones and heel. She caught a breath and turned to look down at him from her perch on Dancer’s back. His cheeks flamed, and he averted his eyes.
“I—forgive me, Miss Allington,” he stammered. “Please, I—it was unintentional.”
It had not been unintentional. She knew that. She decided not to correct his address, to remind him they had agreed to use their Christian names. It was best, perhaps, that they return to formality until she and Aunt Harriet could resolve this situation.
He said again, “Do forgive me.”
She said, “Of course, my lord. Shall we go?”
In embarrassed silence he mounted Breeze and led the way out of the stableyard. This time he didn’t take the path up the coombe but turned to the right, cutting across an empty field to reach a road that led south, past the tenant cottages and on toward the sea.
25
James
James rode ahead of Annis, hoping to hide the flare of heat in his cheeks. What on God’s green earth had he been thinking? He had touched her leg, felt the turn of her ankle, imagined the feel of her skin beneath her stocking…
It was as appalling as it had been thrilling. He had touched her as if she were one of his horses. As if he had a right. As if he were no gentleman at all.
James supposed he wasn’t the cleverest Marquess of Rosefield there had ever been. He was certain, having grown up with the portraits decorating the great hall, that he was not the best looking. He disliked most pursuits generally regarded as manly ones—hunting, boxing, gambling—but he had never doubted that he was a gentleman. Now his base instincts had overcome his gentility, and that filled him with shame.
He glanced back at Annis. She had a beautiful seat in the saddle and nicely balanced hands on the reins. Dancer had earned her name by her tendency to prance at odd moments, but her spirited gait obviously didn’t trouble Annis Allington. They made a handsome pair, the tall, slender girl and the sturdy white mare.
Perhaps, James thought, it was Annis’s skill as an equestrienne that drew him to her, but he entertained the idea for only a moment. Whatever his other faults might be, he did not usually indulge in self-deception. He couldn’t pretend to a more respectable reason. He just wanted her, in the basest, most carnal way, as if he were some sort of animal.
He urged Breeze into a trot, and Annis and Dancer followed close behind as he led the way toward High Point. Impulsively, without warning Annis, he let Breeze break into a canter. As if it had been rehearsed, as if the four of them were a team, Annis and Dancer did the same. It was stunning to see the high-strung Dancer obeying Annis’s light hands and soft heels without resistance. The girl was a remarkable horsewoman.
They could be magnificent together, the two of them. They could make Seabeck, and the Seabeck Andalusians, into something spectacular. What other young lady would share James’s passion for his horses? He had never met one.
He decided, on the instant, to speak to her.
They reached High Point in a short time, walking the horses the last half mile to cool them down. James had cooled down by then, too. Though his blood still pounded uncomfortably at Annis’s nearness, he managed to assist her to dismount without doing anything discourteous. She thanked him, behaving as if nothing had gone amiss.
His cook had packed a basket, and he untied it from the back of his saddle and set it on the flattest of the boulders that marked the spot. Annis looped the horses’ reins over a branch of one of the wind-deformed trees and came to stand at the peak of the cliff, gazing down at the waves rolling up the narrow strand beneath. Herring gulls