Married to the Rogue (Season of Scandal #3) - Mary Lancaster Page 0,2
cottage?” Deborah asked in surprise.
“Several times. Usually with his sister, but once by himself,” replied Stephen, the most observant and practical of her siblings.
“That was when he played spillikins,” Lizzie agreed. “Look, do you think that is him, now?”
Giles grinned. “Just happening to be on the path at this time.”
A few yards ahead, just past where the path to Coggleton House crossed with the road to Gosmere, Lucy had stopped to see to the laces of her boot—or was pretending to do so. Beyond her, a man came striding alone along the path.
Deborah, curious to meet the gentleman on whom all their fortunes now depended, walked quicker before she remembered she was persona non grata. Unsure what to do, she lingered at the crossroads, observing as the man hurried closer, sweeping off his hat.
He bowed, smiling, politely greeting their mother first. “Mrs. Shelby, what a pleasant surprise. It is a lovely day for a walk, is it not? How do you do, Miss Shelby? Might I be of assistance?”
From his smile, from the glow in his eyes when he gazed upon Lucy, Deborah guessed the young man was indeed smitten. Which was a relief.
And Lucy was definitely flirting as she smiled up at him. “Oh, no, thank you, sir. I just needed to retie the lace.”
What Deborah couldn’t decide was whether her sister’s blush was from genuine feeling. Either way, she was glad to see the young man speak to the children, too. Even Lizzie, who’d remained with Deborah, stepped closer.
At the same time, the thunder of galloping hooves penetrated Deborah’s distracted observation. The noise rushed on her so quickly that for an instant, she couldn’t even judge its direction. Then she seized Lizzie and flattened them both against the hedge. She uttered an inarticulate cry of warning to those ahead, just as a horse and rider exploded from the Gosmere road, clearly meaning to jump the hedge at exactly where Deborah and Lizzie stood.
Deborah stumbled, trying to push Lizzie further away. The rider wrenched his horse’s head around and pulled up so sharply that the animal reared, whinnying wildly as it pawed the air. The hooves were still terrifying close to her, especially if the rider had lost control of the horse, which could lash out in any direction.
Somehow the rider clung on. Deborah could even hear his voice murmuring soothing words that actually seemed to work, for when the horse’s front hooves finally hit the ground, it merely danced a little and snorted rather than kicking, bolting or rearing up again.
The rider’s face was at complete odds with his gentle voice. Deborah had never seen anyone so utterly furious. His mouth was a thin, hard line, his wild eyes stormy beneath black, scowling brows.
Those rage-filled eyes fixed on Deborah, seeming to pin her to the hedge. She wondered wildly what she had done wrong.
“Are you hurt?” he asked curtly.
Apparently, his rage was not directed at her. Dumbly, Deborah shook her head.
“My apologies,” he threw at her, “for riding like a maniac.”
Only then did he turn his attention to those only a few yards further along the road. They were staring open-mouthed, as though not quite sure what had just happened.
“Good God, Halland, what has got you into such a state?” asked Sir Edmund.
The angry stranger barked out a laugh. “Oh, just the usual. I’m sorry to startle you all and grateful I don’t seem to have done further damage.” Holding his still skittish horse in an iron grip with one hand, he removed his hat with the other. “Mrs. Shelby, Miss Shelby.” He turned his head, looking once more toward Deborah, clearly expecting an introduction.
The storm still raging in his intense blue eyes was barely controlled. It should have been frightening, and her heart did skitter in response, but mostly, she was conscious of curiosity.
“Oh, she is just the governess,” Lucy said gaily.
Deborah blinked, answering his bow with a smile so faint and hesitant it might have been worthy of the most downtrodden governess ever employed.
“Miss Tumblebumpkin,” Giles said irrepressibly.
“Raspberry,” Lizzie insisted.
The stranger’s gaze flickered to the children, his scowl fading into something that might have been amusement. “Christopher Halland,” he said, “at your service…ma’am.”
“Dismount and walk with us,” Sir Edmund invited. “The poor beast looks as if he could do with the rest.”
“But sadly, I could not,” Mr. Halland said shortly. The frown was back. “I am unfit for company and must wish you a pleasant stroll without me. Good day.”