tried to dart a glance at Will while still keeping an eye on the horse. It might not have bitten her yet, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t.
He was smiling again, smiling and patting the horse like it was a friendly dog. She glared at both him and the horse.
She pushed herself off the ground and, easing back from the horse, tried to stand. Her back ached, but with determined dignity she managed.
“She does not like me. She wants to eat me. She is dangerous,” she said.
This time Will hooted, he raised a brow and his lips curved clear across his face. “Buttercup hurt you? She’s the tamest thing here. I’ve heard his lordship’s brother learned to ride on her and that must be almost twenty years ago. If she was gentle then, now she’s a pussy cat.”
“I do not . . .”
“Why don’t you give her a treat?” He held out a grubby hand holding a small crumble of sugar. “I always sneak her some.”
Marguerite started to back away again. Buttercup might not be quite as vicious as she had imagined, but to purposely put her hand near that mouth – that oh-so-soft muzzle.
The boy kept his hand out. Marguerite eased her hand out and pinched the sugar between her thumb and forefinger. Her hands were no cleaner than his. She started to move the sugar towards Buttercup who was eyeing it with eagerness.
“Don’t you know anything?” The boy brought his hand down on hers and stopped her. “You have to put it in your palm. Like this.” He demonstrated.
With trepidation, Marguerite let him lay the sugar in her palm and hold it up towards the horse. The great head lifted and the muzzle grazed her hand. “It tickles. You did not tell me it would tickle.” She turned to the boy, a smile of delight spreading across her cheeks. The horse shifted and she stepped back.
The boy laughed. “You still have a ways to go, ma’am. You know I am Will. What’s your name, besides milady?
She paused. He was as close to a friend as she’d found and she didn’t want position to fall between them. “Marguerite.”
“Do you want to give her an apple? There are some in the stable.”
Marguerite glanced at the sun that was now high overhead. Lunch would be laid out in the dining room. The staff, her staff, would never say anything if she chose to be late, but she’d see it in their eyes. This pleasing people was a double-edged sword. How would Tristan expect her to please him? She felt flushed at the thought.
The horse butted her gently. She looked with temptation at the soft muzzle and nose. A few more minutes would not hurt. But, they would be rude. With a soft sigh she gave Buttercup one last stroke and turned back towards the house.
“I must go. I do not want to be late.”
“Cook does hate it if you’re late. Does she yell at you too?”
“Not quite, but I have gotten a good glare.” She strode towards the house and then stopped, turning back to Will. “If I come tomorrow will you be here? Maybe then I could try an apple.”
“Don’t know where else I’d be. You’d better hurry. Maggie says cook can have an awful temper.”
“Thank you. I will be back tomorrow.” She picked up her boots and hurried off towards the house and her lonely meal. Maybe food would cure the pain that had begun low in her belly.
Tristan stared out the window at his wife. He’d been watching for a full ten minutes as she flounced around the yard with Will, her slim body sharply outlined by her windswept dress. She was an enchantress in her innocent play. He’d almost run out when she fallen, but her fast recovery had stayed him.
He should have been concentrating on his quest to find out what was happening in the China Sea, but as Marguerite turned back towards the house he leaned forward and rested against the windowpane. The cold of the glass cooled his heated skin. What was he going to do about her?
He’d planned it all out a week ago, but then he’d received that damn note saying Huismans was deserting London to attend a fight in Crawley. The idea of the prim and proper Dutchman at a boxing match was laughable – and, therefore, suspicious. He must be meeting somebody.
Tristan had dashed off within an hour of receiving the note from Violet. He refused to miss seeing Huismans’