Page 12 of Dangerous Illusions (Dangerous #1)

“Perhaps,” she agreed, “but if I had told them as much, Charley would be so anxious to prove me wrong that she would communicate her anxiety to her horse. This way she will be content to ride quietly and will soon recognize, for Melissa’s sake if not her own, the foolhardiness of riding too fast on a slippery road. ”

Though he looked doubtful, he said nothing more for several minutes, and indeed, appeared to be listening with some amusement to the one-sided conversation going on ahead of them.

As usual, Charley was doing all the talking, while Melissa listened and nodded.

After a time, he turned to her again and said, “Though I would not dare to suggest leading reins, I own I did think they would still be riding ponies at their ages.”

Daintry, not surprised that he would hold such an opinion, said, “You and Sir Geoffrey agree on that head, sir. Melissa has a pony at home, but she rarely rides him, and I think that a very good thing, myself, but it is plain to see that you have never taught a child to ride. Ponies are dreadfully unreliable, you see. Their gaits are uneven, and they are much more liable than horses are to bolt across a road without reason, or to stand and kick, or to rear up just for their own amusement. And since they are so quick on their feet, their antics can confuse a child so that even if she does not fall off she loses her self-possession, and becomes quite terrified.”

He was silent again, and for a moment she thought he meant to argue the point, but then he nodded and said, “I had not thought about that, but I believe you may be quite right.”

“Well, I am, of course, though you needn’t sound so insufferably condescending about it.

However, at least you admit it. My father still thinks girls ought not to ride at all until they are sixteen.

He says they are not strong enough to control a mount of any sort before that time, and I daresay he doubts their ability even then.

Boys, of course, he thinks able to ride as soon as they can walk.

I am persuaded that he must have put Charles on his first pony even before that auspicious occasion. ”

“If your papa disapproves so strongly, how is it that he allowed you all to learn before you turned sixteen?”

“Oh, that is because of Aunt Ophelia. She believes girls are every bit as capable as boys are. Indeed, she believes that females are the superior sex, that it is only because men are more muscular that they have become dominant.” She watched to see how he would respond to that provocative suggestion.

He laughed. “Lady Ophelia is one very redoubtable woman.”

“She has been called worse things than that,” Daintry said.

“I don’t doubt it. She terrifies me.”

“A perfectly common reaction,” she said, smiling sweetly at him. “I mean to be exactly like her.”

“Do you, indeed?” The warm smile was still visible in his eyes, and while she could not accuse him of mocking her, she had the notion that he was humoring her.

As they continued to talk, she was conscious of a strong wish to know what he really thought of her, or of anything at all, but he was careful to advance no exact opinions of his own, and she could not quite decide whether she admired his verbal dexterity or despised his evasive nature.

Before she could make up her mind, they had come to the path leading down to the shingle from the cliff side.

The Channel was not looking its best. Sky and water were much the same shade of gray, and the waves were edged with lacy white foam.

They had been able to hear the roar of the rollers long before they could see them, and the breeze had quickened to a light wind, blowing Daintry’s curls about and making her glad that the brass pin held her hat tightly in place.

Melissa’s hat was still in place, too, but Charley had long since removed hers, and her long black curls blew wildly about her face.

Her cheeks were rosy, and her dark eyes sparkled.

“Look,” she cried, “we can see Melissa’s house way yonder on the headland, and here’s the path down! I’ll go first.”

“Oh, no, you won’t,” Daintry said. “I will.”

Her companion shook his head. “The best plan would be for the heaviest horse to lead the way,” he said quietly.

“Shadow is very sure-footed, and if Charley follows me, Melissa can follow her, and you can bring up the rear with your groom. That way, the pair of you will be in the best position to judge the safety of our course,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest.

Daintry’s protests died on her tongue. Much as she hated to admit it, he was right.

Charley would heed him better than she would either herself or Clemons, and if Penthorpe and Charley proceeded without mishap, Melissa would be safe following them.

If it looked as if either of the leaders was having difficulty, Daintry would be able to stop her, while Clemons went to help.

Penthorpe was watching her narrowly, and when she nodded, he said, “Good girl. I knew you were not a fool.”

Once again, his attitude stirred mixed emotions. She was grateful for the compliment but wondered at the same time if he thought most women were fools.

The cliff path was easily negotiated, for although there were damp patches, the stiff breeze had dried most of it, and only a bit more than usual care was required.

Even Melissa did not seem nervous, and at the bottom, when Daintry drew her silver dun up next to the big black roan, and his rider said, “I will leave you now,” she was surprised and a little disappointed.

“You do not mean to accompany us, then?”

Charley, overhearing, said quickly, “Don’t you want to see the caves, sir? One of them is big enough to house an army!”

“No, thank you,” he said smiling at her. “I have seen them before, and I came this far only because I thought you might require my help, but I see now that you will do very well on your own. Going up that path will be easier than riding down was.”

Daintry could not deny it, but she was sorry to see him go.

Gideon looked back from the cliff top and saw that the three of them were still watching him.

He waved and they waved back. Then, Charley, who, true to her aunt’s prediction, had said nothing more about galloping, suddenly wheeled the bay gelding and took off at top speed along the shingle.

With scarcely a pause, the other two followed her.

Resolutely, Gideon turned his face homeward, wondering what on earth he had got himself into.

In the next hour he repeated that question a good number of times, and though he told himself he did not regret the impulse that had stirred him to deceit, he did regret the deceit itself, for the simple reason that he would have to confess it and take the consequences of his action.

That there would be unpleasant consequences he did not doubt for one moment.

He had seen enough of Daintry Tarrant now to know that she would not look kindly on even the briefest deception.

She was even lovelier than he had imagined, and there was something about her that stirred feelings he had not known he possessed.

He had enjoyed his share of indiscretions, to be sure, particularly as a carefree bachelor on Lord Hill’s staff, but not one of the many beauties who had crossed his path over the years had instantly stirred such feelings in him.

He paid little heed to his direction, for once he reached the bleak heights of Bodmin Moor and saw Rough Tor and Brown Willy rising like sentinels in the northeast, he knew Shadow would carry him home with little need for guidance.

He was in no hurry to get there. Having obeyed a command to present himself at Jervaulx Abbey in Gloucestershire as soon as he had rid himself of his commission, he had not expected to find his father in residence in Cornwall a mere fortnight later, and he wondered what his reception would be.

The marquess had seemed to have so little use for him at the Abbey that the unpleasant duty that beckoned him to Tattersall had proved something of a relief, in that it had given him an unexceptionable excuse to leave.

So lost in thought was he that Deverill Court loomed on the horizon above the west bank of the River Fowey in a what seemed an amazingly short time.

Not long afterward he passed through the tall iron gates and onto the gravel drive leading to the house.

The drive was bordered with thick shrubbery, camellias, azaleas, and rhododendrons that, in the early spring, created a magnificent display.

Now, though the blooms were gone, the shrubs were lushly green, framing the gray granite house at the end of the drive, backed by its own woods, and looking just as it had since the days of the Tudors.

The Tudor house enfolded part of a fortified manor house that had been there when Gideon’s ancestor Richard Deverill acquired the property through marriage in 1353, and little had been changed over the years.

The Deverills who lived there were satisfied with what they had and had never felt the need expressed by many of their friends and acquaintances to add on extra wings with each succeeding generation, or to tear down the old to replace it with newer, more modern substitutes.

The last major addition to the house had been the northwest tower with its muniments room, in 1627.