Page 26

“That won’t be necessary!” Catherine snapped, angry at his presumption.

“I beg your pardon.”

“And so you should,” Catherine returned bitingly, urging Gwyneth through the press of carts and carriages.

Stefton followed, cursing himself for his damned interference. It was not his desire to set her back up. Nevertheless, by unthinkingly casting impunity upon her riding ability, he had inadvertently chosen the fastest way to do so!

They continued in silence toward Hyde Park.

Ultimately, it was Bugden Hill that was her undoing. It spread out before her so invitingly—nay, daringly.

Catherine couldn’t help herself, particularly since she knew no one would recognize her.

Then again, she thought with a giggle, since that was the case, censure was bound to fall on the Marquis’s head instead, since he was her escort.

That thought greatly tickled her fancy. The flicker of daring grew until it filled her whole being, and there was no gainsaying it.

Without warning, she turned Gwyneth off the road and urged her into a full gallop across the greensward.

A wild, uninhibited laugh burst from her lips.

People on the footpath followed her progress with shocked expressions.

Gathering her reins in one hand, she raised the other in salute.

Gwyneth moved easily underneath her, flying lightly over the lush terrain.

Catherine finally turned Gwyneth’s head back the way they came, slowing her to a proper hand canter.

She was exhilarated and at peace with herself for the first time in weeks.

Carriages and other riders were stopped in their perambulations and joined in little knots to comment and speculate on her headlong gallop across the park.

The knowledge that her identity was unknown gave her a heady sense of power.

She slowed Gwyneth to a walk, inclining her head to the curious crowds she passed.

Only the Marquis was alone. He sat his horse, waiting for her return, seemingly at his ease, one hand resting on his thigh.

It was not until Catherine drew near that she realized his expression told another story.

It was a stony mask, his eyes granite gray and as cold as winter’s fiercest winds.

Catherine drew in a deep breath and sat straighter in her saddle, determined to buffet the storm of his righteous ire as well as she did any storm of nature’s creation.

“You were correct,” Catherine said lightly when she pulled up before him, “Gwyneth was in shocking need of exercise. I have been terribly remiss.”

Slowly his rock-gray gaze traveled over her, chilling Catherine more effectively than any words of remonstration could. He touched his heels gently to his mount, urging him forward into a trot. Chagrined, Catherine fell in beside him.

“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked at last, now more than a little nervous.

He turned his head, emptiness in the cold stare, then turned back to the road. “What would you have me say?”

She fidgeted in her saddle, her nervousness transferring to Gwyneth, who sidled as a sudden windblown broken branch skittered across their path.

Swiftly, like the falcon diving for its prey, the Marquis’s hand clamped around her bridle, pulling Gwyneth up short and nearly pitching Catherine forward onto her neck.

“Stop that!” she yelled, furious at his interference.

She raised her crop to swat his hand away until something in his expression made her stop in mid-motion.

She slowly lowered the crop, her breathing coming faster.

Never was she more thankful for the face-obscuring veil hiding her confusion and embarrassment.

Her cheeks felt warm, and there was a suspicious blurriness to her vision.

She flung her head back, staring at him though she knew he couldn’t see her face.

She blinked back the moisture that filled her eyes, save for the few drops that coursed down her cheek.

Slowly he released his iron grip and Gwyneth tossed her head, jangling her bridle. He sat back in his saddle, some of the harshness fading from his visage. Silently, of one accord, they urged their horses forward.

A large sigh escaped the Marquis. “For reasons I do not pretend to comprehend, you continually succeed in angering me, and I continue to allow you to do so. If it weren’t for the love I bear your uncle, I swear I would pull you off that horse and give you the thrashing that you so richly deserve.

” He flicked a glance at her. That small, telltale damp spot on her veiling which had so unmanned him was now dry.

“I choose, however, to be magnanimous and make excuses for you since you have not ridden in what must be weeks. I will not be so forgiving in the future.”

Though she recognized her behavior as shameful, Catherine’s chest heaved at his effrontery to pass dispensation to her, then claim he would not do so in the future, as if he had any say over her actions. “You odious, arr?—”

“To prevent a recurrence of your reprehensible behavior,” the Marquis continued, ignoring her interruption, “we shall ride every afternoon.

As this will be our daily habit, and as those seeing us leaving and returning to Harth House will soon ferret out your identity, you will in future dispense with the veil. "

"Just who are you to dictate to me!” Catherine exclaimed hotly, urging Gwyneth forward, ready to return peremptorily to her aunt’s home.

The Marquis’s hand was once again holding her bridle.

“I am the gentleman,” he said, “who knows who you are, who sees behind the masquerade. I am the gentleman who appreciates your talent, your wit, and your tenacity. I am the gentleman who can make or break you, and while doing so, break Burke’s as well.

Remember that, my headstrong miss, when next you think to defy me. ”