Page 57 of In the Prince's Bed

Katherine hesitated. But arguing with Mama was pointless, so she left with Alec and Mr. França.

As they hurried down the stairs, Mr. França began explaining which maneuvers Alec would perform.

“Wait a minute,” Katherine broke in. “You expect him to know these cavalry maneuvers?”

“Of course,” Mr. França answered. “Senhor Black invented two of them.”

“Really?” She glanced at Alec, who was avoiding her gaze all of a sudden. Her eyes narrowed. “Was he in the cavalry?”

“No, although Wellington tried many times to convince him to join. But Senhor Black is stubborn and would only agree to teach riding to the recruits.” Mr. França smiled. “That is how we met. I was in the Portuguese cavalry, and he was my teacher. I owe everything I know about good riding to him.”

“Nonsense,” Alec put in firmly as they reached the bottom floor. “Now about this interlude—”

“But I thought he helped his uncle breed horses?” Katherine said, refusing to let him change the subject.

“He did—when he first went to Portugal. But not after the army hired him.” Mr. França laughed. “Not unless he flew to south Portugal on a winged Pegasus each night. The cavalry training camp was in Lisbon, in the west. And he lodged at…what was the name of that little hotel, Alec?”

“St. John’s,” Alec bit out behind her. Then he launched into a flow of what had to be Portuguese.

Mr. França certainly understood it. And judging from the tone of his reply, he offered an apology. When they spoke English after that, every word concerned the cavalry maneuvers Alec was to demonstrate.

But Katherine had found out quite enough. She’d been right to think Alec was hiding something—but it wasn’t what she’d assumed. Why hadn’t he said he’d been in the thick of the war?

Because earls’ sons weren’t supposed to work for money. Ironically, he could serve as an officer without reproach, but teaching for pay was beneath him.

Surely he realized she wouldn’t care about that. Then again, shehadbeen awfully conscious of propriety around him. Otherwise, why would he prefer she think him a wastrel rather than a man hired by the army?

Well, she would set him straight after this was over. She would tell him how proud she was that he’d served his country, no matter how. Because the truth was, she was tired of fighting him, tired of staying on her guard, tired of assuming the worst, when he clearly wasn’t what she’d thought.

Suddenly, her attention was arrested by something Mr. França said. “What do you mean, ‘as long as the senhorita can stay still for the final cut’?”

Alec grinned as he led her out the arena’s back door. “That’s the last part of the ‘Angry Wife,’ sweetheart. You lift up an object that I slice pieces off of as I gallop past.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “You can do that?”

“Without a second thought.”

Then it must be a very large object. “What is it? Because if it’s too heavy for me to lift—”

Alec and Mr. França burst into laughter. “It won’t be,” Alec said, as they headed toward some outbuildings. “It’s a pear.”

Chapter Fourteen

Nothing impresses a female more than a display of manly strength, and if you can make such a display while well-seated upon a fine thoroughbred, so much the better.

—Anonymous,A Rake’s Rhetorick

Alec was still grinning when he and França left Katherine a little while later. Her voice echoed from the outbuilding behind Astley’s where the maid was helping to dress her.

“Just remember, Alec,” Katherine called after them, “that had better be the largest pear in Christendom! And if you so much as scratch my fingers, I’ll skewer you with the sword myself!”

He laughed. “You see what you’ve entangled me in, França?” he told his friend, as they headed across the yard toward the stables.

França glanced back at the outbuilding with a worried frown. “The senhorita seems very angry—are you sure she wants to do this?”

“She agreed to her part of the routine when you explained it, didn’t she? Don’t let her fool you—she protests, but she’ll do fine. She has a hidden wild streak.” One he was determined to plumb.

“So you are not angry with me for…er…persuading you to ride.”