Page 26 of Irish Thoroughbred (Irish Hearts #1)

One afternoon, as July brought summer’s throbbing heat to the air, Adelia answered the summons of the bell and found herself confronted with the elegantly clad form of Margot Winters.

Her finely penciled brows lifted at Adelia’s attire of jeans and shirt.

She glided over the threshold without invitation.

“Good afternoon to you, Mistress Winters.” Adelia greeted her, determined to act the part of hostess. “Please come in and sit down. Travis is down at the stables, but I’ll be glad to send for him.”

“That’s not necessary, Adelia.” Margot strolled into the living room and seated herself in a wingback chair as if she belonged there. “I came to have a little chat with you. Hannah”—she glanced over at the housekeeper, who had entered behind Adelia—“I’ll have some tea.”

Hannah looked pointedly at Adelia, who merely nodded and moved to join her uninvited guest.

“I shall come straight to the point,” Margot began, sitting back and linking her fingers together in an imperious gesture. “I’m sure you’re aware that Travis and I were about to be married before we had a slight disagreement a few months ago.”

“Is that the truth of it?” Adelia asked with apparently idle interest.

“Yes, it was common knowledge,” Margot stated with a regal wave of her hand.

“I thought to teach Travis a lesson by going to Europe and giving him time to think things through. He’s a very stubborn man.

” She gave Adelia a small knowing smile.

“When I saw the picture of him in the paper kissing this little ragamuffin, I thought nothing of it. The press will blow these things out of proportion. But when I heard he’d actually married some little stablehand”—she shivered delicately—“I knew it was time to come back and set things straight.”

“And may the stablehand ask how you mean to do that?”

“When this little interlude is finished, Travis and I can proceed as planned.”

“And by interlude I suppose you’re meaning my marriage?” Adelia inquired, her voice lowering to an ominous level.

“Well, of course.” Slender shoulders moved at the inevitable. “Just look at you. It’s obvious Travis only married you to bring me back. You can’t possibly hope to hold him for very long. You haven’t the breeding or style that’s necessary to move in society.”

Straightening her spine, Adelia hid her pain with dignity.

“I’m telling you this as a fact, Mistress Winters: you had nothing to do with the reason that Travis and I were married.

It’s true I haven’t your elegance or manner of speaking, but there’s one thing I have you’re lacking.

I’ve Travis’s ring on my finger, and you’ll be having a good long wait before you can add his name to yours. ”

Hannah entered bearing a tea tray, and Adelia rose and turned to her. “Mistress Winters won’t be staying for tea after all, Hannah. She was just leaving.”

“Play the lady of the house while you can,” Margot advised, rising and gliding past Adelia’s stiff form. “You’ll be back in the stables sooner than you think.” When the door closed with a sharp bang, Adelia let out a deep breath.

“She’s got her nerve coming here and talking that way,” an irate Hannah sputtered.

“We’ll be paying her no mind.” She patted the housekeeper’s arm. “And we’ll keep this visit between the two of us, Hannah.”

“If that’s the way you want it, missy,” Hannah agreed with obvious reluctance.

“Aye,” she replied, staring off into space. “That’s the way I want it.”

Adelia’s nerves remained on edge for several days and showed all too plainly in increased temper. The atmosphere in the house went from a near-stagnant calm to volatile motion. Travis greeted her change in attitude with absent tolerance that changed to strained patience.

She paced the living room after dinner one evening while he sat on the sofa and brooded over his brandy.

“I’m going to take Finnegan and go for a walk,” she announced suddenly, unable to bear the silence between them any longer.

“Do as you like,” he answered with a shrug.

“‘Do as you like.’” She whirled and snapped at him, nerves as tight as an overwound watch. “It’s sick to death I am of hearing you say that. I will not do as I like. I don’t want to do as I like.”

“Do you hear what you just said?” he demanded, setting down his brandy and staring at her. “That is the most ridiculous statement I have ever heard.”

“It’s not ridiculous. It’s perfectly clear if you had the sense to understand it.”

“What’s gotten into you? You make more sense when you mutter in Gaelic.”

“Nothing,” she returned shortly. “There’s not a thing wrong with me.”

“Then stop behaving like a shrew. I’m tired of putting up with your foul temper.”

“A shrew, am I?” Her color rose.

“Precisely,” he agreed with infuriating calm.

“Well, if you’re tired of listening to me, I’ll keep out of your way.” Storming from the room, she flew past an astonished Hannah, out the back door, and into the warm summer night.

She awoke the next morning ashamed, disgusted, and contrite. She had spent an uneasy night struggling with the aftermath of temper and the realization that not only had she been unreasonable, she had made a fool of herself as well. One was as difficult to take as the other.

Travis has done nothing to deserve the way I’ve been treating him, she decided, pulling on her working uniform of jeans and shirt and hurrying downstairs. She determined to apologize and make a study of being as sweet and mild a wife as any man could want.

Hannah informed her that Travis had breakfasted early and gone out, so Adelia sat down in solitary misery, unable to ease her conscience.

She worked hard in the stables that morning, doing self-imposed penance for her faults. And as morning melted into early afternoon, the manual labor began to erase the depression she carried with her.

“Dee.” Travis spoke from outside the tackroom, where she was busily hanging bridles. “Come out here. I want to show you something.”

“Travis.” She ran after him as he strode away.

“Travis.” Catching up to him, she tugged on his arm in an attempt to make him slow his pace.

“I’m sorry, Travis. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been behaving, and for raging at you last night when I had no cause to.

I know I’ve been mean and spiteful and no fun to have around, but if you’ll forgive me, I’ll… What are you smiling like that for?”

The smile spread to a grin. “You apologize just as emphatically as you rage. It’s fascinating. Now, forget it, half-pint.” He ruffled her hair and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Everyone has their black moods. Look,” he said simply and pointed.

She gave a cry of pleasure at the glossy chestnut mare prancing around inside the paddock fence. Moving over, she stood on the first rung of fence and scanned the strong, clean lines. “Oh, Travis, she’s beautiful—the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen!”

“You say that about all of them.”

She smiled at him, then back at the horse with a deep sigh of pleasure. “Aye, and it’s always true. Who will you breed her with?”

“That’s not up to me. She’s yours.”

Adelia turned wide, unbelieving eyes to his. “Mine?”

“I had thought to give her to you next month for your birthday, but”—he shrugged and brushed a lock of hair from her face—“I thought your spirits needed a lift, so she’s yours a bit early.”

She shook her head, the still unfamiliar tears filling her eyes. “But after the way I’ve been acting, you should have been beating me instead of buying me a present.”

“The thought entered my mind last night, but this seemed a better solution.”

“Oh, Travis!” She flung herself into his arms without restraint.

“No one’s ever given me such a grand present, and I don’t deserve it.

” She drew her face from his cheek and pressed her lips to his.

His arms tightened around her, the kiss changing from one of gratitude to one of smoldering passion, and she offered herself, lips parting and bones melting.

“Travis,” she murmured as his face lifted, his cheek brushing hers.

He set her away from him abruptly. “You’d better get acquainted with your mare, Dee. I’ll see you at dinner.”

She watched him stride away, biting her lip to prevent herself from calling him back.

Finnegan bounded over, and she swallowed the tears of rejection, burying her face in his fur.

“I don’t have any appeal for him,” she told her sympathetic companion.

“And I don’t know how to go about making him see me as a woman—much less a wife. ”