Page 19 of The Major’s Mistake (Intrepid Heroines #7)

He tipped his cap. “Good morning ma’am. Guv asked me to bring by this pony for his—for Master Justin.”

“I see.” Her brow knitted in confusion as her gaze shifted to the dancing grey. “But there are two animals tied over there. What is that other horse for?” As she spoke, there was a flash of admiration in her eyes as she took in the finer points of the magnificent filly.

“Well, er, he said as it was for you, ma’am. So that you may accompany Master Justin on his rides.”

Miranda’s eyes widened in surprise, then wrenched away from the horse. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sykes, but you will have to bring her back to His Lordship. I … I cannot accept it.”

“Can’t,” he replied.

“Can’t what?” she demanded.

“Can’t take her back.” As Miranda make to argue, he added, “I’ve a number of matters to attend to in Higham so I’ll just have to leave her here for the time being.

” He untied the two horses and began to stroke the grey’s velvet nose.

“A shame, she’s a prime goer,” he murmured, then began to lead them towards the stable.

“But Mr. Sykes …”

Sykes ignored her feeble protest and disappeared inside.

Angus laid aside his hammer and drew his large hands across his leather apron as Sykes halted in front of him.

“Morning to you.” His voice was full of good cheer as he extended his hand. “I’m William Sykes.

Angus made no effort to take it. “You His Lordship’s man?”

When Sykes nodded, the other man said nothing but turned his head and spit into the hay.

Sykes hid his surprise as he held out the reins. “I’ll leave these two in your care. They belong here now.”

Angus ran an appraising eye over them. “Knows his horseflesh at least. They look to be fine animals.”

“The best.”

He grunted and took hold of the horses. “I’ll see to them,” he said curtly.

Sykes shrugged and headed back outside, puzzling over the groom’s decidedly cold demeanor. His musings were interrupted by the shout of excitement.

“Mama, Mama, I saw the man bring a pony! Major said he was going to give me one of my very own. Is it for me?” The little boy pulled up breathless with anticipation.

At the look in Miranda’s eye, his face took on a slightly guilty look.

“Miss MacKenzie said I might take a short break from my lessons to come down and see.”

Miranda smiled in spite of her efforts to look stern. “Yes, love. The Major has sent your pony, and a lovely one he is.” She took Justin’s hand and turned to Sykes. “You must thank Mr. Sykes for bringing him to you.”

The boy turned his blue eyes upward and the marquess’s valet drew in a sharp breath at the striking resemblance between father and son.

“Thank you ever so much for bringing me my pony,” said Justin earnestly. He suddenly tugged at his mother’s hand and as she bent down he whispered something in her ear.

“No,” she answered, an amused look stealing to her face. “You need not make a bow, dear. Mr. Sykes is not a marquess, too. Not even an earl.”

Sykes gave a chuckle as he crouched down on his haunches. “Nor even a lowly baron,” he added as he held out his hand. “Just plain Sykes I am, and pleased to make your acquaintance, lad.”

“This is my son, Justin, Mr. Sykes,” said Miranda as the boy shyly reached out to accept the greeting.

“Mama, now that I have minded my manners, may I go see my pony?” he asked with barely contained impatience.

She slowly released his hand. “Mind you, only for bit, and then you must finish your lessons before you may have a ride.”

“Yes, Mama,” he promised.

“What a fine lad,” said Sykes quietly as the two of them watched Justin race off towards the stable. “Why, he looks very much like—” He broke off in some embarrassment.

“Like his father,” finished Miranda. “Yes, he does.” Her mouth quirked in a thin line.

“For that I imagine I should be most grateful.” Her hands caught at the edges of her gown.

“You must excuse me now, Mr. Sykes, I have things I to attend to.” There was a fraction of a pause.

“Kindly ask His Lordship to come fetch his property at his earliest convenience.”

“Why?” he asked impulsively.

She went rather pale and stood silent for a moment. “Because,” she answered slowly. “A female does not accept gifts from a gentleman who is not related to her unless she is a …” Her voice struggled with the last word. “… unless she is a whore, Mr. Sykes.”

“Hell’s teeth,” swore the marquess as Sykes reluctantly repeated Miranda’s words to him.

He slammed his pen down onto the desk and without further words, got up and left the library.

Grabbing up his gloves and crop from the sidetable, he stalked out of the manor house, calling out a brusque order for his stallion to be brought around without delay.

He reined to a halt in front of Lady Thornton’s stable, his mount well lathered from a prolonged gallop. Ignoring the fact that it was not his appointed day to visit, he slid down from the saddle and looked about the yard. Jem was by the side of the paddock, mending a split rail in the fence.

“Is Lady Miranda down here?” demanded Julian.

The young groom looked as though he might like to refuse to answer, but then he nodded and pointed at the stable.

The marquess marched towards the open door, confident that he was well prepared to deal her. On the ride over, he had rehearsed an eloquent speech designed to counter any argument she cared to throw out.

The sound of his steps on the earthen floor caused her to look up from the task of sorting through a basket of dried roots. She set it aside and rose from her stool, absently wiping her hands on the worn apron around her waist.

“I’m glad to see Mr. Sykes can be counted on to deliver messages to you without delay. The filly, sir, is in the second stall, and the tack is hanging on the door.” A lock of hair had escaped her simple chignon and fell across her cheek as she spoke.

All his carefully constructed words seemed to desert him as Julian noted once again the indescribably intriguing shade of green of her eyes were, and the hauntingly lush shape of her lips.

Without thinking, he took another step forward and brought his gloved hand up to tuck the errant curl behind her ear.

“Keep the horse, Miranda,” he whispered hoarsely. “You love to ride.”

She turned away sharply. “I cannot.”

“Because you think it brands you as … less than respectable? What utter fustian! You imagine I would think any less of you for accepting what should be yours in the first place?”

Miranda gave a harsh laugh. “Think any less of me? Why no, milord, I don’t imagine that is possible, for you could hardly think any less of me than you already do.”

Julian had to fight the sudden urge to pull her close and soothe away the look of hurt in her eyes, to cover those expressive lips with his own …

Slightly dazed by the intensity of his own emotions, he managed to stammer out an reply. “That is far from true.”

She stared at him in wary disbelief.

“I have been thinking—” His words were interrupted by the high trill of Justin’s excited cries.

“Mama! My lessons are done. May we go for a ride now?” As he barreled around the corner, his eyes lit up at the sight of Julian. “Major! Oh, thank you! I love my pony—he is quite the best one in the whole world.”

“I am glad you like him, lad.”

Justin looked up expectantly at his mother. “Are you thanking Major, too? Angus says that the other horse is a present for you.” A look of delight spread across his face. “Now that Major is here, we can all go together and both of you can watch me gallop!”

“Run along and help Angus to saddle your pony, love,” replied Miranda rather sharply. As soon as he was out of earshot, she turned back to the marquess. “And I shall thank you to stop trying to manipulate me through my son, sir!” she snapped.

It took Julian a moment to recover from the harsh accusation. “That was hardly my intention,” he said in a low voice.

Miranda seemed surprised by his quiet words.

He gave vent to a sigh of frustration. “But be that as it may, I shall send Sykes to fetch the filly in the morning,” he continued, then turned on his heel and started to walk away.

“Wait!”

He stopped.

“What I said—I’m sorry. That was unjust.”

His back was still towards her, his shoulders rigid as steel.

“And I,” said Julian, “am sorry if I have created an awkward situation for you with Justin by appearing at other than my allotted time. You may tell him …” He exhaled in frustration.

“Oh, hell and damnation, tell him whatever you want to explain my absence.” With that, he began moving towards the door.

“Please stay,” said Miranda. “He would be so disappointed if you do not.”

Julian turned around slowly. “I do not wish to cause you a problem. You are sure?”

She nodded.

His fingers tightened around the filigreed silver butt of his crop. “And what do you plan to do?”

Miranda bit her lip as she considered the dilemma. “I suppose it will do no great harm if I borrow your filly this once.” She looked down at her old gown with ill-concealed dismay. “Even if I am hardly dressed properly for the occasion.”

“It matters not,” murmured the Marquess. “You will like her—she moves as smoothly as silk.”

Her mouth crooked upwards. “I would be less than honest if I did not admit I am dying to put her through her paces, for I vow, I have never seen such a magnificent animal.”

“Well, then, let us fetch Justin and be off.”

It took little time for the grey filly to be saddled along with Justin’s pony and soon the three of them were headed off down the winding drive. Julian led the way, keeping his stallion reined in at an easy trot to make sure the boy had no difficulty keeping his seat. Miranda brought up the rear.

The marquess had little opportunity to see how she was taking to the spirited horse. A few surreptitious glances were all that he could manage as they swung off onto a well-used cartpath that bordered a wide expanse of pasture land, but it appeared that she had things well in hand.