Page 31 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

Triumph and the tangle of desire.

Stonehaven waited outside the vicarage for George to arrive with his horse, Trojan. He leaned against the garden gate, too impatient to wait outside.

Yesterday, George had spent several hours leading him around on horseback. Stonehaven had hired a horse for George, and by riding beside him with Trojan on a leading rein, George gave him the freedom he needed, whilst guiding the horse in the direction they wanted to go.

It had been both exhilarating and terrifying, and Stonehaven was as eager as a child to try his skills once again.

The muted thud of hoofbeats had him straightening, turning his head towards the sound as George hailed him.

“Been waiting there long?”

“No. Not long. Fresh, is he?” Stonehaven reached out to greet his old friend, who made a pleased huffing sound and pushed at him with his noble head. “All right, all right, I know I’ve been neglecting you. You’ll need to remember to be gentle with me, mind,” he said with a smile.

It had been obvious, however, that Trojan had sensed a difference in him.

The horse had been agitated at first by his anxiety but had not fussed half as much as he would have done if anyone else had mounted him and exhibited such unease.

He had been patient, seeming to sense that Stonehaven needed time to regain his confidence, and though usually a strong-willed creature, he’d been remarkably docile.

“Lively, aye. I’d say,” George said with his usual laconic manner. “Also, I’ve made this for you.”

Stonehaven frowned quizzically, waiting as George dismounted.

He smiled in confusion as something was pressed into his hands.

Stonehaven released Trojan’s bridle, and the horse snuffled about his pockets, searching for the sugar he suspected was there.

Stonehaven laughed and handed it over before inspecting the gift George had given him.

It was a walking stick. Running his hands down the smooth wood, Stonehaven experienced a sudden and surprising surge of emotion, gratitude and happiness combining to such a degree he found himself quite winded by it.

“Thought it might serve… until you can find something fancier. You’ll be wanting something more elegant for a man of your standing, like. It’s sturdy, though, and will do the job,” George said awkwardly.

Stonehaven swallowed and forced himself to speak. “It’s marvellous. I can tell it’s beautifully made. Strong enough to keep me upright too. Thank you, George. I shall not be exchanging it for anything fancier, I assure you. It’s just what I needed.”

“Well, I hope it serves you well, my lord.”

“If it’s anything like the man who made it, I shall never be disappointed, nor find myself on my arse, with a bit of luck.”

George laughed, clearly pleased by this. “Well, I can’t promise that. Not the way you’re pushing yourself these past days. You’ll fall on your arse plenty, I reckon. But you’ll get back up again and keep on doing it too.”

There was something that sounded remarkably like admiration in the man’s voice and Stonehaven smiled, realising how much that meant.

It mattered not at all that George was a gardener, that he was uneducated and unsophisticated compared to most of Stonehaven’s friends.

George Hallat was decent to his bones, and the pride he took in Stonehaven’s progress meant more than he could express.

“Right, then,” George said briskly. “Give it here. I’ll set it by the gate, to the right, so you can use it when we get back. Ready to go?”

“Champing at the bit,” Stonehaven remarked with a grin, and called out to Trojan, holding another lump of sugar.

“Right, my lord. We’re up on Summer Hill. Reckon you fancy a short canter?”

Stonehaven’s heart leapt with both excitement and terror.

Not since he was a small boy had the idea of cantering make him feel so unnerved.

His father had been the kind to throw his small son into deep water because it was the quickest way to learn to swim—providing one didn’t drown.

Likewise, at barely four years old, he had been given a pony far too large and spirited for him and jounced about clinging on for dear life while his father bellowed instructions, he was too terrified to follow.

Still, on the bright side, he could both swim and ride, and he wasn’t dead yet. What was the adage?

Nothing is terrible but fear itself.

“Certainly, I do,” Stonehaven agreed.

He was relieved to discover that most of his ability on horseback had not been impeded.

The difficulty lay in not perceiving hazards or knowing if Trojan was dancing about out of real fear or because he had taken a dislike to an ill-mannered sheep or piece of rubbish blowing in the wind.

For that, he had to rely on George’s comments.

Besides this, his confidence was the greatest hindrance, which was understandable.

Knowing the ground was some distance beneath him, and not knowing what obstacles lay ahead, was a galvanising sensation and when his agitation communicated itself to Trojan, the horse immediately began dancing around, though did not try to unseat him as he might have done previously.

Stonehaven had discovered he could quell this minor rebellion with as much ease as always, but quelling his own inner turmoil was taking more time and effort.

Still, if he was stuck here until the first set of banns had been read, it was as well if he occupied his time instead of mooning over Sally and wishing she might visit him.

He had almost asked George to give her a message, even to arrange an assignation with her, and it was only knowing that George would disapprove and think him a blackguard that had stopped him from doing so.

“Right, then. We’re going to canter over the ridge, and I’ll give you a shout to pull up. Ready?”

“Ready.”

Stonehaven felt the familiar surge of the powerful horse beneath him, keeping his hands soft on the reins.

As a boy, he had sometimes closed his eyes when riding at speed, allowing the horse to take him on, knowing he was safe, and experiencing the closest thing to flying he would ever know.

He remembered that now, the same exhilaration, and yet it was not the same sensation, for he knew he would never open his eyes and see again.

Instead, he was aware of the dark presence of the woodland to his right and of the too bright sky overhead, though George said the day was overcast. The sounds of the horses' hooves striking the earth, the rush of wind in his ears, the jingle of tack and his own breath, everything merged together, filling his heart, making his blood rush through his veins, making him feel truly alive once more.

The only other thing that had made him feel such joy, such peace and yet such terror all at once, was holding Sally in his arms.

“That’ll do. Slow it down, my lord. Pull up. Well done, sir! That was splendidly done, if you don’t mind my observing it.”

“I don’t. Indeed, I do not!” Stonehaven exclaimed, his voice too loud as his breath came fast, his heart still thudding with the thrill of it. “That was bloody marvellous!”

George gave a bark of laughter. “It was that. Reckon we should be getting back, but we can do it again on the way, if you’d like to?”

“Try to stop me!” Stonehaven exclaimed, already turning his horse. “But a gallop this time.”

George followed him and both men gave a shout as they urged their horses on, galloping over Summer Hill and laughing as they went.

Bea looked out of the window on the upstairs landing, watching as Stonehaven and George trotted up to the back gate.

Her heart lifted, expanding with pride to see Stonehaven laughing and chatting with George and looking more relaxed than she had seen since the accident.

She suspected that riding again had given him back a feeling of independence and freedom he had believed he would never find again.

To see the astonishing progress he had made in such a short time was truly remarkable, and though she knew it would only cause her greater pain, she felt herself fall deeper in love with this remarkable, resilient man.

He swung down from the horse, muscular thighs bunching, his powerful body graceful and sure of its strength as he patted the horse and whispered lovingly to it.

An altogether distinct phenomenon slid beneath her skin then, mingling with the depth of love she felt and making her heart beat wildly.

Desire, a sensation she had not recognised on first experiencing it, was now familiar to her, and seemed to grow with each moment she spent in Stonehaven’s proximity.

Young men and boys had pestered Bea since she was a girl, many professing themselves mad in love with her when they knew her not at all.

She had felt nothing but embarrassment for their excessive emotions, for overblown compliments and words that rang hollow to her ear.

It had made her shy, reluctant to go out in the world where men stared at her with blatant interest, where she felt her beauty became a magnet for attention of a kind she did not want.

Stonehaven had never seen her in such a light, and she wondered what use her oft-vaunted looks were if they could not attract the one man she wished for.

She sighed, telling herself she was resigned to her fate, but there was a knot of something implacable and fierce in her stomach that refused to unravel, to accept the inevitable.

“Not yours,” she reminded herself in a whisper as she heard Stonehaven instruct George to take the horses back to the Ship.

There were stables enough at the vicarage, but no staff to look after them, and Stonehaven did not wish to burden George with another task when he was already acting as valet and guide atop his usual workload.

“Right you are, I’ll just—”