Chapter 2

Jane looked back over her shoulder to see the handsome young Duke spurring his horse to follow her. On seeing him at the gate, his beauty had quite taken her breath away. Broad shoulders with black hair and shocking blue eyes.

The eyes of a hunter, sharp and alert. How thrilling!

Flustered by those piercing eyes, Jane had resorted to her usual defense, a cheeky disregard for convention and an irresistible urge to poke fun at pomposity.

Not that he seems entirely pompous. But any man who indulges in a ride through the countryside as well-attired as this man thinks altogether too highly of himself.

Jane had dressed herself in a coat reserved for the outdoors and a light blue and white dress that was not one of her best. And the only reason for that concession was that the lecture she would receive from Cousin Ernest, if she dirtied a good dress, would be more than she could bear.

There will be enough of a lecture as it is. I surely will not be able to get home from here for at least three hours. That means I will be late for dinner. Aunt Louisa will laugh if I tell her I was delayed while I raced a Duke. Ernest will have apoplexy. Botheration!

The blue-eyed Duke was gaining on her. But she had not been bragging. To ride side-saddle at speed took exceptional balance and a strong relationship with the horse. Hettie responded to the reins as instinctively as most mounts did for the pressure of their rider's knees. She also understood a range of voice commands.

I will show the pompous Duke how gender does not have a bearing on horsemanship.

The sound of thundering hooves was growing loud in her ears. Another glance back showed the Duke less than a horse-length behind her. He was standing in the saddle, revealing shapely legs. His face was set. It was strong with a firm jaw and flat planes of cheeks and slightly tilted cheekbones. There was something exotic in those features that spoke of origins beyond England.

Maybe he is descended from a gypsy prince. A King of the Romany. Or a rebellious Welsh prince.

A branch snatched at her hair, whipping past her as she veered too close to the trees that crowded to either side of the path. Jane shrieked at the sudden touch, more invigoration than genuine fear.

Time to concentrate, Jane Grant. My goodness, I did not even return the Duke the courtesy of my name. How rude he must think of me. Botheration!

Jane hunched forward as more limber branches slashed by. The Duke was close enough that Jane could hear the snorting breath of his horse. Its nose was level with Hettie's croup now.

So, he is faster in a straight race. But how good is he in a steeplechase?

Seeing an opening in the trees to her left, Jane steered Hettie through it with a tug of the reins. The Duke almost missed the turn, but managed to stay with her. Jane grinned to herself, focusing her concentration on the terrain ahead. A small clearing had been formed by a fallen tree. Hettie leaped the log without breaking stride or balking. Jane instinctively shifted her position to brace for the landing. Then they were among the trees. Jane sought out a path between maples and birch. Here, Hettie's nimble feet and her rider's skill began to make the difference.

A quick look back over her shoulder was risked and Jane saw the gap widening.

Not doing so well when you can't predict the path, handsome Duke.

His face was now a mask of determination, set as though from stone. Blue eyes were fixed on her and Jane resisted the urge to stick out her tongue.

That would be going too far. I must maintain some decorum or even Aunt Louisa will have words for me. But, by God, this is fun!

Hettie was beginning to tire, Jane could tell. If her sturdy mount was flagging, then her pursuer must also be tired. Jane looked back once more to see that the Duke was almost out of sight. Across the uneven and unpredictable terrain of the deep woods, he had been unable to keep up with her. For herself, these woods were not as familiar as the Ashdown Forest which had been her playground since she could walk, but still, those childhood experiences had stood her in good stead.

Seeing a dip in the land ahead, she steered Hettie into it and, when she thought she must be lost to the sight of the Duke, doubled back. She ensured that thick undergrowth was kept between her and her opponent in this steeplechase, walking Hettie until she heard him thundering by, screened from her by a tangle of hawthorn and briars. Smiling to herself, she let Hettie find her own pace, confident that the Duke had lost her in the woods.

What a lovely day it has been. A visit to see Mary Jones' new baby over at Cookham Farm, then a pleasant ramble across the country to work up an appetite.

Ernest's dour, disapproving face loomed in her mind and she sighed. She wished that her circumstances were such that she could ignore Cousin Ernest and his disapproval. She wished to be free, as her parents had been, unshackled by the expectations of society. Louisa, the Dowager Marchioness and Ernest's mother, was free, caring little for the opinions of her peers and indulging in her passion for the arts. But, the house belonged to Ernest. He was Earl and, while Louisa was protected by the fact that he was her son, Jane's familial connection was weaker.

And so I must bow my head and look contrite when Ernest summons me to his study like a wayward child. It is all very well for Aunt Louisa to keep company with artists, poets, and actors. He can't control her, so doubles his efforts to control me.

She had left the house in a respectable dress, changing at Cookham into the more practical breeches and boots that she now wore.

It would serve Ernest right if I marched into Welterham in my breeches and boots. See how he likes that.

It would not happen, however. Jane could not provoke him too much. Not until she had contrived a way that she might live on her own, out from under Ernest's thumb. The living left to her by her father was insufficient to rent a house of her own, however. She tried to put her circumstances from her mind.

I do not know what the future will bring or when Ernest will next allow me to spend the day out on my own like this. I must not waste a minute in a brown study.

Her thoughts returned to the pompous, but handsome, Duke. Jane glanced over her shoulder as though he might be there following. Part of her hoped he would be, though she knew he was left a long way behind.

And undoubtedly is no tracker. Not a man who goes riding in a silk waistcoat and a fine royal blue coat. Mary Jones and her husband could live for a year on the cost of that wardrobe.

But such an interesting face. Austere, as was his manner to a degree. Strong and unyielding in a way that inspired attraction but also a thrill of fear.

The face of a barbarian raider. Had he caught me, he is probably strong enough to do with me as he wishes.

The thought sent a tingle of excitement through her and a flush of color to her cheeks. Jane smiled to herself and shook her head at the wanton thoughts. If ever she saw him again, she would be scarlet. Still, it was not as though she would ever see him again, so that was a remote risk. Ahead, the woodland was becoming sparse and long grass swayed in the gentle breeze between slender boles. A few sheep were munching their way through it, some looked up as Hettie walked by but most ignored her.

Jane looked out to the horizon. Somewhere beyond that lay the English Channel. Beyond that was France and then, if you kept on, the Mediterranean and Africa.

Papa has traveled that road, to Africa and beyond even that. I wonder if I will ever get to tread in his footsteps. See Cairo, or Madrid perhaps. And what of Delhi and Calcutta? One day, Jane, one day.