Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

“You are actually thinking of racing?” Violet hissed in Celia’s ear.

“No, I’m not.” Celia shook her head as she stood with the other ladies in the stable yard.

Lady Arundel was clearly taking advantage of the sunny weather that day. She had arranged for the men to race their horses. Their final destination was to be the top of a nearby hill, where the ladies would be waiting for them with a picnic.

“Maybe I just don’t like the idea of being the prize they’re racing toward,” Celia whispered, prompting Violet to smile.

“I thought you loved a good race.”

“I do.”

Celia glanced toward the horses now being brought out of the stables as each man chose his horse. It was hardly a secret in her family that she loved to ride. More than once, Marianne complained that Celia was too wild in her riding.

Their father never seemed to mind too much. He preferred the outdoors himself to the company of the ton, but Marianne minded very much, indeed.

“You and that opera singer friend of yours⁠—”

“Miriam,” Celia reminded her sister.

“That’s right. When you and Miriam were caught racing your horses through Covent Garden, you didn’t mind being caught, did you?” Violet asked with a laugh as she turned toward one of the carriages that was to take all the ladies to the nearby hill.

I minded Ma finding out.

Celia hardly cared what the rest of the ton thought. It had been a great adventure, something thrilling to do, until Marianne said just how disappointed she was that Celia was no true lady, after all.

“That was different,” Celia said eventually, though she still made no move to follow her sister.

“Then, you are coming?” Violet called, waving to the carriage she was about to climb into.

“One minute.” Celia glanced away, noting that one man was missing from their party. It didn’t take long for him to join them.

The Duke of Hardbridge strode out of the house within seconds, looking as different from the other gentlemen as night looked from day.

He wore another one of those long coats that hung behind him, his waistcoat tight around his waist and no tailcoat to be seen. Rather than a cravat, he wore a thin black tie that hung loose around his throat, revealing once again a sliver of skin. He hadn’t bothered with a top hat as every other gentleman there wore, so his dark curly hair was clearly on show, tousled around his ears.

A wild idea of crawling into the Duke’s lap the night before came to her mind. She imagined running her fingers through his hair and hearing his deep voice call to her…

“Lass?”

She started when she realized he was indeed speaking to her.

“What is this?” he asked, nodding his head toward the gentlemen.

“A race. The prize is a picnic. Will you be joining them?”

He frowned, plainly showing how much he thought this was no prize at all.

“If I raced, it would be unfair to these…” He waved in the direction of the other men.

“People?” Celia said rather sharply, prompting him to raise his eyebrows. “A gentleman shouldn’t aim to insult his peers, Your Grace.”

“Hmm.” He didn’t look convinced by the idea. “I rode in battle. You think I couldn’t ride up a hill?”

“It’s not about winning or losing.” She stepped toward him. “Lesson number one, Sir⁠—”

“Yer Grace,” he reminded her with a thoroughly amused smile.

“Your Grace,”she muttered through gritted teeth. “Lesson number one—if you want to find a bride, then do not make yourself the outcast, and do not treat others as your inferiors. It only makes you look proud.”

He smirked a little, and she knew at once exactly just how proud he truly was.

“At least try not to look so proud,” she pointed out.

“Aye, as ye wish, lass.” He inclined his head in acknowledgment and walked toward the other horses, without so much as a good day.

She stared after him, her jaw slack as he picked his horse. Inevitably, he chose the largest horse, a great brutish-looking stallion that the other gentlemen had avoided for its size.

It bucked once as Lord Crampton approached, but with one grasp of the reins, the Duke of Hardbridge had it under control. The chestnut beast bowed its head to the Duke, practically leaning its forehead against the Duke’s.

How did he do that?

Celia couldn’t help admiring him. Never had she seen a man with such command over a horse before.

When one of the stable boys refused to saddle the stallion, quivering at his side, the Duke took the saddle from the boy’s hands. He said something in the boy’s ear, and to Celia’s surprise, whatever the Duke said actually made the boy smile.

Celia stared after the boy in wonder as he hurried off.

The Duke of Hardbridge now saddled the horse. At first, the stallion complained, stomping one hoof and flicking its ears backward.

“You’ve picked the rogue one there,” Xander called as he walked past the Duke. “No one wanted to test his limits. The last time I was here, he threw his rider.”

“Then he shall at least make this ride more interesting.” The Duke’s answer made Xander shake his head before he too mounted his horse.

The Duke of Hardbridge laid a firm hand on the horse’s neck and then patted him. It was both commanding and comforting. Then he did up the saddle, and the horse didn’t complain again. Stunned, Celia chewed on her lip as she watched him climb up into the saddle.

It was a display of strength as he threw his coat over the back of his horse, his biceps straining against his shirt.

Suddenly overheated, Celia pulled at the neckline of her gown, wishing it didn’t cover her shoulders so much or make her so clammy.

“Now, Lady Celia,” Lady Arundel said, appearing at her side. “Are you joining us in the carriage? We must be quick if we are to have the picnic ready for the men.”

“What is the route?” Celia asked, watching as a mare was brought out by the stable boy.

The mare was as of yet unclaimed, and she was a beauty. Tall and lithe, strong but not overbearing, she shook out her mane and neighed at the sky.

She is impatient to be part of the race.

“Oh, a difficult one,” Lady Arundel said with a chuckle. “My son always enjoys organizing these excursions.” She waved to her son, Lord Porter, who had claimed his own horse, ready for the race. “Each rider has to head to the old farmland, cross the lake, then ride up to the turreted hill. You can’t miss it. It has an old folly on top.”

“Very well.” Celia nodded.

Her eyes weren’t fixed on the landscape and the distant landmarks Lady Arundel was pointing out. Instead, she stared only at the Duke of Hardbridge.

He sat much easier in the saddle than most of the other gentlemen, who were stiff-backed and rather fidgety. In fact, he looked in his natural environment, as if he should have always been out here and never in that cramped house.

“I think I’ll join the race.”

“You will?” Violet’s voice sounded from the carriage. Beside her, Grace must have elbowed her, for Violet coughed, cleared her throat, and then said the same words without so much astonishment. “I mean… you will.”

“I will. I shall see you at the picnic, ladies.” Celia pulled on her small riding gloves, adjusting them around her wrists as she made her way toward the mare.

“Lady Celia?” Lord Porter hastened forward. “Allow me to help you onto the horse.”

“There is no need, My Lord.” Celia smiled, but he was quite insistent, stepping in her path so suddenly that she almost collided with him.

“Please, I insist,” Lord Porter said with an air of chivalry that irritated her. “Riding is no easy thing, My Lady. How would I feel if you were to fall and hurt yourself when you were a guest in my house?”

“I’d be happy to instruct you in how to ride properly,” Lord Crampton cut in, appearing at her other side and also offering her his hand.

She stepped back from the pair of them, feeling somewhat beleaguered by the show of hands.

“It is no easy thing,” Lord Crampton said belittlingly. “But with the proper instruction, I’m sure I could help.”

A deep chuckle sounded from across the yard. If Lord Crampton heard the sound, he pretended not to, but Celia certainly heard it. The laugh came from the Duke of Hardbridge, who was shaking his head at Lord Crampton’s words.

“You might be surprised, Lord Crampton,” Xander spoke up. Celia couldn’t help smiling a little when she caught her brother-in-law’s eye. “I’ve rarely seen as good a rider as my sister-in-law.”

“Well, it never hurts to have help.” Lord Porter was insistent, waving his hand at her again.

“I thank you for your… kindness,” Celia chose the word with difficulty.

To her, it wasn’t so much kindness on Lord Porter’s and Lord Crampton’s parts as an insistence on appearing as the greater and more capable man.

They are all showing off.

“Yet, I need no help.”

Celia swept her skirt to the side a little to reveal her boot. She heard Lord Porter’s gasp of surprise, and he looked away, though no other man did as she put her boot in the stirrup and pushed up, inadvertently giving them a glimpse of her calf.

As she sat still in the saddle and took the reins from the stable boy, she felt eyes upon her. Most men had now looked away, but she turned around to see one man had no intention of looking elsewhere.

What is it about the Duke of Hardbridge’s stare that I like?

It was an intense and unblinking gaze. It only broke when he turned away to follow the other riders.

Within a minute, they were all lined up at the edge of the yard, with Lord Porter at the far end.

“On your marks, when I fire…” He raised a pistol into the air.

There was perfect silence, only disturbed by Celia’s heavy breathing as she gripped the reins tightly, and then the pistol went off.

At the loud bang, all the horses jerked forward.

Yet, Celia’s horse carried the lighter load. She shot across the gardens, following the path that Lady Arundel had pointed out to her, her mare racing ahead of the others. When she reached the edge of the farmland, she glanced back to see there was a great distance between her and any others in the field.

She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips as she looked ahead again, turning the horse to race alongside the lake. Moments like this were incredibly freeing. These moments were where she knew it didn’t matter if she chose not to play by the rules.

As she reached the edge of the lake though, she heard the sound of another horse’s hooves.

It’s not possible.

She leaned forward over her mare’s head, urging her to go faster, but it was little use. A great shadow passed over her as a larger horse and a taller rider came alongside her.

Celia looked at the rider in disbelief. The Duke of Hardbridge wasn’t even breaking a sweat as he rode. He looked at her and then gave that infuriating smirk that she was beginning to hate so much—every time she saw it, something lurched deep within her gut.

“I let ye play long enough.” Then he winked.

“You mean—” She broke off, for he flicked the reins of his horse and was gone, shooting off far ahead and alongside the lake.

Celia rode as hard as she could, but try as she might, the lithe mare could not possibly keep up with the strong stallion. She rode after him, trailing behind him all the way up the hill toward their final destination. It didn’t matter to her that she was far ahead of the other riders. All that mattered to her now was the fact that he had beaten her.

The last part of the journey was no easy feat. The Duke of Hardbridge took the steepest incline, and if she hoped to stay on his tail, she had to do the same. Her mare managed to gain ground a little, and as they rode up the hill, she could not quite make it all the way up.

He rode ahead to the very top of the hill, racing over the finish line, where a few yards away, the other ladies had arrived in their carriages and the footmen were laying out their picnic.

Celia rode over the finish line and stopped, panting heavily as she tried to catch her breath. Without words, the Duke of Hardbridge turned his horse and then circled her. She stilled, unable to take her eyes off him.

With ease, he came to a halt and leaped down from the horse, leaving his coat behind and trusting the wild horse to be obedient and stay in one place. He walked toward her and offered her his hands, though he didn’t reach for her hand as the other men had done earlier. Instead, he reached straight for her waist, turning her to pull her down from the horse.

She couldn’t help following his movements. She placed her hands on his shoulders and let him lift her off the horse. The moment her fingers touched him, her stomach fluttered madly, as if a thousand moths lived beneath her skin and had all taken flight at once.

As he lifted her into the air and lowered her to the ground, he brought her body close to his so that her chest slid against his own, ever so subtly.

She should have been outraged at the audaciousness of the movement. She should have cursed at him, but something buried deep within admired the boldness of his actions. Was it not the same sort of boldness she so often indulged in?

“See?” he whispered, his fingers still resting on the curve of her waist. That infuriating smirk was back on his face, lifting his chiseled cheeks and his strong jawline. It didn’t help that his right hand squeezed ever so softly, his fingers brushing against the curve of her hip. “I don’t even need to talk.”