hooves, clearing the coping with inches to spare.
Even as his heart swelled in admiration, Garrick wanted to take his crop to her backside. He wanted to shake her. Make her promise never to risk her life in that fashion again. He had to catch her first.
Never had he seen a woman ride so hard, better than many men he knew. Admiration outstripped anger as he watched the perfect harmony between horse and rider. She rode like a madwoman, but she knew her horse and by the time they were heading back to the barn, he’d forgiven her madcap dash. He laughed out loud when she raised a brow in question from beneath her cocked hat.
As they walked the horses cool, a feeling of contentment washed through him. It was as if some great weight had gone from his shoulders, or some dark shadow had been erased from his soul. She made him feel…happy. A gift beyond price.
A happiness he didn’t deserve, but would enjoy as long as it lasted.
‘I’m starving,’ he said.
‘Me, too.’
‘Lucky I thought to bring lunch.’ He retrieved the hamper he’d left in the barn’s cool interior and spread out a red-and-green plaid blanket on the grass over-looking the pond. She laid out the feast, small meat pasties in a feather-light crust, bread, cheese and fine red wine. Neither said much while they ate. It was good to see a woman eat with such gusto, unlike the ladies of his acquaintance in London, who picked at food as if it might be poison.
Crickets chirped a merry tune in the grass. A dove on the barn roof cooed softly. Appetite sated, Garrick stretched out, leaning on one elbow so he could watch her face. She sighed and, resting against his thigh, sipped her wine. ‘Thank you for a most wonderful surprise,’ she murmured.
The pleasure in her voice filled his heart with unaccustomed warmth. It burned like frozen fingers brought back to life. ‘I’m glad it pleased you. Tell me, how on earth did you learn to ride and fight with a sword like a boy?’
She hesitated.
Would she lie? The warmth dwindled, but he tried to hold it fast. After all, he had his own dark secrets.
‘I told you I was brought up with the Castlefield children,’ she said. ‘We spent a year or two in India. While travelling in some parts it was safer to dress the girls as boys. I took fencing and riding lessons with William…I mean, Lord Castlefield. I loved it. Sometimes I wished I’d been born a boy.’
William. Her familiarity with the man sent the heat of anger flooding to his brain even as he analysed her slight hesitations and carefully chosen words. No doubt about it. She was lying.
He kept his expression cool, detached. ‘I envy you. I have never been outside England. The war with France made the Grand Tour impossible.’ Not to mention his uncle’s protectiveness.
She set down her half-full glass and stared at the rolling vista. ‘It was the same for the oldest son, the heir. He hoped to go abroad once the war was over. He was killed in a carriage accident not long ago. Now William must return and take up the duties as heir. In a way, I’m glad.’ Her voice caught. ‘I hated thinking of him in danger.’
Garrick couldn’t see her face, but he heard the note of deep longing in her voice. Clearly no matter what he did, she would prefer this man. Jealousy surged, twisted in his gut, knotted with a cold, hard lump of anger and bitterness. The thought of this other man wounded him in a way he hadn’t expected, a way he’d never before experienced. He forced himself not to care. ‘Is it your wish to go to him when he returns?’ The hard edge in his voice told him he’d failed.
‘Oh, no.’ She sounded sincere, almost appalled.
More acting? And why would he care? His plans for the future didn’t involve a woman. He eased away from her, rose to his feet and began packing away the remains of the picnic.
‘One of your servants came to Castlefield, once,’ she said, passing him her wineglass. ‘He’d been in the same regiment as the old lord, and your father, I believe. A man named Piggot.’
His stomach lurched. The ground beneath his feet seemed to shift at the sound of a name he’d not heard in years. He stood stock-still. ‘Piggot?’
‘I can remember the Earl being quite upset after his visit, but he did not say why.’ She rose to her feet and dusted off her breeches, her small hands patting the round curve of her derrière.
A tremor, so deep it did not disturb the surface of his flesh, quaked in his bones. Would Piggot have revealed the events surrounding his mother’s death to Castle-field? Did the information that could destroy him lie in Castlefield’s hands, awaiting imminent discovery? How Ellie would revile him if she learned the truth. And yet, in some dark corner of his soul lay a measure of relief at the thought of laying down a burden too heavy to bear.
Unseeing, he stared at the blanket in his hands.
‘On guard.’
A sword point flickered in his face. He recoiled. ‘What the deuce?’
She laughed, her eyes sparkling. She twirled her blade, then raised it in salute. ‘You promised me a lesson.’
Sweat trickled off his brow and ran cold down his cheek. He let go a long breath and smiled. ‘So I did.’ He collected his weapon from the gig and took off his coat.
He bowed, then saluted. ‘On guard.’
She took up her stance, lithe and alert. As their blades hissed together, he recalled her amazing skill. She’d been taught by a master. A worthy opponent, indeed, though she did not have the strength of wrist or the reach to best him. He demonstrated his technique of twisting a blade free of his opponent’s hand. She grasped the theory quickly, but had trouble putting it into practice.
‘It will work for you with a weaker opponent,’ he said.
Clearly exhausted, the tip of her sword resting on the grass, she nodded and wiped her face on her shirtsleeve with a laugh. ‘Enough, my lord. I can barely lift my arm.’
Her face was flushed, beads of sweat shone on her brow and her shirt was undone past what was decent. Delicious. Tantalising. His body quickened.
‘Aye. It is time you changed, before my servant comes to retrieve the picnic, and he recognises you as the highwayman I kissed.’ He led her into the barn.
Ellie tugged on his hand. ‘Why did you kiss me that night? There was no legend, was there?’
He smiled at her frown. ‘Because, like a fool I’d left my pistol in the coach.’ And lucky it was he had. God, even now she might be dead.
‘I was a fool to let you get so close. I’d not do so again.’
‘There will not be a next time.’ Cold fear struck his heart. He pressed her against him, the urge to keep her safe overwhelming. ‘Will there?’
Against his arm, her spine stiffened. Her grey eyes cooled as she hid her thoughts. ‘No. There is no reason for it any longer.’
He kissed her hard, trying to break through the barrier she’d put up. It worked. She melted against him and his blood grew thick and heavy with need.
‘How do you
