“Oh,” Barnaby said calmly. When she didn’t speak, he drew his horse alongside the fence and made it clear that he had no intention of going anywhere until she had left the field.
Rose eyed the height of the fence and turned around until her back was away from Barnaby’s mirth-filled gaze. Releasing her hold on her breeches she clambered awkwardly over the fence and jumped down on the other side.
“Mornin’”
Rose squealed and spun round. Her horrified gaze stared in shock at the young man, not much more than fifteen, walking toward her out of the early morning gloom with a huge grin on his face.
Oh no, not you too, she groaned. It was then that she realised she had her bare backside on display to Barnaby.
Would he be a gentleman and not mention it? She waited. And waited.
“I take it you don’t spend much time in the country then,” Barnaby mused making no attempt to hide his grin.
“No, I don’t,” she replied waspishly.
“Nice view,” Barnaby chortled. He forced his face straight and nodded toward the vista before them quite seriously when she glared at him.
“Yes it is,” she replied.
With as much dignity as she could muster, Rose covered her backside as best she could and stalked away. Thankfully, Barnaby was still inside the field. Being on the opposite side of the fence gave her an advantage of being able to put some distance between them, and she wasn’t afraid to use it. Unfortunately, that distance didn’t last long.
“Here, put these on,” Barnaby murmured when he drew alongside her a few moments later. “You can ignore me all you like but you are stuck with me, Rose. I am not going anywhere.”
She ignored him. He waited a few moments and then tried again.
“It is going to be a long walk if you keep going, especially with one boot on and one boot off. Of course, you can go and see if the farmer’s son has another pair of his breeches if you like? Assuming that Rufus doesn’t mind.”
“Rufus,” Rose muttered unsure if he was talking about the boy or the bull.
“Your bovine friend,” Barnaby coughed.
“He is not my friend,” Rose replied.
“He seemed to like you,” Barnaby choked out, covering his guffaw with his hand.
Rose slammed to a stop and glared at him, daring him to laugh aloud. She eyed the horses’ backside and wondered if a good slap was in order. In the end she sucked in a huge breath, clenched her teeth, and continued to march – all without saying a word.
Barnaby watched her go and took the opportunity to stare appreciatively at her rounded backside. He gave her a few minutes to vent her fury and tried again.
“It is going to start to rain soon,” Barnaby said conversationally when he caught up with her.
“Oh, good, as if there hasn’t been enough hilarity already.” She glared at him and tried her level best to hate him, but she just couldn’t. Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to blame anybody but herself for what happened. If she had just listened to the farmer then none of this would have happened. As it was, she had desperately made a break for freedom only for Mother Nature to stand in the wa
y. That couldn’t be Barnaby’s fault or even Rufus’ really. It was purely her own.
He eased the horse into walk alongside a tiring Rose who, unbeknown to her, had already started to slow her pace. He wasn’t sure whether to be proud or horrified that she didn’t seem willing to admit that she was way out of her depth. She just continued to plough on regardless with her uneven gait, her backside flashing with each step she took, and her chin tipped up against the world. He was impressed, but felt as though he was committing some kind of cardinal sin by approving of someone so stubbornly determined to fly in the face of reason. He pitied whoever she ended up married to. The poor sap wouldn’t have a moment’s rest. Barnaby didn’t doubt that any husband of Rose’s would be grey within the first year, and would spend his entire life hauling his darling harridan out of one scrape after another. One thing was for certain, it wasn’t going to be him. In spite of the surge of jealousy that swept through him at the thought of Rose being the wife of someone else, Barnaby knew he was going to rest easier at night knowing she was no longer his burden. All he had to do was keep her out of Chadwick’s clutches and hand her over to one of his colleagues, like Reg. It was easy – or should be.
Maybe Reg would be better at keeping her safe, he mused as he rode alongside her.
Reg was just as reckless and gung-ho as Rose was. They would make a great couple, and could help each other out of the scrapes they got themselves into. Although it sounded like a good idea, Barnaby vetoed that idea as ludicrous because Reg was reckless about everything in his life. He worked hard, fought hard, and played just as hard. Reg was even more averse to matrimony that he was, and that was saying something. There was no way he could countenance an association between those two. Rose deserved better.
Whoa there, who said you have to countenance any romantic entanglements Rose got herself into? It is nothing to do with you he thought, shying away from the prospect of having any further contact with Rose when this was all over.
As soon as they reached Portsmouth, he was going to go after Chadwick, it was as simple as that. Not even his attraction to Rose was going to stop him.
When Rose reached a small stream, Barnaby knew it was time to draw a halt to this particular part of their adventure and nudged his horse forward until he could look into her face. She appeared to be utterly miserably, cold, wet, but she still refused to give in.
“Why don’t you just admit it, Rose? This is too difficult a situation for you to handle alone. Why, you are more adept at handling skilful manoeuvres in the ballroom. This countryside malarkey is likely to be the death of you.”