A Reckless Encounter

“Ah, but it was a lovely evening. And you danced so well! Quite surprisingly, you looked almost as one of the gypsies, and I thought it was most entertaining.”

“Mrs. Pemberton didn’t approve,” Carolyn said, a faint smile on her lips as she sipped hot chocolate. “I heard her late into the night scolding poor Olivia. You’re fortunate that your room is some distance from ours Celia, or you would have been treated to her scold as well.”

“Do you think so?” Celia lifted her cup to hide the sudden tremor of her hands. Any reminder of the previous night left her unnerved. What would she do—say—when she saw him again? Thank God he wasn’t here this morning, but was out somewhere on the estate, Renfroe had informed them when they came down for breakfast.

“His lordship tenders his regrets, but will see you later in the day. Those of you who wish to ride, or take a trap into the village, are welcome to do so,” he’d added, and Mrs. Pemberton had immediately expressed a strong desire to go into Houghan with her niece.

“I admit I’m glad they’ve gone for a while. I shall go up to my room and write some letters,” Jacqueline said when they had finished a lavish breakfast. “You two are free to do as you wish, of course.”

“What do you intend to do, Celia?” Carolyn regarded her with a rather wistful expression. “Do you ride?”

Celia recognized the appeal in her cousin’s eyes. “I suppose I could try, though it’s too bad Mrs. Pemberton already took the pony trap.”

“Oh, I’ll be glad to show you, and I’m sure there is a suitable mare that will be quite tame enough for you to ride, Celia. How lovely!”

“Perhaps a turn in the fresh air will clear out any cobwebs from my brain,” Celia sighed as she rose.

Eagerly, Carolyn joined her, and they strolled slowly along a path of crushed stone to the stables. It was a crisp, cool morning with promising sunlight seeping through tree branches to banish any lingering shrouds of mist, and as she tied the pink strings of her bonnet beneath her chin, Celia was suddenly glad Carolyn had suggested the ride. It would be a relief to think of something other than last night. She’d lain awake until almost dawn, then slept only fitfully until Janey had come in to awaken her.

Strange, she should feel so different, when she had noticed nothing unusual in her appearance that morning, though she’d stared into the mirror for what seemed ages trying to see if she had changed. She should have. There should be some sign, a mark, perhaps, of a fallen woman. Only her normal face had stared back at her, eyes wide and dark with tension in a face that looked paler than usual but without a betraying stamp of guilt.

“Oh look, Celia!” Carolyn moved eagerly forward as they neared the paddock where horses milled about. “What absolutely lovely animals!”

Celia eyed them less appreciatively. It was easy to admire their beauty, but she’d never ridden one, despite her claims to Northington. Papa had owned a horse, but it had been sold along with everything else when he died. Her recent experience with horses was limited to carriage rides.

“Isn’t that Santiago, the gypsy from last night?” Caro whispered, nudging Celia. “Oh it is…Why is he still here, I wonder.”

“He trains the horses.”

Santiago was in the paddock with several sleek-coated animals, talking in soft low tones in his lyrical language and didn’t even glance up when Carolyn and Celia leaned on the fence to watch. He was gentle with them, and oblivious to those watching. There was a grace in his movements that reminded Celia of the music he’d played the night before, a kind of rhythm that seemed to transfer to the horses.

One of the other gypsies, Mario she thought, leaned against a far post, and beside him stood Marita. She saw them, and after a moment, Marita came around the paddock to speak to them.

“You admire Santiago’s gift with the horses, I see.” Red lips curved in a smile that seemed more mocking than friendly, and though she spoke to both of them, her gaze remained more on Celia. “We all learn to ride when we are still children. Not many have the same way with horses as Santiago. It is a talent.”

“Yes,” Carolyn said admiringly, “it certainly is.”

“Do you ride?” Marita addressed the question to Carolyn but still studied Celia with a dark-eyed gaze that held taunting lights.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Carolyn replied at once. “I’ve always ri

dden, but Celia—”

“I choose my own mounts,” Celia interrupted coolly, loathe to give Marita even the smallest satisfaction of besting her. Marita’s brow lifted.

“So, you do ride, heh? Then you must admire these horses tremendously, for they are very spirited beasts and not for inexperienced riders.” Her shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “I ride them, but I am much more used to it than you would be.” Her eyes narrowed slyly. “Sometimes I ride with his lordship. He is very complimentary of my—skills.”

“Yes, I’m certain he is,” Celia replied casually, though a little twinge made her add, “It must impress him that you’re able to ride like a lady.”

“Like a lady?” She laughed, anger sparking in her eyes. “No, no, not so tame as that! He is not so impressed with ladies, I think, but admires how I ride like a man. Yes, and he said I make him think of a centaur, for I ride so well.”

“Indeed.” Celia was aware of Carolyn’s curious gaze, but managed an indifferent shrug. “I prefer not to be so manly, but perhaps you do not mind.”

“No, and neither does the señor!” Marita’s gaze was openly hostile now, dark eyes thinned to angry slits as she glared at Celia. “But what would you know, a pale copy of a woman that you are, like ice!”

“Really,” Carolyn began faintly, sounding aghast at Marita’s vehemence. “I hardly think it your place to be saying these things to a guest of Northington’s. He’ll be very displeased.”

Marita tossed her head. “No, he will not. I know him much better than you—either of you! He admires spirit and fire, not some…some—”