The dawning realization about what it was Rigby intended to do hit Matthew with full force, and he began to stumble towards Rigby, who was, by now, at the stable door. He could not draw too near to the man, however, given that the man’s knife was still being held ominously out towards him as Rigby retreated. Matthew began to panic, realizing that even if he managed to reach Rigby within the stable, it might be too late to save Beauchamp. His heart thundered furiously, sweat beading on his brow as he shouted out for Rigby to stop.
The man did not listen. Instead, he pulled the door open wide, making to step through it – only for a big black shadow to come thundering out of the stable doors, knocking Rigby to the ground and flinging the knife from his hand.
Someone had saddled Beauchamp and was now riding across the gardens with him, leaving Matthew behind to deal with Rigby.
Chapter Four
Creeping out into the dark gardens at three o’clock in the morning had been more difficult than Catherine had expected. For one, it had taken her longer to bind her chest and then dress in her brother’s clothes than she had thought it would, for she had forgotten just how difficult it was to remove oneself from one’s gown without the help of a maid. Thereafter, she had needed to tie her hair back tightly and then had pressed her wig on top. Pinning it there had been a little painful, but Catherine had endured it without complaint. Sneaking from the room had frayed her nerves, but eventually, she had made it outside. Her thoughts were filled with the Duke of Blackwell, even as she made her way towards the stables. To her great surprise, she had enjoyed talking with him, even though he had not been able to see her face. Her mother, of course, had been gratified by Catherine’s conduct at the ball, for once she had gained some courage, she had stepped out into the light, rejoined her mother, and had allowed gentlemen to write their name on her card. The duke, of course, had not done so—even though he had promised to do that very thing—but she had made certain that he did not know her name nor who she was, for then he might recognize who she was when she was dressed as Leighton.
Trying to push the duke from her thoughts, Catherine had practically run into the gentleman, whilst scurrying about in the dark! She then had to rush forward – something which was much easier in pantaloons than in her voluminous skirts – and escape out of his way, only to realize that there was a matter of great severity occurring just in front of the stables.
She had hidden herself as best she could but had overheard how Rigby had been speaking to Lord Blackwell and had felt her heart leap into her throat. Rigby had a knife, which was a threat in itself, and what he was saying to Lord Blackwell made things all the worse. Torn between remaining here and doing what she could to aid Lord Blackwell or returning to the house without delay, Catherine had remained undecided until, horrified, she realized that Rigby might very well intend to hurt Beauchamp.
It was just as well that the night brought with it a good many shadows, for without them, Catherine was quite sure she would not have been able to move into the barn without being noticed. The shadows were long, and she, being both short and slim, had clung to them carefully, pushing the door ajar a little more and slipping inside.
Now, pulling the door shut closed as carefully and as quietly as she could, Catherine looked about the stables, seeing how only one horse was stabled here. Most likely, Lord Blackwell had other stables with his other horses, for it was clear that he prized Beauchamp and wanted to ensure he had everything that was required, which meant, most likely, a stable solely dedicated to the creature.
Two lanterns gave the stable an eerie glow, making Catherine shudder violently as both fear and anxiety began to melt into her bones. What was she doing? What was it she intended to do? Looking towards Beauchamp and hearing the sound of Rigby’s voice still shouting obscene remarks towards Lord Blackwell, Catherine set her shoulders and lifted her chin. She was not about to let Rigby hurt Beauchamp.
“Hello,” she murmured, seeing how Beauchamp’s ears were held up straight, snorting as she drew near. “Do you remember me?” Carefully approaching the stallion, she held out one hand slowly, taking care to be as gentle as possible.
Keeping her voice quiet for the sole reason of not being overheard by anyone outside, she crooned softly under her breath, relieved when the horse nickered quietly in response.
“Will you let me come in?” she murmured, opening the stall and running her hand down the horse’s neck as she stepped inside. Thankfully, Beauchamp did nothing other than turn his head towards her, as though surprised she had come into his stall. His head swung back violently, and he snorted at the raised voices that came from outside the stables – and Catherine knew she had to act quickly.
Grateful for the way the groom and stable hands back at home had shown her how to saddle a horse and how they had, oft times, permitted her to do it on her own, she began to saddle up Beauchamp, surprised when he did nothing other than snort in either displeasure or anticipation. Her fingers slipped on the buckles as she heard Rigby’s voice grow louder, clearly coming closer to the stables. Looking about for a mounting block, the horse ready and prepared, she discovered that there was none present. Licking her lips and trying to think clearly about what she might do, despite the growing fear in her heart, Catherine led Beauchamp out, wondering if she should just let him free in the hope that this would be enough to protect him from Rigby.
But no, it was not going to be enough. It was a risk she could not take. If she simply let Beauchamp free, then Rigby might catch his bridle or the reins and do as he intended. The memory of the knife as it flashed in the moonlight made sweat break out over Catherine’s forehead. The moment was upon her. She had to find a way.
Closing her eyes for a moment and taking in a long breath, Catherine settled her shoulders and reminded herself that she was the only one at this present moment who was able to keep Beauchamp safe. With as much strength as she could muster, Catherine put one foot in the saddle and reached up to grasp the pommel, feeling as though she were being squashed into a most unnatural shape. Her muscles screamed as they were stretched taut, her other leg now standing on tiptoe as she tried to haul herself up.
With every last bit of strength she had, and with an exclamation flung from her lips, Catherine managed to throw her leg over and haul herself up into the saddle. Breathless from the exertion, she grasped the reins and Beauchamp moved towards the door, only for Catherine to pull them tight. It was as though Beauchamp knew precisely what it was she was asking of him, for he waited patiently, even though she could feel his flanks quivering with anticipation.
Catherine struggled to keep a hold of her anxiety, her breathing ragged and her stomach tight with tension. Swallowing hard and telling herself that she had more than enough knowledge and experience with which she might do this, she held her breath and saw the door begin to be pulled aside.
The moment it was opened wide, Catherine thrust her heels into Beauchamp’s sides and he moved at once, quickly and urgently as though he could tell that something was wrong. The moment his hooves hit the grass of the gardens, he took off at speed, galloping with such a great speed that it took every ounce of Catherine’s concentration to remain on his back. Behind her, she could hear shouts and exclamations of surprise, but she paid them no heed. Bending low over Beauchamp’s neck, she gave him his head and allowed him to gallop across the gardens. The moon lit the wide-open space ahead of them, and Beauchamp seemed to relish it, for he ran for a good length of time before finally b
eginning to slow. Catherine, finally able to catch her breath, reigned him into a canter, beginning to feel her anxiety and her fear draining away as she began to enjoy the ride. Beauchamp was a magnificent horse, faster than anything she had ridden before and certainly more responsive than even her own mare back at home. Stroking his neck as she pulled him back into a trot, Catherine smiled despite the circumstances. This had been a wonderful night in its own way, for not only had she been able to see Beauchamp again, she had managed to take him for a ride and had felt her connection with the horse grow even stronger. This horse was bound to be a champion, if only Lord Blackwell could find a more suitable jockey.
I would have been a wonderful jockey.
The thought sent the smile from her face immediately, knowing that such a thing was very unlikely to happen. She was a woman, whether she dressed in gentlemen’s clothes with her chest bound or not. The only way she would ever be able to achieve such a thing would be if someone like Lord Blackwell agreed that she could do so – and given what he had said, she doubted that he would ever give her the opportunity.
“Hoi! You there!”
The sound of an angry voice came through the darkness towards her, and she patted Beauchamp’s neck as he slowed down to a walk.
“Your Grace,” she stammered, suddenly realizing that she had not given any consideration as to what she might say to the duke when he found that it was she who had saddled and ridden Beauchamp out into the night. “I-I do hope that you are uninjured.”
Much to her surprise, the duke’s angry expression faded immediately when he saw that it was she who was speaking. In fact, he looked utterly astonished, his eyes wide as he looked back at her in the bright moonlight.
“You,” he breathed, as she tried to jump down from Beauchamp, stumbling a little as she landed. “You—whatever are you doing here?”
Catherine’s mouth went dry as she looked up at him, trying to find something in her mind that she could use as an excuse. “I….” Swallowing the lump in her throat and aware of just how loudly and quickly her heart was beating, she came up with the only thing she could. “I have no other employment,” she said, with a small shrug that she hoped betrayed nonchalance. “Therefore, I made my way here in the hope that you might offer me the opportunity to ride Beauchamp and prove to you that I would be an excellent jockey.”
The duke let out a breath that was a half chuckle, running one hand through his dark hair and staring at her in disbelief, as though he could not quite believe what she had said.
“My goodness,” he muttered, dropping his hand and shaking his head in astonishment. “And you made your way to my stables, just in time to hear Rigby threaten consequences for his dismissal?”