His Duty, Her Destiny Read online

  ‘You’ll see better from the saddle, m’lady,’ said the groom. ‘You’re not riding sideways, then? Hup!’

  ‘No,’ she said, throwing one leg over and tucking her skirts beneath her. It was unladylike in the extreme, but she intended to win this race and that could not be done without a secure seat. ‘It’s all right. My friends have seen my ankles before.’

  From the height of Janus’s back, she turned to see what she most feared and was caught, well before she could avoid them, by the triumphantly laughing eyes of Sir Fergus Melrose. Supremely confident, he towered a head above most of the others on a bay stallion at least two hands taller than her delicate racy gelding, yet there was no time to exchange more than one forbidding glance before the horses jostled into a prancing snorting line, stamping and tossing with impatience.

  ‘Two circuits!’ somebody called, and she knew it was him.

  Hostility burned a scowl upon her face, for now her chances of winning had lessened considerably. Worse still, she had hoped for another day free of his presence. Even his complete retreat. Now that possibility had all but disappeared. Clenching her teeth, she gathered the reins and watched the white kerchief fluttering in the breeze, ready to drop.

  ‘Off!’ The kerchief descended and Janus leapt forward well ahead of the others as if he knew the signal as well as she. A stampede of hooves threw sods of dry turf high into the air as a sea of colour surged across the common land towards a distant windmill, its arms waving lazily to them in a clear blue sky. It seemed a very long way away, and Nicola was the only woman in a field of determined men.

  Sheep and lambs belonging to the commoners had, since the previous contests, herded themselves together well away from the yelling riders who thudded forward, led by the silver-and-green image of Nicola. Just in the lead, she was able to choose the narrowest part of the stream to jump, hardly noticing a change in Janus’s stride as he flew over it like a swallow. But the ground was hard and unkind to horses’ hooves, and the sound of crashing behind her told a story of spills and worse.

  In Nicola’s mind, however, a force had taken hold that harked back to her youth when, as an eleven-and twelve-year-old, her main ambition had been to make Fergus Melrose recognise her abilities, to place herself on his exalted level and, dream of dreams, to beat him. That would be triumph indeed. That would show him, especially after that humiliating episode with the swords. So she forgot how uneven the contest was, and how things had always been between them, how he always won and how bitter was the pain not only of losing but of being ignored, too. This time, she would give him a good run for his money, and she would ride pillion behind a man of her own choosing, whose name would not be Fergus Melrose.

  Janus was everything she had hoped he would be, fast, sure-footed and agile, and possessed of excellent stamina long after many of the others had dropped back on the second circuit. Passing those friends who had not taken part, she was aware of their cheering for her and of their warning that the stranger on the big bay was close behind her. Indeed, she could hear the pounding of his hooves close by, the steady unbroken rhythm and the untroubled breathing, though she would not turn to look. She placed Janus carefully to clear the stream again, but now the big bay stallion leapt it as if it were not there, then went loping across the ground as if he was fresh out of the stable and his rider taking the morning air.

  From then on, no matter how she kept up the pressure on the gallant Janus, Sir Fergus stayed half a length in front as if to tease her into believing that a win was still possible when she could sense that it was not. Hoping for an extra burst of speed at the end, Nicola dug her heels into the horse’s heaving sides and dropped her hands, urging him on with her fingers in his mane. But the distance between them increased and, though there were others not far behind her, the race might as well have been between only Nicola and Fergus for all it mattered, for Fergus romped home as he had always done ever since she had known him.

  Lathered with sweat, Janus dropped his head as Nicola slid to the ground, ready to hand him over to the waiting groom. She was tired, angry and bitterly disappointed that this man should have spoiled what had begun as fun and games, no more. Now, it was the same as ever, and she had been robbed of her success because he couldn’t bear to be beaten by little Nicola Coldyngham.

  He turned back to meet her, smacking the sweating neck of the glossy bay, not as smiling in victory as she had expected him to be, though surrounded by admirers. Leaning down, he held out a hand to her. ‘Jump up behind me, my lady. Put your foot on top of mine.’ It took him barely four seconds to recognise the defiance in her eyes, and his dismounting was a quick roll off the horse’s back that brought him very close to her. ‘I’m taking you home, Nicola,’ he said, grimly.

  ‘I am not ready to go home, sir. I’m staying here with my friends. I know you can claim the prize, but you’ll have to wait,’ she said, trying to dodge round him.

  Fergus was not inclined to argue, for now the other riders were approaching, Lord John amongst them leading his exhausted horse through clouds of steam and shouts of congratulations. Fergus acted. With one sudden dip of his body, he caught Nicola like a puppet and tossed her up on to the wide rump of his bay, behind the saddle. Then, before she could protest or wonder how to get down from that perilous height without breaking an ankle, he was seated in front of her, gathering the reins and moving away, calling to Nicola’s groom to lead Janus behind them.

  On this rare occasion, Nicola saw the wisdom of holding her tongue. For one thing, much as he deserved it, she did not want Fergus’s overbearing behaviour to become an issue or to spark off an incident. For another, this conclusion to her losing and his winning was so unlike the way it used to be when she had been left alone and dismal, that something in her rejoiced, childlike, to be acknowledged as the one who might…just…have won.

  Lord John was not so impressed. ‘Who are you, sir?’ he snapped at Fergus, his coarse skin blotched and sweating profusely, his fair hair dark and sticky and very untidy. He looked suddenly dissolute and old.

  ‘Sir Fergus Melrose, my lord, at your service. The Lady Nicola and I claim our prize. First man. First lady. I’m taking her home now. She’s been out long enough.’

  From behind his back, Nicola nearly spluttered with indignation at this latest piece of interference, but again she kept her peace. Joining in would gain nothing except, possibly, to be the centrepiece of a brawl.

  ‘And who are you to say when Lady Nicola has been out long enough? Are you related?’ Lord John said, coldly eyeing Fergus’s expensive saddle and boots.

  ‘Distantly,’ said Fergus. ‘Lady Nicola and I have an agreement of long standing. We shall soon be betrothed. I give you good day, my lord.’

  ‘What!’ Lord John’s colour drained away as they watched. ‘You are—? Is this true, my lady?’ He looked up at Nicola with eyes, usually so merry and teasing, now staring and cold with fury.

  Determined not to be drawn into an unseemly discussion before all these sharp ears, Nicola put on what she hoped was a brave smile intended to placate her friend. ‘We’ll talk about this another day, my lord, if you please, when we have more privacy. This is not the time or place. Sir Fergus is a friend of the family. I’ve known him since we were children.’ By the time she had finished the last sentence, Fergus had put his heels to the bay’s flanks and was already moving away through the envious and curious spectators, and Nicola had to snatch at his belt to keep her balance, leaving Lord John truly speechless with rage at being robbed of his prize. He would certainly have been allowed to win if Fergus had not appeared.

  The look on Lord John’s face as they left made her arms prickle with an icy chill: it was a look she would remember for some time.

  She waited until the friends were out of their hearing before launching into a reprimand of the kind she would like to have delivered twelve years ago, if she had had the courage. ‘If you think this is the kind of behaviour appropriate from a suitor to a lady, Sir Fergus, yo
u had better take some lessons, it seems to me. Your rudeness was well-nigh unbearable when you were sixteen. It certainly hasn’t improved, has it? Is this the best you can do?’

  ‘Move up closer,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘or you’ll slip off. And put your arm around my waist. Come on, lass, hold on to me.’

  ‘There’s no reason why I should not ride my own horse,’ she snapped, looking back at the tired Janus being led. The groom winked at her, cheekily.

  ‘You might not think so, but I want you where I can get at you, for once. And this is as good a place as any.’

  ‘Well, that much has changed, I grant you, but I am not interested in being got at, I thank you. Not by you, anyway. This can do nothing but harm to my good name, which I am most careful of, especially after…’ she faltered, not quite sure whether he was giving her all his attention ‘…after what happened earlier this week.’ She was glad he could not see the blush. ‘It would be best if you were to look elsewhere for a wife. There must be many eligible women who quite like to be wounded, then groped, then snatched away from her friends like this. It’s a pity our fathers didn’t consult the relevant parties all those years ago. It would have made these continual refusals unnecessary, wouldn’t it?’ She clutched at him as the horse checked, then started again, wishing she could see the result of her tirade upon his face, to judge whether it was having any effect.

  There had been many times when, as a lass, she had dreamed of riding close to him like this, to be picked up and placed on his horse and told to hold on tightly. Now, it was too late, she told herself. Much too late.

  In the strong light of day, the comparison with his younger brother was even more obvious. It was not only the four-year age difference, or Fergus’s manly and graceful bearing that oozed sexuality, but his refusal to play by the accepted rules of courtly love, as his brother had tried so hard to do. It had, she recalled, been wearisome after several hours of flattery and adoration. Even so, the elder brother’s methods were too much the opposite, and they would not do. No, they would certainly not do. ‘Have you heard a word of what I said?’ she muttered, studying the wide velvet-covered back and a straining seam.

  ‘Your good name, my lady?’ he said. ‘Is that of such great importance to you, then? Is that why you spend so much time in the company of Jonathan Carey, Earl of Rufford? I’m surprised you think I’m more of a threat to you than a man like that.’

  They turned on to the wide track that led down to the city walls, and Nicola was rocked as Fergus sought the higher grass verge instead of the dry deep cart-ruts. ‘You speak in riddles, sir,’ she said. ‘A man like what?’

  Fergus had never been one to let the grass grow under his feet. Over the past few frustrating days, he had made some investigations that George himself might have made if he’d taken his wife’s concerns more seriously. Come to that, George should never have allowed his sister to live alone in the first place. That had been an indulgence of sheer folly quite untypical of George, and Fergus could only assume that he was humouring Nicola to make up for earlier deficiencies. ‘Your aristocratic friend,’ he said, stressing the high connections, ‘has a loose tongue, I fear. That would not be so bad by itself if he didn’t also lie and slander his friends. Sadly, he does.’

  ‘If this is about discrediting my friends,’ she said, ‘I don’t want to know.’

  ‘We were talking about your good name, my lady. Weren’t we?’ he said over his shoulder. ‘If you’re really as concerned about that as you say, then you should know what your so-called friends are saying about it. Shall I tell you?’

  Despite her resistance, she did want to know. ‘If you must, though I don’t know why I should take you seriously.’

  ‘Well, then, I have a better idea.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t take my word for it. Hear it for yourself. Come with me across the river to the Bear Gardens in Southwark where my man went last night, and there you can hear at first hand what your noble friend has to say about his chances with you. Oh, and by the way, he’s married.’

  The horse…the world…seemed to lurch beneath her as she stared hard at his back to keep her balance. She felt suddenly small and devalued as Lord John’s teasing, his persistence, echoed through her mind, chilling her soul. ‘Married?’ she whispered. ‘Are you…?’

  He did not rely to that immediately, for he could feel her shock through his back. After a moment or two, he continued, talking low and evenly over his shoulder, trying to keep all signs of gloating from his voice. ‘I thought you should know that. I’m acquainted with the Countess and her family. Needless to say, they live modestly well away from London, but she’s in little doubt what he gets up to, mostly spending her dowry. She sees him rarely, and then only long enough to father another child. There were four when I last saw them and another on the way. I’m not sure how many bastards he has…well, I don’t suppose he knows either…but by the sound of things he’s relying on your co-operation to increase the number. You might ask him, one day.’

  Nicola felt nauseous. Disbelieving. Confounded. ‘Why has George never told me?’ she said angrily to his back. Why has no one ever told me?

  ‘I can’t answer for George,’ he said, stopping to let a loaded wagon pass by. ‘Hold on. For one thing, he doesn’t listen to gossip of that kind, nor does he keep that kind of company.’

  ‘And you do, I suppose?’

  ‘My man does when I tell him to, yes.’

  She felt the thudding beat of anger in her wounded breast as the horse moved on again, and she longed to be home, alone and private. ‘So what are you hoping to gain by telling me this, Sir Fergus? Revenge for my insults? An eye for an eye because I’ve refused you? You think that by saving me from scandal I shall be in your debt, and when you can’t win me by your own methods you pull reputations apart instead? Do I have the general idea? Since when have you been mindful of me, sir? When have you ever bothered yourself about me or my good name? Have you forgotten how you recently wounded me and then shamed me so impudently as if I were a common serving-girl for your pleasure? Is all this meant to endear me to you in some way? Is your behaviour meant to be more gentlemanly than Lord John’s?’ Her voice echoed low through the Bishops-gate-house that was part of the city wall, and she saw how people looked at them, then at her angry flushed face, then at her own grey gelding being led behind. They would be putting their own constructions on the well-bred, well-dressed scene.

  Fergus seemed unperturbed. ‘It was certainly more private than his,’ he replied. ‘Otherwise no, I agree. We’ve not had a smooth start, have we?’

  ‘And now you seem to believe that because we knew each other as silly children you can begin again as if nothing has changed. But it’s not so, sir, and you must accept it. I know about winning too. I’m learning how to make my own decisions. I’m gaining experience, and I don’t cry when I fall into the muck-heap any more.’ She caught the smile he flashed over his shoulder at that and felt a mild surprise that he had remembered. ‘You may smile at the memory if you like, but if my choice of friends is sometimes faulty, I think I can live with the mistake. My good name will probably stand it. Thank-you for your warnings, but I have other more loyal friends who’ll be happy to protect me as you never thought to do.’

  ‘And did they tell you about Lord John, these loyal friends?’

  She paused. No, they had not. ‘It doesn’t matter. I was not intending to marry him. I’m not ready for marriage to anyone.’

  ‘At twenty-four?’

  Fortunately, she was not able to see his expression. ‘Yes, Sir Fergus. And I shall never be ready to marry a Melrose at any age. Whatever your reasons for offering for me, which we are apparently not given to understand, you’ll never convince me that either of us will be made happy by it, and I don’t have a life to waste on more misery in your company.’

  Nor could she see the lean tanned jaw that rippled with muscles, reacting to her scalding words and banishing any trace of mirth. His
mouth was set in a grim line as they approached St Mary’s Priory, his eyes narrowed to daggers. ‘Is that so, my lady?’ he said. ‘Then we’re going to have to settle for something more exhilarating than mere happiness, for I have a promise to keep to my father and, like it or not, Lady Coldheart, you’re going to help me with it.’

  She had expected more wrangling, more persuasive talk, but not an uncompromising statement of intent. But now they were turning into the stableyard at the side of her Bishops-gate home, and the stinging reply she had intended to deliver was lost in the business of homecoming.

  Dismounted, he held her about the waist and, by the steely greyness of his challenging eyes, Nicola knew that the presence of the grooms would have not the slightest effect upon his intentions towards her. She had read those signs too many times before. She thought that, if she twisted on her way down, she might be able to escape him and then run. In her own home? How undignified. Face him down, girl. ‘I am not,’ she snarled, held in suspension between horse and ground. ‘I am certainly not going to help you, sir. I don’t even intend to try.’

  ‘You’ll like it,’ he said, still holding her, making escape impossible.

  ‘I shall not like it.’

  ‘You haven’t had a taste of it, yet. Not enough to change your mind.’

  ‘Which I shall not be doing. Put me down.’

  The stallion was being led away and they were alone in the stableyard, and he was still close. Much too close. Suddenly her day was overflowing with a surfeit of emotion and the promise of more to come, and she was wading out of her depth with this great arrogant, over-bearing creature, as she had so many times before on a different level. Once, she had longed for his attention, his closeness. Now, she feared it. Now, he was a full-grown man and more of a threat that he’d ever been in his brief visits to her brothers, and she still did not know how to deal with him, or how to deal with herself. She wished with all her heart he had never returned to upset her so.