Stephanie Laurens - Cynster-12 by The Ideal Bride

Author:The Ideal Bride
Language: ron
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Caro’s chest felt tight, her heart thudding in her throat as they pushed on through the crowd. But more people had arrived; they had to stop and talk as before. Both she and Michael slipped on their polished masks—no one seemed to guess that behind those masks, they were shocked and upset. However, the more they talked, the more they were forced to respond in a normal fashion to those about them, to discuss the gentle vicissitudes of country life, the further the incident, and the sudden fright it had caused, receded.

Eventually, she realized it really had to have been an accident— perhaps some boys larking about in the forest edge, as boys were wont to do, with no idea they’d shot at anyone. It was inconceivable—there was simply no reason—that anyone would want to harm her.

Certainly not Ferdinand. Even Michael seemed to have accepted that.

Only when they reached the far side of the clearing and Michael continued on did she realize she hadn’t, indeed, any idea what he was thinking.

“Where are we going?” Her hand still locked in his, he was heading for the clearing where the carriages and horses had been left.

He glanced at her. “You’ll see.”

Muriel’s stableman was on watch; Michael saluted him and continued on, leading her to where a long line of horses were tethered. He marched along, then stopped. “Here we are.”

Released, Caro blinked at a faintly familiar bay rump. Then Michael backed his big gelding out of the line.

Her instincts jerked to life. “What—”

“As I was about to say before being rudely interrupted by that arrow”—he lifted his head and met her gaze as his hand locked once more about hers—“come with me.”

Her eyes widened with very real shock. “What? Now?”

“Now.” Reins wrapped about his hand, he reached for her—and hoisted her up to sit in his saddle.

“What… but—” She had to grab the pommel, desperately fight for balance.

Before she could manage anything else, he slipped a boot into the stirrup and swung up behind her.

Wrapping an arm about her waist, he lifted her, settled her against him, locked her there.

She looked up, fleetingly glimpsed the main clearing and the distant crowd as he wheeled the huge horse away. “We can’t just leave!”

Michael touched his heels to Atlas’s flanks; the big bay surged. “We have.”

He’d planned, schemed, to make this afternoon their time—the only time when his house lay truly empty, no staff about. Everyone was at the fete and would remain there for hours, happy to while away the day.

While he and Caro seized their moment.

As they emerged onto the lane just outside the village and he turned Atlas away from Bramshaw, he was aware of the thud of the horses’ big hooves—and the echo driving through his veins.

How much of the emotion that hardened his muscles, that fired his determination to cling resolutely to his plan and his goal—to grasp the hours he’d promised himself they would share—derived from the incident of the arrow he couldn!t say, couldn’t at the moment even reasonably guess.

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