Lord Braybrook’s Penniless Bride by Elizabeth Rolls

said, in as urbane a tone as hecould manage for the laughter welling up. ‘Come, Miss Daventry. We had best follow those four.’
    They set off back along the meadow at a trot. Once out of earshot, he said, ‘I would advise you to be wary of Postleton, Miss Daventry. He does not always keep the line with…women.’ With women he considered his inferiors would be closer to the mark, but he could not say that.
    Miss Daventry snorted. No doubt she understood exactly what he had left unsaid.
    He felt his mouth twitch. ‘Could this be another reason why you consider yourself a failure as a companion.’
    She pulled Merlin up. He turned, startled, to find her glaring at him, her cheeks absolutely scarlet.
    ‘Do you think that, my lord?’ Her contempt stung. ‘Then I dare say that you will not be in the least surprised when I inform you that Mr Postleton, no matter how distinguished his lineage, or ample his fortune, is no gentleman to indulge in such innuendo with women present! Have you no regard for your sisters?’
    That caught him on the raw. So she had understood Postleton after all.
    ‘But they did not understand, Miss Daventry. You did. What does that say about you?’
    Her eyes narrowed. ‘Exactly what it says of you—that I am not ignorant. And that I cannot afford the luxury of being as sheltered as your sisters!’
    She nudged Merlin with her heel and rode on. At a trot. Precisely as he had taught her. For some reason that irritated him.
    ‘What the devil do you think you are doing?’ he snapped, bringing his horse alongside.
    ‘Going home!’ She bit her lip. ‘That is—back to Amberley.’
    She said nothing further, but her colour remained high.
    What was it about her that got under his skin? Ready to strangle Postleton himself, he’d ripped up at her for saying very much what he was thinking. She was right; innocence would leave her easy prey for men like Postleton. Or himself. What would it be like never to trust anyone fully? Never to let anyoneclose, because you did not really belong anywhere or with anyone. Damn it! He was becoming maudlin. He forced his mind back to practical matters.
    She sat as straight as ever in the saddle, but something about the set of her lips reminded him that they had been out quite a while. She was going to be sore.
    ‘Feel his mouth, Miss Daventry. We’ll slow to a walk.’
    They did so without mishap.
    ‘Is he tired?’ asked Miss Daventry, patting Merlin’s neck. ‘He’s old, isn’t he? I’m not too heavy for him?’
    Unwilling approval stabbed through him. And wry amusement. Miss Daventry hardly weighed enough for Merlin to notice. He had noticed, though. Noticed how sweet she felt as he lifted her to the saddle. Noticed the faint fresh scent of lavender that hung about her. Lavender and something else that he didn’t want to think about. Something that was Miss Daventry herself.
    ‘No, Miss Daventry,’ he said tightly. ‘My concern is for you. You are going to ache quite enough.’
    She nodded and they rode on in uncomfortable silence.
    To Julian’s relief, Davy awaited them on the other side of the woods.
    ‘Star is tired,’ he informed them. ‘The others would go too fast.’
    ‘Very wise,’ said Miss Daventry, smiling. ‘Do you call her Star for that pretty mark on her forehead?’
    Davy looked affronted. ‘Star is a gelding , Miss Daventry. Don’t you know the difference?’
    Now, how would prim and proper Miss Daventry get out of that? wondered Julian.
    ‘I’m afraid not, Davy,’ she said calmly. ‘I am dreadfully ignorant about horses. You tell me.’
    Davy’s explanation of the differences between mares, geldings and stallions, not to mention their significance, was startlingly comprehensive. Julian concluded that Davy was picking up a good deal of information of a decidedly agricultural nature on his visits to the stables.
    And all the blasted female did was nod and murmur encouragement from time to time. Quite as if none of this