Tempted by a Lady's Smile (Lords of Honor #4)(6)

A small figure in soft yellow skirts stood transfixed ten paces away, gawking and gaping like that just restored trout from moments ago.

Richard let fly a black curse and quickly pulled on the reins and the young woman stumbled back, tripping over her skirts in her haste to back away. With a loud whinny, Warrior pawed and scratched at the air, before settling onto the earth in a flurry of gravel and dust. Heart pounding, Richard leapt from his mount. What in blazes was the lady doing so far from the estate? And more, what would possess her to step into a galloping horse’s path? Seething fury leant his steps an agitated movement. “Are you hurt, miss?” he bit out, stalking forward.

Coming to a quick stop, Richard towered over the young lady still in repose and he held a hand out. The quality of her satin skirts revealed her to be a guest and he gritted his teeth in annoyance at another empty-brained miss wandering the grounds in search of the ducal heir. What else accounted for her presence here even now with dinner being served in a short while? An altogether different rage gripped him. Years earlier, Westfield had his heart shattered by a grasping woman, the details of that time he no longer spoke of. Now there was an entire household of ladies circling the man like vultures about their prey.

This particular vulture stared unblinkingly up at him. A limp, brown tress hung over her eye.

“I asked you whether you were hurt, miss,” he said between tight lips, and in the absence of an immediate reply, gripped her by her arms and settled her on her feet.

She possessed dull, brown hair, equally dull, brown eyes, and a remarkably pale visage, which he’d wager his entire line of horses, was not a product of her near fall, and more his not treating her as a cherished, treasured miss.

Her mouth fell open, and then emotion sparkled within those brown depths, making her eyes…well, not so very uninteresting. “I beg your pardon,” she snapped.

“As you should for stepping out into a man’s riding path at dusk.”

The irises of her eyes disappeared under the narrowing of her stare. “I was most decidedly not apologizing.”

“Of course you weren’t.” He infused a drollness into his tone that brought the lady’s eyebrows shooting up.

She planted her hands on her hips. “What in blazes is that supposed to mean?”

As had been his experience with other ladies of quality. They’d vied for a place in his bed, a pleasure he’d forgone for his devotion to Eloise and the hope of more with that particular and uniquely different lady. But never did they apologize and always did they expect the world was their due. Having learned long ago that it was a decidedly dangerous path to travel down in terms of arguing with a woman about the merits of an apology, he inclined his head. “Forgive me, I was unprepared to see a young lady in the middle of the riding path at this late hour.” Unchaperoned. He let that word go unsaid between them.

She peered intently at him as though seeking the veracity of his claim and then some of the tension left her small shoulders. “Forgive me,” she returned, shocking him with that apology. “You are, indeed, correct. I wandered too far from the party and I was seeking someone out. A friend,” she said on a rush when he narrowed his eyes. “A proper friend. Nothing scandalous, at all.” The high-pitched timbre of her voice hinted at an altogether different tale. This mousy miss would hardly be the first lady who’d tried to orchestrate Westfield into a compromising position.

Richard folded his arms at his chest and eyed the chit with renewed wariness. “A friend?” His horse pawed at the earth. Even Warrior knew to be suspicious of this one.

“Yes. A friend.” Tension dripped from the young woman’s frame and she skittered her gaze about before ultimately settling it on Richard’s mount.

He opened his mouth to press the suspicious miss for details when she moved closer to Warrior and scratched the creature between his eyes. Some of the tightness went out of the lady’s shoulders. Warrior whinnied and leaned into that touch. Richard furrowed his brow. Well, mayhap his horse was less discriminatory than he’d thought. “What are you doing?”

The lady followed his stare. “Uh, petting your horse.” She dropped her hand almost reluctantly to her side. “But y-you are correct. I should be…”

He stepped into her path, blocking her escape. At his side, Warrior danced nervously and he stroked his dampened withers until the horse calmed. “Never tell me? You were looking for a particular marquess, whose father would have him wed?” He didn’t know where the desire to bait the young lady came from.

She stiffened, but the crimson blush on her cheeks confirmed his supposition. Of course. Another duke-hunter. “Do not be silly,” she said with a damning weakness. “Wh-why should Lord Westfield be fishing at this hour? Hmm?” The bold chit didn’t allow him a chance to respond. “He wouldn’t. Granted, dusk allows the fish to see some of the ultraviolet spectrum, but there is still the matter of the duke’s dinner party.” Richard cocked his head. Ultraviolet spectrum? What was she on about? “And I, as a respectable young lady, would hardly be searching for him when he was returning from his outing.” The lady gave a jaunty toss of her nonexistent curls. “N-nor is it your place as the duke’s steward,” Steward? He furrowed his brow. “To corner and chide one of his guests.”

The lady chatted more than a magpie. And if she hadn’t perjured herself with plans to trap his closest friend in the world, why then he’d think there was something endearing in her ability to prattle on. But she did inadvertently reveal her plans for Westfield and, as such, placed herself neatly into the category of graspers, just like every other lady ducal-heir-hunting this week.