A Perilous Attraction. Patricia Frances Rowell
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darted across Catherine’s foot. She shrieked. Caldbeck tightened his hold and swung her quickly away from the pile of hay.
“There are rats!” She shrunk back against him.
Caldbeck ushered her toward the door. This time she was certain he sighed. “Yes,” he agreed, “there are rats.”
Riding homeward, Catherine discoursed on her plans for the orphanage. Her husband listened indulgently, occasionally offering a comment or suggestion. She rattled on about tutors and a matron and a manager for the farm. She describe her vision for the interior. She debated what livestock would be suitable and how the children should be dressed. “And we shall call it the Buck Orphan Asylum.”
“I believe,” his lordship interjected, “that the Lady Caldbeck Home for Orphans would be more appropriate.”
“Do you think so? I would love that!” Catherine launched anew into her vision for her charges.
At last the earl threw up an arresting hand. “Enough. I can see that you are going to bankrupt me in a twelve-month.”
Catherine looked quickly to see if he were in earnest. Of course, she could not tell. Annoyed by that fact, she looked at him archly. “Worrying about your investment, my lord?”
“Not yet.”
“Very good, then. I shall race you back to the stable.”
Without further warning she kicked her mount and tore away at a gallop. She could hear the thunder of hooves behind her as the gray responded to her challenge. Laughing, she leaned into the wind and urged the hunter on. The stable could be seen across a gentle hill, and she made for it, easily clearing several dry-stone walls as she came to them.
Her mare came from fine stock, but the earl’s stallion was both larger and stronger. Inexorably the gray head began to pull alongside her. As she coaxed the chestnut to greater speed, she realized that it was Caldbeck’s superior knowledge of the terrain that was going to bring about her certain defeat. He was veering off to the right.
Seeking the reason, Catherine spied, hidden in a fold of the land, a small watercourse with a low stone wall on the other side. She would have to turn to the right, also, and that would throw her far behind her husband. She considered her options.
If she followed the earl and avoided the barrier, she would never catch the faster horse. The ravine, however, extended too far for an easy jump, and the wall on the other side might conceal a yet unseen hazard. It was a dangerous obstacle. Apparently, Caldbeck did not want to make the attempt, and he knew the land. Or perhaps he thought that she could not manage it and thus led her away.
Suddenly Catherine fervently wanted to win.
She did not want to lose to this icy, enigmatic man who had taken control of her life. She eyed the ravine, gauged the narrowest spot and put the hunter straight at it.
The hunter was a good horse. With a mighty lunge she sailed over the ravine and cleared the wall, her hind hoof just clipping the stones. As the chestnut landed on the rough ground, her speed carried her too far forward, and she broke stride to regain her balance. The change of rhythm, added to the momentum of the leap, jarred Catherine’s knee free of the saddle, and she parted company with her mount.
She fell hard. The breath knocked out of her, she sat up gasping like a landed fish, her skirts around her waist. She vaguely heard pounding hooves coming toward her. Caldbeck had come around the end of the ravine and had his horse at a dead run. He pulled in a few feet from her, vaulted out of the saddle before his mount had stopped moving, and ran to where she sat.
“Kate! Are you hurt?” For once she could actually hear urgency in his voice.
“N-no. I’m fine. I think.” She became able to breathe again. “‘No fence you can’t get over with a fall’,” she quoted, trying to grin carelessly. She looked up into her husband’s face. He did not wear a comforting expression, and she hastily looked elsewhere. The small tingle of fear returned as he looked coldly down at her. The fall had shaken her worse than she wanted to admit, and she didn’t feel up to bravado.
Caldbeck pulled her to her feet and picked up her hat. He then silently examined her horse and led it back to where she stood. He did not give her the reins, but stood watching her for a moment. Finally, he spoke. Quietly.
“If you ever overface your horse like that again, I assure you that it will be the last time you ever see her.”
Even spoken softly, the words hit Catherine in the face like a freezing wind.
“How—how dare you!” She grabbed angrily for the reins. Caldbeck calmly moved them out of her reach.
“I mean it, Kate. You will not endanger yourself and your mount in that way again.” He handed her the reins and, putting his firm hands on her waist, tossed her up. She turned the chestnut and rode to the stables in haughty silence.
The knowledge that she was absolutely in the wrong did nothing to ameliorate Catherine’s anger. On the contrary. Just because she had acted imprudently, perhaps—well, perhaps rashly even…and, yes, possibly irresponsibly—he had no right to threaten her. Take her horse away, indeed! Treating her like a child! Just because she had agreed to marry him did not make him her lord and master. Never mind the law.
Never mind that he was right.
She plunked down in the chair and attacked the implements on her desk. Arrogant bore! Scolding her! A half-written letter she ripped into pieces, scattering them on the floor. Ordering her bath! Who did he think he was? She threw the pens into the pigeonhole and shoved the wax jack against the wall with a resounding thump. Telling her when to nap! Did he think her an infant? Nobly forbearing to throw the inkwell, she got up and stamped around the room.
She would not let him get away with such high-handed treatment. He would regret it. She wasn’t afraid of him. A little unnerved perhaps…on occasion. Just because he was tall and strong and smelled so like a man that she…He had no right! None at all. She did not wish to speak to him. She would not eat with him. He could have his dinner in solitary grandeur tonight. Every night! Sally could bring her a tray.
At that thought, Catherine went back to the desk and gathered up the torn bits of paper. No use making extra work for Sally just because she was in a dudgeon with her husband. She tossed the scraps into the fire and glared at the figurine of a china shepherdess that adorned the mantel. The shepherdess smirked back. Catherine did not care for that figure.
“Don’t you laugh at me! You are a very ugly shepherdess. Mind your manners, or I shall pitch you into the fire.”
Somewhat pacified by the making of this dire threat, Catherine sat down on the couch with a sigh, arms crossed over her breasts. Why did the man have to be so exasperating and still so damnably attractive?
So his lovely bride was in a snit, was she? Not coming down to dinner, eh? Her message to that effect had been distinctly chilly in tone. Charles basked in the inner amusement as he tied a fresh cravat.
What did she expect him to do now? Whatever it was, it was highly unlikely that he would do it. But if he was any judge of character, her indignation would not last long. He looked forward to a long life filled with her volatility and the inevitable reconciliations. Not that this little tempest qualified as a full-blown temper tantrum. The first real display of the infamous temper was still to be anticipated.
He could hardly wait.
But perhaps he should not have spoken so harshly. He had no intention of trying to rule her with an iron hand. Her impetuosity and her courage, her caring and her passion had attracted him to her in the first place. His words had threatened her. His actions had already forced her under his control. In fact, he had virtually kidnapped her. Perhaps he should be ashamed of himself. He wasn’t. Not the smallest bit. Charles told himself he appreciated her as few men could.
But he couldn’t let her risk herself that way. She or that hunter she was so proud of might easily have been killed. Charles shuddered afresh at the memory of Catherine sprawled on the ground,