Читать книгу Untamed Rogue, Scandalous Mistress - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 9

Crispin blew in his cupped hands and rubbed them together vigorously as he entered the relatively warmer interior of the Calhoun stables. Mornings were colder in England than he remembered and certainly colder than the ones he’d most recently experienced in the south of Europe. Crispin strode towards Sheikh’s stall, anxious to see how his horse had fared during his first night in his new home.

Horses whickered as he passed and a few poked their long faces out into the aisle. Even though it was early, the horses were alert and had already been fed. One stall was empty. He recognised it as the stall belonging to Aurora’s horse. Perhaps she was out on a morning ride, although Crispin thought it was too foggy yet for that to be a safe option. He’d been glad he’d walked across the valley this morning instead of riding. It would have been too easy to overlook a rabbit hole or a soft piece of land; too easy for a horse to take a misstep and be rendered lame or worse. Well, if Aurora was out that was her business. At least her absence meant he wouldn’t have to encounter her.

Crispin slipped a halter over Sheikh’s head and led him into the wide aisle of the stable for grooming. Crispin picked up a curry brush and began the morning ritual. He liked grooming Sheikh as much as Sheikh liked being brushed. Not usually a patient horse, Sheikh stood exceedingly still for brushing. Crispin found the ritual soothing. He could lose himself in thought, letting his mind wander freely. The stables were a place of peace for him, any stable. The smell of horses and leather tack were familiar no matter where.

He finished grooming Sheikh and quickly saddled him. Through the stable windows, he could see the fog starting to lift. He was eager to get back to Dursley Park and the hot breakfast that waited. Beside him, Sheikh shook his mane. Now that grooming was done, he was ready to be off too. Crispin fished in the wide pocket of his greatcoat and pulled out a few slices of apple. Sheikh snapped them up as Crispin led him out into the morning.

The fog had definitely lifted, Crispin confirmed. He could actually see the indoor arena across the stable yard now. The faint sound of a horse’s nicker drew him that direction. He knew what he’d find inside before he and Sheikh arrived at the door. Aurora had not opted for a dangerous, foggy ride. She’d brought her horse to the arena for a morning workout.

Crispin manoeuvred himself and Sheikh into the shadows of the wide doorway to watch her practise. The arena was set up for jumping and she was executing the fences expertly. She finished the last jump in a corner and made a clean cross through the centre of the arena to the opposite corner and started again.

Magnificent, Crispin thought, his gaze focused on her hands and thighs, appreciating the subtle pressures each of those parts used to communicate with the horse. Her movements were so completely synchronised with the flow and bunching of the horse’s body that it seemed she barely moved at all. Crispin had no idea how long he’d stood there, but at last Sheikh gave him an impatient nudge and Crispin withdrew from the scene. He didn’t worry about being heard. From the look on her face when she’d drawn close to the entrance where he stood, Crispin knew she was in another place altogether. Her thoughts were entirely with her horse; when to move, when to ask for the leap in order to get the most height for the jump.

Where had she learned to ride like that? Surely such skill was not acquired haphazardly.

The question plagued him all the way home across the valley and at the breakfast table until he finally blurted it out to Peyton and Tessa. It was a complete non sequitur. They’d been discussing a bill in Parliament and he’d set down his coffee cup and said suddenly, ‘Where did Aurora Calhoun study riding?’

Tessa looked at him rather startled. ‘I think she said somewhere in Ireland,’ she replied vaguely; too vaguely for Crispin’s tastes. After making a career out of reading people, Crispin knew without effort that Tessa was withholding details. If Peyton knew the specifics he did nothing to fill in the gaps and the conversation quickly reverted back to the bill under earlier discussion.

But Crispin wasn’t willing to give up his inquiries. Once he and Peyton set out on their short jaunt to Woodbrook, he tried again. ‘I happened to catch part of Aurora’s workout this morning when I was saddling Sheikh. I’d be interested to know where she was trained.’

‘Then you should ask her,’ Peyton said levelly in a tone that suggested that topic of conversation was closed. Peyton was more eager to discuss the merits of Woodbrook, which he promptly began to do the moment the first property marker came into view. He continued to elucidate the fine points of the property right up until they dismounted in the stable yard and Crispin could see for himself what an excellent inheritance he’d acquired.

Peyton had not exaggerated. The manor house was a modest, twelve-room affair, hardly more than a cottage compared to the grandeur of Dursley Park. But to Crispin the stone manor was plenty.

‘What would I do with twelve rooms?’ Crispin remarked halfway up the stairs to see the other six, all presumably bedrooms.

‘You could marry and fill the house with children,’ Peyton laughingly suggested. ‘Within three years, you’d be enlarging the place, declaring how you’d outgrown it.’

Crispin knew Peyton meant well, but all the same, the thought of being somewhere for three years, let alone a decade or a lifetime, sent a quiet shudder up his spine. Children couldn’t be dragged around the world every year or so to satisfy his whim for adventure. Children needed the stability of a permanent home, of permanent parents. His own childhood was a testament to that. With two absent parents, Peyton had been the closest thing he and Paine had had to a father growing up. In his darker hours, Crispin often thought it was his worries of turning out like his parents that kept him from pursuing a family of his own, although his brothers had certainly proved such worries to be groundless. Both of them had become model family men.

Crispin made a quick tour of the upstairs rooms and returned downstairs. ‘Perhaps Paine and Julia could make use of the manor.’

Peyton shook his head. ‘There’s plenty of room at Dursley Park for them when they visit. Tessa has a whole wing set aside for them these days. Besides, they spend most of their year in London. Paine’s too busy with his banking investments to make use of a country house on a more regular basis.’

They walked out to the barns, which were just as impressive as the house. There was no outdoor work area for horses yet beyond a paddock, but the room for establishing a training arena was readily available in the wide, open spaces around the barns. Crispin could easily imagine setting up an equestrian centre here. The old dreams came to him as he walked the wide aisle of the barn, counting stalls. He had Sheikh to stand to stud for a pricey fee and to race. He could build a legacy from Sheikh.

Peyton stayed close, continuing his verbal tour of the facility. ‘There’s stalls for fifteen horses. The windows provide good light.’ Peyton pointed overhead. ‘There’s plenty of hay storage in the lofts above. The tack room can easily support all the riding gear you’d need for that many horses. The roof is fairly new. There aren’t any serious repairs you’d have to make. All of your attention could be on improvements and additions.’

Peyton had been a dangerously compelling diplomat in his day, knowing exactly when to push, when his opponents were most open to persuasion. To be honest, that was precisely where Crispin was now; wondering, in spite of his earlier inclination to sell the property, if this place was what he needed to conquer his wanderlust or even if he wanted to conquer the wandering spirit that drove him.

Crispin let a hand drift idly across the half-door of a stall. Commitment begot commitment. It wouldn’t stop at committing to the stables. There would be grooms to employ who would count on him for pay and for work. There would be social obligations. The community would expect him in church and at their gatherings. Women would expect him to marry, if not someone from London because of his family, then certainly a lady from their part of England. Peyton was right. Manor houses were expected to be filled.

He was too much of a realist to believe he could stop at just one commitment. One commitment was merely a gateway to other commitments he felt less compelled to make. The commitments would not happen overnight. They would form a slippery slope that would erode slowly over the span of several years. It would occur gradually so that it didn’t appear to be a lifechanging overhaul, but single small steps taken in isolation from one another until, one morning, he’d wake up and realise it was too late to go back.

Crispin tamped down hard on the old dream of his own stables. It was a startling discovery to find the dream was far more potent than he’d realised. He’d come home, thinking to sell the property. He would stay with his original plan. He had his work. It was only a matter of time before a summons arrived from London. He would not give in, he would not change his course, no matter how much Peyton talked.

They emerged out into the daylight, Peyton’s wellrehearsed tour complete. To his credit, Peyton pressed for nothing. He merely gestured down the road where a rider had turned into the drive. ‘I’ve invited the steward to go over the books,’ he said simply.

Crispin fought back a chuckle. Of course Peyton had invited the land steward. His brother had this visit orchestrated perfectly for maximum effect. All the same, Peyton would be disappointed. He wasn’t going to stay. He couldn’t. It just wasn’t in him.

Several hours later, Crispin knew one thing. He needed a drink and he needed a drink alone. He’d been surrounded by a horde of well-meaning people since his return home. For a man who was used to operating solo and keeping his own counsel, such attention was unnerving. Well, he had to rephrase that. He’d been surrounded by Peyton. In all fairness, Tessa, Cousin Beth, Petra, Annie, the twins and the new baby had all kept at a respectful distance. They’d done nothing more than make him feel welcome.

But Peyton knew what he wanted from Crispin and he was wasting no time in trying to extract it. Crispin could see his brother’s vision clearly. His brother wanted him to embrace the stables, settle down, take a wife and raise a family. For Peyton that had been the clear road to happiness once he’d found the path. Crispin understood it was only natural for Peyton to want that same happiness for him. However, Crispin doubted that path would work well for him. Crispin understood too that Peyton was trying not to be oppressive, certainly a harder task for him than for others. Peyton was well used to being obeyed. But Peyton could not make him into a man he could not be.

He and Peyton swung up into their saddles, thanking the steward for his time and his conscientious adherence to every detail. They turned their horses towards home, riding in much-appreciated silence; Crispin’s head was full to bursting with all he’d learned.

Crispin was amazed Peyton had stayed quiet for as long as he did. He’d bet himself Peyton wouldn’t make it a mile before asking what he’d thought of the manor. Tessa’s influence must be powerful indeed, Crispin mused. But he could see the effort the restraint cost his brother. Peyton’s mouth was tense; on two occasions, Crispin felt Peyton was on the verge of bringing the subject up, but then thought better of it.

They reached the fork in the road, one turn leading to the Dursley Road and the other going on a short distance to the village. ‘I think I’ll stop in for a pint or two,’ Crispin said off-handedly.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Peyton offered, making a quick check of his pocket watch.

‘That’s all right. I’d prefer to do some thinking in private.’ Crispin hoped Peyton understood. He needed a kind of privacy he wouldn’t find at Dursley Park and he’d have no privacy if he turned up at the inn with the earl in tow.

‘And dinner?’ Peyton asked cautiously. ‘Shall I tell Tessa to expect you?’

Crispin nodded his head. ‘Probably not. I’m not sure how long I’ll sit and think.’

‘It’s no trouble to set an extra plate if you change your mind,’ Peyton said graciously. Crispin could see that his absence wasn’t what Peyton had hoped for, but that his brother guessed at how monumental the day had been, how many things needed thinking over.

Once inside the inn, Crispin lost himself in the crowd, taking a small table by the window. Word had not yet spread of his return and he was thankful for the anonymity. Around him, the work day was ending. Large groups of local workers filed in for a pint before heading home for the evening.

Crispin studied this crowd unobtrusively. These men worked the fields as hired labour or in various other occupations in the village. They were journeymen and artisans, a few apprentices among them. They would drink and go home to supper and wives. The rougher crowd, those without familial commitments, would come in later after the supper hour and stay until closing; drinking, wenching, perhaps brawling if it suited them.

The men here now, though, would be the men he’d fraternise with if he took the manor. They’d be the men who would work his stables. They’d be the men who he’d drink with on occasion. Their lives would be interwoven into his.

Crispin took a swallow of his ale, trying to imagine his life as a gentleman landowner. It seemed so far from the things he’d told Peyton over brandy the other night as to be laughable.

These men didn’t care about the nationalist revolutions sweeping Europe, about water-routes to faraway places they’d never visit, about fighting over lines on a map. Their lives were about wheat crops and sheep, cattle and corn. If he threw his lot in with them, his life would be too. Everything to which he’d devoted his life in the first twenty years of his adulthood would cease to matter—every nebulous peace he had brokered, every boundary dispute he had negotiated, would carry little weight in that new life. It would be tantamount to erasing who he was and remaking himself in a new image. The soldier, the warrior-diplomat, would not fit into this new world of quiet landownership.

The thought sat poorly with Crispin. He rather liked himself just as he was. Of course, there were plenty of people who didn’t. The ton didn’t know what to make of him. He was too bold, too loose with the rules of proper society for many of the matchmaking mamas to trust him with their daughters. Yet, he had a certain appeal with his brother’s connections, his brother’s wealth, and his brother’s affection behind him. Any woman who married him would be well looked after under the Dursley banner. Proxy polygamy, he called it. The only reason anyone would marry him would be because they were marrying Peyton by extension. If he stayed in England, he’d have to decide in whose world he fit.

Without appearing to eavesdrop, he listened in on snatches of nearby conversations, trying to put himself in the frame of their world. Could he come to care about the issues they cared about? Could he empathise with the problems that plagued their lives?

Snatches of one conversation rose over the rest. ‘The Calhoun woman was in today to buy some shovels. It’s not natural, a woman buying tools. There’s strange things going on out there,’ a beefy man said loudly, drawing all the room’s attention. Crispin tensed. In the silence of the inn, the man let his news fall on expectant ears. ‘I’ve found out that the girls in her stables ride in trousers and they ride astride.’

Shock and outrage exploded at the announcement; questions were shouted over the din. Crispin stifled a groan. That could hardly be what Aurora wanted. But what followed was worse. Crispin slouched anonymously in his chair and listened.

The big man, named Mackey from what Crispin could gather, hushed the upset crowd. ‘Aurora Calhoun needs to go. She’s no good for our village, teaching our womenfolk to ride astride. Who knows what kind of ideas she’ll plant in their heads next? We don’t want our women turning out like her.’ There was a loud roar of agreement. ‘One of her is enough. She’s had two years to prove she could fit in. We’ve left her alone and look how she’s repaid us! The only thing she’s proved is how out of place she is.’ There were other comments too. ‘We should have paid more attention…’ ‘Should have known it wasn’t natural from the start…’

Good lord, the man was creating a witch hunt. Crispin half-expected the men to pick up torches and march out to the stables then and there. Crispin had heard enough. He’d end up fighting with someone if he stayed. Crispin slapped a few coins on the table and made a quiet exit, opting to exercise his authority when cooler heads prevailed, including his.

Dusk was in its final throes when he swung up on Sheikh. He could still make dinner at Dursley Park, but he wasn’t ready to go home. More to the point, he wasn’t ready to go to Peyton’s home. He couldn’t expect Peyton to keep silent about the manor forever. But Crispin wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, at least not with his brother. He could only think of one place that might suit his needs. In the fading light of day, Crispin turned Sheikh towards Aurora’s stables.

The stable lanterns threw a welcoming light into the yard and the fresh smell of evening hay assailed his senses the moment Crispin led Sheikh through the stable doors. Horses neighed, acknowledging Sheikh’s presence among them as they passed stall doors. Crispin stopped outside Sheikh’s stall and removed the saddle. With one hand, he stroked Sheikh’s long neck, soothing the horse. With the other, Crispin groped for the kit holding the brushes. The kit should have been right behind him on the nail hook outside the stall where he’d left it that morning.

‘Are you looking for this?’ The voice startled him. Crispin whirled around; releasing a breath when he saw the voice belonged to Aurora.

She held the kit out to him. ‘I didn’t mean to give you a start,’ she apologised, taking one of the brushes and moving around to Sheikh’s other side. She began to curry the horse.

‘You’ve had a long day. I noticed Sheikh was gone when I came back this morning. You must have been here early and now it’s dinner time,’ Aurora commented.

‘Peyton and I rode over to see some property,’ Crispin said, surprising himself with the truth. He could have answered the question just as easily by saying he’d waited until lessons were done. Such an answer would not have given away any particular information about his whereabouts and it certainly wouldn’t have invited any further conversation. His chosen answer, on the other hand, invited all nature of possible comment, none of which Aurora opted for.

‘Your brother is eager to see you settled,’ she said, meeting his eyes for an instance over Sheikh’s back.

Of all the things she could have said, he’d not expected that. He’d expected the usual; ‘Do you mean to settle here?’ ‘Where is the property?’ ‘What do you plan to do with it?’

‘I suppose he is,’ Crispin replied, bending over and clicking to Sheikh to lift his hoof.

‘How do you feel about that?’

Crispin answered honestly. ‘The property is enticing, but I’m not the right man for that kind of life. I’ll sell the property outright and then I’ll be on my way.’ He finished picking the hoof and stood up, stretching his back. Aurora was nearly finished brushing Sheikh’s opposite flank.

‘I know what you mean,’ she said casually. ‘I’ve been here longer than I’ve been anywhere else. I’d always taught on a property owned by someone else. But Tessa talked me into leasing this one. Actually, in all truth, Tessa wanted me to buy it, but I couldn’t go that far. A lease was as permanent a commitment as I could make.’ Aurora stopped brushing and shook back her hair, which had fallen forwards over her shoulders as she worked. An awkward silence fell between them as if they both suddenly recognised they’d said too much to someone they didn’t know.

Crispin met her eyes over the back of Sheikh and nodded in the awkward quiet; a wealth of understanding passing between them in that single look. He could well imagine all the trappings of permanence to which she referred, trappings that went beyond owning the actual structure.

Buying the property would have meant applying for a loan. She wouldn’t have had any money of her own. She would have had to have relied on Peyton’s support. Support Peyton would have provided based on the comments Peyton had made at dinner, but she would have been indebted to him. She couldn’t have left until that obligation was fulfilled. Once again Crispin’s hypothesis proved true. Permanence bred obligation. It was odd to think how much this stranger’s situation paralleled his own in spite of its own unique circumstances. It begged several questions.

How had a strikingly beautiful woman come to own a riding academy in the unlikely middle of sheep country? How was it that a stranger he’d never met until yesterday could sum up in a sentence his precise feelings over the property? She could empathise with him on this issue while his brother, who knew him better than anyone, could not.

Aurora cleared her throat in the silence. ‘It’s late and I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet.’

Ah, the audacious woman was dismissing him. Of course. She’d want to get to her own meal. It had been a long day for her as well. She’d been up jumping before he’d even arrived that morning. It had been a long time since a woman had dismissed him.

‘I’m sorry to keep you. I’ll just see to Sheikh and be going.’ Crispin piled the brushes into the kit, disappointment unexpectedly swamping him. He hadn’t been ready to leave the stables. Or perhaps he hadn’t been ready to leave her. They’d got off on the wrong foot yesterday. This brief exchange had been a pleasant contrast, but perhaps that was too much to hope for. Perhaps she was merely being nice.

‘No, don’t go.’ Her words rushed out. ‘I was going to suggest, before you interrupted me, that you stay for dinner.’

There was that sharp tongue he remembered. Crispin stifled a laugh on behalf of the truce they seemed to have struck. But he noticed she couldn’t help sneaking that small rebuke in—‘before you interrupted’. What might have been an invitation had now been turned into a suggestion, which everyone knew was just a step below a command. He was very familiar with ‘suggestions’. Peyton made a lot of them.

But she wasn’t Peyton and Crispin found he’d like nothing more than to have dinner with the intriguing Aurora Calhoun, who was less like his brother and perhaps more like him; a wanderer, a straddler of worlds. A kindred spirit? It was far too early in their acquaintance to draw that conclusion. There was too much unknown about her for him to make such leaps of logic. Still, it couldn’t hurt to find out and Crispin intended to explore the potential.