Miss Burton Unmasks a Prince (7 page)

When she arrived in the library, she stopped when she heard a snore; peeking around the back of the wingback chair near the fireplace, she saw Colonel Stackhouse. But when she realized her footsteps hadn’t awakened him, she tiptoed to her spot on the window seat and closed the curtains, grateful to be alone as she fumed.

Meg opened a book and tried to read, but even Ann Radcliffe was unable to distract her from her irritation. “Not a suitable activity for a lady indeed,” she muttered. “Well, my lord, perhaps you would prefer it if I were to misquote Shakespeare and recount the number of drawing rooms at Hawthorne House.”

She rubbed the back of her neck, which she realized was painfully tight. Angry tears sprung to her eyes, and she swiped them away. Was this the life she was destined for? A life with someone like the earl? A man of wealth who cared little for the people beneath him and less about a woman’s opinion? The idea of marrying a man like Lord Featherstone was simply too repulsive to consider. How could her family expect this of her?

As she considered all the things that had unsettled her, she thought of how the earl had treated the poor horse. Was this how the aristocracy treated their wives? She had never seen the duke behave in any way but kindly toward Serena, but perhaps he was an anomaly. How could she guarantee she would not find a husband who was cruel and controlling? How could she form an attachment in a society she wanted no part of?

Meg sighed and leaned her head against the cool of the window. A movement drew her attention, and she turned to focus her gaze on the lane that ran from the stables to the side entrance of the castle. Carlo stood there, waving one arm at her, holding the reins to Patito and a beautiful dark Thoroughbred. When she waved back, he beckoned to her and then motioned toward the saddles on the animals. She saw the dark horse was equipped with a lady’s saddle, and she sat up straighter. She pointed at herself and raised her brows, tipping her head toward him.

Carlo nodded, raising his own brows and smiling.

Meg flung aside the curtains and hurried out of the library as quietly as possible so as not to wake Colonel Stackhouse. She skipped down the stairs before whirling around and running back to her bedchamber for her riding coat.

Rodrigo tapped his foot as he waited for Meg. As soon as the men had left the stable, he’d saddled Patito and one of the duke’s Thoroughbreds and hoped he would find Meg at her spot in the window seat. If not, he supposed he would have had to send a servant for her, but gratefully she was precisely where he’d seen her so often the last few days as he’d gone back and forth to the stables to tend to Patito. He’d been trying to devise a way to see Meg again, only to have the opportunity fall directly into his lap.

The dark horse was not a young racing horse such as the one she had admired with the duke but one a few years older, and much gentler. But he would not tell Meg that. Not after seeing the way the earl’s words had affected her. He’d realized that Meg was not a lady he would ever tell that she was not capable of something; first of all because she would likely do it anyway, but mostly because he would never want to be the one to cause such a disheartened expression on her face. It had stung him to see, and he’d immediately felt the need to give her a chance to prove that she could indeed manage a spirited Thoroughbred. Even if it was just to prove it to herself. But despite this, the idea of Meg riding a dangerous racehorse was more than he was willing to entertain until he saw how she handled herself on horseback.

This young woman and her well-being had moved to the center of his thoughts in the past few days. He’d seen her reading in the window and had contemplated for hours what sort of books she found interesting. He already knew she favored unconventional romances, and she longed for adventure. She was intelligent. He could tell that immediately by how she spoke and studied the world around her. In fact, he was surprised how much he knew about Meg Burton after only interacting with her one time.

She hurried out of the castle and joined him much sooner than he had anticipated, wearing a brown riding coat and hat. Her eyes shone with an excitement that soon enveloped him and made a ride in the country sound like the most wonderful activity imaginable.

“Carlo! Patito! Are we to go riding?” She clasped her hands together, her face shining.

The stallion whinnied, and she patted his nose.

“I believe you mentioned having some experience with this breed.” Rodrigo nodded toward the dark mare, and Meg moved toward the horse, reaching up to run her hand along the animal’s neck.

Meg nodded. “My grandfather raises horses on his farm outside of Charleston.” She took the reins and pulled the mare’s head lower to stroke her nose. “What is her name?”

“Bonnie.” He could not help but be impressed with the way Meg handled the animal. She showed no fear, speaking softly and moving smoothly so as not to startle the horse.

“Hello, Bonnie,” Meg said in a gentle voice, keeping eye contact with the mare. She continued stroking the horse as she moved to study the animal’s trappings. Meg expertly checked the saddle’s cinch, making sure the strap was tight and adjusting the stirrup before she turned to Rodrigo. “I do not typically ride sidesaddle. On my grandfather’s farm, he allows me to wear breeches and sit astride. But I am up to a challenge.” Her eyes twinkled. “That is, if you and Patito think you are prepared for a race.”

Rodrigo’s brow lifted on its own volition.
A race?
He had not done anything for the sheer diversion of it for longer than he could remember. “Patito and I accept your challenge.” He inclined his head. “I’m afraid I did not think to bring a mounting stool,” he said.

“Oh.” Meg’s cheeks colored slightly as he stepped closer to assist her onto the horse, and even though Rodrigo did not want to cause her any embarrassment, he found it to be incredibly charming to see her blush.

Meg placed one gloved hand on the saddle pommel and the other upon his shoulder. She stepped into his linked hands and bounced a few times before they both lifted together, and she situated herself upon the saddle, slipping her foot into the stirrup and arranging her skirts.

Once he was certain Meg was securely seated, Rodrigo mounted Patito and turned to her. “Are you ready?”

Meg looked thoughtful. “I think Bonnie and I should become used to one another before we show you and Patito how ladies lead the pack.”

Rodrigo felt a lightness inside at her words, an impulse to grin like a fool. He’d not grinned in years. Meg seemed to contain an endless supply of joy that seeped into him when she was near.

He watched Meg as they rode down the path away from the castle. She had not misrepresented her skill with a horse. She sat straight in the saddle, looking at ease as she balanced in what he could only imagine was a horribly uncomfortable position. She led the mare masterfully, understanding when to allow Bonnie freedom and when to retain control. She spoke softly but firmly to the animal, and occasionally he noticed Patito reacting to Meg’s voice as well.
It seems he wasn’t the only male having a difficult time resisting this young lady’s charms.

After a few moments, she turned toward him and grinned. Then suddenly she spurred Bonnie with her foot and riding crop. The horse leapt forward under Meg’s encouragement and broke into a full-out gallop.

Patito needed no urging. He sprang after them, and they followed Meg and Bonnie away from the path and through a meadow.

Meg glanced back once then leaned forward, pushing her horse faster.

Rodrigo followed, both exhilarated at the competition and at the same time terrified that Meg might be thrown and injured. He knew she would be furious to know he had such thoughts, so he kept them from showing on his face. He ground his teeth and gave Patito his head. The stallion surged toward Bonnie, and when they neared, Meg reigned the mare in, laughing.

The sound penetrated into his heart, warming him from the inside, and Rodrigo made it his personal mission in the next week and a half to hear Meg’s laughter again—often.

Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was coming loose from its bindings. She pushed the curls out of her face with a flip of her fingers. “Carlo, I cannot thank you enough. I had resigned myself to a day of boredom.”

“As had I.”

“And you are certain the prince doesn’t mind you riding his horse?”

Rodrigo studied her face for an instant and then shook his head. “Patito needs to be exercised.” He turned the horse toward a hill that rose from the meadow floor.

“He seems to favor you,” Meg said, urging Bonnie to follow.

“
Sí
. We have been friends for a long time.” Rodrigo patted the stallion’s neck, careful to be as honest as he could, even as he maintained the ruse necessary for them to remain so comfortable with one another. “He is one of the only companions that accompanied me from Spain.”

“Do you miss Spain?”

Rodrigo’s throat tightened. He missed his homeland so much that at times it was painful. “Nearly every moment,” he said.

“I am sorry.”

He turned toward her and tried to muster a smile. “But today for the first time in months, I have had something else to occupy my mind, and for that I must thank you.”

Meg regarded him thoughtfully, and he wondered how much of his frustration was evident in his expression. “Is it painful to speak of your home? I would love to know more about Spain.”

“What would you like to know?”

Meg tipped her head, as if she were thinking. “Have you ever seen a bullfight?”

“Yes. Of course.” Unsurprisingly her mind had jumped to that exhibition. Her fascination with the sensational was utterly enchanting. And she wasn’t the kind of lady to behave squeamishly as so many British women did when he discussed the violent performance—or its gruesome end.

She looked at him expectantly, obviously waiting for him to tell her more.

“Margarita,
la corrida de toros
, it is—”

Meg shook her head and let out a groan. “Please don’t say it is not appropriate for a young lady or I might scream.”

The look on her face saddened him as he wondered how often Meg had been discouraged from learning or trying new things. “I was going to say,
la corrida de toros
, it is something you would love.”

“Truly?” Her face brightened.

“
Sí
. It is very sensational. The toreadors, they are masters who have trained for years. The bullfighter learns the quirks of the bulls as he confronts the animal with his capote and maneuvers out of reach of the animal’s horns, at times coming within inches of being gored.” He demonstrated with his hands the swish of the cape and the near miss of the bulls’ horns.

Meg watched, enraptured by his description. “The entire performance is filled with pageantry, costumes, a parade, and music; but mostly it is the tradition that makes it special. The tradition of
festival
, of celebration.”

“Tell me more. What else happens at
festival
?” Meg’s eyes were alight with excitement, and he loved that his words had been the cause.

“Of course, no gathering would be complete without a feast, and Spaniards love to eat. Supper is much more informal than it is in England, often lasting late into the night. And the food is delicious. Pastries, fish, chicken stew, fresh fruit. And delicious desserts I have yet to see in England. I particularly love
turrón.
”

“It all sounds wonderful. I would love to travel to Spain.” The light in her eyes dimmed, and Meg’s expression changed to wistful.

Rodrigo thought there was nothing he would like better than to watch the delight on Meg’s face as she experienced
festival
for the first time.

Then the truth spread like a shadow over his mood. There was no
festival
. Spain was in turmoil. His countrymen were dying and their livelihoods torn away. Even when this war ended, would the country he loved ever recover?

They reached a stream, and Rodrigo dismounted then moved to Bonnie’s side to assist Meg. She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned into him as he lifted her down from the saddle. When he moved to back away, Meg reached out a hand to touch his arm.

“I didn’t mean to make you more homesick.”

He looked down at her caramel-colored eyes, aware of how close they stood to one another. He had not thought it possible for a person’s expression to touch him so deeply. “You did not. I simply allowed my mind to wander. I apologize.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

“I imagine you do.”

They led the horses to the stream and allowed them to drink. Rodrigo worried that he had cast a pall over their outing and tried to think of a way to bring Meg’s smile back. “Tell me about Charleston. You said your grandfather raises horses?”

Meg nodded, running her hand over Bonnie’s neck. She glanced at him for a moment and then turned back to the mare. “Yes, racehorses. I learned to ride at his farm.” She sighed. “Charleston, my family, all of it seems so far away.” She continued to stare at the horse as she spoke, her hand moving automatically in the same repetitive motion. “I’d always dreamed of embarking on a grand adventure. Sailing across the sea to visit a castle seemed so magical, but now that I am here, I realize nothing is how I had imagined. I will likely never return home.”

Rodrigo was taken aback. Why would Meg believe that she was not to return to Charleston?

Meg turned toward him with a start, and he wondered if she purposely changed the topic. “I forgot to tell you, Lord Featherstone and I saw poachers in the forest. I hope you will be careful if you and Patito ride in there.”

At the sound of his name, the horse lifted his head toward her, and she rubbed his nose. It seemed Patito was smitten.

“I would guess they are not poachers,” Rodrigo said. “More likely soldiers. The prince and his sister are under heavy guard.”

Meg tipped her head to the side and ran her teeth over her lip as she considered this information. “I imagine it is frustrating for them,” she said, “living in constant fear. It would make one’s house seem like a prison.” She patted Patito’s neck.