Beth squeezed Ian’s fingers tighter. “An elderly, placid nag, please. And really, I don’t need to ride. I’m happy using my own two feet.”
“Tell her, Ian.”
Beth turned to him, her eyes wide. Ian forgot all about the conversation and didn’t much care whether Beth rode like a master or stayed on the ground. He only wanted to put his arms around her, to hold her, to continue what they’d been doing before Cameron interrupted. He bent down and kissed her.
“I won’t let him hurt you,” he said.
“How reassuring,” Beth answered faintly.
The horse Cameron chose for her wasn’t exactly an elderly nag, but she was a gentle mare who had left her sporting days far behind. She was much larger than the sweet little pony Beth had pictured, towering above even Cameron, her feet like platters.
“She’s half draft horse,” Cameron said. “I breed them like that sometimes for jumping and stamina. She’s a sweetheart. Up you go.”
The saddle looked the size of a doily on the horse’s great back. It had one stirrup and a groove that was to hold Bern’s right leg.
“Why can’t ladies ride like men?” Beth complained as Cameron boosted her up. She overbalanced and gave a little shriek as she went off the other side—to be caught in Ian’s arms.
“With a horse between your legs?” Cameron’s goldflecked eyes went wide, and he touched his fingers to his mouth like a shocked, elderly maiden. “What kind of woman did you marry, Ian?”
“A practical one,” Beth said. She fought the skirt of her new riding habit and flailed for the stirrup. Ian’s strong hand supported her back like a rock. Cameron grabbed Beth’s ankle and pressed her foot into the stirrup. “There. Ready?”
“Oh, of course. Let’s be off to the Derby.” She reached for the reins, but Cameron wouldn’t hand them to her. “No reins today. I’ll lead.”
Beth looked at him in terror. Ian was on her other side, his bulk reassuring, but she sat at a heart-stopping height above him.
“I’ll fall off without the reins,” she protested. “Won’t I?” “You can’t hold on by dragging at the horse’s face,” Ian explained. “You balance.”
“Something I’ve never been good at.”
“You’ll be good at it now,” Cameron said. Without further ado, Cameron led the horse off at a very slow walk. Beth immediately slid off the horse’s right side, but Ian caught her and pushed her back up into the saddle. He was smiling broadly. Laughing at his poor wife.
The stable hands and many of the mansion’s staff gravitated out to watch. They either pretended to pass by the patch of park on their way somewhere else or blatantly hung on the fence that separated park from stable yard. They weren’t above giving the new lady of the house words of advice or applauding when she managed to stay on when the mare broke into a trot.
By the end of the lesson, Beth had at least learned how to balance on the saddle and use her legs for support. The staff gave her a cheer when Ian lifted her down. Their warm encouragement was a stark contrast to the chill of the dining table that evening. Hart sat in frigid silence. The footmen who’d shouted for Beth with Scots enthusiasm now looked subdued and chastised.
Beth’s legs hurt, the muscles unused to such exercise. When she plopped into the dining room chair Ian held out for her, she jumped up again with a little cry.
Ian’s strong hands closed around her. “Are you all right?” “Perfectly fine.” She bit her lip. “I believe Cameron needs to find me a softer horse.”
Ian grinned, then burst out laughing. His laughter was warm and velvety, so fine she paused to drink it in. Beth smiled at him and made a show of gingerly sitting down. “You may cease laughing at me, Ian Mackenzie. It was only my first lesson.”
He leaned toward her. “You already have a very good seat, my Beth.”
“Shall I take it you are referring to how I sit on a horse?” Ian kissed her cheek and moved to his own chair, still smiling. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and sat down. “Beth likes to joke,” he said without looking at the others.
Beth felt the frost of Hart’s rigid stare. Daniel’s mouth was open in surprise, and Cameron sat very still. Something had happened, and Beth wasn’t certain what.
The rest of the meal was tense, though Ian didn’t notice.
He ate calmly, oblivious. Occasionally he’d look up at Beth, his smile hot, and once, when the others weren’t looking, he curled his tongue at her. Beth turned beet red and stared down at her plate.
When the footmen finally cleared the last course, Hart rose and tossed down his napkin.
“Ian, I need you,” he said, and stalked from the room.
Cameron reached for the humidor on the sideboard. Daniel joined him, neither of them acting surprised at Hart’s abrupt departure. When Ian went to them, Beth leapt from her chair and sped out of the room.
“Beth . . . “ she heard Ian say, and then she was down the hall and inside Hart’s private study. Hart swung around in the middle of the room.
“Ian is not your servant,” Beth burst out.
Hart pinned her with his eagle’s gaze. “What the devil?” “You summon Ian the same way you’d summon a footman for your boots.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Mrs. Ackerley, you have been one of this family barely a week. Ian and I hammered out an understanding long before you appeared on the horizon.” “He is your brother, not your secretary.”
“Don’t try my patience.”
“You love him. Why don’t you show him?”
Hart came to her, lips tight, and gripped her shoulders. He was abominably strong. “Mrs. Ackerley—“ “My name is Beth.”
The door banged open, and Ian stormed inside. He caught Hart and shoved him away from Beth. “Don’t touch her.”
Hart shook him off. “What is the matter with you?”
“Beth, get away from him.”
Beth’s heart thumped. “Ian, I’m sorry, I was just—“ Ian swung his head to her but wouldn’t look at her.
“Now!”
Beth stood for one more stunned instant, then sped out of the room.
Cameron looked startled as she passed him in the hall, then he said, “Hell,” and marched to Hart’s study. The slam of the door thundered down the passage.
Beth made it to the main stairs before she collapsed, lungs burning. She could barely breathe, her dratted corset too tight.