The Reluctant Earl Read Online Free PDF Page B

denial as being about her, her situation.
    It wasn’t. He’d gone to sleep plotting ways to discover the truth from her and awoken in a cold sweat, dreaming of Trafalgar. He hadn’t relived that particular nightmare in many a year. Even now, a decade and more beyond that fateful day and in a very English stable, the memory, the very name—Trafalgar—brought back the horror. The stench of smoke. The screams of fallen men. The rivers of blood that slicked the deck and coated his breeches, his hands, even his tongue.
    “I’m sorry you suffered such a restless night.” Miss Vance’s voice called him back to the present, from the embarrassing reactions that haunted him so many years later. “Perhaps your mind agrees with mine this outing is a mistake.”
    “It is true the thought of finding commonality with you would give me nightmares.”
    Brown brows rose above the eyes that at last focused on him—eyes wreathed by dark circles, and yet not muted by remorse so much as glimmering with ill-suppressed challenge. An answering warmth flared through him.
    “My lord, are you certain you want this old mare?” The groom appeared at that moment with the oldest, most lethargic nag in three counties.
    Julian regathered his dignity. “Ask Miss Vance.”
    The man caught sight of Julian’s companion and stumbled. The ancient mare didn’t blink at the momentary tightening of her reins while the groom regained his footing, if not his composure. An interesting response. Surprise to see the governess ride? Or more? After all, the lady had claimed to leave her ill-gotten information in the stable—which made everyone from the coachman to the greenest stable boy a possible accomplice.
    Julian glanced her direction again, noting the skepticism cooling the subdued greens and browns of her eyes, so at variance with the hard edges of her attitude. “What think you, Miss Vance? I’m sure even your impaired skills will prove sufficient to handle this animal, but perhaps you would prefer a mount with more, er, life?”
    “The poor thing does appear in danger of imminent demise, but I believe it will be fine for a short ride.” Miss Vance’s shoulders stiffened as she tugged the reins from the groom and stalked outside, her fine fit of pique somewhat impaired by the nag’s ungainly plodding. The groom hurried after them, but when he paused to assist Miss Vance onto the horse, Julian stepped between them and thrust the stallion’s reins in the man’s hands.
    “Hold these, please, while I assist Miss Vance.” He moved closer, the faintest whiff of lavender once again teasing his senses as she planted her foot in his cupped hands. For a woman of her height she felt unexpectedly light, and she mounted with surprising grace—especially for one who’d claimed so long a dearth—onto the nag’s swayed back. As she hooked her leg over the sidesaddle, her movements exposed a bit of boot-clad ankle to his curious gaze.
    “We’ll start slowly,” he said as she arranged her skirts.
    “I doubt we’ll have much choice on the matter.” She threaded the reins around her fingers, drawing his attention to her carefully mended gloves.
    Julian swung up on his mount, and the groom disappeared into the warm stable. “Take heart, if she expires before we complete our business, Sotherton’s prize bay can carry us both back.”
    Her wary eyes scrutinized his mount as the spirited animal pawed the snowy ground, impatient to be free. “Should such a tragic event befall us, I’ll walk.”
    “Or run away?” Did she balk at such an energetic horse, or at sharing the saddle with him? A rusty chuckle escaped his throat.
    She prodded the placid animal into a reluctant walk, and Julian followed.
    Last night’s storm had passed, leaving a fresh layer of snow blanketing the world. They traveled side by side, the stillness of the winter morning broken only by the muffled clomp of hooves. The barren fields around him, the gentle rocking beneath him,