Page 19 of My Rogue, My Ruin
Standing in the dimly lit stables as she saddled Zeus—one of Gray’s newer and more high-spirited stallions—Brynn cursed herself yet again for allowing Lord Hawksfield to ride off on her horse earlier that morning. He had sent word that the stallion was favoring his right leg and was being tended. Though she worried for Apollo’s condition, she knew Hawksfield was known for his expert horsemanship and love of horses. The stallion would be well taken care of at Worthington Abbey. But Brynn still regretted not making the arrogant man walk or borrow another horse. Like this one, for example, that had already tried to take a bite out of her arm.
She’d spent most of the day fighting a raging headache. And, though she was loath to admit it, thinking about Hawksfield—who was likely the root cause of the pain in her temples. Thankfully, no one had caught her sneaking into the manor that morning, or before, while riding unchaperoned with a man who wore his surly reputation like a badge of honor.
She chewed the corner of her lip, tightening the girth around Zeus’s muscular belly. In private, Hawksfield had seemed nothing like the man Gray and everyone else talked about. He’d even seemed different from how he’d presented himself at the Bradburne Ball. He was solemn, certainly, but he did have a boyish sense of humor when he chose to use it. He was also a surprising flirt.
But he’d cared that she’d been in danger from that boar. She had seen it in his eyes. Eyes that had been like liquid silver in the morning sunlight…serious and somber, but not cold. No, that was where he smiled, she realized. His lips would never betray his humor, but his eyes did.
Brynn shook her head and pursed her lips in exasperation. What was she thinking? Lord Hawksfield was the last man she should be mooning over. Seeing to the chivalrous, if unnecessary, duty of escorting her home had clearly put him out. She’d practically heard him grinding his teeth in annoyance the minute he mounted the horse. Brynn sighed. Really, she had more important things to worry about than Lord Hawksfield’s poor temper…or his disingenuous smiling eyes.
For one secret moment, though, Brynn allowed herself to think about what it had felt like to have a man riding behind her on Apollo. The heat of his lean thighs and the bracing power of his chest against her back had been shocking to say the least, but exciting, too. The masculine lines of his hard frame had cradled hers with such intimacy. Warmth flooded her lower abdomen, making her limbs feel utterly useless. On the horse, she’d fought with every bone in her body to keep herself motionless, but now, she wondered what it would have been like if she had just let go—leaned in to him, felt every inch of him clinging to her. Her breath drew to a shuddering, indelicate stop.
Flushing deeply, Brynn banished her unvirtuous thoughts as she finished saddling the horse as quietly as she could. She didn’t want to risk waking any of the grooms. Then again, Vickers was more than used to her midnight excursions, and never once had whispers, carried on the lips of a servant, reached Mama or Papa. Vickers could be trusted to turn a blind eye.
She led the horse outside, and pulled herself up onto its back. Zeus pranced nervously beneath her as the moon peeked out from a patch of clouds, riding high in the sky and gilding the surrounding hills with silvery touches. Brynn inhaled deeply and urged the stallion into a canter—a rousing, brisk ride was exactly what she needed.
She’d tossed and turned for hours before deciding she couldn’t remain in bed one minute more. Mindful of the hour, she had dressed all in black, piled her hair into a bun, and tucked it under a wide-brimmed hat. At the last moment she had decided to bind a cloth tightly around her breasts. If by chance she came upon someone, they’d think less of a boy being out past midnight than an unchaperoned young woman. Not that she expected to run into anyone else at this ungodly hour, but if she did, Brynn had made sure she could protect herself—her pistol was loaded and tucked into the waistband of her breeches.
Riding Zeus took almost all of her skill and concentration. The horse was certainly faster and less mature than Apollo. It took her a while to get used to his gait and to make him understand that she was in control. Every once in a while, he’d try to get the bit into his mouth, but Brynn was a competent rider and held him firmly in check. It was challenging work but exactly the kind of exertion she had hoped for. She wanted to tire herself out so she wouldn’t have to think.
Hanging low over Zeus’s neck, they raced like the wind over Ferndale’s rolling hills. She felt free and unfettered, the normally stalwart rules of thetonas yielding as water or air. It was right at that moment that a bloodcurdling scream cut through the darkness. It made Zeus rear up, nearly tossing Brynn from the saddle. She held on for dear life as he bolted through the woods—towardthe sound of the scream.
Brynn fought for control as another scream rent the air. It was distinctly female, and it was close. Someone was in trouble. She tightened her hold on Zeus’s bridle and dug her thighs into his flanks, soaring over the three-foot estate fence line with ease. She pulled the brim of her hat low and thundered onto the main road where a coach stood at a dead halt in the middle of the lane.
She squinted into the shadowy darkness, the carriage’s single lantern hardly bright enough to read a book by, let alone dash decent light over the road. But just then, the crest of the moon better exposed the scene in horrifying detail: a masked man on horseback, his pistol pointed into the open conveyance. A second pistol was trained on the coachman lying in the dirt. Brynn’s breath caught on a flood of rage—it washim. The bandit. The despicable scoundrel who had tainted her thoughts and toyed with her by sending those blasted rubies!
She didn’t stop to think as the man raised his head in her direction. All she could see was his hand, drawing her grandmother’s pearls from her neck. All she could feel was defeat and frustration, and by god, the man had robbed her! Pointed his gun at her person!
Brynn pulled her own pistol, took aim, and without a moment’s thought or hesitation, fired. Zeus immediately pulled to a stop, and the bandit’s mount reared up before bolting into the woods, but she was certain that she had seen him clutch at his thigh before being spirited away. In any case, he was gone for the moment.
She took Zeus abreast the carriage, seeing the two cowering women there. They must have been on their way home from some function. Perhaps the same musicale her parents had attended that evening. Thank heavens this was nottheircarriage. She was quite certain her mother’s nerves would not survive another incident.
“Is the man gone, boy?” the older of the two women asked in a shaky voice. Most likely the younger lady’s chaperone, Brynn supposed.
“Yes,” she answered, holding her tone low. “He’s gone, milady.”
The younger woman looked like she was about to swoon. Brynn squinted. It was the eldest daughter of Viscount and Viscountess Perth, her neighbors several estates over. “You saved our lives,” the young lady said faintly as the older woman held a vial of smelling salts to her charge’s nose. “Who knows what that evil man would have done? We are in your debt.”
Bobbing her head, Brynn pulled her hat low and called out to the driver, keeping her voice as gravelly as she could manage. “You there, get up and get your mistress to safety.”
He hauled himself up and mounted the coach, taking off in a swift cloud of dust. Zeus pawed the earth beneath her as she stared after the coach, watching as it rounded the far end of the lane and disappeared.
The moon had withdrawn again, shrouding the road in shadows and making Brynn’s skin prickle stiffly. A coolness had descended, causing her breath to puff like mist. With a sigh, she wheeled Zeus around, stopping at the edge of the road. She’d shot the man, and while she had meant only to wound, what if the bullet had done serious damage? Scourge of mankind or not, if he died, his blood would be on her hands.
“Blast it,” she swore and led Zeus into the woods where she’d seen the bandit’s horse disappear. It didn’t take her long to find both horse and rider, motionless in a nearby glade. The man was slumped over the neck of his mount. Panic struck her like a lance. Was hedead?
“Sir?” she called out. There was no response. Her heart sank to her toes.
She inched closer, clicking gently to the bandit’s horse so it wouldn’t bolt and hoping that Zeus would behave himself. Nearly alongside his mount, she prodded the man with the muzzle of her pistol. An inarticulate groan was his only response, but at least he was alive and she wasn’t going to end this foolhardy ride as a cold-blooded murderer.
Brynn had three options: she could leave, knowing in good conscience that she’d found him alive, and hope he wouldn’t bleed to death. She could wait until he was conscious enough to fend for himself. Or lastly, she could take him back to Ferndale and call the constable. The last option would see her locked in her chamber for the rest of her foreseeable life. And she wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink should she choose the first. No, she’d take her chances right now with the second—and safest—option.
“You there,” she prodded harder, and the man groaned again. Her eyes searched for where she’d shot him, but even by the light of the moon filtering through the trees, she couldn’t see his leg clearly. His black clothing didn’t help. “Wake up!”
The man pushed himself into an upright position, staring woozily at her. Once again, that damned mask obscured his face. But she was sure it was him, and she wished she had brought the rubies so she could throw them at him.
“You shot me,” he said in a slightly slurred voice, wrapping his hand into the horse’s mane as if fighting to keep himself erect. “In my leg. Could’ve killed me, boy.”
“If I meant to kill you, you’d be dead,” Brynn muttered. The bandit groaned and pitched forward. “No, no, no. You need to stay awake.”
