Page 25 of Harpy of the Ton
Mightshebe at risk of persecution for being more intelligent than her fiancé?
He let out a sigh and continued to brush the horse’s pelt. Lady Arabella plagued his waking thoughts as well as his dreams. Last night she’d visited him, her furious passion unleashed as he’d taken her into his arms—only to morph into a ball of flame, screaming in triumph until he woke up, shaking, to the sound of a cock crowing.
Curse her!
The horse let out a snort.
“Sorry, boy.” He stroked the animal’s nose. “I shouldn’t be wasting my time thinking about that spoiled creature when I’ve you to keep me company.”
The animal’s ears pricked up.
“Heard something, have you?” Lawrence moved toward the stable door and looked out.
Three riders approached the inn—two side by side, a third trailing behind. Lawrence recognized Dunton’s portly figure atop a black gelding. The man seemed unsuited to the saddle, ready to fall off at any moment, and the woman beside him seemed equally ill at ease. But the third rider steered her mount as if they were the same creature.
He caught his breath as they drew near.
The third rider was Lady Arabella Ponsford.
Unable to help himself, Lawrence stepped outside to get a closer look.
The road ran west to east, and the morning sun shone directly on the riders, the horses’ pelts glistening in the sunlight. A number of villagers darted to and fro, going about their business, stopping as the riders passed. The women dipped into a curtsey, and the men removed their caps and bowed, or touched their forelocks in submission.
The duke gave a cursory nod, and the woman beside him tilted her head, sticking her nose in the air to affirm her superiority.
As to the third rider…
Lawrence caught his breath as he noticed her looking directly at him. Her sapphire eyes widened as he met her gaze, and he smiled to himself at the fear in her expression.
You’ve every cause to be afraid of me, madam.
She glanced toward Dunton, curling her hands around the reins. Her mount shifted sideways, responding to the movement. Her lips parted, and she blanched.
She wasn’t afraid of Lawrence. She was afraid ofthem.
Hate her he ought to—but he couldn’t help the spark of compassion at the thought of Fate having placed her under Dunton’s ownership.
He could never hate her.
“Instead, I pity you, Lady Arabella Ponsford.”
Though he spoke in a whisper, she startled as if she’d heard. Her mount shook its head and reared up. With a cry, she grasped the reins, struggling to maintain control.
“Arabella!” the older woman cried. “Compose yourself in public.”
Lady Arabella tugged at the reins until her mount quietened. Moisture glistened in her eyes. Then she wiped them in a sharp, angry gesture and, before Lawrence could react, steered the horse toward him, forcing him into the side of the road. He lost his balance and fell into the ditch that ran alongside.
Shit.
Quite literally. The stench was enough to turn his stomach.
He clambered out, holding his breath to avoid expelling his breakfast.Ye gods—he was covered in the stuff.
“Arabella, leave that creature alone—it’s beneath you. Come here at once.”
“Yes, Aunt.”
She steered her mount toward her companions.
