London's Most Wanted Rake. Bronwyn ScottЧитать онлайн книгу.
Amery had felt out of his depth. This was an assignment that pitted one master against another. She might be good at these games, but he was good, too. Damn good.
* * *
She’d been very good the prior night. Alina stretched in the morning sun as it fell across the wide expanse of her bed. She was still revelling in her little victory of last evening. Her strategy had worked divinely. A flirtation at dinner and then later on the veranda had neatly deflected Channing away from further enquiries about her business with Seymour.
It had been work of a sort, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been energising. Flirting with Channing was invigorating, perhaps because it was dangerous. He would not hesitate to strike back, perhaps because it was a challenge. Channing embodied a healthy amount of resistance to her charms and that was novel in itself. He wasn’t overcome with her looks or her wit. Not like Parkhurst’s scion who was so obviously infatuated he might as well just offer her carte blanche on the back of a calling card and let her run roughshod over him. She was not interested.
Alina rolled over and yanked on the bell pull next to her bed. There would be more of the same kind of work to do today. Yesterday had just been the beginning. An easily obtained gentleman held no appeal for her. Perhaps that was why Channing’s parting comment, Nothing is for free, still lingered in her thoughts. She wasn’t even sure what he’d meant by that, but it had been enough to keep her thinking about it, keep her thoughts going back to a certain moment, to a time she wanted to remember as much as she wanted to forget it. Still, she could make use of it.
The comment was the perfect launching point for the next level of her distraction game. She wanted Channing to be so busy sparring with her, pursuing her, he’d not be watching her transactions with Seymour. At least that was what she told herself. Her choice of gambit had nothing to do with a pair of disarmingly blue eyes and a ready smile set amid the perfect planes of elongated squared cheekbones and a length of straight aristocratic breeding.
Her maid, Celeste, was prompt, bearing with her a tray of morning chocolate. Celeste had been with her since her disastrous marriage to the French comte and was arguably the best thing she’d taken away from her time abroad. ‘Bonjour, madame,’ she sang out, always cheery, as she set the tray on a table by the window and turned to the wardrobe. ‘There’s a ride planned for this morning, madame. There’s to be two groups, one for casual riders and one for the more advanced group.’
‘I’ll need the blue habit with the jaunty little hat. We’ll put my hair up in that twist you do so well, Celeste.’ Alina got out of bed and went to sit beside the tray, her thoughts already starting to work: what to wear, what to say, where to ride, how to subtly create the right impression to draw Seymour in.
Celeste tossed a knowing smile over her shoulder. ‘Oui, the young blond lord will like that. He likes to look at your neck.’
Alina sipped her chocolate. ‘It’s not for him. It’s for Seymour.’
Celeste made a pouting moue as she laid out the riding habit. ‘I like the young lord better.’
‘This is business, Celeste.’ Alina said sternly. She’d decided last night after the veranda she could no longer wait for Channing to procure an introduction to Seymour. It wasn’t that she doubted Channing’s ability to get the introduction. He would get it and he’d have it by the end of the day. But he would make her pay for it with questions and enquiries. He’d want to know what she intended to do with the introduction and she had no intention of telling him. If he knew, he’d want to get involved. ‘Which group is Seymour riding with?’
‘The advanced group, madame. Mr Deveril is riding with them as well.’
‘Send word I’ll want a suitable horse for that group, too,’ Alina instructed, finishing the last of the chocolate. She would have liked to have lingered in the sunny bower of the window, but there was work to be done and elegance like hers didn’t come easy. Alina crossed the room to the dressing table where her pots and brushes were laid out. ‘Time to work your magic, Celeste.’
Then she would work hers. At least on the ride she’d have both men where she could see them. One could play with a man like Channing, flirt a little, but one couldn’t trust them—couldn’t trust them to leave well enough alone, couldn’t trust them not to get under one’s skin without even trying. And because of those reasons, she couldn’t wait for him to get the introduction. She had to do this her way and she had to do it fast before Channing could step in. She’d already paid twice in the past for his involvement in her life, once physically and once emotionally. The first time she’d been naïve. She could forgive herself for that. The second time, she’d simply been a fool who had trusted the wrong man. Well, no more. The Comtesse de Charentes had emerged from the fires of her marriage, wiser to the ways of men.
* * *
The drive in front of the house was full of milling people and horses by the time she arrived downstairs. A honey-bay mare was waiting for her, prancing eagerly. Alina eyed the prancing horse warily. She was a competent horsewoman, but she’d rather have ridden with the casual group, more time for talk and conversation. This feisty girl was going to demand her attention, starting with getting on. Alina looked around for a mounting block.
‘Need a leg up?’ Channing materialised at her side. He stroked the mare’s shoulder, looking golden and handsome in the morning sun. There was nothing for it. The mounting blocks were all busy. But she would have refused if she could. He had a way of touching a woman that made her feel special even when she knew better, even when the task was as mundane as mounting a horse. Perhaps she imagined his hand lingered at her leg a moment longer than necessary as he checked the girth.
‘Are you riding with this group?’ A line creased his brow between his eyes.
‘Yes,’ she answered smartly, gathering the reins. ‘You’re not worried, are you?’ She didn’t want him concerned. It made him warm, likeable.
‘Are you sure you can handle the mare? She’s a fine horse, well trained but spirited, too,’ Channing quizzed.
Alina gave him a confident smile. ‘I can handle her. I’ve ridden bigger horses than this one.’ The gelding she had had in France had been nearly seventeen hands.
He gave her a naughty look. ‘Size isn’t everything.’
She laughed and moved her horse forward. A line was beginning to form. She wanted to get closer to Seymour at the front. ‘You’d better mount up if you mean to come.’
‘Oh, the things I could do with that statement.’ Channing gave a loud laugh and drew several eyes their direction.
‘Hush, will you?’ Alina scolded.
He smiled and stepped back, relenting. ‘I’ll be along shortly. I need to find a servant to take care of something before I can ride out.
* * *
She couldn’t keep up. After the first two miles, it was apparent the mare was willing. It was her own skill that would not allow her to take certain risks. She could ride the flat ground well enough, giving the horse its head over the wide meadows, but she didn’t dare take the jumps over hedges and logs at full speed. She took them at a slower, cautious rate. That put her at a disadvantage and whatever ground she’d made up on the flat was soon lost, putting her at the back of the ride while Seymour continued to ride in the front.
Alina reined the mare to a trot, giving the horse a chance to breathe and herself a chance to think. She would never catch Seymour at this rate. She needed a short cut, a detour that would take her around the designated course and bring her up with the leaders. She caught sight of a path cutting through the woods to the side of the course. Ah, some luck at last. Alina veered to the path and into the woods.
This was better. There were no logs or hedges to jump, only the occasional tree root to navigate and her horse was sure footed enough. She’d make up time fast enough now. But that was before the screech of a hawk split the quiet of the woods and her mare took off as if it were a clarion call to arms.
She had