A Place of Storms by Sara Craven Read Free Book Online Page A

changes we are making.'
    She was just about to inform him frankly that the only thing she could imagine worse than a morning in his undiluted company was a morning on horseback, when she remembered with dismay that Clare was a keen rider and had probably mentioned this in her letters. She nearly groaned aloud. She could always invent a headache or some other minor ailment, but this might arouse his suspicions, and this was the last thing she wanted. She could ride, but she had none of Clare's equestrian flair, and she was nervous of horses.
    She forced a smile. 'That would be lovely,' she agreed. 'I—I'll just get a jacket.'
    '
Soit
.' He sent her a long look, and for the first time she noticed, inconsequentially, how long his eyelashes were. 'Shall we say then that we will meet at the main door in— ten minutes' time?'
    As she came downstairs again, Andrea wondered if it would be possible to slip on the stairs and feign a sprained ankle. But as she came round the final curve of the stairs, she saw Blaise Levallier just below her glancing idly through an agricultural catalogue.
    He glanced up at the sound of her step. 'Docile—and punctual,' he remarked. 'You will make an admirable wife,
ma mie
?'
    She glared at him in impotent silence. Crossing verbal swords with him would get her nowhere, she reasoned, and all past scores would be paid off anyway when she took her departure and he realised he no longer had the proof he needed of his hold over Clare.
    She noted ironically that the stables were in much better condition than the house itself, and commented sweetly on the fact.
    'Perhaps because I find animals of considerably more value than human beings,
mademoiselle
?' came the immediate retort, and she subsided angrily.
    Her heart sank when Gaston led out the mare that Blaise had designated for her to ride. She was a far cry from faithful old Penelope on whose broad back a much younger Andrea had taken her first quaking lessons. She was a sprightly roan, who sidled and jumped and tossed her head, and her bright eyes spoke of mischief.
    'She needs exercise,' said her tormentor, already astride his own horse, and looking, Andrea thought bitterly, as if he were part of it.
    She looked round for Gaston to help her mount, but he had disappeared back into the stables, so she had to lead the reluctant Delphine over to an ancient mounting block and get herself somehow into the saddle. It was not a polished performance, but at least she found herself on the mare's back, instead of spreadeagled on the ground when it was completed. So far, so good, she thought, her sense of humour aroused by the sheer absurdity of the situation.
    If I break my neck, at least it will be one way out of this mess, she told herself philosophically.
    But before they had been out for very long, Andrea knew that it was a very different part of her anatomy that was going to suffer. Apart from that, Delphine was proving the handful she had feared and more. Clare had always said that horses could sense who had the mastery, and it was clear that the mare had written her off as an easy touch. She began to take liberties almost as soon as they were out of the stable yard, refusing to respond to Andrea's rather tentative pressure on the reins with a toss of her head, and even swinging aside to eat the grass from the verges at the side of the track. The moment of truth came when a large bird flew out of the hedge immediately in front of her, and she squealed with indignation and reared up, nearly unseating Andrea in the process. Humiliatingly but inevitably, Blaise Levallier was there, grabbing the reins and soothing the mare, at the same time forcing her to compliance.
    'Thank you.' Andrea knew her face was crimson.
    'It is nothing.' He gave her a narrow look. 'Perhaps it was a mistake asking you to ride so soon. You must still be tired after your journey—and your sleepless night.
    Now why didn't I think of that? Andrea asked herself in exasperation. Aloud she