Thunder and Roses by Mary Jo Putney Read Free Book Online Page B

seriously.
     
    However, he hadn’t given her time to say that she didn’t have a riding habit. With a faint smile, she rose and went up to the room that had been assigned to her. She would have to ride in the garments she had used in the past. Perhaps she would be able to shock the earl. She rather hoped so.
     
      Clare entered the stables to find that Nicholas had arrived before her, and was in earnest conversation with the inhabitant of one of the large box stalls. The clicking heels of her old boots caused him to glance up at her.
     
    He paused, arrested. “Are boy’s breeches the Penreith version of a riding habit?”
     
    “There are few women in the valley who ride, and even fewer who can afford to have an expensive gown with only one limited purpose,” she said crisply. “I’m sorry if you disapprove, but this is what I’ve always worn on horseback, and it’s all I have.”
     
    Nicholas gave her a lazy, dangerous smile. “I didn’t say that I disapproved. Wear those breeches riding in London and you could start a new fashion. Either that or a riot.”
     
    Though Clare had never minded the sparseness of her wardrobe, she hadn’t expected that his thorough examination of her buckskin-clad legs would make her feel so naked. Her face colored; with disgust, she realized that she had blushed more in the last day than the whole previous decade. Glancing toward the stall, she asked, “Is that the mount you chose for me?”
     
    “Yes. Rhonda is a pure-bred Welsh pony.” His long, graceful fingers stroked the dappled muzzle, causing the little mare to simper shamelessly. “Docile, well-mannered, and considerably more intelligent than the average horse. Too small for me, but she should do nicely for you.”
     
    As he opened the door of the stall and led Rhonda out, a groom emerged from the tack room carrying a sidesaddle . The earl said, “We won’t be needing that. Get a regular saddle for Miss Morgan.”
     
    After giving her an interested glance, the groom obeyed the order and saddled the pony. Nicholas himself brought out the great black stallion he had been riding the day before, when Clare had first seen him. The horse danced out of his stall, high-spirited to a fault. As Clare stepped back nervously, Nicholas moved closer and breathed into the black nostrils.
     
    The stallion quieted immediately. Seeing her surprise, Nicholas flashed a quick grin. “It’s an old Gypsy trick to calm a horse. Useful when you’re trying to steal one.”
     
    “No doubt you’ve had plenty of experience in that area,” she said dryly.
     
    As he saddled the stallion, he shook his head with regret. “I’m afraid not. One of the sad consequences of wealth is that there is no point in theft. The best meal I ever had was when I was a boy and shared a stolen hen and potatoes that were roasted over an open fire. Superb.”
     
    Knowing that she was being baited, Clare turned to Rhonda and checked the tightness of the saddle girth herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the earl give a faint nod of approval at her thoroughness. He made a move in her direction, so she hastily mounted before he could help her.
     
    Clare was nervous as they rode away from the stables, but the pony proved to be as well-behaved as promised. She relaxed and began to enjoy the ride, even though she knew that long-unused muscles would protest later.
     
    Nicholas led the way to a trail that ran high up the edge of the valley. It was an unusually warm day for early spring, and the air was so clear that she could pick out individual trees on the far side of the valley.
     
    It was several miles to the old quarry, and at first they rode in complete silence. Clare found that her gaze kept returning to Nicholas. He rode like a centaur, so at one with his horse that watching him was pure pleasure. Whenever she became aware of how great the pleasure was, she forced her attention back to her surroundings.
     
    When the journey was half