What a Lady Demands by Ashlyn Macnamara Read Free Book Online Page A

man to refuse assistance?
    “If you think to shame me into accepting—”
    “Clearly you cannot manage the terraces on your own, but if you’re planning on being stubborn about such matters, I’m just as inclined to leave you to your own devices.” She disengaged and stepped back. His coloring had improved somewhat, and he stood steady on his feet.
    He glanced away for a moment, jaw working. Sifting through a mental list of possible replies, no doubt, but not finding anything appropriate. Most certainly not anything polite.
    “Yes, and you always were full of yourself,” she added, not particularly caring if he took her comment amiss. Her hand tightened on the reins. “One of these days, though, you’ll admit to needing me. You do, you know, whether or not you like the idea. Whether or not you think I’m suited to being a governess, I’m all you have at the moment.”

Chapter Five
    She led the chestnut gelding up the winding gravel path and sought out the head groom. The stables were large and airy, just as she recalled. She breathed in fresh, hay-scented air in hopes it would calm her racing pulse. It had no business behaving as it had when she was still fifteen and innocent.
    She shouldn’t even bother herself with her reaction to Lindenhurst, not when she’d have to face her brother in two days. Not when she’d have to face his outrage—and he would, without a doubt, express his outrage once he learned the exact nature of her position here. He’d never been able to help himself when it came to anything that infringed on his rigid code of honor.
    Spotting a grizzle-haired man dressed in rough nankeen breeches, she shook aside her worries and approached. “Your pardon, Mr.—”
    At her expectant pause, he touched his cap. “Just Regan.”
    “You’ll want to send someone after Lord Lindenhurst. He’s near the copse at the end of the lowest terrace, and I’m not certain he can walk so far.”
    The man pitched a forkful of straw onto the muck pile. “You’ll never have me believe old Judas threw him.” He laid aside his pitchfork, took the reins, and patted the beast’s neck. “Gentle old boy, this one is.”
    “Oh, no. Lord Lindenhurst dismounted.” Cecelia could say that much, but she wasn’t inclined to confess the nature of their conversation that led to Lindenhurst alighting.
    “Why he’d insist on dismounting, I’ll never know.” Regan tied off Judas’s reins and unbuckled the girth. “He can’t get himself into the saddle without a block, what with his wounds.”
    “And he could hardly ask me to give him a leg up.” Thankfully, he hadn’t. She’d had more than enough contact with him for one day.
    “Stubborn beggar.” He laid the saddle aside and smoothed a hand across Judas’s withers. “Begging your pardon, miss.”
    She couldn’t help but smile. “I shall not breathe a word of your thoughts, especially as they mirror my own.”
    “Won’t do no good to send someone, at any rate.” He picked up a brush and swiped it across the horse’s broad back. “He’ll make it back to the house under his own power if it kills him.”
    She glanced down the row of spacious boxes. Several bony heads poked over the stalls. An enormous blood bay pricked its ears and let out a whicker. She really ought to get back to Jeremy, but a thought stopped her. “How is it Lord Lindenhurst can ride across his estates when his legs give him such trouble?”
    “Funny thing about injuries.” In the midst of stroking, he paused. “Sometimes a man has an easy time sitting a horse when he can barely walk. And a clever beast will adjust to his master’s comfort.”
    Perfect. The very reply she wanted. “I wonder. Has anyone thought of riding lessons for Jeremy?”
    “Lord Lindenhurst hasn’t, to be certain.” The groom’s tone hardened somewhat. “The boy doesn’t even have his own pony.”
    “But he might learn to ride one.” She gave him a tentative smile.
    Regan grinned in return.